Valentine for two
Fic: Valentine for two (II)
Author: lyrasoren
Pair: Tezuka and Ryoma
Word count: 7000
Rating: PG-13
Note: Collection of short fics. Special thanks to nekoyoka who beta read this for me.
8. Being stupid together
“Buchou?” Echizen’s voice echoes a little distorted on the line.
“Echizen,” he listens to the breath behind the tone, before continuing, “are you free tomorrow?”
Ryoma stops briefly, a small smile curving the corners of his mouth, “Why, are you taking me on a date?”
“Aa.”
“Then see you tomorrow, buchou.” Both are unwilling to hang up. “Aa, goodnight Echizen.”
“Sleep well.” Their breaths sustain a wordless conversation, and then, “You too.”
*
Ryoma has a vague idea of why he, all of a sudden, feels like his body cannot contain him anymore. The memory is flimsy, yet he vaults over his cat, as soon as he hears the door bell resonate from down the stairs. Only half way the stairs does he recall that he is still draped in his pajamas. He swears under his breath, and vanishes again inside to reappear in a pair of jeans and a stylish white t-shirt.
Kunimitsu stares bemusedly as he shoulders his tennis bag, one brow raised, but the light in his eyes is a give away of his amusement. Ryoma scrutinizes him swiftly, and grins widely, shortly after he recognizes the same strap bundled over his shoulder. He mouths ‘che’, as the door fastens behind him. They fall into place next to each other, conversing about idle and inane details of their lives, like Karupin being picky about food, or the game of go Tezuka played with his grandfather. Minutes later, his pinkie touches his boyfriend’s, and as fingertips intertwine themselves together, they smile at each other, their himitsu.
They don’t choose a fancy restaurant, but end up having their breakfast at the nearby cafeteria, ordering crisp sandwiches, and coffee and hot chocolate, respectively. Ryoma playfully smears his finger with cream and leans forward to draw Tezuka a mustache. The older teen glances at him entranced, and a little curious. “You really do resemble a teacher now.” Tezuka knits his brows together, and promptly erases the trace of his carelessness with the table cloth, much to Ryoma’s dissatisfaction.
Before anyone should comment on their holding hands across the table, they polish off their sandwiches, and head towards the courts in a rather good mood. It is clearly a perfect morning to go out and have fun, so Ryoma suggests that they should race to them and the first to reach will have the first serve.
Ryoma with his record of speed, and short legs outruns Tezuka; though the older captain arrives decently a few seconds behind. “I guess it’s my serve.” Ryoma grins while wiping the sweat from his forehead.
“I ought to punish you Ryoma, before that.” Kunimitsu says, as he approaches him, wraps a hand around his waist and tilts his head, to kiss the nape of his neck, “I should make you run laps until you are out of breath.” He traces the perfect line of his jaw and whispers “Make me work for it, Ryoma.”
Ryoma pushes him aside, unzipping his bag and taking his racket out, and almost sprinting to the base line. “Sweet talker,” Ryoma says under his breath, “you really are trying to distract me.” He gives him a glare. “Prepare yourself Kunimitsu. I won’t let you take this one so easily.” Tezuka just nods, though there is clearly a mischievous smile behind those lenses, like he is planning something else.
They play for hours, every drive and volley, and each drop shot pulling out their potential to the fullest. It’s not like Ryoma can stop himself from playing even if he wanted to, with the determined glance of his buchou. He thanks his inspiration for the little jog earlier in the morning; otherwise his stamina would have run out long ago.
Ryoma has long bridged the gap between them, so playing to and past his limits all day long has its draw back. At sunset, after a total of 14 matches, he pants and his legs hurt like he has run the same amount of kilometers in an hour. He has to grab the net pole to even stay upright. Tezuka looks as if he would still go for another 2 or 3 more games, but he is sure playing all by himself isn’t as fun.
They head for the showers, because being slick with sweat isn’t the greatest of feelings. Ryoma drops himself on the bench, taking his cap off, watching Tezuka undress with the corner of his eyes. He fans himself with it as an attempt to decrease the hot temperature in the room. It isn’t fair how Tezuka can be so natural and composed while he is a pair of boxers short from being naked.
“Kunimitsu…” Ryoma says his voice suggestive, husky with suppressed wanting.
Tezuka turns around, “Are you suggesting we take the shower together?” Ryoma stares at him, his eyes drinking in the soft curves of his muscles, the fine line of his neck, the sharp angle of his collar bones, and he gulps and pouts, because Kunimitsu is being a tease. Tezuka notices it, pads unhurriedly until he is inches from Ryoma. He cups his face, and kisses that pout away. “I am going to the showers now.” He says in a hushed voice that sends shivers down Ryoma’s spine.
“Just go already.” Ryoma manages before a chaste kiss shuts him up. One of these days he will slam Tezuka into the brick wall and ravish him for all these times. Until then, he slowly diverts his eyes.
Tezuka gazes over his shoulder and sees Ryoma's slightly troubled face, something in those eyes just beg Tezuka to be with him in that moment, and this once he thinks he should silence his judgment and listen to his heart. He approaches Ryoma and takes his hand. It’s impossible to not smile when he sees the surprise written all over Ryoma’s face.
9. Elusive
Even when he thinks he has caught a glimpse of the real demeanor of his tennis captain, he just slips through his fingers, as if one can maintain an expressionless face for that long!
It infuriates him to no bounds knowing that what is standing right in front of him is actually human and not a bronze statue. Recently Tezuka’s name keeps popping into his head more and more often, and above all he hardly has time to even look at his captain with all the preparations for Nationals and all.
He wants to move closer to Tezuka, maybe then he will have the best view, to perceive the very minuscule changes in his features. And maybe those lips will stop being drawn into such a straight line. With his inborn sight he should be able to read into anyone’s soul, however when he gives a sidelong glance to Tezuka he sees nothing.
It gives him the creeps to be in the club room after all the regulars have left, just spying on Tezuka. If he is caught he will have to run laps for the rest of his life. But for this he is willing to take the risk.
Tezuka is just filling in files, for the upcoming games or just for the next ranking matches, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to know. It looks boring, so he wonders how he is coping with all this trouble. But wait…Was that a small smile? Ryoma draws closer so he can have a better angle. He can see no reason for his captain to smile, or even to-oh-unless he has already discovered his hiding place. There is nothing to betray him, he is merely a shadow.
Ryoma notices something on the table, like a ribbon , and a card with a name written on it, he kneels and pads across the floor to get near it. He grabs it noiselessly and stares for a few good seconds at his name.
What the hell…Is buchou really going to give this to him? But what is inside, he tries to unwrap it, but someone snatches it from under his nose.
“Echizen!” Ryoma looks up to see displeasure mar Tezuka’s face. Is he going to scold him? Is he going to have to run thousands of laps? Is he going to be kicked out of the club?
He hears a sigh. “Since you already found it… Happy Valentine’s Day, Echizen.” He feels cool lips land on his and he has to do his best not to push Tezuka off the chair and kiss him into the morning.
10. Glimpse
He overhears a conversation he isn’t supposed to. On court C Momoshiro and Echizen are having a match, one he himself ordered, which shouldn’t have turned into a field of confessions all of a sudden. During a sprint and a volley Momoshiro asks in a nonchalant voice a question that has him unconsciously holding his breath.
“Echizen what would you ask for Valentine if you had a girlfriend?” Ryoma keenly looks at him.
“What brought this on?” though he already has a feeling he knows.
“Hmm, you know Ann and I, we-“ he is cut off. “I really don’t want to know.”
“Anyway, just answer already. ” Ryoma sighs.
“Momo-senpai,” He turns his head a little in the direction of Tezuka. “You don’t have to ask them to buy or do anything; you just have to trust their choice.” And he means it. Momo is left speechless.
Tezuka doesn’t give any signs that he knows Ryoma is glancing at him more than is necessary, but in turn he finds himself moving a little too close whenever he is in his kohai’s presence. If what Ryoma said is true then he has to just listen to his instincts, for the first time in his life.
He doesn’t ask anyone’s help, like many would have done in his position. He thinks he knows Ryoma quite well by now. And this is his actual exam.
His choice, ka? He ends up with 2 tickets to the Australian Open, and thinks he has figured out the universe.
Tomorrow comes unforeseen, swift for his liking, bringing an unwanted commotion with it. Girls, chocolate, and the gaping and goggling of some accepted or declined love. The gregarious and rowdy fan clubs are trying to ambush them at every possible corner.
Tezuka barely has time to hear his thoughts. He excuses himself and retires in the clubroom where a pile of paper work is waiting for him. He puts the present on the table, and steels himself for a few tedious hours. Within seconds the first name he puts on the list for ranking matches is of course Ryoma’s.
No matter how much he tries to concentrate, something catches his eye time and time again. Some kind of urgency hovers above him to just abandon what he is doing and just aim for the boy. His mouth twitches within a millimeter of resembling a smile. He dares not follow this thought. He knows that if he as much as gives in to his whims he will have to spend the entire evening writing.
Out of the blue when he takes another glimpse at the little box , it is gone. With a downward glance he can see Ryoma on all fours similar to a kitten. He reprimands the kitten with a stern look “Echizen!” But half of his mind and heart are long gone rejoicing at the sight. He sighs. What’s the point of being elusive now?
“Since you found it… Happy Valentine’s Day, Echizen!” Tezuka bends down and captures his lips. He throws his carefulness to the winds and his breath stops when he feels small hands grip his shirt to pull him closer.
11. Like-minded
It’s been 5 years since Seigaku had won the Nationals. The regulars had fled to different places all over the world, engaging in opposite fields, seeking to accomplish the purpose of their life. Most of them have no tangency with the sport they loved so much.
In the end, only in Ryoma’s eyes had the passion bloomed steadily ever since those days under the train pass. He has fulfilled their dreams, unknowingly of course, but still every victory was the effort of 9 combined rackets, rather than one alone.
Only that the white racket has already left their group behind weeks ago, willingly following the path drawn by the spectacular brilliance of the red one. He has set his mind to go after, either for the reason of playing the game he had sacrificed so much to, or for the person who had in turn set his heart ablaze.
They are bound to meet again on center court.
At the net a strong and calloused hand will wrap itself around an equally calloused one, but smaller. One will convey his happiness in the depths of his hazel eyes, the other in the open smirk that will eventually turn into a genuine smile.
Their game will start with a Twist Serve and will conclude with someone’s loss. But who is irrelevant to them. The congratulation lies in the beads of sweat that slide along their faces, in the hand shake so warn they are not sure they can separate anymore. In the way they look at each other.
Once they find themselves in a secluded corridor, they drop their tennis bags and hungrily thread one around the other, like grip tape wraps itself around the handle of a racket. Hands rest on hips and waist, and mouths trade kisses, as fingers wind themselves together.
In their thoughts they have always been thinking of each other and likewise the years had passed only to remind them to be patient, “Soon, very soon you will meet again.”
12. Can’t this wait?-Sailor’s Au
No boundary has ever defined the yen to walk on earth again, to feel the soil under one’s feet, parched yet reassuring, just the same as no mind has ever been able to grasp the itch of the one who has known no other sound than the shamble of his own feet, to sail on restless waters.
One can even grow hungry for the navy of the waves or the azure of the sky, just as one can hunger for food or light. Ryoma has grown fond to embark in solitary journeys around the island, or just take naps in his boat at dusk. No one could reprimand him and once he was in command of his own direction no stout wind or storm could stand in his way.
So how can one be at ease when there is so much steadfastness in every gesture of his lover?
The carefulness with which he sips his coffee, as if not fearing to spill a single drop, the way he reads the newspaper every morning, the early jog down to town, the restaurant where he has his breakfast every morning, these routines are irritating him to no bounds.
What is so great in buying groceries, in watching TV every evening, in sharing an umbrella when he would have much rather tasted the rain?
“Leave this monotony and come with me.” He once tells Tezuka while they are tenderly nestled in each other’s arms.
“No.” Tezuka’s voice is smooth despite the brashness of his answer.
“Why?”
“I have my life here, a university to graduate from; you know I cannot abandon it.”
“What about afterwards?” he is gazing in Ryoma’s eyes and sees hope, he hates to disappoint that trust.
“Not even then.”
“Che, you are no fun to poke.”
He tries to act tough, to not cry there and then. He slowly lifts from Tezuka’s arms, not sulking, but not wanting to remain there either. As he reaches the backdoor to the garden he whispers: “I will definitely show you the beauty of the sea.” A sparkle in his eyes evinces a fierce determination.
The sun rises lazily, some hours later than he has. He is on the docks; the brackish smell of the sea floods his senses, and somehow it is like he has never walked on earth before. And just this feeling he wants to persuade Tezuka into enjoying life with him.
He sneaks inside and steals glances at Tezuka as the other is reading a book on the armchair. Even the neighbor’s cat can show a wider range of expressions. He envies those who had no one to hold them back and now they are under the starry night far from any visible harbor, entrusting their lives to the sea. He must really love Tezuka to just throw overboard every dream he held dear. How can he be certain Tezuka feels the same way?
“I have decided to leave on a journey to the nearest city.” Ryoma bluntly states.
Tezuka pauses and scrutinizes his face for any sign that he is just fooling around. He sees none.
“Why now? Why so sudden?” Seems like only on these occasions is Tezuka unexpectedly loquacious.
“I don’t know, maybe I am just bored of these stupid walls.” He sees the hurt glint in Tezuka’s eyes, after all this is the house he especially bought for them.”I am going to pack.” And he walks from the room, leaving a flabbergasted Tezuka behind.
In a couple of minutes he is at the doorstep shouldering his bag, hesitating just for a second to properly bid farewell to the older man. It’s not like he doesn’t regret it or anything, the fact is Tezuka wouldn’t sacrifice his future for him, and this is the veracious reality.
As soon as he grabs the handle to permanently put thousands of miles between him and this house he has always felt trapped in, he hesitates for the second time. What will remain always with him are the memories of late mornings in which both were reluctant to let the other slip from his arms, when kisses were like “good morning” and caresses were the only words they knew, when breath to breath they learned each other’s weakness.
He shakes his head, that’s why he shouldn’t be thinking in a moment like this. He opens the door.
On the shifting of days and months, there is one place where time has no meaning. So how can feelings of a ravenous urge for the earth exist? How can one remember birthdays, or inane dates, or even minutes, long gone? Between love for the sea and for Tezuka, which is greater?
Ryoma turns the wheel around. The sea glowers, its waves are biting and harsh, as a final slap in an argument. Ryoma doesn’t bother to peek over his shoulder, he knows too well the whims and the stubbornness of this infinity, and somehow he thought it similar to his, but now he believes otherwise.
Once he docks, he stares right in the eye of the storm, letting the rain wash away the tears, he has made his choice. Strong arms wrap themselves around his; he can recognize this warmth anywhere.
“How did you know?” He asks letting his head rest on a well built chest.
“I had a feeling.”
“Che.”
13. Defying common sense
He lies on his back, his face hidden beneath the brim of his cap, while he hums a slow melody, as long as no one is around to hear it. He doesn’t like it when someone has already occupied his favorite nap place, so he glares until one of them takes notice and quietly convinces the others to flee. It’s like he owns the roof, as he owns the court behind his house. Impressive is the way the other regulars have found his weakness, and earned their right only if they treat him to lunch afterwards.
He tried once to convince his captain to join them, however, he was rewarded with a stern glance and the promise of some other time. If he thinks back he has never once caught Tezuka going to the roof, and this really unnerved him. He would have welcomed him with open arms, had Tezuka desired to leisure in the warm light of the sun. Therefore, the only conclusion he came up with is that buchou is too upright to even indulge himself a moment of rest.
He can’t even picture the older teen lying around and doing nothing, especially since he assigns laps for being lazy during practice. Nonetheless, under that stern look, and expressionless face, he had seen smiles concealed in those hazel eyes. And passion, if not the same love for the game he was patiently taught about.
His eyelids are slowly closing under the pleasant caress of spring rays. The last coherent thought he manages is that maybe Tezuka did come to the roof on these seldom afternoons when he was asleep and wouldn’t see him. He smiles seconds before the sleep overwhelms him.
---
Tezuka opens the door quietly, takes in the almost secluded rooftop, before spotting his kohai, who is peacefully drowsing on the far left corner. He frowns when he notices the dark clouds approaching from afar, yet very close. Someday he needs to reprimand Echizen for always dozing on the cold ground, though he can’t since he himself is being careless.
The cap is unhurriedly removed, and fingers trace the shadow of that smile. At least no one will witness this side of him. As he threads his fingers between black green locks, he does not think of countless hours wasted writing paperwork, he does not think of ways to improve practice, not even the next match he will play with Ryoma; what fills his mind in those sacred moments is that one day he will not have to hold back anymore.
Ryoma shifts in his sleep, groans and opens his eyes, only to find startled ones mirroring his surprise.
“Buchou,” he says with a whisper, grasping the meaning behind those loving gestures, he smirks, “you should have said yes.”
“Echizen!” Tezuka scolds mildly, but against all odds he must agree with Ryoma on this one.
14. The sun of thousand summers-Forest Au (II)
Rain has found a way to prove to him that despite his longing for summer, the nature cannot breathe without it. Every crevice is already profuse in her freshness, as honey tickles in the gluttonous mouth of a bear.
Rain is so arduous that every drop is falling and searing his skin like the sun never has before. He doesn’t need to put his glasses on to see nothing, no one, and his eyes remain sightless for the entire time. He acquiesces to continue all his habits, like there is no difference, no alteration to his heart and to the world. The animals scurry and scud at his presence. He is becoming stern and crabbed, forgetting the word “smile”.
A cave becomes the shelter where he drags his feet at night and dreams, letting memories pour before his eyes. He sometimes gives way to sculpting in wood what he remembers most, a winsome mouth, scintillating golden eyes, downy teal hair that only brushed past shoulders. The outcome isn’t always how he envisioned it, but he still holds it tight to his chest as a compensation for the lost one.
He snaps one of those days and voices his suppressed inquiry: Why give him to me? To no one, to summer, to rain, to a divine force that is above all. As he collapses his vision is begging the sky for an answer. He knows he won’t receive any. For a few seconds the thunder, the flash and the rain hold their breaths, it is just a fragment, a cyan horizon frayed by rays of tangerine dusk.
Is it possible? Can it be…?
Summer slips into every grain and molecule; it becomes the echo of his words past valleys and plain fields. He takes his glasses out of his pocket and puts them on. Someone has cast a shadow over his face, and a lithe hand is taking his own trying to lift him up from the ground.
He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t need to.
With one downward pull the boy sprawls above him, and his strong arms encircle his waist. He inhales the familiar scent and savors the weight on him.
“Ne, Kunimitsu.” Tezuka brushes the mane on his neck as consent to go on.
“I…I wish to stay with you from now on.”
“Ryoma…It is not up to me. I would desire for nothing else, you know that.”
“Is that true Kunimitsu?” Tezuka hears, and knows right away this soothing voice. “Aa”
“Then he is yours to protect.”
“Kunimitsu? I will find a way; there must be a wa-“
Tezuka kisses him, feeling, for the first time in months, whole again. “I will never let you go.”
Author: lyrasoren
Pair: Tezuka and Ryoma
Word count: 7000
Rating: PG-13
Note: Collection of short fics. Special thanks to nekoyoka who beta read this for me.
8. Being stupid together
“Buchou?” Echizen’s voice echoes a little distorted on the line.
“Echizen,” he listens to the breath behind the tone, before continuing, “are you free tomorrow?”
Ryoma stops briefly, a small smile curving the corners of his mouth, “Why, are you taking me on a date?”
“Aa.”
“Then see you tomorrow, buchou.” Both are unwilling to hang up. “Aa, goodnight Echizen.”
“Sleep well.” Their breaths sustain a wordless conversation, and then, “You too.”
*
Ryoma has a vague idea of why he, all of a sudden, feels like his body cannot contain him anymore. The memory is flimsy, yet he vaults over his cat, as soon as he hears the door bell resonate from down the stairs. Only half way the stairs does he recall that he is still draped in his pajamas. He swears under his breath, and vanishes again inside to reappear in a pair of jeans and a stylish white t-shirt.
Kunimitsu stares bemusedly as he shoulders his tennis bag, one brow raised, but the light in his eyes is a give away of his amusement. Ryoma scrutinizes him swiftly, and grins widely, shortly after he recognizes the same strap bundled over his shoulder. He mouths ‘che’, as the door fastens behind him. They fall into place next to each other, conversing about idle and inane details of their lives, like Karupin being picky about food, or the game of go Tezuka played with his grandfather. Minutes later, his pinkie touches his boyfriend’s, and as fingertips intertwine themselves together, they smile at each other, their himitsu.
They don’t choose a fancy restaurant, but end up having their breakfast at the nearby cafeteria, ordering crisp sandwiches, and coffee and hot chocolate, respectively. Ryoma playfully smears his finger with cream and leans forward to draw Tezuka a mustache. The older teen glances at him entranced, and a little curious. “You really do resemble a teacher now.” Tezuka knits his brows together, and promptly erases the trace of his carelessness with the table cloth, much to Ryoma’s dissatisfaction.
Before anyone should comment on their holding hands across the table, they polish off their sandwiches, and head towards the courts in a rather good mood. It is clearly a perfect morning to go out and have fun, so Ryoma suggests that they should race to them and the first to reach will have the first serve.
Ryoma with his record of speed, and short legs outruns Tezuka; though the older captain arrives decently a few seconds behind. “I guess it’s my serve.” Ryoma grins while wiping the sweat from his forehead.
“I ought to punish you Ryoma, before that.” Kunimitsu says, as he approaches him, wraps a hand around his waist and tilts his head, to kiss the nape of his neck, “I should make you run laps until you are out of breath.” He traces the perfect line of his jaw and whispers “Make me work for it, Ryoma.”
Ryoma pushes him aside, unzipping his bag and taking his racket out, and almost sprinting to the base line. “Sweet talker,” Ryoma says under his breath, “you really are trying to distract me.” He gives him a glare. “Prepare yourself Kunimitsu. I won’t let you take this one so easily.” Tezuka just nods, though there is clearly a mischievous smile behind those lenses, like he is planning something else.
They play for hours, every drive and volley, and each drop shot pulling out their potential to the fullest. It’s not like Ryoma can stop himself from playing even if he wanted to, with the determined glance of his buchou. He thanks his inspiration for the little jog earlier in the morning; otherwise his stamina would have run out long ago.
Ryoma has long bridged the gap between them, so playing to and past his limits all day long has its draw back. At sunset, after a total of 14 matches, he pants and his legs hurt like he has run the same amount of kilometers in an hour. He has to grab the net pole to even stay upright. Tezuka looks as if he would still go for another 2 or 3 more games, but he is sure playing all by himself isn’t as fun.
They head for the showers, because being slick with sweat isn’t the greatest of feelings. Ryoma drops himself on the bench, taking his cap off, watching Tezuka undress with the corner of his eyes. He fans himself with it as an attempt to decrease the hot temperature in the room. It isn’t fair how Tezuka can be so natural and composed while he is a pair of boxers short from being naked.
“Kunimitsu…” Ryoma says his voice suggestive, husky with suppressed wanting.
Tezuka turns around, “Are you suggesting we take the shower together?” Ryoma stares at him, his eyes drinking in the soft curves of his muscles, the fine line of his neck, the sharp angle of his collar bones, and he gulps and pouts, because Kunimitsu is being a tease. Tezuka notices it, pads unhurriedly until he is inches from Ryoma. He cups his face, and kisses that pout away. “I am going to the showers now.” He says in a hushed voice that sends shivers down Ryoma’s spine.
“Just go already.” Ryoma manages before a chaste kiss shuts him up. One of these days he will slam Tezuka into the brick wall and ravish him for all these times. Until then, he slowly diverts his eyes.
Tezuka gazes over his shoulder and sees Ryoma's slightly troubled face, something in those eyes just beg Tezuka to be with him in that moment, and this once he thinks he should silence his judgment and listen to his heart. He approaches Ryoma and takes his hand. It’s impossible to not smile when he sees the surprise written all over Ryoma’s face.
9. Elusive
Even when he thinks he has caught a glimpse of the real demeanor of his tennis captain, he just slips through his fingers, as if one can maintain an expressionless face for that long!
It infuriates him to no bounds knowing that what is standing right in front of him is actually human and not a bronze statue. Recently Tezuka’s name keeps popping into his head more and more often, and above all he hardly has time to even look at his captain with all the preparations for Nationals and all.
He wants to move closer to Tezuka, maybe then he will have the best view, to perceive the very minuscule changes in his features. And maybe those lips will stop being drawn into such a straight line. With his inborn sight he should be able to read into anyone’s soul, however when he gives a sidelong glance to Tezuka he sees nothing.
It gives him the creeps to be in the club room after all the regulars have left, just spying on Tezuka. If he is caught he will have to run laps for the rest of his life. But for this he is willing to take the risk.
Tezuka is just filling in files, for the upcoming games or just for the next ranking matches, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to know. It looks boring, so he wonders how he is coping with all this trouble. But wait…Was that a small smile? Ryoma draws closer so he can have a better angle. He can see no reason for his captain to smile, or even to-oh-unless he has already discovered his hiding place. There is nothing to betray him, he is merely a shadow.
Ryoma notices something on the table, like a ribbon , and a card with a name written on it, he kneels and pads across the floor to get near it. He grabs it noiselessly and stares for a few good seconds at his name.
What the hell…Is buchou really going to give this to him? But what is inside, he tries to unwrap it, but someone snatches it from under his nose.
“Echizen!” Ryoma looks up to see displeasure mar Tezuka’s face. Is he going to scold him? Is he going to have to run thousands of laps? Is he going to be kicked out of the club?
He hears a sigh. “Since you already found it… Happy Valentine’s Day, Echizen.” He feels cool lips land on his and he has to do his best not to push Tezuka off the chair and kiss him into the morning.
10. Glimpse
He overhears a conversation he isn’t supposed to. On court C Momoshiro and Echizen are having a match, one he himself ordered, which shouldn’t have turned into a field of confessions all of a sudden. During a sprint and a volley Momoshiro asks in a nonchalant voice a question that has him unconsciously holding his breath.
“Echizen what would you ask for Valentine if you had a girlfriend?” Ryoma keenly looks at him.
“What brought this on?” though he already has a feeling he knows.
“Hmm, you know Ann and I, we-“ he is cut off. “I really don’t want to know.”
“Anyway, just answer already. ” Ryoma sighs.
“Momo-senpai,” He turns his head a little in the direction of Tezuka. “You don’t have to ask them to buy or do anything; you just have to trust their choice.” And he means it. Momo is left speechless.
Tezuka doesn’t give any signs that he knows Ryoma is glancing at him more than is necessary, but in turn he finds himself moving a little too close whenever he is in his kohai’s presence. If what Ryoma said is true then he has to just listen to his instincts, for the first time in his life.
He doesn’t ask anyone’s help, like many would have done in his position. He thinks he knows Ryoma quite well by now. And this is his actual exam.
His choice, ka? He ends up with 2 tickets to the Australian Open, and thinks he has figured out the universe.
Tomorrow comes unforeseen, swift for his liking, bringing an unwanted commotion with it. Girls, chocolate, and the gaping and goggling of some accepted or declined love. The gregarious and rowdy fan clubs are trying to ambush them at every possible corner.
Tezuka barely has time to hear his thoughts. He excuses himself and retires in the clubroom where a pile of paper work is waiting for him. He puts the present on the table, and steels himself for a few tedious hours. Within seconds the first name he puts on the list for ranking matches is of course Ryoma’s.
No matter how much he tries to concentrate, something catches his eye time and time again. Some kind of urgency hovers above him to just abandon what he is doing and just aim for the boy. His mouth twitches within a millimeter of resembling a smile. He dares not follow this thought. He knows that if he as much as gives in to his whims he will have to spend the entire evening writing.
Out of the blue when he takes another glimpse at the little box , it is gone. With a downward glance he can see Ryoma on all fours similar to a kitten. He reprimands the kitten with a stern look “Echizen!” But half of his mind and heart are long gone rejoicing at the sight. He sighs. What’s the point of being elusive now?
“Since you found it… Happy Valentine’s Day, Echizen!” Tezuka bends down and captures his lips. He throws his carefulness to the winds and his breath stops when he feels small hands grip his shirt to pull him closer.
11. Like-minded
It’s been 5 years since Seigaku had won the Nationals. The regulars had fled to different places all over the world, engaging in opposite fields, seeking to accomplish the purpose of their life. Most of them have no tangency with the sport they loved so much.
In the end, only in Ryoma’s eyes had the passion bloomed steadily ever since those days under the train pass. He has fulfilled their dreams, unknowingly of course, but still every victory was the effort of 9 combined rackets, rather than one alone.
Only that the white racket has already left their group behind weeks ago, willingly following the path drawn by the spectacular brilliance of the red one. He has set his mind to go after, either for the reason of playing the game he had sacrificed so much to, or for the person who had in turn set his heart ablaze.
They are bound to meet again on center court.
At the net a strong and calloused hand will wrap itself around an equally calloused one, but smaller. One will convey his happiness in the depths of his hazel eyes, the other in the open smirk that will eventually turn into a genuine smile.
Their game will start with a Twist Serve and will conclude with someone’s loss. But who is irrelevant to them. The congratulation lies in the beads of sweat that slide along their faces, in the hand shake so warn they are not sure they can separate anymore. In the way they look at each other.
Once they find themselves in a secluded corridor, they drop their tennis bags and hungrily thread one around the other, like grip tape wraps itself around the handle of a racket. Hands rest on hips and waist, and mouths trade kisses, as fingers wind themselves together.
In their thoughts they have always been thinking of each other and likewise the years had passed only to remind them to be patient, “Soon, very soon you will meet again.”
12. Can’t this wait?-Sailor’s Au
No boundary has ever defined the yen to walk on earth again, to feel the soil under one’s feet, parched yet reassuring, just the same as no mind has ever been able to grasp the itch of the one who has known no other sound than the shamble of his own feet, to sail on restless waters.
One can even grow hungry for the navy of the waves or the azure of the sky, just as one can hunger for food or light. Ryoma has grown fond to embark in solitary journeys around the island, or just take naps in his boat at dusk. No one could reprimand him and once he was in command of his own direction no stout wind or storm could stand in his way.
So how can one be at ease when there is so much steadfastness in every gesture of his lover?
The carefulness with which he sips his coffee, as if not fearing to spill a single drop, the way he reads the newspaper every morning, the early jog down to town, the restaurant where he has his breakfast every morning, these routines are irritating him to no bounds.
What is so great in buying groceries, in watching TV every evening, in sharing an umbrella when he would have much rather tasted the rain?
“Leave this monotony and come with me.” He once tells Tezuka while they are tenderly nestled in each other’s arms.
“No.” Tezuka’s voice is smooth despite the brashness of his answer.
“Why?”
“I have my life here, a university to graduate from; you know I cannot abandon it.”
“What about afterwards?” he is gazing in Ryoma’s eyes and sees hope, he hates to disappoint that trust.
“Not even then.”
“Che, you are no fun to poke.”
He tries to act tough, to not cry there and then. He slowly lifts from Tezuka’s arms, not sulking, but not wanting to remain there either. As he reaches the backdoor to the garden he whispers: “I will definitely show you the beauty of the sea.” A sparkle in his eyes evinces a fierce determination.
The sun rises lazily, some hours later than he has. He is on the docks; the brackish smell of the sea floods his senses, and somehow it is like he has never walked on earth before. And just this feeling he wants to persuade Tezuka into enjoying life with him.
He sneaks inside and steals glances at Tezuka as the other is reading a book on the armchair. Even the neighbor’s cat can show a wider range of expressions. He envies those who had no one to hold them back and now they are under the starry night far from any visible harbor, entrusting their lives to the sea. He must really love Tezuka to just throw overboard every dream he held dear. How can he be certain Tezuka feels the same way?
“I have decided to leave on a journey to the nearest city.” Ryoma bluntly states.
Tezuka pauses and scrutinizes his face for any sign that he is just fooling around. He sees none.
“Why now? Why so sudden?” Seems like only on these occasions is Tezuka unexpectedly loquacious.
“I don’t know, maybe I am just bored of these stupid walls.” He sees the hurt glint in Tezuka’s eyes, after all this is the house he especially bought for them.”I am going to pack.” And he walks from the room, leaving a flabbergasted Tezuka behind.
In a couple of minutes he is at the doorstep shouldering his bag, hesitating just for a second to properly bid farewell to the older man. It’s not like he doesn’t regret it or anything, the fact is Tezuka wouldn’t sacrifice his future for him, and this is the veracious reality.
As soon as he grabs the handle to permanently put thousands of miles between him and this house he has always felt trapped in, he hesitates for the second time. What will remain always with him are the memories of late mornings in which both were reluctant to let the other slip from his arms, when kisses were like “good morning” and caresses were the only words they knew, when breath to breath they learned each other’s weakness.
He shakes his head, that’s why he shouldn’t be thinking in a moment like this. He opens the door.
On the shifting of days and months, there is one place where time has no meaning. So how can feelings of a ravenous urge for the earth exist? How can one remember birthdays, or inane dates, or even minutes, long gone? Between love for the sea and for Tezuka, which is greater?
Ryoma turns the wheel around. The sea glowers, its waves are biting and harsh, as a final slap in an argument. Ryoma doesn’t bother to peek over his shoulder, he knows too well the whims and the stubbornness of this infinity, and somehow he thought it similar to his, but now he believes otherwise.
Once he docks, he stares right in the eye of the storm, letting the rain wash away the tears, he has made his choice. Strong arms wrap themselves around his; he can recognize this warmth anywhere.
“How did you know?” He asks letting his head rest on a well built chest.
“I had a feeling.”
“Che.”
13. Defying common sense
He lies on his back, his face hidden beneath the brim of his cap, while he hums a slow melody, as long as no one is around to hear it. He doesn’t like it when someone has already occupied his favorite nap place, so he glares until one of them takes notice and quietly convinces the others to flee. It’s like he owns the roof, as he owns the court behind his house. Impressive is the way the other regulars have found his weakness, and earned their right only if they treat him to lunch afterwards.
He tried once to convince his captain to join them, however, he was rewarded with a stern glance and the promise of some other time. If he thinks back he has never once caught Tezuka going to the roof, and this really unnerved him. He would have welcomed him with open arms, had Tezuka desired to leisure in the warm light of the sun. Therefore, the only conclusion he came up with is that buchou is too upright to even indulge himself a moment of rest.
He can’t even picture the older teen lying around and doing nothing, especially since he assigns laps for being lazy during practice. Nonetheless, under that stern look, and expressionless face, he had seen smiles concealed in those hazel eyes. And passion, if not the same love for the game he was patiently taught about.
His eyelids are slowly closing under the pleasant caress of spring rays. The last coherent thought he manages is that maybe Tezuka did come to the roof on these seldom afternoons when he was asleep and wouldn’t see him. He smiles seconds before the sleep overwhelms him.
---
Tezuka opens the door quietly, takes in the almost secluded rooftop, before spotting his kohai, who is peacefully drowsing on the far left corner. He frowns when he notices the dark clouds approaching from afar, yet very close. Someday he needs to reprimand Echizen for always dozing on the cold ground, though he can’t since he himself is being careless.
The cap is unhurriedly removed, and fingers trace the shadow of that smile. At least no one will witness this side of him. As he threads his fingers between black green locks, he does not think of countless hours wasted writing paperwork, he does not think of ways to improve practice, not even the next match he will play with Ryoma; what fills his mind in those sacred moments is that one day he will not have to hold back anymore.
Ryoma shifts in his sleep, groans and opens his eyes, only to find startled ones mirroring his surprise.
“Buchou,” he says with a whisper, grasping the meaning behind those loving gestures, he smirks, “you should have said yes.”
“Echizen!” Tezuka scolds mildly, but against all odds he must agree with Ryoma on this one.
14. The sun of thousand summers-Forest Au (II)
Rain has found a way to prove to him that despite his longing for summer, the nature cannot breathe without it. Every crevice is already profuse in her freshness, as honey tickles in the gluttonous mouth of a bear.
Rain is so arduous that every drop is falling and searing his skin like the sun never has before. He doesn’t need to put his glasses on to see nothing, no one, and his eyes remain sightless for the entire time. He acquiesces to continue all his habits, like there is no difference, no alteration to his heart and to the world. The animals scurry and scud at his presence. He is becoming stern and crabbed, forgetting the word “smile”.
A cave becomes the shelter where he drags his feet at night and dreams, letting memories pour before his eyes. He sometimes gives way to sculpting in wood what he remembers most, a winsome mouth, scintillating golden eyes, downy teal hair that only brushed past shoulders. The outcome isn’t always how he envisioned it, but he still holds it tight to his chest as a compensation for the lost one.
He snaps one of those days and voices his suppressed inquiry: Why give him to me? To no one, to summer, to rain, to a divine force that is above all. As he collapses his vision is begging the sky for an answer. He knows he won’t receive any. For a few seconds the thunder, the flash and the rain hold their breaths, it is just a fragment, a cyan horizon frayed by rays of tangerine dusk.
Is it possible? Can it be…?
Summer slips into every grain and molecule; it becomes the echo of his words past valleys and plain fields. He takes his glasses out of his pocket and puts them on. Someone has cast a shadow over his face, and a lithe hand is taking his own trying to lift him up from the ground.
He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t need to.
With one downward pull the boy sprawls above him, and his strong arms encircle his waist. He inhales the familiar scent and savors the weight on him.
“Ne, Kunimitsu.” Tezuka brushes the mane on his neck as consent to go on.
“I…I wish to stay with you from now on.”
“Ryoma…It is not up to me. I would desire for nothing else, you know that.”
“Is that true Kunimitsu?” Tezuka hears, and knows right away this soothing voice. “Aa”
“Then he is yours to protect.”
“Kunimitsu? I will find a way; there must be a wa-“
Tezuka kisses him, feeling, for the first time in months, whole again. “I will never let you go.”