Indefinite
Title: Goodbye (Never really mine)
Chapter: V
Author: lyrasoren
Pair: Ryoma and Tezuka
Words: 1800
Rating: PG-13
“Hey.” Ryoma says as he nuzzles his face in Tezuka’s hair. Tezuka can only close his eyes and let him self be assaulted by all these sensations at once. Ryoma’s unique smell of grapes and spring, tousled hair tickling softly his ear, this warmth that has nothing to do with the proximities of their skins. No matter how many times he experiences these impressions, each morning they are renewed.
“Good morning.” He says and tenderly captures Ryoma’s lips.
“What are you working at?” Ryoma leans and peeks over his shoulder. “Hmm, seems rather complicated.” Tezuka inwardly smiles, as he guesses the effort Ryoma puts into waking up this early: and trying not being late.
“This is my book. “ Tezuka tries not to chuckle at the open confusion adorned on Ryoma’s face.
“Oh.” He finally takes a seat next to him, leaning his head on his lover. “Read for me.”
Tezuka complies. Ryoma listens for a while before he falls asleep, leaning all his weight on Tezuka’s shoulder, who decides to indulge it this once. Half an hour of sleep Ryoma will appreciate.
**
It is only the next morning, while he is on his way to the bookshop that his world turns upside down. Ryuzaki-sensei calls him, only to ask if he knows anything about some tennis scholarship Ryoma has received. No, he doesn’t know anything about it. And, of course he will ask his kohai as soon as he sees him. With that the phone call ends. So does any hope Tezuka has ever put in their relationship?
Ryoma acts like nothing happened. As usually he helps Tezuka arrange the books, stealing kisses, touching his skin at every possible occasion, and his voice doesn’t betray anything. Is it just him, or does Ryoma seem to be more opened today? No, he really is more forward. He doesn’t want to let go of Tezuka’s hand, and is 5 centimeters closer, invading Tezuka’s personal space. He doesn’t separate from Tezuka’s side, not even when he is discussing with the owner.
“Has anything happened?” Tezuka eventually gathers his courage.
“No. Why?” Ryoma promptly responds, his eyes wide and unsettling.
“You are acting out of character. “ He breathes out. Please Ryoma don’t lie.
“No I am not. “ Ryoma averts his eyes.
“I know about the scholarship.” Tezuka reveals, and Ryoma glances at him in shock. “When were you planning to tell me that you are leaving to America again?” He can feel his fury mounting, he tries to calm down.
“I am not leaving. I declined their offer.” Tezuka is torn between relief and the real implication of Ryoma’s statement.
“You have to accept. A chance like this isn’t offered to many. You can’t waste it.” He hears himself talk, but the words come out from past memories, from what his parents once instructed him.
“Iyada. I don’t want to leave you!” Ryoma’s eyes are fierce and determined, his hands curled in white fists, containing himself not to cry, to despair.
“Let’s be reasonable. I am the one who doesn’t want you around.” Every word is hurting his eardrum; he has never been dishonest to Ryoma before.
“No. You don’t mean that. It’s not true!” This is their first fight, Tezuka thinks, the first proof that their relationship wasn’t meant to be. He can’t take back what he said. This is the only choice.
“I know what you want to do. You plan to sacrifice again for my sake. I won’t leave!” Ryoma obstinately concludes.
“I don’t want to see you! What other proof do you need?”
“Fine. I will accept it. I never thought you can be such a coward!” He slams the door to the bookshop.
What we kept promising to each other, will vanish with the setting of the sun. It was never meant to last.
Tezuka should have known that what they had, defied every law of gravity, like walking on a tight rope stretched out between dream and reality. He cannot ground Ryoma, not when he is meant to fly.
**
He has the certainty Ryoma is no longer in Japan. He hasn’t registered for any tournament, and it’s been three weeks. It was one of their promises to turn pros together. Ryoma is still holding onto that illusion. Why can’t he? Because he has lost that right the instant he chased Ryoma away. He hasn’t uttered a word ever since. It appears that words hold a power greater than any action. Lethal. Even if he wanted nothing more than to help Ryoma, he betrayed every moment they have ever shared together.
He should have never engaged himself in a relationship that he opposed to from the start. More vehemently when the one he corrupted was two years younger. Should have listen to his wisdom and not convert their bond into something entirely different. Now the damaged is beyond repair. Not that he will ever see Ryoma again. He was supposed to mold and shape his character, to prepare him for life, and not be the one to offer a false ground.
He learned to breathe with Ryoma. And now that he is gone, his throat constricts, all the intakes of air cutting like razor blades. Ryoma had engraved his name all over his skin, and now he feels naked, even with the added layer of his clothes. He was granted the secret of Ryoma’s texture, of his smell, his smiles, and his love, and in turn he gave himself completely. Now he is empty. Ryoma left behind only memories that haunt Tezuka’s dreams. Being awake is assessing a loss. Tezuka dreams what he cannot forget, who he still loves, who he still wants beside him.
**
There are days when his eyes deceit him, when they conjure images he desires with all his heart. Even today, while he arranges the books on shelves upon shelves with half a mind, he can see Ryoma’s outline watching him from the park bench they shared. He understands immediately that it is just an illusion. He hasn’t slept for days. Thus he is just tired. This Ryoma from outside the windows of the bookshop follows his every move, like a second shadow, white Fila cap in place to hide his clear golden eyes.
As days pass, he becomes aware that he recovers; the wounds begin to heal, only knowing that somehow Ryoma is with him. It’s a disconcerting thought that he can feed his soul with a delusion. He tries to avoid wandering near that window, however, on his way home he runs to the park, but no one is there. He is beginning to think that he is loosing his mind. In a short while this place will lose its meaning. He will be in his third year of high school, preparing for his final exams, for future tournaments, engrossing in paperwork and taking his mind off the past. School year begins in a tandem with autumn. Summer is ending…
**
They attain their fist victories at the fin of September. The team is knit together as one and is storming almost ravenous after dreams and memories that had led to this last year. They all seem to know that to him it will mean only another promise whispered to the winds, yet that he is willing to keep. He has come to terms with their attempts to lighten him up. Far too many times. Still no one blames him. He wanted them to.
The sun’s light slowly fades in the dim of the evening. The club room is bathed in scarlet luminosity. His glasses glint, shadowing his eyes. It’s past the hours of training and presumably everyone has headed home. He has not. He sits on a bench, bent forward, musing. He clenches his arms around a tennis ball.
He hadn’t done this since junior high. And even then, it was a matter of making the right decision, his arm over awakening Echizen’s latent talent. It had been necessary that time, as it was then, and as it is now.
What is there to decide?
Surprisingly his actions led only to the hurting of others. His hands tremble over the indentations of the ball. He is left with tons of images that relate themselves to this insignificant object. He had given same yellowish-green symbol to Ryoma as a challenge. Yesterday, a packet came with this same ball, written in permanent marker, a day, an hour and no place. That brat. Tezuka stares at the message imprinted on it: Saturday, 3 pm. Come alone. I’ll bring the balls. Tomorrow. He already knows his answer.
**
Saturday. He has his day full of essays and has planned to visit his grandfather later that day. At 2 o’clock he is already purposefully walking the route that leads to his parents’ house. He neglected them now with his studies and the intense training. It took them great deal of understanding when Tezuka took in tennis. They had encouraged him despite their misconceptions regarding sportsmen in general.
Apparently only his mother is at home. As soon as she sees him, she knows. How nothing will ever escape her eyes.
“Kunimitsu, needn’t you be somewhere else?” His eyes widen a slight fraction, enough to show he is surprised. Otherwise his face is blank of emotion.
“Mother…” He begins, yet the words die in his throat. What should he say? ”I shouldn’t.” I have no right.
“Kunimitsu, everything happens with a purpose. And things should be done properly, not half-heartedly. Your tennis bag says otherwise. You need to be where you’re supposed to be. “She admonishes.
“What if I don’t deserve to be there?” He voices his thoughts.
His mother measures him with a look, quite knowingly. Then comes and kisses him on the forehead. “You’ll do fine.” As an afterthought, she ruffles his hair.” You won’t know unless you go.” She nudges him forward, as if for the first time encouraging him to make his first steps.
**
Haruno clay courts, he concludes, is a good place indeed. He has known it ever since he has seen his own words being thrown at him this time, an echo past years. He never thought he will hear them again. His mother knew him well. In that first second he made his decision. The rest of the seconds were wasted in trying to change it, like trying to alter the course of a river. He had never known how to convey his feelings using words. Tennis is something entirely different. His hand is already anticipating the familiar grip of his racket. As he walks along the diamond shaped tennis fence, the white Fila cap is already in his field of vision. He enters the courts. He is ready.
Chapter: V
Author: lyrasoren
Pair: Ryoma and Tezuka
Words: 1800
Rating: PG-13
“Hey.” Ryoma says as he nuzzles his face in Tezuka’s hair. Tezuka can only close his eyes and let him self be assaulted by all these sensations at once. Ryoma’s unique smell of grapes and spring, tousled hair tickling softly his ear, this warmth that has nothing to do with the proximities of their skins. No matter how many times he experiences these impressions, each morning they are renewed.
“Good morning.” He says and tenderly captures Ryoma’s lips.
“What are you working at?” Ryoma leans and peeks over his shoulder. “Hmm, seems rather complicated.” Tezuka inwardly smiles, as he guesses the effort Ryoma puts into waking up this early: and trying not being late.
“This is my book. “ Tezuka tries not to chuckle at the open confusion adorned on Ryoma’s face.
“Oh.” He finally takes a seat next to him, leaning his head on his lover. “Read for me.”
Tezuka complies. Ryoma listens for a while before he falls asleep, leaning all his weight on Tezuka’s shoulder, who decides to indulge it this once. Half an hour of sleep Ryoma will appreciate.
**
It is only the next morning, while he is on his way to the bookshop that his world turns upside down. Ryuzaki-sensei calls him, only to ask if he knows anything about some tennis scholarship Ryoma has received. No, he doesn’t know anything about it. And, of course he will ask his kohai as soon as he sees him. With that the phone call ends. So does any hope Tezuka has ever put in their relationship?
Ryoma acts like nothing happened. As usually he helps Tezuka arrange the books, stealing kisses, touching his skin at every possible occasion, and his voice doesn’t betray anything. Is it just him, or does Ryoma seem to be more opened today? No, he really is more forward. He doesn’t want to let go of Tezuka’s hand, and is 5 centimeters closer, invading Tezuka’s personal space. He doesn’t separate from Tezuka’s side, not even when he is discussing with the owner.
“Has anything happened?” Tezuka eventually gathers his courage.
“No. Why?” Ryoma promptly responds, his eyes wide and unsettling.
“You are acting out of character. “ He breathes out. Please Ryoma don’t lie.
“No I am not. “ Ryoma averts his eyes.
“I know about the scholarship.” Tezuka reveals, and Ryoma glances at him in shock. “When were you planning to tell me that you are leaving to America again?” He can feel his fury mounting, he tries to calm down.
“I am not leaving. I declined their offer.” Tezuka is torn between relief and the real implication of Ryoma’s statement.
“You have to accept. A chance like this isn’t offered to many. You can’t waste it.” He hears himself talk, but the words come out from past memories, from what his parents once instructed him.
“Iyada. I don’t want to leave you!” Ryoma’s eyes are fierce and determined, his hands curled in white fists, containing himself not to cry, to despair.
“Let’s be reasonable. I am the one who doesn’t want you around.” Every word is hurting his eardrum; he has never been dishonest to Ryoma before.
“No. You don’t mean that. It’s not true!” This is their first fight, Tezuka thinks, the first proof that their relationship wasn’t meant to be. He can’t take back what he said. This is the only choice.
“I know what you want to do. You plan to sacrifice again for my sake. I won’t leave!” Ryoma obstinately concludes.
“I don’t want to see you! What other proof do you need?”
“Fine. I will accept it. I never thought you can be such a coward!” He slams the door to the bookshop.
What we kept promising to each other, will vanish with the setting of the sun. It was never meant to last.
Tezuka should have known that what they had, defied every law of gravity, like walking on a tight rope stretched out between dream and reality. He cannot ground Ryoma, not when he is meant to fly.
**
He has the certainty Ryoma is no longer in Japan. He hasn’t registered for any tournament, and it’s been three weeks. It was one of their promises to turn pros together. Ryoma is still holding onto that illusion. Why can’t he? Because he has lost that right the instant he chased Ryoma away. He hasn’t uttered a word ever since. It appears that words hold a power greater than any action. Lethal. Even if he wanted nothing more than to help Ryoma, he betrayed every moment they have ever shared together.
He should have never engaged himself in a relationship that he opposed to from the start. More vehemently when the one he corrupted was two years younger. Should have listen to his wisdom and not convert their bond into something entirely different. Now the damaged is beyond repair. Not that he will ever see Ryoma again. He was supposed to mold and shape his character, to prepare him for life, and not be the one to offer a false ground.
He learned to breathe with Ryoma. And now that he is gone, his throat constricts, all the intakes of air cutting like razor blades. Ryoma had engraved his name all over his skin, and now he feels naked, even with the added layer of his clothes. He was granted the secret of Ryoma’s texture, of his smell, his smiles, and his love, and in turn he gave himself completely. Now he is empty. Ryoma left behind only memories that haunt Tezuka’s dreams. Being awake is assessing a loss. Tezuka dreams what he cannot forget, who he still loves, who he still wants beside him.
**
There are days when his eyes deceit him, when they conjure images he desires with all his heart. Even today, while he arranges the books on shelves upon shelves with half a mind, he can see Ryoma’s outline watching him from the park bench they shared. He understands immediately that it is just an illusion. He hasn’t slept for days. Thus he is just tired. This Ryoma from outside the windows of the bookshop follows his every move, like a second shadow, white Fila cap in place to hide his clear golden eyes.
As days pass, he becomes aware that he recovers; the wounds begin to heal, only knowing that somehow Ryoma is with him. It’s a disconcerting thought that he can feed his soul with a delusion. He tries to avoid wandering near that window, however, on his way home he runs to the park, but no one is there. He is beginning to think that he is loosing his mind. In a short while this place will lose its meaning. He will be in his third year of high school, preparing for his final exams, for future tournaments, engrossing in paperwork and taking his mind off the past. School year begins in a tandem with autumn. Summer is ending…
**
They attain their fist victories at the fin of September. The team is knit together as one and is storming almost ravenous after dreams and memories that had led to this last year. They all seem to know that to him it will mean only another promise whispered to the winds, yet that he is willing to keep. He has come to terms with their attempts to lighten him up. Far too many times. Still no one blames him. He wanted them to.
The sun’s light slowly fades in the dim of the evening. The club room is bathed in scarlet luminosity. His glasses glint, shadowing his eyes. It’s past the hours of training and presumably everyone has headed home. He has not. He sits on a bench, bent forward, musing. He clenches his arms around a tennis ball.
He hadn’t done this since junior high. And even then, it was a matter of making the right decision, his arm over awakening Echizen’s latent talent. It had been necessary that time, as it was then, and as it is now.
What is there to decide?
Surprisingly his actions led only to the hurting of others. His hands tremble over the indentations of the ball. He is left with tons of images that relate themselves to this insignificant object. He had given same yellowish-green symbol to Ryoma as a challenge. Yesterday, a packet came with this same ball, written in permanent marker, a day, an hour and no place. That brat. Tezuka stares at the message imprinted on it: Saturday, 3 pm. Come alone. I’ll bring the balls. Tomorrow. He already knows his answer.
**
Saturday. He has his day full of essays and has planned to visit his grandfather later that day. At 2 o’clock he is already purposefully walking the route that leads to his parents’ house. He neglected them now with his studies and the intense training. It took them great deal of understanding when Tezuka took in tennis. They had encouraged him despite their misconceptions regarding sportsmen in general.
Apparently only his mother is at home. As soon as she sees him, she knows. How nothing will ever escape her eyes.
“Kunimitsu, needn’t you be somewhere else?” His eyes widen a slight fraction, enough to show he is surprised. Otherwise his face is blank of emotion.
“Mother…” He begins, yet the words die in his throat. What should he say? ”I shouldn’t.” I have no right.
“Kunimitsu, everything happens with a purpose. And things should be done properly, not half-heartedly. Your tennis bag says otherwise. You need to be where you’re supposed to be. “She admonishes.
“What if I don’t deserve to be there?” He voices his thoughts.
His mother measures him with a look, quite knowingly. Then comes and kisses him on the forehead. “You’ll do fine.” As an afterthought, she ruffles his hair.” You won’t know unless you go.” She nudges him forward, as if for the first time encouraging him to make his first steps.
**
Haruno clay courts, he concludes, is a good place indeed. He has known it ever since he has seen his own words being thrown at him this time, an echo past years. He never thought he will hear them again. His mother knew him well. In that first second he made his decision. The rest of the seconds were wasted in trying to change it, like trying to alter the course of a river. He had never known how to convey his feelings using words. Tennis is something entirely different. His hand is already anticipating the familiar grip of his racket. As he walks along the diamond shaped tennis fence, the white Fila cap is already in his field of vision. He enters the courts. He is ready.