PoT: drabbles
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairing/s: vaguely implied Fujicest|TezuRyo|pre-TezuRyo (canon level, ie gen)
Rating: PG
Continuity: varied, spoilers for the later parts of the anime
Notes: random drabbles, unconnected
prompt from ego_elite
He likes to be alone. It's easier, without expectations or the weight of eyes on him; he remembers telling Eiji that he likes time to 'be himself.' He can wear the masks he chooses.
There are always masks. Shuusuke does not like to be defenceless, least of all against himself. He likes his cacti for their spines, for the aesthetic pleasure and visible threat, for the way they protect themselves. They barely need him at all, and sometimes he thinks to wish that he could be the same way.
He doesn't like to be alone, when the empty house echoes with the sound of childish voices long gone. Shuusuke closes his fingers around a phantom hand and puts on a bright smile, asking the empty air what he should do tonight. It has been three months since Yuuta has come home at all.
prompt from angelacaduca
everything/you think you'll ever need/sitting in the seat beside you
Ryoma hates flying. It's boring and cramped, and the air makes his throat feel dry and scratchy. He slouches down in the seat, forcibly relaxing all his muscles and trying not to think about how much longer he has to wait until he can stretch, breathe, run.
Five days until the tournament begins, three weeks until the next plane, twelve until they return to Japan. Ryoma misses Karupin already; he shakes the little plastic cup the flight attendant had poured his Ponta into, rattling the ice. Beside him, Tezuka looks up from his book, one finger marking his place. Ryoma shrugs irritably, then shakes his head.
"Here." Tezuka passes him a bottle of water. When Ryoma twists off the cap, droplets scatter over his hand, cold and trembling with his heartbeat. He scowls and wipes his fingers on his shirt. Tezuka's eyes on him have something of exasperation in them, but there is fondness there as well. Ryoma takes comfort in the familiar.
When Ryoma borrows his shoulder for a pillow, Tezuka sighs but doesn't object.
prompt from regulusa
one nerve remaining, waiting on one look/have you got it?/have you got it in you?
Tezuka can see the look on Oishi's face, the way Momoshiro's hands clench white-knuckled on the railing. The air on this side of the court is thin and tense, as though they are all holding each breath for as long as possible.
Echizen's body hits the court, small and childish-looking, the white and blue of his shirt almost transparent with sweat. It is a long moment before he pushes himself upright, and Tezuka can see the trembling in his arms even from this distance. There is a fresh graze on his knee, blood smeared thin and reddish-brown down the side of his calf. At the other end of the court, Yukimura looks fragile and entirely unruffled. It is not a surprise to anyone that the tournament should come down to this.
Echizen looks thin and hunched as he returns to the baseline. Tezuka feels pulled taut, as though they are all waiting for something to snap. He exhales, trying to breathe out tension as Inui mutters behind him. Echizen is carrying all of their hopes, again; Tezuka closes his fingers on nothing, slipping the hand into his jacket pocket. No matter what happens, he will not look away from this match.
post-ep145-
After Echizen leaves, half-smiling with relief and satisfaction, Tezuka sits at his desk and stares at his textbooks. He has missed work still to make up, and summer assignments to complete.
He cannot stop thinking about the way Echizen had looked up at him so very desperately, kneeling there on the floor with his arms held tight to his body. Tezuka wonders whether Echizen has really changed so very much in the few weeks he has been away; the kouhai he remembers would have protested sooner, public place or no public place. The kouhai he remembers would not have smiled that way, leaving.
Tezuka squeezes his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. His hand seems to ache with phantom pain, and he knows that he will never forget the sight of Echizen sprawled on the court, staring up at him in disbelief. He wonders how long it will take him to remember how to be Echizen's captain again.
post-ep171-
there and now, I'm looking at tomorrow/I really want to hear your voice tonight
It's late, and dark. Ryoma lies on top of the covers and stares up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the occasional sounds from downstairs as his mother and cousin attempt to put his father to bed. Nanjiroh's drunk again, and if Ryoma didn't know better he might think this actually mattered to the old man.
He can't sleep. It's too hot, Ryoma thinks, pushing Karupin away for the third time as the cat attempts to climb onto his chest. New York will probably be just as bad; Inui-senpai had read out the international weather forecast in the locker room earlier.
He can't sleep, and it's not something stupid like nerves. Ryoma scowls up at the invisible ceiling, clenching his fist around a non-existent racquet grip. Then he flops over onto his side, staring at the dim shape of the phone on the night table. He's not quite sure why he ends up reaching for it, or why it's so easy to remember the number, but Ryoma can feel himself relaxing as he listens to the rings.
He doesn't think to wonder whether he is waking Tezuka, and when Tezuka answers his voice is as calm as if he has been waiting for the call.
Pairing/s: vaguely implied Fujicest|TezuRyo|pre-TezuRyo (canon level, ie gen)
Rating: PG
Continuity: varied, spoilers for the later parts of the anime
Notes: random drabbles, unconnected
prompt from ego_elite
He likes to be alone. It's easier, without expectations or the weight of eyes on him; he remembers telling Eiji that he likes time to 'be himself.' He can wear the masks he chooses.
There are always masks. Shuusuke does not like to be defenceless, least of all against himself. He likes his cacti for their spines, for the aesthetic pleasure and visible threat, for the way they protect themselves. They barely need him at all, and sometimes he thinks to wish that he could be the same way.
He doesn't like to be alone, when the empty house echoes with the sound of childish voices long gone. Shuusuke closes his fingers around a phantom hand and puts on a bright smile, asking the empty air what he should do tonight. It has been three months since Yuuta has come home at all.
prompt from angelacaduca
everything/you think you'll ever need/sitting in the seat beside you
Ryoma hates flying. It's boring and cramped, and the air makes his throat feel dry and scratchy. He slouches down in the seat, forcibly relaxing all his muscles and trying not to think about how much longer he has to wait until he can stretch, breathe, run.
Five days until the tournament begins, three weeks until the next plane, twelve until they return to Japan. Ryoma misses Karupin already; he shakes the little plastic cup the flight attendant had poured his Ponta into, rattling the ice. Beside him, Tezuka looks up from his book, one finger marking his place. Ryoma shrugs irritably, then shakes his head.
"Here." Tezuka passes him a bottle of water. When Ryoma twists off the cap, droplets scatter over his hand, cold and trembling with his heartbeat. He scowls and wipes his fingers on his shirt. Tezuka's eyes on him have something of exasperation in them, but there is fondness there as well. Ryoma takes comfort in the familiar.
When Ryoma borrows his shoulder for a pillow, Tezuka sighs but doesn't object.
prompt from regulusa
one nerve remaining, waiting on one look/have you got it?/have you got it in you?
Tezuka can see the look on Oishi's face, the way Momoshiro's hands clench white-knuckled on the railing. The air on this side of the court is thin and tense, as though they are all holding each breath for as long as possible.
Echizen's body hits the court, small and childish-looking, the white and blue of his shirt almost transparent with sweat. It is a long moment before he pushes himself upright, and Tezuka can see the trembling in his arms even from this distance. There is a fresh graze on his knee, blood smeared thin and reddish-brown down the side of his calf. At the other end of the court, Yukimura looks fragile and entirely unruffled. It is not a surprise to anyone that the tournament should come down to this.
Echizen looks thin and hunched as he returns to the baseline. Tezuka feels pulled taut, as though they are all waiting for something to snap. He exhales, trying to breathe out tension as Inui mutters behind him. Echizen is carrying all of their hopes, again; Tezuka closes his fingers on nothing, slipping the hand into his jacket pocket. No matter what happens, he will not look away from this match.
post-ep145-
After Echizen leaves, half-smiling with relief and satisfaction, Tezuka sits at his desk and stares at his textbooks. He has missed work still to make up, and summer assignments to complete.
He cannot stop thinking about the way Echizen had looked up at him so very desperately, kneeling there on the floor with his arms held tight to his body. Tezuka wonders whether Echizen has really changed so very much in the few weeks he has been away; the kouhai he remembers would have protested sooner, public place or no public place. The kouhai he remembers would not have smiled that way, leaving.
Tezuka squeezes his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. His hand seems to ache with phantom pain, and he knows that he will never forget the sight of Echizen sprawled on the court, staring up at him in disbelief. He wonders how long it will take him to remember how to be Echizen's captain again.
post-ep171-
there and now, I'm looking at tomorrow/I really want to hear your voice tonight
It's late, and dark. Ryoma lies on top of the covers and stares up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the occasional sounds from downstairs as his mother and cousin attempt to put his father to bed. Nanjiroh's drunk again, and if Ryoma didn't know better he might think this actually mattered to the old man.
He can't sleep. It's too hot, Ryoma thinks, pushing Karupin away for the third time as the cat attempts to climb onto his chest. New York will probably be just as bad; Inui-senpai had read out the international weather forecast in the locker room earlier.
He can't sleep, and it's not something stupid like nerves. Ryoma scowls up at the invisible ceiling, clenching his fist around a non-existent racquet grip. Then he flops over onto his side, staring at the dim shape of the phone on the night table. He's not quite sure why he ends up reaching for it, or why it's so easy to remember the number, but Ryoma can feel himself relaxing as he listens to the rings.
He doesn't think to wonder whether he is waking Tezuka, and when Tezuka answers his voice is as calm as if he has been waiting for the call.