[FIC] Things Come Together
Title: Things Come Together
Rating: PG
Genre: Romance
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: TezukaFuji
Summary: Just another TezuFuji fic, like any other TezuFuji fic out there. Tezuka likes Fuji, but Atobe and Yuuta get in the way.
Things Come Together
Fuji's bedroom was filled with... well, with things. There were the tiny cactuses that sat on a long, wooden table near his window, and the multitude of photo albums that stuffed his bookshelves. Tezuka's favorite objects, though, were the miniature replicas of animals, flowers, buildings, and shapes that were littered across Fuji's free space (though they were meticulously kept off the floor). They were all made out of stiff, colorful paper, the creases crisp and perfect.
Tezuka didn't spend that much time with Fuji. At least, not enough time, not to him. There was tennis club, yes, but there Tezuka's attentions would always be turned towards the game. They shared one class, something which gave them an occasion to spend a minute amount of time together every now and then studying. Their study sessions were usually not in such personal locations as their bedrooms, but instead in the austere and somewhat stale environment of the school library.
Tezuka's favorite place to study was a small table buried behind bookcases that housed volumes on gardening and housework. It was, needless to say, an area unfrequented by others. The table was just large enough to fit two without being terribly uncomfortable, and it looked out onto the tennis courts. Sometimes, most of the time, Tezuka would open the window, and never failed to be amazed at just how wonderful the feel and smell of fresh air truly was. The curtains, a yellowed white color, ghosted across his arms as he sat, buried in a book.
"Tezuka." The voice was soft, muted in the afternoon breeze before it reached Tezuka's ears. "I'm sorry I'm late."
The wooden chair squeaked as Fuji pulled it back, his backpack protested loudly as he dropped it on the floor. Soon Fuji's books joined Tezuka's on the table, and everything seemed as it should be. Comfortable. Being with Fuji, sometimes, reminded Tezuka of being home. Tezuka had a one thousand yen bill laying on the table, and Fuji reached over him to get it.
"I'll show you a trick," he said, smiling in what could have been mirth.
Fuji reached over Tezuka, and his shoulder pressed against Tezuka's chest, and Tezuka could feel strands of honey silk on his cheek and smell the fragrance of Fuji's hair. It didn't have one overriding scent; it smelled of shampoo, that synthetic bouquet of several various scents. It was both clean and appealing.
Tezuka could not admit to being socially graceful. In fact, when he spoke, he felt awkward, so he favored not speaking at all. How he became his class president was unfathomable to him, but he had the feeling it had to do with Oishi's dedication to and Fuji's amusement of seeing him in office. Still, he was not completely inept in the social arena, however lacking of grace that he was, and he had realized somewhere down the line that he had grown enamored of Fuji Syusuke.
Fuji had been a mystery to Tezuka since their first year together, when their teacher had forsaken alphabetical ordering and seated the two of them next to each other. Fuji carried himself with so much poise, so much grace, that it was hard not to notice him. They also saw each other in the tennis club, though there Fuji was much more unassuming. It seemed to Tezuka that Fuji hardly ever tried to play well, so he played no better than the average second year, which is to say he was beaten quite often by the third years. Tezuka didn't have time to question the other boy about it, though; he and Oishi had enough trouble dealing with the third years themselves.
There was just something about Fuji that drew people towards him. Maybe it was his charisma, or the ease with which he made his way through life. He was like water- moving through everything and remaining untouched. Or maybe it was the way his fingers danced on his racket as he adjusted his strings, strength in art.
Tezuka was not socially graceful, but he had the sense to see things as they were. He liked Fuji. And he was intelligent enough to know that if he didn't act on his emotions, one day the chance would be lost to him forever. So when Fuji leaned over him, fingers dancing over that small bill, he thought it would be nice if he kissed the boy. A chaste press of the lips and nothing more, just to let Fuji know, and then the other boy could come to his own decision.
But then the moment was over, and all Tezuka was left with was a one thousand yen butterfly in his lap and the musing of whether Fuji's lips were chapped or wet.
"Do you like it?" Fuji asked him, referring to the delicate butterfly.
Tezuka picked up butterfly, cradling it as though it might very well fly away. When he spoke it was in a low whisper, and he told himself it was because they were in the library. "Can I keep it?"
Fuji chuckled at that before turning back towards his books. "It's your money."
Tezuka's room was not filled with anything save for the furniture he deemed necessary for day-to-day living. It made him feel uncomfortable those rare times when Fuji visited, almost embarrassed. He felt that his room was lacking because he himself was lacking. He wondered if Fuji found him as boring as he found himself, and hoped the answer was no. He hoped that he was interesting, but felt his personality was too dull to interest any one at all, let alone Fuji.
Once, Fuji had slept over. Their study session had grown too long into the night, and it was safer for Fuji to stay rather than trek back to his house. Tezuka lay rigid on his back on one side of the bed, all to aware of the invisible line between them. Fuji held no such reservations; oblivious, he slept too close, and when they awoke the next morning, it was to Fuji's warm breath on his back that Tezuka awoke to.
The day of Seigaku's match against Hyoutei, Tezuka met Atobe for breakfast. Not many people knew that they were friends, but they had known each other since they were toddlers. Their parents, people from the same breeding and social class, would often dine and play together, depositing Tezuka and Atobe in the same playpen for the evening. He was probably closer to Atobe than he was even to Oishi. Oishi was kind, reliable, a good friend, but he didn’t understand Tezuka like Atobe did. Atobe was different than him, to be sure, but their differences were skin deep, while the things they held in common went straight to the bone. Sometimes, when he was being whimsical, Tezuka imagined that whatever god there was had put them on Earth for the sole purpose of being each other's foils.
Tezuka envied Atobe sometimes. Atobe was charismatic and impartial, able to hold the two hundred plus members of his tennis club in check with just a raise of his eyebrow and foster their growth at the same time. Tezuka felt that sometimes he spent entirely too much time with Echizen, putting all his efforts into one first year rather than encouraging every body equally. He also felt, sometimes, that he couldn't control his team if it weren't for his punishment of running laps.
"I envy you, Tezuka," Atobe said over his coffee, and Tezuka thought that maybe he had heard wrong. "It must be nice to be on your team. It's so sickeningly obvious that every one cares about each other. It's not like that at Hyoutei. I'm their captain and nothing more."
"They respect you."
Atobe shrugged. "Respect isn't the same as friendship. Besides, you get to have both."
Tezuka wondered if that were true. "Maybe."
"And," Atobe continued, a familiar smirk now wiping away any sincerity in his expression, "you get to spend all your time with Fuji Syusuke, something I wouldn't mind at all."
Tezuka frowned slightly, hoping that Atobe was only kidding. What could Atobe know about Fuji? The two had barely even met. That day on the courts though, when Fuji was playing his match, Tezuka couldn't help but watch Atobe, because it became evident that Atobe was only watching Fuji.
Off the courts, Atobe and Tezuka were friends. On the courts, they were tennis players and rivals. So when Atobe targeted his injured shoulder, he didn't blame him, even when he had to go to the hospital to have it checked over again.
The next few weeks were a momentous part of his life. The doctor told him that his shoulder was devastated, forbade him from playing tennis. He decided, with Ryuzaki's guidance and hours of contemplation, that he would go to Germany to get it rehabilitated. Then, a few days before he was supposed to leave, he bumped into a boy on his rush home. He murmured an apology as he passed, but didn't stop as he was already late.
"Hey, Jerk!" the boy called after him. "Why don't you watch where you're going?"
Tezuka looked back to see that he had inadvertently pushed the boy into a puddle of mud. The boy, his head down and face shadowed, was inspecting his sullied clothes.
"I'm sorry," Tezuka repeated, as politely as he could. "It was an accident."
"That doesn't change the fact that you pushed me! I just had these clothes washed!"
The boy was growing more and more irate, and Tezuka lamented that young people these days lacked decorum and civility. "I already apologized, but it wasn't entirely my fault. You bumped into me as well."
"What the fuck kind of apology is that? Just because you're so great at tennis doesn't mean you can do whatever you want."
The boy looked up then, and Tezuka was surprised to see that it was none other than Fuji Yuuta. To his dismay, a familiar voice soon came drifting to his ears.
"Yuuta, what's wrong? Why are you sitting on the dirt?"
"Your captain apparently saw fit to push me into it."
Fuji sent a short glare Tezuka's way, before leaning over to pull his brother up.
"It-" It was an accident, Tezuka wanted to say. Yuuta is overreacting.
But Fuji cut him off.
"Tezuka, I'm rather busy right now," Fuji said, his tone clipped, his smile gone. He placed his hand on the small of Yuuta's back and led him away.
At Tezuka's going away party Fuji was courteous but cold, and Tezuka cursed the facts that Yuuta was such a brat, Fuji was so overprotective, and such a minor accident could ruin everything. But he left for the airport the day of his departure convinced that by the time Fuji and the others came to visit him in Germany, the whole episode would be over and done with.
While he was waiting at the airport gate, he was not surprised to hear his cell phone ring, and see Inui's name flash across the screen. Out of all the regulars, Inui called him the most, about the least important things. The data master collected data of all types, including gossip, and he was eager to share it.
"It's another date," Inui said when he picked up. Tezuka didn't even need to say hello. As soon as he heard what Inui said though, he hung up. Inui called to often with these kinds of things for him to feel badly about cutting him off, and he knew the other boy wouldn't mind. Soon enough though, a text message ran across the screen of his cell.
It's Atobe and Fuji, the message read. Should we follow them into the restaurant?
Tezuka's heart sank.
Tezuka spent two weeks in Germany before the other regulars came to visit him. Two weeks of physical therapy and pampering, so that he could focus, yet he had never felt so distracted in his life. Oishi called him often, as did Inui and Ryuzaki, but they didn't offer any words of Fuji that might say how or what he was doing off the tennis courts, and he couldn't very well ask.
The same time the team flew in, Tezuka was set to meet with his doctor. Every one agreed to meet later on at dinner, so it was with shock that Tezuka entered his room to find Fuji napping on the couch by the window. In his hand was an origami butterfly. Tezuka quickly looked at his dresser, and saw that the butterfly Fuji was holding was indeed his butterfly. He had placed it in his room as a decoration and as a reminder; now, he was embarrassed that Fuji had noticed that he kept it.
Blue eyes as deep as any ocean blinked open.
"You could have slept on my bed," Tezuka said, plucking the butterfly from Fuji's palm and putting it back in its proper place.
"I wasn't planning on falling asleep."
Tezuka was about to say something more when the door opened, and the rest of the regulars exploded into the room. Kikumaru cheerfully glomped him, and Oishi rushed to explain what they were doing there.
"We just couldn't wait," he said, and Tezuka knew that 'we' really meant Kikumaru, who was probably the most child-like member on their team.
The team walked as a unit through the halls and out of the building, intent on going to dinner, though at one point Oishi very obviously pulled him aside for a private conversation.
"Tezuka," he whispered, sounding hesitant, "if you want, we can try to get you some alone time with..."
Oishi gestured in Fuji's direction, and Tezuka wondered how transparent he was.
"No." He used the tone of voice that said the subject should be dropped. "It's not necessary."
So the evening passed as uneventful, and Tezuka did not get to spend more time with Fuji than was expected. He went to bed at night feeling strangely hollow, and regretted not taking Oishi's offer. Sleep started to claim him, and he was drifting into its embrace when he heard a knocking sound. He thought perhaps that he had already started dreaming, but then the knocking became more concrete, and it woke him from the half slumber that had claimed him.
"I'm coming," he said, getting out of bed and feeling quite cumbersome. When he got to the door, he was too tired to be surprised that Fuji was on the other side.
"Tezuka," Fuji stated simply in greeting.
"Fuji. We just said goodbye. Have you forgotten something here?"
"No. I just thought I'd be more comfortable sleeping here with you."
He was not too tired to be surprised at that. But before he could formulate a reply, and he was severely doubting his ability to do so, Fuji was stepping through the door and removing his outer layer of clothes. Soon he was dressed in only a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. The pattern on the front of the shirt was familiar to him, and he realized that it was his.
"That's my shirt," he said in wonder.
"You let me borrow it when I slept over. I was going to wash it and return it, but than I wore it again. No matter how many times I wash it, it always smells like you." Fuji crept into his bed, the t-shirt riding up a little. "I forget, do you prefer the right side or the left?"
Tezuka strode towards the right side of the bed and placed himself between the sheets, while Fuji became comfortable at his side. He didn't ask about Atobe or Yuuta, because Fuji didn't seem to care, and that all seemed so trivial now. Fuji was laying beside him, and though they were separated by a good two feet, his bed already felt warmer for it.
Fuji turned onto his side, and they were face to face, though Fuji's features were obscured in the night and shadows. Tezuka figured this would be a good time to tell Fuji that he liked him, but then Fuji beat him to the punch.
"Tezuka," Fuji whispered. "I like you. I thought I should tell you that, even if you don't feel the same way."
"I like you too, Fuji," and the words were like a lightening of his chest. He thought he could see Fuji smile through the dark, and he couldn't help but smile back.
Rating: PG
Genre: Romance
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: TezukaFuji
Summary: Just another TezuFuji fic, like any other TezuFuji fic out there. Tezuka likes Fuji, but Atobe and Yuuta get in the way.
Things Come Together
Fuji's bedroom was filled with... well, with things. There were the tiny cactuses that sat on a long, wooden table near his window, and the multitude of photo albums that stuffed his bookshelves. Tezuka's favorite objects, though, were the miniature replicas of animals, flowers, buildings, and shapes that were littered across Fuji's free space (though they were meticulously kept off the floor). They were all made out of stiff, colorful paper, the creases crisp and perfect.
Tezuka didn't spend that much time with Fuji. At least, not enough time, not to him. There was tennis club, yes, but there Tezuka's attentions would always be turned towards the game. They shared one class, something which gave them an occasion to spend a minute amount of time together every now and then studying. Their study sessions were usually not in such personal locations as their bedrooms, but instead in the austere and somewhat stale environment of the school library.
Tezuka's favorite place to study was a small table buried behind bookcases that housed volumes on gardening and housework. It was, needless to say, an area unfrequented by others. The table was just large enough to fit two without being terribly uncomfortable, and it looked out onto the tennis courts. Sometimes, most of the time, Tezuka would open the window, and never failed to be amazed at just how wonderful the feel and smell of fresh air truly was. The curtains, a yellowed white color, ghosted across his arms as he sat, buried in a book.
"Tezuka." The voice was soft, muted in the afternoon breeze before it reached Tezuka's ears. "I'm sorry I'm late."
The wooden chair squeaked as Fuji pulled it back, his backpack protested loudly as he dropped it on the floor. Soon Fuji's books joined Tezuka's on the table, and everything seemed as it should be. Comfortable. Being with Fuji, sometimes, reminded Tezuka of being home. Tezuka had a one thousand yen bill laying on the table, and Fuji reached over him to get it.
"I'll show you a trick," he said, smiling in what could have been mirth.
Fuji reached over Tezuka, and his shoulder pressed against Tezuka's chest, and Tezuka could feel strands of honey silk on his cheek and smell the fragrance of Fuji's hair. It didn't have one overriding scent; it smelled of shampoo, that synthetic bouquet of several various scents. It was both clean and appealing.
Tezuka could not admit to being socially graceful. In fact, when he spoke, he felt awkward, so he favored not speaking at all. How he became his class president was unfathomable to him, but he had the feeling it had to do with Oishi's dedication to and Fuji's amusement of seeing him in office. Still, he was not completely inept in the social arena, however lacking of grace that he was, and he had realized somewhere down the line that he had grown enamored of Fuji Syusuke.
Fuji had been a mystery to Tezuka since their first year together, when their teacher had forsaken alphabetical ordering and seated the two of them next to each other. Fuji carried himself with so much poise, so much grace, that it was hard not to notice him. They also saw each other in the tennis club, though there Fuji was much more unassuming. It seemed to Tezuka that Fuji hardly ever tried to play well, so he played no better than the average second year, which is to say he was beaten quite often by the third years. Tezuka didn't have time to question the other boy about it, though; he and Oishi had enough trouble dealing with the third years themselves.
There was just something about Fuji that drew people towards him. Maybe it was his charisma, or the ease with which he made his way through life. He was like water- moving through everything and remaining untouched. Or maybe it was the way his fingers danced on his racket as he adjusted his strings, strength in art.
Tezuka was not socially graceful, but he had the sense to see things as they were. He liked Fuji. And he was intelligent enough to know that if he didn't act on his emotions, one day the chance would be lost to him forever. So when Fuji leaned over him, fingers dancing over that small bill, he thought it would be nice if he kissed the boy. A chaste press of the lips and nothing more, just to let Fuji know, and then the other boy could come to his own decision.
But then the moment was over, and all Tezuka was left with was a one thousand yen butterfly in his lap and the musing of whether Fuji's lips were chapped or wet.
"Do you like it?" Fuji asked him, referring to the delicate butterfly.
Tezuka picked up butterfly, cradling it as though it might very well fly away. When he spoke it was in a low whisper, and he told himself it was because they were in the library. "Can I keep it?"
Fuji chuckled at that before turning back towards his books. "It's your money."
Tezuka's room was not filled with anything save for the furniture he deemed necessary for day-to-day living. It made him feel uncomfortable those rare times when Fuji visited, almost embarrassed. He felt that his room was lacking because he himself was lacking. He wondered if Fuji found him as boring as he found himself, and hoped the answer was no. He hoped that he was interesting, but felt his personality was too dull to interest any one at all, let alone Fuji.
Once, Fuji had slept over. Their study session had grown too long into the night, and it was safer for Fuji to stay rather than trek back to his house. Tezuka lay rigid on his back on one side of the bed, all to aware of the invisible line between them. Fuji held no such reservations; oblivious, he slept too close, and when they awoke the next morning, it was to Fuji's warm breath on his back that Tezuka awoke to.
The day of Seigaku's match against Hyoutei, Tezuka met Atobe for breakfast. Not many people knew that they were friends, but they had known each other since they were toddlers. Their parents, people from the same breeding and social class, would often dine and play together, depositing Tezuka and Atobe in the same playpen for the evening. He was probably closer to Atobe than he was even to Oishi. Oishi was kind, reliable, a good friend, but he didn’t understand Tezuka like Atobe did. Atobe was different than him, to be sure, but their differences were skin deep, while the things they held in common went straight to the bone. Sometimes, when he was being whimsical, Tezuka imagined that whatever god there was had put them on Earth for the sole purpose of being each other's foils.
Tezuka envied Atobe sometimes. Atobe was charismatic and impartial, able to hold the two hundred plus members of his tennis club in check with just a raise of his eyebrow and foster their growth at the same time. Tezuka felt that sometimes he spent entirely too much time with Echizen, putting all his efforts into one first year rather than encouraging every body equally. He also felt, sometimes, that he couldn't control his team if it weren't for his punishment of running laps.
"I envy you, Tezuka," Atobe said over his coffee, and Tezuka thought that maybe he had heard wrong. "It must be nice to be on your team. It's so sickeningly obvious that every one cares about each other. It's not like that at Hyoutei. I'm their captain and nothing more."
"They respect you."
Atobe shrugged. "Respect isn't the same as friendship. Besides, you get to have both."
Tezuka wondered if that were true. "Maybe."
"And," Atobe continued, a familiar smirk now wiping away any sincerity in his expression, "you get to spend all your time with Fuji Syusuke, something I wouldn't mind at all."
Tezuka frowned slightly, hoping that Atobe was only kidding. What could Atobe know about Fuji? The two had barely even met. That day on the courts though, when Fuji was playing his match, Tezuka couldn't help but watch Atobe, because it became evident that Atobe was only watching Fuji.
Off the courts, Atobe and Tezuka were friends. On the courts, they were tennis players and rivals. So when Atobe targeted his injured shoulder, he didn't blame him, even when he had to go to the hospital to have it checked over again.
The next few weeks were a momentous part of his life. The doctor told him that his shoulder was devastated, forbade him from playing tennis. He decided, with Ryuzaki's guidance and hours of contemplation, that he would go to Germany to get it rehabilitated. Then, a few days before he was supposed to leave, he bumped into a boy on his rush home. He murmured an apology as he passed, but didn't stop as he was already late.
"Hey, Jerk!" the boy called after him. "Why don't you watch where you're going?"
Tezuka looked back to see that he had inadvertently pushed the boy into a puddle of mud. The boy, his head down and face shadowed, was inspecting his sullied clothes.
"I'm sorry," Tezuka repeated, as politely as he could. "It was an accident."
"That doesn't change the fact that you pushed me! I just had these clothes washed!"
The boy was growing more and more irate, and Tezuka lamented that young people these days lacked decorum and civility. "I already apologized, but it wasn't entirely my fault. You bumped into me as well."
"What the fuck kind of apology is that? Just because you're so great at tennis doesn't mean you can do whatever you want."
The boy looked up then, and Tezuka was surprised to see that it was none other than Fuji Yuuta. To his dismay, a familiar voice soon came drifting to his ears.
"Yuuta, what's wrong? Why are you sitting on the dirt?"
"Your captain apparently saw fit to push me into it."
Fuji sent a short glare Tezuka's way, before leaning over to pull his brother up.
"It-" It was an accident, Tezuka wanted to say. Yuuta is overreacting.
But Fuji cut him off.
"Tezuka, I'm rather busy right now," Fuji said, his tone clipped, his smile gone. He placed his hand on the small of Yuuta's back and led him away.
At Tezuka's going away party Fuji was courteous but cold, and Tezuka cursed the facts that Yuuta was such a brat, Fuji was so overprotective, and such a minor accident could ruin everything. But he left for the airport the day of his departure convinced that by the time Fuji and the others came to visit him in Germany, the whole episode would be over and done with.
While he was waiting at the airport gate, he was not surprised to hear his cell phone ring, and see Inui's name flash across the screen. Out of all the regulars, Inui called him the most, about the least important things. The data master collected data of all types, including gossip, and he was eager to share it.
"It's another date," Inui said when he picked up. Tezuka didn't even need to say hello. As soon as he heard what Inui said though, he hung up. Inui called to often with these kinds of things for him to feel badly about cutting him off, and he knew the other boy wouldn't mind. Soon enough though, a text message ran across the screen of his cell.
It's Atobe and Fuji, the message read. Should we follow them into the restaurant?
Tezuka's heart sank.
Tezuka spent two weeks in Germany before the other regulars came to visit him. Two weeks of physical therapy and pampering, so that he could focus, yet he had never felt so distracted in his life. Oishi called him often, as did Inui and Ryuzaki, but they didn't offer any words of Fuji that might say how or what he was doing off the tennis courts, and he couldn't very well ask.
The same time the team flew in, Tezuka was set to meet with his doctor. Every one agreed to meet later on at dinner, so it was with shock that Tezuka entered his room to find Fuji napping on the couch by the window. In his hand was an origami butterfly. Tezuka quickly looked at his dresser, and saw that the butterfly Fuji was holding was indeed his butterfly. He had placed it in his room as a decoration and as a reminder; now, he was embarrassed that Fuji had noticed that he kept it.
Blue eyes as deep as any ocean blinked open.
"You could have slept on my bed," Tezuka said, plucking the butterfly from Fuji's palm and putting it back in its proper place.
"I wasn't planning on falling asleep."
Tezuka was about to say something more when the door opened, and the rest of the regulars exploded into the room. Kikumaru cheerfully glomped him, and Oishi rushed to explain what they were doing there.
"We just couldn't wait," he said, and Tezuka knew that 'we' really meant Kikumaru, who was probably the most child-like member on their team.
The team walked as a unit through the halls and out of the building, intent on going to dinner, though at one point Oishi very obviously pulled him aside for a private conversation.
"Tezuka," he whispered, sounding hesitant, "if you want, we can try to get you some alone time with..."
Oishi gestured in Fuji's direction, and Tezuka wondered how transparent he was.
"No." He used the tone of voice that said the subject should be dropped. "It's not necessary."
So the evening passed as uneventful, and Tezuka did not get to spend more time with Fuji than was expected. He went to bed at night feeling strangely hollow, and regretted not taking Oishi's offer. Sleep started to claim him, and he was drifting into its embrace when he heard a knocking sound. He thought perhaps that he had already started dreaming, but then the knocking became more concrete, and it woke him from the half slumber that had claimed him.
"I'm coming," he said, getting out of bed and feeling quite cumbersome. When he got to the door, he was too tired to be surprised that Fuji was on the other side.
"Tezuka," Fuji stated simply in greeting.
"Fuji. We just said goodbye. Have you forgotten something here?"
"No. I just thought I'd be more comfortable sleeping here with you."
He was not too tired to be surprised at that. But before he could formulate a reply, and he was severely doubting his ability to do so, Fuji was stepping through the door and removing his outer layer of clothes. Soon he was dressed in only a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. The pattern on the front of the shirt was familiar to him, and he realized that it was his.
"That's my shirt," he said in wonder.
"You let me borrow it when I slept over. I was going to wash it and return it, but than I wore it again. No matter how many times I wash it, it always smells like you." Fuji crept into his bed, the t-shirt riding up a little. "I forget, do you prefer the right side or the left?"
Tezuka strode towards the right side of the bed and placed himself between the sheets, while Fuji became comfortable at his side. He didn't ask about Atobe or Yuuta, because Fuji didn't seem to care, and that all seemed so trivial now. Fuji was laying beside him, and though they were separated by a good two feet, his bed already felt warmer for it.
Fuji turned onto his side, and they were face to face, though Fuji's features were obscured in the night and shadows. Tezuka figured this would be a good time to tell Fuji that he liked him, but then Fuji beat him to the punch.
"Tezuka," Fuji whispered. "I like you. I thought I should tell you that, even if you don't feel the same way."
"I like you too, Fuji," and the words were like a lightening of his chest. He thought he could see Fuji smile through the dark, and he couldn't help but smile back.