[PoT] When the Day Comes, PG, Gen, FujiRyo
For uminohikari, who probably doesn't even remember prompting me to write this, oh, six months ago. Though this only vaguely has to do with her prompt...
(Don't hold me to when I'll write the rest of those requests. God, PoT is hard. I'm sorry!)
When the Day Comes
Prince of Tennis, Fuji/Ryoma, PG, 908 words
Two years later, the day comes when distance doesn't mean what it used to.
When the Day Comes
by meitachi
There were some who said Echizen Ryoma would never be interested in social niceties like paying his respects to his senpai, but those who said so were the ones who had only known him in junior high. Years changed people, and when Echizen returned to Japan two years after he left Seigaku, he was no longer the boy Fuji remembered. For two years, Fuji had kept his memories pinned like butterflies, but they fluttered now, escaping and shifting like the sunlight over Echizen’s face.
“Do you still play tennis?” Fuji asked, because a certain amount of small talk was obligatory after so long apart. He smiled enigmatically over his cup of tea, waiting for an answer from across the table. They had to start somewhere, and two years after the Nationals that Seigaku still aspired to again, they started like this, in a small Western-style café on a busy street, surrounded by crowds and music and chatter.
Echizen grinned back, equally indecipherable. “Of course, senpai. Don’t you?”
“Actually,” said Fuji after a pause, “I don’t. I injured my left knee last year and it’s never been quite the same. The doctors told me I would no longer be able to play.” He almost enjoyed the brief shock that fluttered across Echizen’s face - Fuji had accepted his fate far sooner than anyone had expected, but he took his pleasure in unsettling others with the news. He had to have something, after all. (Something other than Yuuta’s impotent rage and silent guilt.)
“I know,” Fuji said now, sipping his tea and shrugging slightly. “Everyone thought it was Tezuka who would suffer medical complications, if anyone. But, no, he’s fine. He’s still playing. In fact, he may go pro and skip university altogether.”
Echizen frowned into his own soda. “I’m sorry,” he said abruptly, voice quiet with a tact Fuji never thought he’d witness.
“Hey,” he said lightly, reaching out to tap Echizen’s hand, “I’m fine. I’ve come to terms with it.”
Their eyes met and Fuji tried another smile, because they fell easily on his lips, never meaningless but never quite meaningful either. They served him well as he sought the right words, leaving a silence that was not as awkward as it could’ve been.
Smile still in place, Fuji added, “I’ll just become a world-famous photographer instead.”
A familiar smirk curled onto Echizen’s lips. “Mada mada dane,” he said, and Fuji laughed, because it was nice to know that some things were still the same.
So they talked over lunch and into the afternoon, relocating from the café to a nearby park. Fuji talked about school and Yuuta and how everyone else was doing, where they had ended up. Echizen shrugged off the topic of school and life in New York, but his eyes gleamed when he told Fuji about the people he’d played over the past two years: the people he’d beat, the games he’d struggled to win. Fuji’s heart twinged and he said as the afternoon stretched late with lengthening shadows and lazy sun: “Let’s go to the courts.”
The closest public courts were the ones nearest to the school, the ones marked with memories of confrontations with Hyoutei, among other things. Echizen climbed onto the risers set up to the side and surveyed the courts with a fond, almost proprietary gaze. “Looks the same.” He grinned down at Fuji, who stood on ground-level with his arms crossed, watching strangers lob a ball on the nearest court.
“But you’re a little bigger and the view’s a little better.” Fuji’s tease was gentle, because he no longer shared the same familiarity with Echizen; their history was unchanged, but it had faded with time. So he started when an arm slung over his shoulders. He turned his head to see Echizen standing on the lowest riser, gazing at the game on the court from under the brim of his cap, arm comfortably around Fuji.
“Yeah,” he said nonchalantly, “and that means I can see just how terrible their footwork is.”
Fuji laughed, surprised; Echizen turned his head and grinned at him, still too cocky and too brassy for his age and stature.
“I’m glad I got a chance to meet up with you,” he said then, and Fuji thought that Echizen still had the talent to be too honest, too blunt, just like before. “I’m glad it was you.”
Fuji looked away, because he wasn’t the fearless genius he had been two years ago. He had never been fearless.
“I guess that’s what the others get for going on the school trip.” His voice was light, laughter fluttering under the surface. One of the players on the court hit the ball with a solid thwack of a tightly-strung racket, a sound as familiar as his breathing or heartbeat. Fuji and Echizen both turned to watch the return, a solid backhand topspin drive. Echizen’s arm was warm along Fuji’s shoulders, through the thin cotton of his shirt.
“I’m glad too, Ryoma,” Fuji said at last.
Echizen said nothing in reply, but his arm shifted slightly over Fuji’s shoulders, tightening his hold. Fuji found himself smiling again, and just as his memories had become unpinned, just as Echizen Ryoma was no longer the boy Fuji knew two years ago, Fuji found that his smile now was different, too.
It came a little easier with Echizen by his side again, proving that some things would never change, and that some things could.
--
Started/Finished: 2009.01.18
Notes: I'm not sure why I wrote this tonight. I'm not sure how I like it. I'm generally not sure about anything, because god it's been so long since Tenipuri, so, so long, and we've all moved on, haven't we? I'm just confused about how and why this happened.
(Don't hold me to when I'll write the rest of those requests. God, PoT is hard. I'm sorry!)
When the Day Comes
Prince of Tennis, Fuji/Ryoma, PG, 908 words
Two years later, the day comes when distance doesn't mean what it used to.
When the Day Comes
by meitachi
There were some who said Echizen Ryoma would never be interested in social niceties like paying his respects to his senpai, but those who said so were the ones who had only known him in junior high. Years changed people, and when Echizen returned to Japan two years after he left Seigaku, he was no longer the boy Fuji remembered. For two years, Fuji had kept his memories pinned like butterflies, but they fluttered now, escaping and shifting like the sunlight over Echizen’s face.
“Do you still play tennis?” Fuji asked, because a certain amount of small talk was obligatory after so long apart. He smiled enigmatically over his cup of tea, waiting for an answer from across the table. They had to start somewhere, and two years after the Nationals that Seigaku still aspired to again, they started like this, in a small Western-style café on a busy street, surrounded by crowds and music and chatter.
Echizen grinned back, equally indecipherable. “Of course, senpai. Don’t you?”
“Actually,” said Fuji after a pause, “I don’t. I injured my left knee last year and it’s never been quite the same. The doctors told me I would no longer be able to play.” He almost enjoyed the brief shock that fluttered across Echizen’s face - Fuji had accepted his fate far sooner than anyone had expected, but he took his pleasure in unsettling others with the news. He had to have something, after all. (Something other than Yuuta’s impotent rage and silent guilt.)
“I know,” Fuji said now, sipping his tea and shrugging slightly. “Everyone thought it was Tezuka who would suffer medical complications, if anyone. But, no, he’s fine. He’s still playing. In fact, he may go pro and skip university altogether.”
Echizen frowned into his own soda. “I’m sorry,” he said abruptly, voice quiet with a tact Fuji never thought he’d witness.
“Hey,” he said lightly, reaching out to tap Echizen’s hand, “I’m fine. I’ve come to terms with it.”
Their eyes met and Fuji tried another smile, because they fell easily on his lips, never meaningless but never quite meaningful either. They served him well as he sought the right words, leaving a silence that was not as awkward as it could’ve been.
Smile still in place, Fuji added, “I’ll just become a world-famous photographer instead.”
A familiar smirk curled onto Echizen’s lips. “Mada mada dane,” he said, and Fuji laughed, because it was nice to know that some things were still the same.
So they talked over lunch and into the afternoon, relocating from the café to a nearby park. Fuji talked about school and Yuuta and how everyone else was doing, where they had ended up. Echizen shrugged off the topic of school and life in New York, but his eyes gleamed when he told Fuji about the people he’d played over the past two years: the people he’d beat, the games he’d struggled to win. Fuji’s heart twinged and he said as the afternoon stretched late with lengthening shadows and lazy sun: “Let’s go to the courts.”
The closest public courts were the ones nearest to the school, the ones marked with memories of confrontations with Hyoutei, among other things. Echizen climbed onto the risers set up to the side and surveyed the courts with a fond, almost proprietary gaze. “Looks the same.” He grinned down at Fuji, who stood on ground-level with his arms crossed, watching strangers lob a ball on the nearest court.
“But you’re a little bigger and the view’s a little better.” Fuji’s tease was gentle, because he no longer shared the same familiarity with Echizen; their history was unchanged, but it had faded with time. So he started when an arm slung over his shoulders. He turned his head to see Echizen standing on the lowest riser, gazing at the game on the court from under the brim of his cap, arm comfortably around Fuji.
“Yeah,” he said nonchalantly, “and that means I can see just how terrible their footwork is.”
Fuji laughed, surprised; Echizen turned his head and grinned at him, still too cocky and too brassy for his age and stature.
“I’m glad I got a chance to meet up with you,” he said then, and Fuji thought that Echizen still had the talent to be too honest, too blunt, just like before. “I’m glad it was you.”
Fuji looked away, because he wasn’t the fearless genius he had been two years ago. He had never been fearless.
“I guess that’s what the others get for going on the school trip.” His voice was light, laughter fluttering under the surface. One of the players on the court hit the ball with a solid thwack of a tightly-strung racket, a sound as familiar as his breathing or heartbeat. Fuji and Echizen both turned to watch the return, a solid backhand topspin drive. Echizen’s arm was warm along Fuji’s shoulders, through the thin cotton of his shirt.
“I’m glad too, Ryoma,” Fuji said at last.
Echizen said nothing in reply, but his arm shifted slightly over Fuji’s shoulders, tightening his hold. Fuji found himself smiling again, and just as his memories had become unpinned, just as Echizen Ryoma was no longer the boy Fuji knew two years ago, Fuji found that his smile now was different, too.
It came a little easier with Echizen by his side again, proving that some things would never change, and that some things could.
--
Started/Finished: 2009.01.18
Notes: I'm not sure why I wrote this tonight. I'm not sure how I like it. I'm generally not sure about anything, because god it's been so long since Tenipuri, so, so long, and we've all moved on, haven't we? I'm just confused about how and why this happened.