[TezuRyo] Like Blood - First Half
Title: Like Blood
Fandom: Tenipuri
Pairings: TezuRyo vs. FujiRyo
Genre: Major angst, romance
Rating: R… bordering on NC-17.. o_O
Word Count: 9,910
Somewhat future!fic, and not for kiddies. I can never leave out Atobe, after all. I love him too damn much to exclude him =D And when I say TezuRyo [VERSUS] FujiRyo, I mean it.
Unlike ‘Awaiting Reprobation’ (if you’ve read it), the flashbacks aren’t in chronological order. But you’ll figure out the significance of the flashbacks if you relate them to the paragraph prior or next to the flashbacks,
“Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.
I love you still among these cold things.
Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels
that cross the sea towards no arrival.
I see myself forgotten like those old anchors.”
“Here I Love You” by Pablo Neruda
The apartment was empty when Fuji returned. The clock had not yet moved passed the number 8, yet the shared humble abode was eerily quiet like it had not been lived in by anyone for years, or like all the occupants were fast asleep if not gone. Fuji should have known, should have expected something like this. Yet he could not help but feel a trail of sadness circling his body and soul at finding the light all switched off and no one to greet him after a tiring day of college and extra-curricular activities.
He was used to eating dinner on his own since he moved out. His housemate woke up after Fuji left for class and did not return until late at night when ordinary souls were lost in slumberland. The fridge had little food left, leaving only a large carton of milk, two cans of grape-flavoured Ponta Fuji bought the other day and three cans of beer. Fuji considered grocery shopping, but it might be pointless since none of them really used the kitchen if not to store drinks in the lonely fridge, or make use of the coffeemaker and the sink there.
It was hours later when Fuji heard the clinking sound of keys and door opening, and something like two persons arguing over nonsensical things he could not grasp. He knew the voices well enough. Sighing, he sauntered out of his bedroom and switched on the light in the living room where his housemate was being thrown onto a long settee there by a grumbling man.
“Atobe,” Fuji called out, his voice hushed and tone unreadable. “Was he out drinking again?”
The grumbling Atobe Keigo turned to glare at him with an indignant huff. “What do you think, huh? Of course he was! Just look at him, Fuji.”
Fuji looked over at the figure on the settee - Ryoma, whose face was flushed red and appeared to be picking at the innocent cushion while wearing a drunken glare. He almost looked miserable if not for the angry eyes and the pout on lips, Fuji thought. He thanked Atobe for bringing Ryoma back and watched as the other man sauntered off to the exit.
“And kindly remind your boyfriend that he has a press conference to attend this Thursday morning. I would remind him myself, of course, but another helping hand wouldn’t hurt.”
And then Atobe was gone, leaving Fuji alone to tend to the drunken young man. He tried to get Ryoma to stand but he ended up on the sofa with Ryoma sprawled on top of him. He barely had time to react when Ryoma grinded their hips together and nipped on Fuji’s exposed collarbone. Adept fingers slipped into his shirt to toy at his sensitive flesh, one hand caressing his belly in sensuous circular motion while the other worked on bringing his nipples to life. What followed was a blur of entangled limbs and sweat and moans; in which order exactly, Fuji could not remember.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Ryoma looked up from his drink, amused at what he just heard from his smiling senior. He never thought Fuji, of all people, would ever think of him in that way. “Did you say lovers, Fuji-senpai?”
The smile worn by the medical student of Toudai - Tokyo University widened.“I believe I did.”
The younger man closed his eyes, stirring his fruit juice absent-mindedly with the long straw. His former senior cum schoolmate had just asked him to become his lover when the man knew well how his thought about the subject was. He shrugged, looking back up to look at Fuji with an almost mocking smirk.
“. . . Too bad I don’t believe in love, then.”
“But you can start by calling me ‘Syuusuke’.”
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Fuji lay awake after a round of passionate sex, watching Ryoma’s spent body curled into fetal position as he slept. The young man looked troubled even in sleep, brow creasing and lips curved slightly downward into a pout. Fuji’s hand trembled as he caressed the other man’s face, pushing back the stray hair that shielded Ryoma’s beautiful face from him. His eyes were open in the darkness and he swept his vision over Ryoma’s body. The smell of sex lingered still in the air, reminded him of how Ryoma writhed under him in wanton abandon, asking for more. As much as Fuji wanted to believe he was making love to Ryoma, he knew the latter would laugh it off and insisted that it was only sex and nothing else.
When the young professional tennis player was not away on world-class tournaments or exhibition matches, he would be out somewhere until late at night, looking utterly debauched and reeking heavily of alcohol and somebody else’s perfume. In his drunken state, he would take Fuji down with him - seducing and taunting, knowing his lover would give in.
But when Ryoma came, it was always someone else’s name the younger man cried.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
“Congratulations on your victory.”
Ryoma turned around to see Fuji smiling broadly as he leaned against the door to the kitchen. He frowned at what he called a ‘pointless intrusion’. Sometimes, he forgot Fuji lived in the same apartment as he was. “You already told me that over the phone two days ago.”
Fuji chuckled at his boyfriend’s nonchalant remark. “Saa… Being able to tell you in person is more meaningful, don’t you think?”
“Che.”
The sat facing each other at the kitchen table, waiting for the coffee to be ready. Ryoma’s eyes were sharp to notice his boyfriend fidgeting slightly under the table. When he asked Fuji what seemed to be the problem, the latter hesitated to speak until a few minutes of silence went by unheeded. Ryoma rolled his eyes and stood up to fill his mug with the freshly brewed coffee at the signal the coffeemaker produced.
“Tezuka sent his regards.”
Ryoma’s fingers visibly tightened around the handle.
“He said your match was a fantastic one.”
To Fuji’s surprise, Ryoma burst into a fit of laughter for a good few minutes. He passed his still full cup of coffee to Fuji while trying to hold back his laughter. He reached for his jacket perched on the counter and strolled out of the kitchen, leaving the shocked Fuji confused and perplexed.
Before slamming the front door shut behind him, Ryoma looked over his shoulder with a smirk. “You should tell your college mate to stop lying sometimes.”
Fuji stared at his blurry reflection in the mug, not surprised to see his own eyes wide open.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
When Ryoma woke up the morning after, Fuji was already off. He had no desire to get out of bed, and absolutely no desire to go anywhere else as well. He just wanted to sink into the bed and sleep the day away. He considered calling Momoshiro for a long chat over nothing in particular like the good old days but changed his plan as he remembered how they were not exactly as close as before anymore. He lazily reached for his cellphone on the nightstand and flipped it open to reveal two unread messages. The first one was from Atobe. The manager cum sponsor typed his message in bold, capital letters, much to Ryoma’s amusement. The older man threatened to kill him if he went out drinking the night before his press conference.
Stupid conference, stupid Monkey King, he thought. All the publicity he got was getting him annoyed. He could not go out without some kind of disguise anymore. Even buying stuff from the nearest convenient shop was made complicated by his popularity, and it was rapidly growing day by day. Most of the time, he let Atobe answered most of the questions on his behalf. The other man basked in the limelight all the time. Ryoma wondered why he did not venture into the same profession although he already knew it was probably because of Atobe’s family.
The second message caused him to sit right up in abrupt. The message was clear, simple and just the right length - from Oishi. It was an invitation to attend a reunion party of sorts held at a bar in town. He wondered if Fuji already knew about it but refused to tell him. Then again, he was not always around when the man came home. Maybe Fuji wanted him to find out by himself. For a few minutes, Ryoma did nothing but stare at the message until the backlight went out, leaving him staring at nothing but a dark screen.
The thought of going to the reunion party made him feel like puking all of a sudden.
Damn it.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
The only empty seat in the cafeteria was next to someone Fuji would rather not see or talk to at the moment. He was tempted to return the tray of food he just purchased until said someone caught him looking at said empty seat. He had no choice but to sit next to the person if he wanted to finish his lunch.
“Fuji,” the other man greeted curtly with a small nod of the head.
“Tezuka,” Fuji’s reply was just as curt.
The food tasted stale in his mouth, Fuji thought. He just wanted to finish eating as soon as possible so he would be able to leave. A part of him was glad that none of them said anything as they dug into their respective meals. When Tezuka asked him whether or not he received Oishi’s invitation to a reunion party, Fuji almost choked on his juice. He replied with a short yes, and both of them fell back into silence.
“Do you think he’d come?”
Fuji froze; he was only proud of himself when the cutlery was still firm in his hold. He did not expect Tezuka to ask him the question. He opened his eyes and tilted his head to look at Tezuka, who was picking at whatever was left of his food. He appeared troubled, and he was still unable to say Ryoma’s name. Fuji wanted to kick the fuck out of Tezuka and then leave him bleeding on the floor. Instead, he closed his eyes and smiled his trademark mischievous smile.
“He’d come along if I do, and if he doesn’t have anything scheduled. We are, after all, lovers.”
Fuji felt a surge of triumph when Tezuka’s grip around his chopstick visibly tightened at the emphasis on the word ‘lovers’. Yet, when Tezuka left the table to return his empty food tray, Fuji’s tongue felt burnt from the words he said. He had done it again - lying about how great his and Ryoma’s relationship was when the truth was the other way around.
Lover of someone who did not love him… Who was he kidding?
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Fuji sat watching the replay of Ryoma’s exhibition match against Federer on the sofa next to his boyfriend in the living room. Ryoma had a deep frown marring his face; he seemed lost in his own world. Fuji watched as the Ryoma in the tape swung a shot his opponent could not return. With every point gained by his self in the tape, Ryoma’s frown deepened. Just when it was Federer’s turn to serve, he switched the TV off.
“Not strong enough…”
Fuji tilted his head, confused. “Pardon?” Was Ryoma saying Federer was not good enough? Or was he talking about himself?
Instead of answering, Ryoma shook his head. “It’s nothing.”
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Fuji was surprised to find the light on when he came home that evening. He found Ryoma in the kitchen, treating himself to a piece of pizza. He pushed the hot pouch towards Fuji when the man sat at the opposite side of the table. The latter smiled, thanking the other for it.
“I received a message from Oishi-senpai,” Ryoma stated disinterestedly. “About the reunion party.”
Fuji should have sensed this when Ryoma had that distant look in his eyes. “Saa… Are you going then?” He wanted to say ‘with me’ but the words just would not come out.
Ryoma took a sip of his drink and looked straight at his boyfriend’s face. “Are you going, Syuusuke?”
“I guess. Eiji would strangle me if I don’t.”
“Hmm… Chances are he’d strangle me too. And Momochan-senpai would surely kick my ass if I miss another party.”
Fuji’s eyes snapped open at that. “Does that mean that you’d…”
“Yeah, I’ll go.”
The older man supposed he should be happy for that. Somehow, something felt unusually, terribly off in his mind. It was like a warning of something dreadful to come in the near future.
Something that involved one Tezuka Kunimitsu.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Atobe sighed as the drunken Ryoma stubbornly refused to pick his head off of his lap. The young man looked so comfortable lying there. Atobe was about to kick Ryoma off one more time when he heard a choked sob from Ryoma which only meant one thing.
Ryoma was crying.
He let the young man cry, wincing occasionally at Ryoma’s indecipherable nonsense. He did not need to ask the reason of the man’s sudden burst of tears. Atobe pitied the boy sometimes. Even drunk, he was not able to forget his misery.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
The press conference went relatively well in Atobe’s opinion. Ryoma had been cooperative for once, saving him the trouble of having to answer most of the questions directed their way. Contrary to popular belief, Atobe Keigo did not like attending press conferences. He hated Ryoma’s indifferent mask to questions regarding his personal matter. Although the young man chose not to answer most of the questions pertaining to his private life, Atobe could sense Ryoma’s stress at being on the receiving end of questions like: (a) Are you seeing a special someone at the moment, Mr. Echizen?, (b) Is it true that they say you have no interest in woman?, and (c) Rumours has it that you are always out drinking and drunk. Is it true, Mr. Echizen?
Atobe was proud when Ryoma brushed off all of the questions with ease, but he was not happy when Ryoma appeared completely distressed after everything was over. Sighing, he went over to sit next to the man who decided to stare out of the window into nothingness. Even when he cleared his throat to get Ryoma’s attention, he got no reaction but a simple annoyed grunt.
“Are you having problems with Fuji?”
That got Ryoma’s attention. He frowned at his manager at the ridiculous notion, answering with a firm ‘no’. Atobe raised an eyebrow, challenging him to speak his mind but all Ryoma did was scooted a little bit away from him and let his body fall onto the sofa, resting his head on Atobe’s lap. The manager was not at all surprised at the gesture; it only made him wonder if he had pampered the young man too much.
“Oi, Keigo.”
“What?”
“How do you feel when you had to choose to give up on tennis?”
It was not a hard question, but answering it was definitely not easy. Atobe leaned back against the sofa, hand pulling absent-mindedly at Ryoma’s lock of hair. The first thing he told Ryoma was his feeling of anger and retaliation, which eventually turned into frustration and bitter acceptance. He did not hide the fact that he would have to stop doing all other businesses and focus on being the CEO of his family’s company when he was 30; Ryoma would have to put up with having someone else as his manager, then. But Atobe promised he would always be his sponsor.
“You’re strong,” Ryoma commented. “I want to be stronger too.”
The last part was almost inaudible that Atobe had to strain his ears to catch the words. Smirking, he ruffled Ryoma’s hair, earning an irritated squeak from the man. He retrieved his PDA phone and read Ryoma’s schedule, reminding him for the umpteenth time that Ryoma should concentrate on completing the ATP Tour. He has already qualified for the Masters Series, for God’s sake, and he was more than qualified to be World’s # 1 if he just threw more commitment into his career. Ryoma was amused that he was scheduled to leave for Spain just a few days after the reunion party, which reminded him that he had not yet told Atobe about it.
The manager was both amused and shocked when Ryoma mentioned the reunion. His only disappointment was to not be able to see Ryoma’s expression when he spoke. Ryoma had not been to Seigaku reunion for two years. He wondered if Ryoma was really serious about going. Ryoma sat up and stared out much like he did before Atobe interrupted his train of thoughts.
All Ryoma said was “I need to stop running away.” And then there was silence once again.
Atobe sighed. He wondered if Ryoma realized how miserable he sounded.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Ryoma was lounging at the balcony of his hotel room when a pair of strong hands circled his waist from behind. He sighed happily and leaned back against the warmth, rejoicing in the pleasant closeness. His fatigue seemed to lessen in the loving arms of his lover, who smiled against his temple. It was a beautiful night with stardust littered along the midnight horizon. The arms around him tightened, and he was only happy to burrow further into the intimate tenderness.
“Congratulations for making it to the finals,” the deep baritone he adored so dearly whispered against his ears as lips descended to kiss his forehead slowly.
Ryoma turned within the embrace, pulling the taller man down into a soft loving kiss. He loved the feel of silky brown hair through his fingers. He had long since used to the feel of semi-cold metal of the man’s spectacles pressing into his skin, only moving to remove it to deepen the kiss they shared. Echizen Ryoma, 19, a highly promising tennis player making his way to the top, happy with the man he loved.
He could not wish for more.
Their relationship was based on pure love Ryoma himself never thought he was capable of. The gentle touches, stolen kisses, adoring embrace and passionate lovemaking - Ryoma loved everything about his relationship with the other man.
Ryoma stole another kiss and murmured against the man’s lips, “I can’t wait for the day I see you on the other side of the court.”
The man raised an amused eyebrow. “But you always see me standing across the court.”
“Being a part of the audience doesn’t count, buchou.”
When the man laughed at the title ‘buchou’, Ryoma thought he could never be happier.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
The medical text glared at him in sheer annoyance as Tezuka stared at it without reading or understanding the context. Nothing he did seemed right. He broke more than one test tube in the lab a few days ago during a simple chemistry experiment, burnt his fingers while trying to cook dinner and missed the morning bus to Toudai. In other words, he was a total wreck. Fuji definitely did not help his case. It was bad enough to see the other man during club activities, sitting next to him during lunch made matters worse. Whenever he tried to be kind and ask him how he was doing, all Fuji seemed to talk about was how happy he was with his lover.
With Ryoma.
Tezuka felt another headache approaching. It was no secret that Fuji had been dating Ryoma for over a year. The former seemed happy enough to brag about how pleasant his love life was when he saw Tezuka walking pass him in a hallway or in the cafeteria. If Fuji was happy, Tezuka supposed Ryoma was too. He should be glad for both of them, but he found himself distressed and agitated instead. When he slept at night, all he dreamt of were heartaches, goodbyes and broken dreams. He was not surprised to wake up with the ghost of tears on his face sometimes.
And everytime he heard Fuji talking with somebody else about Ryoma, he was reminded of what he left behind - of what he let slip out of his grip.
He opened the drawer and retrieved a well-kept photograph in a plain frame. The two figures in the photo were each holding a tennis racket and a lime-green ball as they smiled for the camera. Tezuka ran his hand over the smooth texture of the paper, reminiscing a time of shared happiness and promises for the future. The plain frame had their names written on it, as a proof of their relationship. Tezuka swallowed a lump in his throat at the names that were starting to fade with time.
He closed his eyes and hoped the names ‘Kunimitsu & Ryoma’ would still be there when he looked at the photo the next time.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
“You could die of SDC if you drink that much,” Fuji warned as he watched Ryoma put away the empty cans of beer in the kitchen. Ryoma merely raised an eyebrow, amused, looking back at him with a look that clearly said ‘like I care about that SD-whatever’. The young man had taken to consuming alcohol after breaking up with Tezuka, much to Fuji’s dismay. Seeing Ryoma drink so much triggered his conscious as a medical student, and he was worried for Ryoma’s health. Once in a while, he would drop by to visit the younger man if the man was around in Japan. He wondered what had Atobe been doing by letting Ryoma develop such bad habit. Still, it was unlikely for Ryoma to listen to Atobe when it had nothing to do with his tennis schedule.
“It’s just beer. It’s not like I’m gulping down XO every few minutes.”
“Beer, XO, Gin, Vodka, even wine - they accumulate in your body as toxin just the same.”
He was answered with a huff and a snort. Ryoma clearly did not care, as long as he could still play tennis. He only drank when there weren’t any major tournaments around the corner, so he saw no harm in getting himself pissed. When drinking alone became too boring, he would go out and get himself drunk in some bars. He could not even begin to count the times he woke up in somebody else’s bed smelling heavily of sex and alcohol. Atobe was getting utterly pissed off by his lack of discipline but Ryoma could not care less.
“Are you even listening to me, Ryoma?”
“Che.”
“I swear I’d move into your apartment if I can. That way, I can make sure that your fridge isn’t reserved exclusively for alcohol.”
“Suit yourself, then.”
Fuji opened his eyes, surprised. “Excuse me?”
“No one’s stopping you from moving in.”
Ryoma threw away the last can of beer into the thrash can and pull Fuji down to look straight into his bright blue eyes. “You were the one who said we’re lovers, weren’t you?”
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
The bar was different from Ryoma’s favourite bar. The atmosphere was a lot more formal inside. Ryoma should have expected Oishi to choose such a sophisticated place for a party. It was not really a party, if Ryoma had any say regarding the matter. It was more like a meeting. Ryoma found himself sandwiched between an overly enthusiastic Eiji and Momo, facing a suspicious looking Inui and a nonchalant Kaidoh. Tezuka sat next to Oishi. Fuji sat next to Taka-san; he made sure his seat was as far away as possible from Tezuka, and Ryoma was only glad that Momo shielded Tezuka almost completely from his view. Conversation was awkward before Eiji started telling them about his ‘adventure’ as a college student.
Ryoma noticed Tezuka staring at him when everyone was focusing on Eiji and his zealous gesture in sync with his storytelling. Their eyes met for a moment before both looked away. Fuji tried to act like he saw nothing, but it was hard when he had his attention on Ryoma and Tezuka. He wanted to drag Ryoma out of the bar and go home; the latter was starting to look uneasy.
They were still listening to Eiji’s story when a friendly hand touched Ryoma’s tense shoulder. The young man looked over his shoulder to find an acquaintance from the International Tennis Federation smiling warmly down at him.
Ryoma stood up to face the man, causing the group to fall into silence. “Fancy meeting you in Japan, Mr. Ferrero,” he greeted in English, taking the man’s extended hand in a handshake.
Ferrero laughed, amused at how formal Ryoma was acting. “Well, fancy meeting you here too, Mr. Echizen. I’m meeting a friend of mine and I saw you sitting here. Thought I’d say hello.”
Ryoma only shrugged, not knowing what to say.
The man said hello to the ex-regulars who simply greeted him ‘hello’ back. “Well, I won’t bother you any longer. See you next week in Spain?”
Ryoma nodded and sat back down soon after Ferrero excused himself. Eiji’s tale was forgotten as they started asking Ryoma about the tall man who had just interrupted them. Ryoma introduced him as Valentino Ferrero to his friends, a relative of former World #1 tennis pro Juan Carlos Ferrero. And then everything they talked about suddenly centered on Ryoma’s career and tennis in general. Tezuka’s eyes never left Ryoma as he told them of the world of tennis professionals. Ryoma wanted to hit something, or to just tell Tezuka to fucking stop staring at him.
When their fingers accidentally brushed against each other as they reached for another glass of drink, Ryoma’s fingers recoiled much like he had touched something scorching hot, knocking over a few still full glasses. He watched as Tezuka’s eyes widened at his horrified expression. Ryoma could not help it. The reaction was instinctive. Even though he told Atobe he needed to stop running away, he was not yet strong enough after all.
Ignoring his friends call for him to come back, Ryoma stormed out of the bar without any explanations.
Why?
Why was he not strong enough yet?
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Fuji was not surprised when Atobe called that night. He was dead worried when Ryoma did not come home after leaving the party abruptly. He was glad when Atobe called to inform him that his lover was safe and sound at the former Hyotei captain’s mansion. His first reaction after receiving Atobe’s call was to inform Oishi so the latter could stop worrying over Ryoma’s sudden flight and his current whereabouts.
When he arrived at Atobe’s mansion, Ryoma was alone in the breathtaking garden, picking absent-mindedly at the roses planted there in favour of Atobe. One way or another, when Fuji called out his name, the man was surprised at Ryoma telling him not to come near him. They stood in still silence for a long uncomfortable moment until Ryoma decided to cut through the thick atmosphere.
“I was a bastard all this time, wasn’t I?”
Fuji did not expect that from Ryoma.
“All these years, I acted like a bastard towards you. You knew how I feel, yet you stayed. You overlooked my infidelity and put up with my awful habits. It’s not that I never tried. I tried. I tried to love you. I tried to forget him.”
“I know,” Fuji balled his shaking fingers into fists. He knew what Ryoma was going to tell him.
“I tried to forget him. I tried to be strong. But I can’t. I’m just not strong enough.”
“Ryoma…”
“It’s time to stop pretending, Syuusuke. It’s time to end this.”
Fuji’s heart broke. Somewhere in his heart, he had always known that there was no happy ending for both of them. If relationship based on mutual love like Ryoma had with Tezuka could break, what did a pretentious relationship Fuji had with Ryoma have to survive the tide? When tears fell from his eyes, Ryoma wiped it away, saying he was sorry for everything. He apologized for not ending their relationship sooner before it hurt Fuji this much.
The older man shook his head. Ryoma was not the only one at fault. He was the one who asked Ryoma to be his lover in the first place, the one who forced himself into Ryoma’s life.
Fuji choked on his silent tears, leaning into Ryoma’s warm palm against his cheek. “Would you come back to our house, then? Just for tonight, one last time. That’s all I ask of you.”
Ryoma nodded.
CONTINUE TO THE NEXT PAGE, PLEASE ===>>
Fandom: Tenipuri
Pairings: TezuRyo vs. FujiRyo
Genre: Major angst, romance
Rating: R… bordering on NC-17.. o_O
Word Count: 9,910
Somewhat future!fic, and not for kiddies. I can never leave out Atobe, after all. I love him too damn much to exclude him =D And when I say TezuRyo [VERSUS] FujiRyo, I mean it.
Unlike ‘Awaiting Reprobation’ (if you’ve read it), the flashbacks aren’t in chronological order. But you’ll figure out the significance of the flashbacks if you relate them to the paragraph prior or next to the flashbacks,
“Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.
I love you still among these cold things.
Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels
that cross the sea towards no arrival.
I see myself forgotten like those old anchors.”
“Here I Love You” by Pablo Neruda
The apartment was empty when Fuji returned. The clock had not yet moved passed the number 8, yet the shared humble abode was eerily quiet like it had not been lived in by anyone for years, or like all the occupants were fast asleep if not gone. Fuji should have known, should have expected something like this. Yet he could not help but feel a trail of sadness circling his body and soul at finding the light all switched off and no one to greet him after a tiring day of college and extra-curricular activities.
He was used to eating dinner on his own since he moved out. His housemate woke up after Fuji left for class and did not return until late at night when ordinary souls were lost in slumberland. The fridge had little food left, leaving only a large carton of milk, two cans of grape-flavoured Ponta Fuji bought the other day and three cans of beer. Fuji considered grocery shopping, but it might be pointless since none of them really used the kitchen if not to store drinks in the lonely fridge, or make use of the coffeemaker and the sink there.
It was hours later when Fuji heard the clinking sound of keys and door opening, and something like two persons arguing over nonsensical things he could not grasp. He knew the voices well enough. Sighing, he sauntered out of his bedroom and switched on the light in the living room where his housemate was being thrown onto a long settee there by a grumbling man.
“Atobe,” Fuji called out, his voice hushed and tone unreadable. “Was he out drinking again?”
The grumbling Atobe Keigo turned to glare at him with an indignant huff. “What do you think, huh? Of course he was! Just look at him, Fuji.”
Fuji looked over at the figure on the settee - Ryoma, whose face was flushed red and appeared to be picking at the innocent cushion while wearing a drunken glare. He almost looked miserable if not for the angry eyes and the pout on lips, Fuji thought. He thanked Atobe for bringing Ryoma back and watched as the other man sauntered off to the exit.
“And kindly remind your boyfriend that he has a press conference to attend this Thursday morning. I would remind him myself, of course, but another helping hand wouldn’t hurt.”
And then Atobe was gone, leaving Fuji alone to tend to the drunken young man. He tried to get Ryoma to stand but he ended up on the sofa with Ryoma sprawled on top of him. He barely had time to react when Ryoma grinded their hips together and nipped on Fuji’s exposed collarbone. Adept fingers slipped into his shirt to toy at his sensitive flesh, one hand caressing his belly in sensuous circular motion while the other worked on bringing his nipples to life. What followed was a blur of entangled limbs and sweat and moans; in which order exactly, Fuji could not remember.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Ryoma looked up from his drink, amused at what he just heard from his smiling senior. He never thought Fuji, of all people, would ever think of him in that way. “Did you say lovers, Fuji-senpai?”
The smile worn by the medical student of Toudai - Tokyo University widened.“I believe I did.”
The younger man closed his eyes, stirring his fruit juice absent-mindedly with the long straw. His former senior cum schoolmate had just asked him to become his lover when the man knew well how his thought about the subject was. He shrugged, looking back up to look at Fuji with an almost mocking smirk.
“. . . Too bad I don’t believe in love, then.”
“But you can start by calling me ‘Syuusuke’.”
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Fuji lay awake after a round of passionate sex, watching Ryoma’s spent body curled into fetal position as he slept. The young man looked troubled even in sleep, brow creasing and lips curved slightly downward into a pout. Fuji’s hand trembled as he caressed the other man’s face, pushing back the stray hair that shielded Ryoma’s beautiful face from him. His eyes were open in the darkness and he swept his vision over Ryoma’s body. The smell of sex lingered still in the air, reminded him of how Ryoma writhed under him in wanton abandon, asking for more. As much as Fuji wanted to believe he was making love to Ryoma, he knew the latter would laugh it off and insisted that it was only sex and nothing else.
When the young professional tennis player was not away on world-class tournaments or exhibition matches, he would be out somewhere until late at night, looking utterly debauched and reeking heavily of alcohol and somebody else’s perfume. In his drunken state, he would take Fuji down with him - seducing and taunting, knowing his lover would give in.
But when Ryoma came, it was always someone else’s name the younger man cried.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
“Congratulations on your victory.”
Ryoma turned around to see Fuji smiling broadly as he leaned against the door to the kitchen. He frowned at what he called a ‘pointless intrusion’. Sometimes, he forgot Fuji lived in the same apartment as he was. “You already told me that over the phone two days ago.”
Fuji chuckled at his boyfriend’s nonchalant remark. “Saa… Being able to tell you in person is more meaningful, don’t you think?”
“Che.”
The sat facing each other at the kitchen table, waiting for the coffee to be ready. Ryoma’s eyes were sharp to notice his boyfriend fidgeting slightly under the table. When he asked Fuji what seemed to be the problem, the latter hesitated to speak until a few minutes of silence went by unheeded. Ryoma rolled his eyes and stood up to fill his mug with the freshly brewed coffee at the signal the coffeemaker produced.
“Tezuka sent his regards.”
Ryoma’s fingers visibly tightened around the handle.
“He said your match was a fantastic one.”
To Fuji’s surprise, Ryoma burst into a fit of laughter for a good few minutes. He passed his still full cup of coffee to Fuji while trying to hold back his laughter. He reached for his jacket perched on the counter and strolled out of the kitchen, leaving the shocked Fuji confused and perplexed.
Before slamming the front door shut behind him, Ryoma looked over his shoulder with a smirk. “You should tell your college mate to stop lying sometimes.”
Fuji stared at his blurry reflection in the mug, not surprised to see his own eyes wide open.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
When Ryoma woke up the morning after, Fuji was already off. He had no desire to get out of bed, and absolutely no desire to go anywhere else as well. He just wanted to sink into the bed and sleep the day away. He considered calling Momoshiro for a long chat over nothing in particular like the good old days but changed his plan as he remembered how they were not exactly as close as before anymore. He lazily reached for his cellphone on the nightstand and flipped it open to reveal two unread messages. The first one was from Atobe. The manager cum sponsor typed his message in bold, capital letters, much to Ryoma’s amusement. The older man threatened to kill him if he went out drinking the night before his press conference.
Stupid conference, stupid Monkey King, he thought. All the publicity he got was getting him annoyed. He could not go out without some kind of disguise anymore. Even buying stuff from the nearest convenient shop was made complicated by his popularity, and it was rapidly growing day by day. Most of the time, he let Atobe answered most of the questions on his behalf. The other man basked in the limelight all the time. Ryoma wondered why he did not venture into the same profession although he already knew it was probably because of Atobe’s family.
The second message caused him to sit right up in abrupt. The message was clear, simple and just the right length - from Oishi. It was an invitation to attend a reunion party of sorts held at a bar in town. He wondered if Fuji already knew about it but refused to tell him. Then again, he was not always around when the man came home. Maybe Fuji wanted him to find out by himself. For a few minutes, Ryoma did nothing but stare at the message until the backlight went out, leaving him staring at nothing but a dark screen.
The thought of going to the reunion party made him feel like puking all of a sudden.
Damn it.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
The only empty seat in the cafeteria was next to someone Fuji would rather not see or talk to at the moment. He was tempted to return the tray of food he just purchased until said someone caught him looking at said empty seat. He had no choice but to sit next to the person if he wanted to finish his lunch.
“Fuji,” the other man greeted curtly with a small nod of the head.
“Tezuka,” Fuji’s reply was just as curt.
The food tasted stale in his mouth, Fuji thought. He just wanted to finish eating as soon as possible so he would be able to leave. A part of him was glad that none of them said anything as they dug into their respective meals. When Tezuka asked him whether or not he received Oishi’s invitation to a reunion party, Fuji almost choked on his juice. He replied with a short yes, and both of them fell back into silence.
“Do you think he’d come?”
Fuji froze; he was only proud of himself when the cutlery was still firm in his hold. He did not expect Tezuka to ask him the question. He opened his eyes and tilted his head to look at Tezuka, who was picking at whatever was left of his food. He appeared troubled, and he was still unable to say Ryoma’s name. Fuji wanted to kick the fuck out of Tezuka and then leave him bleeding on the floor. Instead, he closed his eyes and smiled his trademark mischievous smile.
“He’d come along if I do, and if he doesn’t have anything scheduled. We are, after all, lovers.”
Fuji felt a surge of triumph when Tezuka’s grip around his chopstick visibly tightened at the emphasis on the word ‘lovers’. Yet, when Tezuka left the table to return his empty food tray, Fuji’s tongue felt burnt from the words he said. He had done it again - lying about how great his and Ryoma’s relationship was when the truth was the other way around.
Lover of someone who did not love him… Who was he kidding?
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Fuji sat watching the replay of Ryoma’s exhibition match against Federer on the sofa next to his boyfriend in the living room. Ryoma had a deep frown marring his face; he seemed lost in his own world. Fuji watched as the Ryoma in the tape swung a shot his opponent could not return. With every point gained by his self in the tape, Ryoma’s frown deepened. Just when it was Federer’s turn to serve, he switched the TV off.
“Not strong enough…”
Fuji tilted his head, confused. “Pardon?” Was Ryoma saying Federer was not good enough? Or was he talking about himself?
Instead of answering, Ryoma shook his head. “It’s nothing.”
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Fuji was surprised to find the light on when he came home that evening. He found Ryoma in the kitchen, treating himself to a piece of pizza. He pushed the hot pouch towards Fuji when the man sat at the opposite side of the table. The latter smiled, thanking the other for it.
“I received a message from Oishi-senpai,” Ryoma stated disinterestedly. “About the reunion party.”
Fuji should have sensed this when Ryoma had that distant look in his eyes. “Saa… Are you going then?” He wanted to say ‘with me’ but the words just would not come out.
Ryoma took a sip of his drink and looked straight at his boyfriend’s face. “Are you going, Syuusuke?”
“I guess. Eiji would strangle me if I don’t.”
“Hmm… Chances are he’d strangle me too. And Momochan-senpai would surely kick my ass if I miss another party.”
Fuji’s eyes snapped open at that. “Does that mean that you’d…”
“Yeah, I’ll go.”
The older man supposed he should be happy for that. Somehow, something felt unusually, terribly off in his mind. It was like a warning of something dreadful to come in the near future.
Something that involved one Tezuka Kunimitsu.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Atobe sighed as the drunken Ryoma stubbornly refused to pick his head off of his lap. The young man looked so comfortable lying there. Atobe was about to kick Ryoma off one more time when he heard a choked sob from Ryoma which only meant one thing.
Ryoma was crying.
He let the young man cry, wincing occasionally at Ryoma’s indecipherable nonsense. He did not need to ask the reason of the man’s sudden burst of tears. Atobe pitied the boy sometimes. Even drunk, he was not able to forget his misery.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
The press conference went relatively well in Atobe’s opinion. Ryoma had been cooperative for once, saving him the trouble of having to answer most of the questions directed their way. Contrary to popular belief, Atobe Keigo did not like attending press conferences. He hated Ryoma’s indifferent mask to questions regarding his personal matter. Although the young man chose not to answer most of the questions pertaining to his private life, Atobe could sense Ryoma’s stress at being on the receiving end of questions like: (a) Are you seeing a special someone at the moment, Mr. Echizen?, (b) Is it true that they say you have no interest in woman?, and (c) Rumours has it that you are always out drinking and drunk. Is it true, Mr. Echizen?
Atobe was proud when Ryoma brushed off all of the questions with ease, but he was not happy when Ryoma appeared completely distressed after everything was over. Sighing, he went over to sit next to the man who decided to stare out of the window into nothingness. Even when he cleared his throat to get Ryoma’s attention, he got no reaction but a simple annoyed grunt.
“Are you having problems with Fuji?”
That got Ryoma’s attention. He frowned at his manager at the ridiculous notion, answering with a firm ‘no’. Atobe raised an eyebrow, challenging him to speak his mind but all Ryoma did was scooted a little bit away from him and let his body fall onto the sofa, resting his head on Atobe’s lap. The manager was not at all surprised at the gesture; it only made him wonder if he had pampered the young man too much.
“Oi, Keigo.”
“What?”
“How do you feel when you had to choose to give up on tennis?”
It was not a hard question, but answering it was definitely not easy. Atobe leaned back against the sofa, hand pulling absent-mindedly at Ryoma’s lock of hair. The first thing he told Ryoma was his feeling of anger and retaliation, which eventually turned into frustration and bitter acceptance. He did not hide the fact that he would have to stop doing all other businesses and focus on being the CEO of his family’s company when he was 30; Ryoma would have to put up with having someone else as his manager, then. But Atobe promised he would always be his sponsor.
“You’re strong,” Ryoma commented. “I want to be stronger too.”
The last part was almost inaudible that Atobe had to strain his ears to catch the words. Smirking, he ruffled Ryoma’s hair, earning an irritated squeak from the man. He retrieved his PDA phone and read Ryoma’s schedule, reminding him for the umpteenth time that Ryoma should concentrate on completing the ATP Tour. He has already qualified for the Masters Series, for God’s sake, and he was more than qualified to be World’s # 1 if he just threw more commitment into his career. Ryoma was amused that he was scheduled to leave for Spain just a few days after the reunion party, which reminded him that he had not yet told Atobe about it.
The manager was both amused and shocked when Ryoma mentioned the reunion. His only disappointment was to not be able to see Ryoma’s expression when he spoke. Ryoma had not been to Seigaku reunion for two years. He wondered if Ryoma was really serious about going. Ryoma sat up and stared out much like he did before Atobe interrupted his train of thoughts.
All Ryoma said was “I need to stop running away.” And then there was silence once again.
Atobe sighed. He wondered if Ryoma realized how miserable he sounded.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Ryoma was lounging at the balcony of his hotel room when a pair of strong hands circled his waist from behind. He sighed happily and leaned back against the warmth, rejoicing in the pleasant closeness. His fatigue seemed to lessen in the loving arms of his lover, who smiled against his temple. It was a beautiful night with stardust littered along the midnight horizon. The arms around him tightened, and he was only happy to burrow further into the intimate tenderness.
“Congratulations for making it to the finals,” the deep baritone he adored so dearly whispered against his ears as lips descended to kiss his forehead slowly.
Ryoma turned within the embrace, pulling the taller man down into a soft loving kiss. He loved the feel of silky brown hair through his fingers. He had long since used to the feel of semi-cold metal of the man’s spectacles pressing into his skin, only moving to remove it to deepen the kiss they shared. Echizen Ryoma, 19, a highly promising tennis player making his way to the top, happy with the man he loved.
He could not wish for more.
Their relationship was based on pure love Ryoma himself never thought he was capable of. The gentle touches, stolen kisses, adoring embrace and passionate lovemaking - Ryoma loved everything about his relationship with the other man.
Ryoma stole another kiss and murmured against the man’s lips, “I can’t wait for the day I see you on the other side of the court.”
The man raised an amused eyebrow. “But you always see me standing across the court.”
“Being a part of the audience doesn’t count, buchou.”
When the man laughed at the title ‘buchou’, Ryoma thought he could never be happier.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
The medical text glared at him in sheer annoyance as Tezuka stared at it without reading or understanding the context. Nothing he did seemed right. He broke more than one test tube in the lab a few days ago during a simple chemistry experiment, burnt his fingers while trying to cook dinner and missed the morning bus to Toudai. In other words, he was a total wreck. Fuji definitely did not help his case. It was bad enough to see the other man during club activities, sitting next to him during lunch made matters worse. Whenever he tried to be kind and ask him how he was doing, all Fuji seemed to talk about was how happy he was with his lover.
With Ryoma.
Tezuka felt another headache approaching. It was no secret that Fuji had been dating Ryoma for over a year. The former seemed happy enough to brag about how pleasant his love life was when he saw Tezuka walking pass him in a hallway or in the cafeteria. If Fuji was happy, Tezuka supposed Ryoma was too. He should be glad for both of them, but he found himself distressed and agitated instead. When he slept at night, all he dreamt of were heartaches, goodbyes and broken dreams. He was not surprised to wake up with the ghost of tears on his face sometimes.
And everytime he heard Fuji talking with somebody else about Ryoma, he was reminded of what he left behind - of what he let slip out of his grip.
He opened the drawer and retrieved a well-kept photograph in a plain frame. The two figures in the photo were each holding a tennis racket and a lime-green ball as they smiled for the camera. Tezuka ran his hand over the smooth texture of the paper, reminiscing a time of shared happiness and promises for the future. The plain frame had their names written on it, as a proof of their relationship. Tezuka swallowed a lump in his throat at the names that were starting to fade with time.
He closed his eyes and hoped the names ‘Kunimitsu & Ryoma’ would still be there when he looked at the photo the next time.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
“You could die of SDC if you drink that much,” Fuji warned as he watched Ryoma put away the empty cans of beer in the kitchen. Ryoma merely raised an eyebrow, amused, looking back at him with a look that clearly said ‘like I care about that SD-whatever’. The young man had taken to consuming alcohol after breaking up with Tezuka, much to Fuji’s dismay. Seeing Ryoma drink so much triggered his conscious as a medical student, and he was worried for Ryoma’s health. Once in a while, he would drop by to visit the younger man if the man was around in Japan. He wondered what had Atobe been doing by letting Ryoma develop such bad habit. Still, it was unlikely for Ryoma to listen to Atobe when it had nothing to do with his tennis schedule.
“It’s just beer. It’s not like I’m gulping down XO every few minutes.”
“Beer, XO, Gin, Vodka, even wine - they accumulate in your body as toxin just the same.”
He was answered with a huff and a snort. Ryoma clearly did not care, as long as he could still play tennis. He only drank when there weren’t any major tournaments around the corner, so he saw no harm in getting himself pissed. When drinking alone became too boring, he would go out and get himself drunk in some bars. He could not even begin to count the times he woke up in somebody else’s bed smelling heavily of sex and alcohol. Atobe was getting utterly pissed off by his lack of discipline but Ryoma could not care less.
“Are you even listening to me, Ryoma?”
“Che.”
“I swear I’d move into your apartment if I can. That way, I can make sure that your fridge isn’t reserved exclusively for alcohol.”
“Suit yourself, then.”
Fuji opened his eyes, surprised. “Excuse me?”
“No one’s stopping you from moving in.”
Ryoma threw away the last can of beer into the thrash can and pull Fuji down to look straight into his bright blue eyes. “You were the one who said we’re lovers, weren’t you?”
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
The bar was different from Ryoma’s favourite bar. The atmosphere was a lot more formal inside. Ryoma should have expected Oishi to choose such a sophisticated place for a party. It was not really a party, if Ryoma had any say regarding the matter. It was more like a meeting. Ryoma found himself sandwiched between an overly enthusiastic Eiji and Momo, facing a suspicious looking Inui and a nonchalant Kaidoh. Tezuka sat next to Oishi. Fuji sat next to Taka-san; he made sure his seat was as far away as possible from Tezuka, and Ryoma was only glad that Momo shielded Tezuka almost completely from his view. Conversation was awkward before Eiji started telling them about his ‘adventure’ as a college student.
Ryoma noticed Tezuka staring at him when everyone was focusing on Eiji and his zealous gesture in sync with his storytelling. Their eyes met for a moment before both looked away. Fuji tried to act like he saw nothing, but it was hard when he had his attention on Ryoma and Tezuka. He wanted to drag Ryoma out of the bar and go home; the latter was starting to look uneasy.
They were still listening to Eiji’s story when a friendly hand touched Ryoma’s tense shoulder. The young man looked over his shoulder to find an acquaintance from the International Tennis Federation smiling warmly down at him.
Ryoma stood up to face the man, causing the group to fall into silence. “Fancy meeting you in Japan, Mr. Ferrero,” he greeted in English, taking the man’s extended hand in a handshake.
Ferrero laughed, amused at how formal Ryoma was acting. “Well, fancy meeting you here too, Mr. Echizen. I’m meeting a friend of mine and I saw you sitting here. Thought I’d say hello.”
Ryoma only shrugged, not knowing what to say.
The man said hello to the ex-regulars who simply greeted him ‘hello’ back. “Well, I won’t bother you any longer. See you next week in Spain?”
Ryoma nodded and sat back down soon after Ferrero excused himself. Eiji’s tale was forgotten as they started asking Ryoma about the tall man who had just interrupted them. Ryoma introduced him as Valentino Ferrero to his friends, a relative of former World #1 tennis pro Juan Carlos Ferrero. And then everything they talked about suddenly centered on Ryoma’s career and tennis in general. Tezuka’s eyes never left Ryoma as he told them of the world of tennis professionals. Ryoma wanted to hit something, or to just tell Tezuka to fucking stop staring at him.
When their fingers accidentally brushed against each other as they reached for another glass of drink, Ryoma’s fingers recoiled much like he had touched something scorching hot, knocking over a few still full glasses. He watched as Tezuka’s eyes widened at his horrified expression. Ryoma could not help it. The reaction was instinctive. Even though he told Atobe he needed to stop running away, he was not yet strong enough after all.
Ignoring his friends call for him to come back, Ryoma stormed out of the bar without any explanations.
Why?
Why was he not strong enough yet?
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Fuji was not surprised when Atobe called that night. He was dead worried when Ryoma did not come home after leaving the party abruptly. He was glad when Atobe called to inform him that his lover was safe and sound at the former Hyotei captain’s mansion. His first reaction after receiving Atobe’s call was to inform Oishi so the latter could stop worrying over Ryoma’s sudden flight and his current whereabouts.
When he arrived at Atobe’s mansion, Ryoma was alone in the breathtaking garden, picking absent-mindedly at the roses planted there in favour of Atobe. One way or another, when Fuji called out his name, the man was surprised at Ryoma telling him not to come near him. They stood in still silence for a long uncomfortable moment until Ryoma decided to cut through the thick atmosphere.
“I was a bastard all this time, wasn’t I?”
Fuji did not expect that from Ryoma.
“All these years, I acted like a bastard towards you. You knew how I feel, yet you stayed. You overlooked my infidelity and put up with my awful habits. It’s not that I never tried. I tried. I tried to love you. I tried to forget him.”
“I know,” Fuji balled his shaking fingers into fists. He knew what Ryoma was going to tell him.
“I tried to forget him. I tried to be strong. But I can’t. I’m just not strong enough.”
“Ryoma…”
“It’s time to stop pretending, Syuusuke. It’s time to end this.”
Fuji’s heart broke. Somewhere in his heart, he had always known that there was no happy ending for both of them. If relationship based on mutual love like Ryoma had with Tezuka could break, what did a pretentious relationship Fuji had with Ryoma have to survive the tide? When tears fell from his eyes, Ryoma wiped it away, saying he was sorry for everything. He apologized for not ending their relationship sooner before it hurt Fuji this much.
The older man shook his head. Ryoma was not the only one at fault. He was the one who asked Ryoma to be his lover in the first place, the one who forced himself into Ryoma’s life.
Fuji choked on his silent tears, leaning into Ryoma’s warm palm against his cheek. “Would you come back to our house, then? Just for tonight, one last time. That’s all I ask of you.”
Ryoma nodded.
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