FIC: PoT - Hard Times, Desperate Measures, and Frilly Aprons {Fuji, Saeki, Yuuta}
Title: Hard Times, Desperate Measures, and Frilly Aprons
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Characters: Fuji, Saeki, and Yuuta
Rating: PG
Genre: crack
Saeki burst through the space between the swings that had previously been designated the doorway and hobbled dramatically toward his corner of the sandbox ledge. His little body deflated in a heap, his father's tie handing loose and low enough to touch the ground when Saeki deposited his pail on the sand packed dinner table and rested his head in the cradle of his chubby little hands. The plastic bucket wobbled previously before toppling to the side, spilling a few grubby rocks, a chipped shell, a half squished lady bug, and a bright yellow shovel that sported a crack halfway down its handle.
Yuuta blinked widely at the load, attention lingering on the bug as it attempted to drag itself along by three remaining legs until it shuddered and fell still again. In the end, he chose to grab the bluest of the rocks (which was to say the one with the most algae fixed to it) and stuck it and three fingers into his mouth. Saeki smiled despite his exhaustion; Yuuta had always been the smart one.
Fuji hovered uncertainly by the corner where he'd been making onigiri from sand for their dinner, but finally crossed the space between them at a clip and fell at Saeki's feet. The overly large, frilly white apron floated down after him, and Saeki fought not to wince when he noticed it was already showing signs of mussing. Usually they were careful enough so as not to have their thieving noticed by Yumiko-neesan, but tonight would surely find Fuji washing it in the bathroom sink.
Saeki sighed wistfully at the days when acquiring props was the biggest of their troubles. Oh, why was he such a worthless husband who could not help his family escape from this desolate dustbowl? Were they doomed to such disgraceful poverty indefinitely?
A handful of their classmates called out greetings as they ran past the sandbox towards the slide, and Fuji and Saeki looked up from their moment of drama to wave cheerfully back. Yuuta ignored them all in favor of replacing his algae rock with a slate black one, which might or might not have been a chunk of pavement from the school parking lot. Yuuta seemed to enjoy it either way, letting out a happy gurgle and slapping the table with little fists.
"Anata," Fuji coaxed, placing a gentle hand on Saeki's knee. "What's wrong?"
Quickly snatching up Fuji's hand, he pressed it to his cheek, reveling in the welcome contrast those warm digits were to the cruel, cruel world. "Syuusuke-chan, I humbly apologize for the burdens this wretched man has inflicted on you. Although I solemnly promised your father to provide well for you, in the end I have lost my job and brought misery upon our house."
Fuji gasped quietly, covering his mouth with his free hand. Instead of pulling away, as Saeki feared he would, Fuji linked their fingers together and squeezed.
"Syuusuke-chan, please do me the honor of being my second and chopping off my head after I've committed seppuku. After I am dead, live on with our children as though this stupid man had never brought this disgrace on my esteemed father's good name-Oh cool! That airplane is flying really low!"
They paused to watch it glide across the darkening sky, a low engine purr sweeping through the playground. Saeki stared with avid interest, while Fuji smiled contently, adjusting the frills around his collar slightly. Yuuta poked at the broken shell with his stubby nose.
"Anata," Fuji turned serious again, grasping Saeki's hands in both of his own. "Do not end your life needlessly. Please reconsider this rash action. We may yet still escape from ruin."
Biting his lip, Saeki still looked doubtful. He mentally calculated if they'd have enough time to perform a ritual suicide before dinner. He might have to skip the epic poem. "I suppose the option remains for us to sell one of the children. Oji would offer a fair price to such old friends and Yuuta-kun would make a lovely geisha with the proper wig and some training."
Appalled, Fuji crawled over to Yuuta, flinging his arms around his potato sack shaped body and pressed him forcefully to his nonexistent bosom. "Not my Yuu-chan!"
Saeki felt all the years of his life press down on him. No man should live to see such days; kindergarten had not prepared him for such a life. "But Annabelle and Yuki are too young," he reasoned, gesturing across the table to the two cactuses. Annabelle was wearing a pink ribbon Saeki had found on the beach last week and Yuki's pot was still bright with the happy snowmen he and Fuji had painted on it with white out on her last birthday.
"Unless you want to go yourself?" Saeki looked down, picking at the wood splinters that stuck up from that beam he sat on, knowing that even Fuji's thrill seeking did not extend to sitting around the tennis court in white face paint, batting his eyelashes at the Rokkaku Chuu regulars. Or at least not for more than a day.
Yuuta was beginning to look a little nervous, casting frantic glances between Fuji and Saeki. At some point he'd managed to fit all of the contents of Saeki's pail and an entire fist into his mouth, but as Fuji began to slump in defeat, his grip on Yuuta's shoulder's loosening, Yuuta renewed his efforts in consuming his other hand as well.
"He may even grow to like it," Saeki nodded sagely.
"I see," Fuji eventually relented. "Maybe. Maybe we could rent him out. Until you get a new job."
"I'm sure it won't be long."
"Besides, the blood from the ritual suicide would be so troublesome to remove from the carpet. Would you like your onigiri now, Anata?"
"Thank you, Syuusuke-chan."
Soon the street lights flickered on, signaling their need to return home for the night. They had plans for tomorrow set, which would require Yumiko-neesan's make-up kit, Saeki's mother's shiny bathrobe, and a fan that they could fashion about of notebook paper. Parting ways, Fuji with Yuuta in tow and Saeki struggling to remove his father's tie, the two older boys shared a smile, waving vigorous goodbyes and proclaiming their undying love. Yuuta tried simultaneously not to swallow any of the rocks or wet himself with terror.
Years later, after Yuuta moved out and the house was stilled, Fuji feels no need to act out the drama as they might have in their childhood. It's all understood with too careful looks and doors that don't quite slam. Fuji flipped through scrapbooks, staring at images of Yuuta trussed up in silk, pouting with red, red lips, and knows better than to think tennis is the only reason for this sudden and intense resentment his brother has developed towards him.
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Characters: Fuji, Saeki, and Yuuta
Rating: PG
Genre: crack
Saeki burst through the space between the swings that had previously been designated the doorway and hobbled dramatically toward his corner of the sandbox ledge. His little body deflated in a heap, his father's tie handing loose and low enough to touch the ground when Saeki deposited his pail on the sand packed dinner table and rested his head in the cradle of his chubby little hands. The plastic bucket wobbled previously before toppling to the side, spilling a few grubby rocks, a chipped shell, a half squished lady bug, and a bright yellow shovel that sported a crack halfway down its handle.
Yuuta blinked widely at the load, attention lingering on the bug as it attempted to drag itself along by three remaining legs until it shuddered and fell still again. In the end, he chose to grab the bluest of the rocks (which was to say the one with the most algae fixed to it) and stuck it and three fingers into his mouth. Saeki smiled despite his exhaustion; Yuuta had always been the smart one.
Fuji hovered uncertainly by the corner where he'd been making onigiri from sand for their dinner, but finally crossed the space between them at a clip and fell at Saeki's feet. The overly large, frilly white apron floated down after him, and Saeki fought not to wince when he noticed it was already showing signs of mussing. Usually they were careful enough so as not to have their thieving noticed by Yumiko-neesan, but tonight would surely find Fuji washing it in the bathroom sink.
Saeki sighed wistfully at the days when acquiring props was the biggest of their troubles. Oh, why was he such a worthless husband who could not help his family escape from this desolate dustbowl? Were they doomed to such disgraceful poverty indefinitely?
A handful of their classmates called out greetings as they ran past the sandbox towards the slide, and Fuji and Saeki looked up from their moment of drama to wave cheerfully back. Yuuta ignored them all in favor of replacing his algae rock with a slate black one, which might or might not have been a chunk of pavement from the school parking lot. Yuuta seemed to enjoy it either way, letting out a happy gurgle and slapping the table with little fists.
"Anata," Fuji coaxed, placing a gentle hand on Saeki's knee. "What's wrong?"
Quickly snatching up Fuji's hand, he pressed it to his cheek, reveling in the welcome contrast those warm digits were to the cruel, cruel world. "Syuusuke-chan, I humbly apologize for the burdens this wretched man has inflicted on you. Although I solemnly promised your father to provide well for you, in the end I have lost my job and brought misery upon our house."
Fuji gasped quietly, covering his mouth with his free hand. Instead of pulling away, as Saeki feared he would, Fuji linked their fingers together and squeezed.
"Syuusuke-chan, please do me the honor of being my second and chopping off my head after I've committed seppuku. After I am dead, live on with our children as though this stupid man had never brought this disgrace on my esteemed father's good name-Oh cool! That airplane is flying really low!"
They paused to watch it glide across the darkening sky, a low engine purr sweeping through the playground. Saeki stared with avid interest, while Fuji smiled contently, adjusting the frills around his collar slightly. Yuuta poked at the broken shell with his stubby nose.
"Anata," Fuji turned serious again, grasping Saeki's hands in both of his own. "Do not end your life needlessly. Please reconsider this rash action. We may yet still escape from ruin."
Biting his lip, Saeki still looked doubtful. He mentally calculated if they'd have enough time to perform a ritual suicide before dinner. He might have to skip the epic poem. "I suppose the option remains for us to sell one of the children. Oji would offer a fair price to such old friends and Yuuta-kun would make a lovely geisha with the proper wig and some training."
Appalled, Fuji crawled over to Yuuta, flinging his arms around his potato sack shaped body and pressed him forcefully to his nonexistent bosom. "Not my Yuu-chan!"
Saeki felt all the years of his life press down on him. No man should live to see such days; kindergarten had not prepared him for such a life. "But Annabelle and Yuki are too young," he reasoned, gesturing across the table to the two cactuses. Annabelle was wearing a pink ribbon Saeki had found on the beach last week and Yuki's pot was still bright with the happy snowmen he and Fuji had painted on it with white out on her last birthday.
"Unless you want to go yourself?" Saeki looked down, picking at the wood splinters that stuck up from that beam he sat on, knowing that even Fuji's thrill seeking did not extend to sitting around the tennis court in white face paint, batting his eyelashes at the Rokkaku Chuu regulars. Or at least not for more than a day.
Yuuta was beginning to look a little nervous, casting frantic glances between Fuji and Saeki. At some point he'd managed to fit all of the contents of Saeki's pail and an entire fist into his mouth, but as Fuji began to slump in defeat, his grip on Yuuta's shoulder's loosening, Yuuta renewed his efforts in consuming his other hand as well.
"He may even grow to like it," Saeki nodded sagely.
"I see," Fuji eventually relented. "Maybe. Maybe we could rent him out. Until you get a new job."
"I'm sure it won't be long."
"Besides, the blood from the ritual suicide would be so troublesome to remove from the carpet. Would you like your onigiri now, Anata?"
"Thank you, Syuusuke-chan."
Soon the street lights flickered on, signaling their need to return home for the night. They had plans for tomorrow set, which would require Yumiko-neesan's make-up kit, Saeki's mother's shiny bathrobe, and a fan that they could fashion about of notebook paper. Parting ways, Fuji with Yuuta in tow and Saeki struggling to remove his father's tie, the two older boys shared a smile, waving vigorous goodbyes and proclaiming their undying love. Yuuta tried simultaneously not to swallow any of the rocks or wet himself with terror.
Years later, after Yuuta moved out and the house was stilled, Fuji feels no need to act out the drama as they might have in their childhood. It's all understood with too careful looks and doors that don't quite slam. Fuji flipped through scrapbooks, staring at images of Yuuta trussed up in silk, pouting with red, red lips, and knows better than to think tennis is the only reason for this sudden and intense resentment his brother has developed towards him.