interlude; Prince of Tennis, Fuji age 16 for Fic Meme
An attempt to begin this prompt from reddwarfer for this fic meme. It just never went very far; my enthusiasm and inspiration during fic memes burns short and sharp and once it's gone, it's gone. 339 Words.
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Fuji age 16
Quote: "Listen now and let me speak, I will be the dog at your feet. Come along when you call, be the little bird in your straw and sing you a song. I'll be there to take the fall, though you tread upon me for no reason at all. Just when you think you left me blind, if I need to, I will keep you in the corner of my eye."
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The coach even tells him, in front of Tezuka (and he thinks that's how Tezuka wanted it), that he's clearly good enough to not even come to every single practice. If he only wanted to turn up two out of five times, or even just once a week, he'd still have no trouble keeping up.
Fuji smiles at the coach, glares at Tezuka out of the corner of his eye, and folds his arms across his chest protectively. He is not sulking.
He knows he is trapped. He can't possibly not turn up for every practice now, and yet he doesn't want to willingly fall in with their plans.
He has gotten more serious, why isn't that enough?
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The worst thing is this passion. It is lurking inside him, always had been, but now that he has acknowledged it it just won't go away. It nags at him during class, in the back of his mind as he answers questions, taunting him. Every time he gets a better score than he intended, it questions his motivations.
Is this what you want to be doing? It whispers. Is this your passion?
Needless to say, tennis is not it. It may have been the road to caring, but it is not the road Fuji intends to stay on.
That afternoon, when he feels Tezuka's eyes on him during practice, he suddenly wonders if Tezuka knows that.
The quick-forming pit in Fuji's stomach insists to him that no, Tezuka doesn't.
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He tells Kawamura first, and pretends it isn't because he is a coward, and it isn't because this is easiest, and it certainly isn't because Kawamura is sure to keep it quiet if asked.
"Oh," he says, with a mixture of resignation and hope, "did your father bring up an apprenticeship for you too?"
His world is so small, and yet it isn't his choice. But Fuji knows that with tennis, his world will too stay small. He can't have that. He has ambition, he just doesn't know what it is yet.
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Fuji age 16
Quote: "Listen now and let me speak, I will be the dog at your feet. Come along when you call, be the little bird in your straw and sing you a song. I'll be there to take the fall, though you tread upon me for no reason at all. Just when you think you left me blind, if I need to, I will keep you in the corner of my eye."
-
The coach even tells him, in front of Tezuka (and he thinks that's how Tezuka wanted it), that he's clearly good enough to not even come to every single practice. If he only wanted to turn up two out of five times, or even just once a week, he'd still have no trouble keeping up.
Fuji smiles at the coach, glares at Tezuka out of the corner of his eye, and folds his arms across his chest protectively. He is not sulking.
He knows he is trapped. He can't possibly not turn up for every practice now, and yet he doesn't want to willingly fall in with their plans.
He has gotten more serious, why isn't that enough?
-
The worst thing is this passion. It is lurking inside him, always had been, but now that he has acknowledged it it just won't go away. It nags at him during class, in the back of his mind as he answers questions, taunting him. Every time he gets a better score than he intended, it questions his motivations.
Is this what you want to be doing? It whispers. Is this your passion?
Needless to say, tennis is not it. It may have been the road to caring, but it is not the road Fuji intends to stay on.
That afternoon, when he feels Tezuka's eyes on him during practice, he suddenly wonders if Tezuka knows that.
The quick-forming pit in Fuji's stomach insists to him that no, Tezuka doesn't.
-
He tells Kawamura first, and pretends it isn't because he is a coward, and it isn't because this is easiest, and it certainly isn't because Kawamura is sure to keep it quiet if asked.
"Oh," he says, with a mixture of resignation and hope, "did your father bring up an apprenticeship for you too?"
His world is so small, and yet it isn't his choice. But Fuji knows that with tennis, his world will too stay small. He can't have that. He has ambition, he just doesn't know what it is yet.
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