[PoT] Putting Things Together (PG-13)
Title: Putting Things Together
Author: Kimmie (mirafrac@hotmail.com)
Archive: livejournal: hanahadauncute
Category: shonen ai, angst
Pairings: Tezuka + Ryoma
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, I mean no harm, I have no money... Stuff like that. Yeah.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None.
Spoilers: None.
Notes: This was written the same day as the "Tezuka's-mommy-dresses-him" story, just later on after my second job of the day pissed me off royally. I did not intend to take it out on Tezuma. It just sort of happened. I won't say I like it... because I don't really like angst... but I think it bears some merit in the grand scheme of things. ^_^
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Tezuka keeps mainly to himself these days. School is over. Tennis destroyed his arm. An accident had destroyed his leg. A boy with a cocksure smile destroyed his heart.
There wasn't much to live for -- watching Wimbledon, trying new blends of tea, baking cookies... He was barely 30 and his pastimes were like an old woman! He lived with a cat that was half-starved for as often as he forgot to feed it. (He'd been thoughtful enough to purchase a self-cleaning litterbox.) He worked as a salaryman: pushing papers and forgetting what smiles felt like. He never married.
Life was lackluster, but that was how it had been since his final match with Ryoma. He had played well until the end. But the end, this time, was the bitter end. Every doctor that Tezuka had been to had told him that his arm was healed, and every single one of them had been wrong. The joint had dislocated. He'd torn two ligaments and a muscle. He'd had surgery, and then had his arm in a cast for nearly six months. By that point, it had atrophied, and tennis was a far away dream.
When Tezuka had the cast removed, he'd started drinking. It didn't matter what time of day it was: mornings were just as good as evenings to dull the pain until he forgot himself and everything else. Ryoma didn't talk to him, didn't search him out... he just kept right on winning everything that could be won.
On the way to work one morning, still in his clothes from the day before because he'd been drinking the whole while since, Tezuka stepped out in front of a bus. He made it most of the way across the lane, but his leg got caught under the wheels. They couldn't quite put it together again, but Tezuka was getting used to that.
He saw Ryoma just as he was finally able to manage a sort of toddling walk with a cane. It was out by the street. Ryoma was in tennis whites and looking every bit as healthy as every time Tezuka saw him on TV and in the newspapers. Tezuka wore a navy blue business suit that seemed to suck the color from his cheeks. His left arm and right leg hung there, useless. Ryoma looked at him. "Bu-" he started, but stopped himself.
"Finally decided to stop calling me 'buchou'?" Tezuka felt a smile creeping up to his lips.
Ryoma shook his head. "No. You're not that man anymore. You're just a has-been." He pulled his cap low on his brow and took off.
Tezuka took a moment to consider which would be better: to drink himself into a stupor while skipping work and hope for the best, or to go ahead and take a step in front of another bus.
He took two steps, and never looked back.
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Owari. ;_;
Author: Kimmie (mirafrac@hotmail.com)
Archive: livejournal: hanahadauncute
Category: shonen ai, angst
Pairings: Tezuka + Ryoma
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, I mean no harm, I have no money... Stuff like that. Yeah.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None.
Spoilers: None.
Notes: This was written the same day as the "Tezuka's-mommy-dresses-him" story, just later on after my second job of the day pissed me off royally. I did not intend to take it out on Tezuma. It just sort of happened. I won't say I like it... because I don't really like angst... but I think it bears some merit in the grand scheme of things. ^_^
----------
Tezuka keeps mainly to himself these days. School is over. Tennis destroyed his arm. An accident had destroyed his leg. A boy with a cocksure smile destroyed his heart.
There wasn't much to live for -- watching Wimbledon, trying new blends of tea, baking cookies... He was barely 30 and his pastimes were like an old woman! He lived with a cat that was half-starved for as often as he forgot to feed it. (He'd been thoughtful enough to purchase a self-cleaning litterbox.) He worked as a salaryman: pushing papers and forgetting what smiles felt like. He never married.
Life was lackluster, but that was how it had been since his final match with Ryoma. He had played well until the end. But the end, this time, was the bitter end. Every doctor that Tezuka had been to had told him that his arm was healed, and every single one of them had been wrong. The joint had dislocated. He'd torn two ligaments and a muscle. He'd had surgery, and then had his arm in a cast for nearly six months. By that point, it had atrophied, and tennis was a far away dream.
When Tezuka had the cast removed, he'd started drinking. It didn't matter what time of day it was: mornings were just as good as evenings to dull the pain until he forgot himself and everything else. Ryoma didn't talk to him, didn't search him out... he just kept right on winning everything that could be won.
On the way to work one morning, still in his clothes from the day before because he'd been drinking the whole while since, Tezuka stepped out in front of a bus. He made it most of the way across the lane, but his leg got caught under the wheels. They couldn't quite put it together again, but Tezuka was getting used to that.
He saw Ryoma just as he was finally able to manage a sort of toddling walk with a cane. It was out by the street. Ryoma was in tennis whites and looking every bit as healthy as every time Tezuka saw him on TV and in the newspapers. Tezuka wore a navy blue business suit that seemed to suck the color from his cheeks. His left arm and right leg hung there, useless. Ryoma looked at him. "Bu-" he started, but stopped himself.
"Finally decided to stop calling me 'buchou'?" Tezuka felt a smile creeping up to his lips.
Ryoma shook his head. "No. You're not that man anymore. You're just a has-been." He pulled his cap low on his brow and took off.
Tezuka took a moment to consider which would be better: to drink himself into a stupor while skipping work and hope for the best, or to go ahead and take a step in front of another bus.
He took two steps, and never looked back.
----------
Owari. ;_;