Fic for Aja [Nobuta wo Produce, Temeraire, PoT]
Okay, so. I'm almost a week late, but here they are. Drabbles/ficlets for bookshop in the Nobuta wo Produce, Temeraire, and Prince of Tennis fandoms. I hope no one kills me. Happy (belated) birthday, Aja!
. living is . [Nobuta wo Produce; Shuuji and Akira]
vague spoilers for the series ending
I found myself in the peculiar predicament of sitting cross-legged on my floor, various versions of this drabble around me, trying to figure out which one to post that wouldn't make me look (too) insane. And. I don't know. I think I was channeling Shuuji, in which case that wasn't fun at all.
. living is .
This is what you now know:
This is not home, but Akira makes it as close as it will be. You don't think that you'll ever forget the moment of blankness when you saw him at the end of the classroom, followed by a wave of sheer incredulity and panic when you realised that he wasn't a figment of your imagination. You weren't alone, and it felt like a blow to your stomach.
After an exhausting day of meeting too many people and remembering none of their names, only their faces, you stagger home intent only on getting through the door, eating, and (not) hiding.
But it's difficult not to hear his steps as he runs towards you, calling in an infuriatingly cheerful voice, and then it's difficult not to pitch forward onto your face when he jumps on you.
Thankfully, he remembers that you need to breathe.
He does it again when you're walking down the beach, the taste of the sea thick and tangy on your tongue, and then he's dragging you into the waves, and you're twisting, turning, and he ends in there first, shoes and trousers ruined.
You're both soaking, and you'll catch cold if you're not careful, and you can hear his laughter, crowing and loud, as you run back onto the sand. The smell of the sea is stinging your nostrils, and your clothes will stink of it, and it's okay, and if Nobuta were here maybe she'd be laughing.
You hope she is.
And you hardly recognise your own laughter as it bubbles in your throat, and - and it's still a game, but you're alive, and he's here with you.
You live.
Fear [Temeraire; Temeraire, Emily Roland and Laurence]
set during Black Powder War; spoilers for the end of the book and the teaser for the next
I don't know where this one came from. I'm so sorry. :(
Fear
There are days that Temeraire truly wishes that he had stayed in China, with Laurence and Mei and his mother. The longer their stay in China, and being witness to the vast difference of treatment for dragons to that same treatment in England, he saw little value to not voicing his grievances to Laurence. It isn't the same as refusing to fight for England - the more he sees of the war, the more he agrees with Laurence that Bonaparte has to be stopped at all costs - but Temeraire sees no reason why dragons should not be treated more fairly for their efforts and pains.
Still. There are many days that he wishes he had not chosen honour over comfort.
"I can fight! You know I can, and I don't see why Temeraire should be given all the fighting glory simply because he is bigger!"
Iskierka's voice, indignant and shrill, cuts through the crisp air, and Temeraire sighs heavily. He is sure that he was not so rude when he was early hatched, and he was positive that he had never been as bloodthirsty as she is... well, as much, if he is being honest, which he supposes is the best course.
He has been resisting the urge to pick her up (carefully, of course, since she is Granby's promotion, as much as he would like him back in his crew) and give her a good shake. As he has told Laurence many times previous, she needs it.
He doesn't realise someone is near him until he feels a gentle touch by his forepaws, and he peers down to see little Emily Roland settling down beside him. "Hello," he says.
She smiles up at him. "Hello." She pulls out one of her tablets and proclaims, "Mathematics tonight."
Temeraire sighs. "Oh dear." The girl had approached him one night, several weeks ago, and asked if it would be all right if she did her mathematic equations nearby. He had agreed, vaguely surprised, and then, after several minutes of watching her grumble as she wrote out almost illegible symbols, had asked her to explain it to him.
It became helpful to her, explaining the problem aloud to him, as her completion times significantly increased, and Temeraire, becoming more and more enamoured of languages, was more than happy to help her with her language recitations. Over time, their conversation topics had broadened, Temeraire telling her about his hopes for draconic reform in England; she gradually admitting her fears for inheriting Excidium from her mother, and the large expectations brought about by such an inevitable circumstance.
They struggle through the mathematics as best they can, Roland yawning by the end and muttering about how she is still expected to do sums in the middle of fighting. Temeraire nudges her gently, telling her to sleep, and isn't surprised to see Laurence lurking nearby, watching the young girl safely amble back towards the rest of the crew.
Temeraire nuzzles Laurence when he comes up, and Laurence pets him slowly. "You're kind to still do this," he remarks after a while. "She is able to tell you fears that she feels too embarrassed - and proud - to admit to others."
"She is very like her mother," Temeraire replies. He does not tell him that he has gradually realised that when Excidium will need a new handler, he will lose Roland, just as he has lost Granby to Iskierka. It has been unsettling, the realisation that his crew is not truly his, and that he will always lose some. It is not the same as losing crew members to death and capture; that is expected, in a war.
Temeraire finds himself envying Excidium very much, as time goes on.
# # #
And then they arrive home, and nothing is as it should be, and no one will tell him where Lily and Maximus are or whether they're all right. It isn't until he sees Roland's pale, frightened face that he remembers Excidium, and perhaps her large eyes betray her expected future sliding away before her eyes.
No one will tell them about Excidium, either.
And Temeraire knows that it is selfish, to briefly contemplate whether Roland will be a crew member he will not lose, after all, and he is so ashamed that he very gently and quietly comforts the girl when she seeks him out afterwards and cries because no one will tell her what has happened to her mother's dragon.
This is one thing that he will never be able to share with Laurence. This is one thing he will not be able to share with anyone.
Knowing [Prince of Tennis; Tezuka; Tezuka/Ryoma]
I finally saw Cinepuri around a fortnight ago. I love Ryoma all over again. ♥
Knowing
Tezuka has never believed that he will change the world.
There's something simply too... grandiose about the idea; his grandfather would berate him if he ever confided in him about it. Believing that he is an axis, a centre, and that things exist or change due to his own actions - there is something undeniably selfish about it all.
But Tezuka knows, deep down, that he has always been selfish, when it comes to tennis at least. At night, listening to the sounds of distant traffic outside his window as he lies in bed, he doesn't make a sound as he clutches his arm, biting his lip at the throbbing, deep-rooted pain. He tells himself that this is sacrifice, not selfishness, and he knows that he is lying.
Playing a freshman into the ground, even one of Echizen's level, is not responsible; playing himself into the ground, even for Nationals, is even less so. Neither is expecting Fuji to change into someone he is not for the sake of tennis; nor expecting Oishi to flawlessly take over from him without any repercussions occurring.
At least Tezuka's expectations for others are not any greater than the expectations he places upon himself.
# # #
Oishi emails him team updates weekly, and asks questions and seeks advice daily. Inui emails, rings, and IMs him daily (hourly) and never receives a response unless he refers to Echizen, which is probably why Echizen is now mentioned in everything even if it has nothing to do with him. Fuji emails him sporadically, his topics never following a set pattern but always understandable between the lines.
Echizen emails him only once, and Tezuka has to read it three times before it makes sense. Echizen informs him that Oishi-senpai had told him to write this (for 'team morale') and proceeds to tell him who he has beaten this week, what training methods he has followed (he now drinks three glasses of milk everyday), and how many times Kikumaru-senpai and Momo-senpai have taken him for burgers. It is entirely impersonal and endearing all at once.
In some ways, these emails seem like little anchors to Japan, making Germany feel even more alien than it already is; it will never feel like home. At night he lies in bed, breathing in unfamiliar air, in a country with a strange language and stranger food, and falls asleep thinking about tennis courts, red, blue and white uniforms, and Japan - Japan - Japan.
Sometimes, Seigaku and Nationals feel like slowly-tightening nooses around his neck while he recovers in a country where no one knows him or has any expectations for him.
Tezuka hates it, and wishes that trying to slam a ball against a wall still did not feel like his arm was shattering into a million little pieces, each shard slowly digging into his heart.
# # #
He returns from Germany. They win the Nationals. And so it goes.
The day he and the other third years officially retire from the club, Echizen stays to the side and watches with his arms crossed and his face tilted. He looks bored, and annoyed, and impatient for the tedious speeches to be over.
They had agreed on this weeks before (more like Echizen had asked and asked and asked, and Tezuka had finally agreed to save his swimming, aching head), and they meet later that evening in the clay court near the university. A train rumbles overhead when Tezuka leans back to serve, and for a moment time fades, and he is still the captain, and Echizen still needs to be taught.
He hits the ball, and it feels like his freedom is soaring.
He loses, 7-6, and it is fitting, and Echizen's palm is sweaty in his own, and his eyes are glowing, and Tezuka can't breathe.
Echizen opens his mouth to speak, and Tezuka lets go of his hand.
They walk home in silence.
# # #
Echizen is tall and gangly the first time he walks onto the courts as a high school freshman, and Tezuka looks at him and thinks he is even less like his father now. His eyes are still the same, however, and his smirk, and Tezuka doesn't want to know why he held his breath until he realised this.
And then Echizen plays, and Tezuka knows that they'll win Nationals again.
They're all exhausted by the end of practise, even Tezuka, and they shower with less teasing and mockery than usual, changing back into uniforms almost wearily. People trickle away slowly, calling goodbye, or yelling at others to hurry up, until only Echizen and Tezuka are left.
Tezuka glances over at him once when he's putting on his glasses, blinking slowly, and suddenly it's hard to breathe. It's not strange or awkward to have Echizen back again; he's played regular games with him for the past two years while waiting for him to catch up with the rest of them, and given him captaincy advice upon Echizen being made captain in his third year. He's used to having him around, just not in such constant close proximity as he will be again this year.
He blinks again, and then realises that Echizen has come straight up to him while he's been lost in his thoughts. He's staring up at him with gleaming eyes that are large and serious, the corners of his mouth quirking up in a slight smile.
Tezuka lets out a slow breath, trying to gather his scattered thoughts, and then Echizen has grabbed his jacket, fingers twisting in the cloth, and has leaned up and pressed their mouths together, his lips dry and his breath hot against Tezuka's face.
Tezuka doesn't know what to do. He's never been kissed before, not even by Fuji, and even if he's contemplated kissing Echizen, he doesn't know what to do, now, when it's been done to him, and perhaps he's lost his mind.
He doesn't know what to do, and he's utterly terrified, and he can feel his cheeks burning, and his back hurts where he's been pushed back against the lockers, and he doesn't know what to do with his hands, and -
His lips know what to do.
# # #
And so it goes.
They win the Nationals, and Tezuka has six sponsorship offers before he's even graduated high school. They tell him that he'll go far. He is polite and nods and knows that he won't be able to do it alone. Tennis, for him, is no longer a solidarity sport. Perhaps it never was, and he was simply waiting for Echizen to come along.
Echizen is cocky and arrogant, and far too used to wiping the smiles off the pros' faces. His rivalry with Tezuka becomes famous; the journalists delight in trying to playing them off each other and never succeeding.
And then, at the end of their matches, Ryoma will open the door to Tezuka's hotel room at night. It's always open for him. And he'll shrug off his dressing gown, and Tezuka will silently pull back the blankets for him to slide in.
And Ryoma will press their bodies together hard, sliding slowly, luxuriously against him, and Tezuka will hold him hard enough to bruise and make soft sounds in the back of his throat. And Ryoma will laugh against his neck, press soft, quick kisses against his skin, and call him buchou in a purring whisper.
And now Tezuka knows exactly what to do.
. living is . [Nobuta wo Produce; Shuuji and Akira]
vague spoilers for the series ending
I found myself in the peculiar predicament of sitting cross-legged on my floor, various versions of this drabble around me, trying to figure out which one to post that wouldn't make me look (too) insane. And. I don't know. I think I was channeling Shuuji, in which case that wasn't fun at all.
. living is .
This is what you now know:
This is not home, but Akira makes it as close as it will be. You don't think that you'll ever forget the moment of blankness when you saw him at the end of the classroom, followed by a wave of sheer incredulity and panic when you realised that he wasn't a figment of your imagination. You weren't alone, and it felt like a blow to your stomach.
After an exhausting day of meeting too many people and remembering none of their names, only their faces, you stagger home intent only on getting through the door, eating, and (not) hiding.
But it's difficult not to hear his steps as he runs towards you, calling in an infuriatingly cheerful voice, and then it's difficult not to pitch forward onto your face when he jumps on you.
Thankfully, he remembers that you need to breathe.
He does it again when you're walking down the beach, the taste of the sea thick and tangy on your tongue, and then he's dragging you into the waves, and you're twisting, turning, and he ends in there first, shoes and trousers ruined.
You're both soaking, and you'll catch cold if you're not careful, and you can hear his laughter, crowing and loud, as you run back onto the sand. The smell of the sea is stinging your nostrils, and your clothes will stink of it, and it's okay, and if Nobuta were here maybe she'd be laughing.
You hope she is.
And you hardly recognise your own laughter as it bubbles in your throat, and - and it's still a game, but you're alive, and he's here with you.
You live.
Fear [Temeraire; Temeraire, Emily Roland and Laurence]
set during Black Powder War; spoilers for the end of the book and the teaser for the next
I don't know where this one came from. I'm so sorry. :(
Fear
There are days that Temeraire truly wishes that he had stayed in China, with Laurence and Mei and his mother. The longer their stay in China, and being witness to the vast difference of treatment for dragons to that same treatment in England, he saw little value to not voicing his grievances to Laurence. It isn't the same as refusing to fight for England - the more he sees of the war, the more he agrees with Laurence that Bonaparte has to be stopped at all costs - but Temeraire sees no reason why dragons should not be treated more fairly for their efforts and pains.
Still. There are many days that he wishes he had not chosen honour over comfort.
"I can fight! You know I can, and I don't see why Temeraire should be given all the fighting glory simply because he is bigger!"
Iskierka's voice, indignant and shrill, cuts through the crisp air, and Temeraire sighs heavily. He is sure that he was not so rude when he was early hatched, and he was positive that he had never been as bloodthirsty as she is... well, as much, if he is being honest, which he supposes is the best course.
He has been resisting the urge to pick her up (carefully, of course, since she is Granby's promotion, as much as he would like him back in his crew) and give her a good shake. As he has told Laurence many times previous, she needs it.
He doesn't realise someone is near him until he feels a gentle touch by his forepaws, and he peers down to see little Emily Roland settling down beside him. "Hello," he says.
She smiles up at him. "Hello." She pulls out one of her tablets and proclaims, "Mathematics tonight."
Temeraire sighs. "Oh dear." The girl had approached him one night, several weeks ago, and asked if it would be all right if she did her mathematic equations nearby. He had agreed, vaguely surprised, and then, after several minutes of watching her grumble as she wrote out almost illegible symbols, had asked her to explain it to him.
It became helpful to her, explaining the problem aloud to him, as her completion times significantly increased, and Temeraire, becoming more and more enamoured of languages, was more than happy to help her with her language recitations. Over time, their conversation topics had broadened, Temeraire telling her about his hopes for draconic reform in England; she gradually admitting her fears for inheriting Excidium from her mother, and the large expectations brought about by such an inevitable circumstance.
They struggle through the mathematics as best they can, Roland yawning by the end and muttering about how she is still expected to do sums in the middle of fighting. Temeraire nudges her gently, telling her to sleep, and isn't surprised to see Laurence lurking nearby, watching the young girl safely amble back towards the rest of the crew.
Temeraire nuzzles Laurence when he comes up, and Laurence pets him slowly. "You're kind to still do this," he remarks after a while. "She is able to tell you fears that she feels too embarrassed - and proud - to admit to others."
"She is very like her mother," Temeraire replies. He does not tell him that he has gradually realised that when Excidium will need a new handler, he will lose Roland, just as he has lost Granby to Iskierka. It has been unsettling, the realisation that his crew is not truly his, and that he will always lose some. It is not the same as losing crew members to death and capture; that is expected, in a war.
Temeraire finds himself envying Excidium very much, as time goes on.
# # #
And then they arrive home, and nothing is as it should be, and no one will tell him where Lily and Maximus are or whether they're all right. It isn't until he sees Roland's pale, frightened face that he remembers Excidium, and perhaps her large eyes betray her expected future sliding away before her eyes.
No one will tell them about Excidium, either.
And Temeraire knows that it is selfish, to briefly contemplate whether Roland will be a crew member he will not lose, after all, and he is so ashamed that he very gently and quietly comforts the girl when she seeks him out afterwards and cries because no one will tell her what has happened to her mother's dragon.
This is one thing that he will never be able to share with Laurence. This is one thing he will not be able to share with anyone.
Knowing [Prince of Tennis; Tezuka; Tezuka/Ryoma]
I finally saw Cinepuri around a fortnight ago. I love Ryoma all over again. ♥
Knowing
Tezuka has never believed that he will change the world.
There's something simply too... grandiose about the idea; his grandfather would berate him if he ever confided in him about it. Believing that he is an axis, a centre, and that things exist or change due to his own actions - there is something undeniably selfish about it all.
But Tezuka knows, deep down, that he has always been selfish, when it comes to tennis at least. At night, listening to the sounds of distant traffic outside his window as he lies in bed, he doesn't make a sound as he clutches his arm, biting his lip at the throbbing, deep-rooted pain. He tells himself that this is sacrifice, not selfishness, and he knows that he is lying.
Playing a freshman into the ground, even one of Echizen's level, is not responsible; playing himself into the ground, even for Nationals, is even less so. Neither is expecting Fuji to change into someone he is not for the sake of tennis; nor expecting Oishi to flawlessly take over from him without any repercussions occurring.
At least Tezuka's expectations for others are not any greater than the expectations he places upon himself.
# # #
Oishi emails him team updates weekly, and asks questions and seeks advice daily. Inui emails, rings, and IMs him daily (hourly) and never receives a response unless he refers to Echizen, which is probably why Echizen is now mentioned in everything even if it has nothing to do with him. Fuji emails him sporadically, his topics never following a set pattern but always understandable between the lines.
Echizen emails him only once, and Tezuka has to read it three times before it makes sense. Echizen informs him that Oishi-senpai had told him to write this (for 'team morale') and proceeds to tell him who he has beaten this week, what training methods he has followed (he now drinks three glasses of milk everyday), and how many times Kikumaru-senpai and Momo-senpai have taken him for burgers. It is entirely impersonal and endearing all at once.
In some ways, these emails seem like little anchors to Japan, making Germany feel even more alien than it already is; it will never feel like home. At night he lies in bed, breathing in unfamiliar air, in a country with a strange language and stranger food, and falls asleep thinking about tennis courts, red, blue and white uniforms, and Japan - Japan - Japan.
Sometimes, Seigaku and Nationals feel like slowly-tightening nooses around his neck while he recovers in a country where no one knows him or has any expectations for him.
Tezuka hates it, and wishes that trying to slam a ball against a wall still did not feel like his arm was shattering into a million little pieces, each shard slowly digging into his heart.
# # #
He returns from Germany. They win the Nationals. And so it goes.
The day he and the other third years officially retire from the club, Echizen stays to the side and watches with his arms crossed and his face tilted. He looks bored, and annoyed, and impatient for the tedious speeches to be over.
They had agreed on this weeks before (more like Echizen had asked and asked and asked, and Tezuka had finally agreed to save his swimming, aching head), and they meet later that evening in the clay court near the university. A train rumbles overhead when Tezuka leans back to serve, and for a moment time fades, and he is still the captain, and Echizen still needs to be taught.
He hits the ball, and it feels like his freedom is soaring.
He loses, 7-6, and it is fitting, and Echizen's palm is sweaty in his own, and his eyes are glowing, and Tezuka can't breathe.
Echizen opens his mouth to speak, and Tezuka lets go of his hand.
They walk home in silence.
# # #
Echizen is tall and gangly the first time he walks onto the courts as a high school freshman, and Tezuka looks at him and thinks he is even less like his father now. His eyes are still the same, however, and his smirk, and Tezuka doesn't want to know why he held his breath until he realised this.
And then Echizen plays, and Tezuka knows that they'll win Nationals again.
They're all exhausted by the end of practise, even Tezuka, and they shower with less teasing and mockery than usual, changing back into uniforms almost wearily. People trickle away slowly, calling goodbye, or yelling at others to hurry up, until only Echizen and Tezuka are left.
Tezuka glances over at him once when he's putting on his glasses, blinking slowly, and suddenly it's hard to breathe. It's not strange or awkward to have Echizen back again; he's played regular games with him for the past two years while waiting for him to catch up with the rest of them, and given him captaincy advice upon Echizen being made captain in his third year. He's used to having him around, just not in such constant close proximity as he will be again this year.
He blinks again, and then realises that Echizen has come straight up to him while he's been lost in his thoughts. He's staring up at him with gleaming eyes that are large and serious, the corners of his mouth quirking up in a slight smile.
Tezuka lets out a slow breath, trying to gather his scattered thoughts, and then Echizen has grabbed his jacket, fingers twisting in the cloth, and has leaned up and pressed their mouths together, his lips dry and his breath hot against Tezuka's face.
Tezuka doesn't know what to do. He's never been kissed before, not even by Fuji, and even if he's contemplated kissing Echizen, he doesn't know what to do, now, when it's been done to him, and perhaps he's lost his mind.
He doesn't know what to do, and he's utterly terrified, and he can feel his cheeks burning, and his back hurts where he's been pushed back against the lockers, and he doesn't know what to do with his hands, and -
His lips know what to do.
# # #
And so it goes.
They win the Nationals, and Tezuka has six sponsorship offers before he's even graduated high school. They tell him that he'll go far. He is polite and nods and knows that he won't be able to do it alone. Tennis, for him, is no longer a solidarity sport. Perhaps it never was, and he was simply waiting for Echizen to come along.
Echizen is cocky and arrogant, and far too used to wiping the smiles off the pros' faces. His rivalry with Tezuka becomes famous; the journalists delight in trying to playing them off each other and never succeeding.
And then, at the end of their matches, Ryoma will open the door to Tezuka's hotel room at night. It's always open for him. And he'll shrug off his dressing gown, and Tezuka will silently pull back the blankets for him to slide in.
And Ryoma will press their bodies together hard, sliding slowly, luxuriously against him, and Tezuka will hold him hard enough to bruise and make soft sounds in the back of his throat. And Ryoma will laugh against his neck, press soft, quick kisses against his skin, and call him buchou in a purring whisper.
And now Tezuka knows exactly what to do.