[FIC] Waiting
Okay. Here. My first official, thought-out TeniPuri fic. ^_^
title: Waiting
genre: sap
rating: G
pairing: SaekixFuji, TezukaxFuji if you squint
summary: The best reason to come home is the one person who has been waiting for you all this time.
=====
I find him standing there on the platform, eagle eyes seeking me out amidst the throng alighting the train. He sees me and smiles, running a hand through fine silver locks, his eyes meeting mine.
He raises his hand in greeting; I wave back. Hitching my duffel bag more securely onto my shoulders, I push my way through the crowd towards him.
He meets me halfway, enfolding me in an all-too-familiar embrace. "You're late," he whispers into my ear; his low voice, full of missing me, sends a tingle shooting down my spine and through my body. I feel guilty; I don't deserve this attention from him.
"I'm sorry."
"Why were you late?" He pulls away, and he looks at me questioningly. The inquiry is simple, unobtrusive, and yet before his steady gaze I feel naked and exposed. I turn away.
"I got... Caught up in something," I answer timidly, unable to meet the brown eyes that have always been able to see right to the very heart of me.
I don't need to tell him more. He doesn't only have sharp eyes, his nose is quite good as well. I know that he knows, that he can detect on me the scent of someone else. There is a certain sadness in his eyes now, a prickling pain lurking beneath the soft brown.
And despite this hurt, he is always waiting for me. No matter how long it takes before I go back to him, he is waiting.
Always.
Why? Is it worth it?
Am I worth it?
This single question plagues me as we walk away from the station. The same station I left him at six years ago when I first departed for Tokyo. In past days, he would have entwined his fingers with mine without hesitation. Now, he holds back. It's as if he's afraid of violating something that isn't his. The back of his hand brushes against my own between us. I want to hold his hand, give him some sort of reassurance that in this moment, in this space between and around us, I am his and his alone.
"Look," he says much later, ending the silence that had enveloped us. I follow where he points: It's the playground of our childhood, where we first met. A smile breaks out on my face; with a small whimper of glee I run to the swings and settle into one of the seats that are now too small for me, luggage unceremoniously dropped and carelessly forgotten. I look at him, he laughs and approaches; then, like so many years before, starts to push me gently.
The swing creaks under the strain of my weight, but I don't care. Right now all I know is the feel of the wind kissing my face, the comforting sensation of rocking as I swing back and forth... The pressure of his hands on my back as he pushes me.
It's a steady presence, as if he wants to remind me that he's always there. It delights and frightens me at the same time, that someone could love me so much.
Love? Is that it?
Does he love me?
Or is he just stubborn?
Little by little I let my feet drag on the ground, trying to slow myself down. I feel his hands on my waist catch me at the peak of my backswing. Slowly he returns me and the swing to equilibrium; I give myself a moment before I stand up, a moment he chooses to pick up my bag.
I reach out to take it from him, but he doesn't give it; instead, he moves to hold my hand, then stops halfway in hesitation. I smile at him and start to drop my outstretched hand. He catches it as it falls, and I let him.
There's no reason not to.
=====
"Congratulations!"
I am the first person he appraoches once he breaks out of the graduation lines. Top of the class, athlete of the year, most promising graduate... He really has everything. Not to mention a free ride to college on a tennis scholarship.
"This is my last day here," I tell him.
"I know."
"Come with me?" I am only half-joking.
He laughs; the rays of the late afternoon sun catch in his hair. He can't come with me to New York, but tonight he'll be with me on the train back to Tokyo and tomorrow he will see me off at the airport.
And then it will be a long time before we see each other again
=====
I exit the passenger area and, with much difficulty, search the visitor's area for a familiar face.
It's been four years since I was last in Japan. Four years spent perfecting my craft of photography, playing the occasional tennis game, living under the same roof and sleeping in the same bed as the lover I've had since graduating from middle school.
Tezuka's hand slips into mine and holds it firmly, so that we won't be separated. I gently squeeze, he answers back with a smile.
And then I see.
His eyes are still as brown as the first day we met, his smile still as warm as the last time I saw it. I look up at Tezuka, he looks back at me and nods. Selfishly I leave him with all our bags and run into the open arms that have been waiting for me for so long.
There is only one thing that he says.
"Welcome back."
title: Waiting
genre: sap
rating: G
pairing: SaekixFuji, TezukaxFuji if you squint
summary: The best reason to come home is the one person who has been waiting for you all this time.
=====
I find him standing there on the platform, eagle eyes seeking me out amidst the throng alighting the train. He sees me and smiles, running a hand through fine silver locks, his eyes meeting mine.
He raises his hand in greeting; I wave back. Hitching my duffel bag more securely onto my shoulders, I push my way through the crowd towards him.
He meets me halfway, enfolding me in an all-too-familiar embrace. "You're late," he whispers into my ear; his low voice, full of missing me, sends a tingle shooting down my spine and through my body. I feel guilty; I don't deserve this attention from him.
"I'm sorry."
"Why were you late?" He pulls away, and he looks at me questioningly. The inquiry is simple, unobtrusive, and yet before his steady gaze I feel naked and exposed. I turn away.
"I got... Caught up in something," I answer timidly, unable to meet the brown eyes that have always been able to see right to the very heart of me.
I don't need to tell him more. He doesn't only have sharp eyes, his nose is quite good as well. I know that he knows, that he can detect on me the scent of someone else. There is a certain sadness in his eyes now, a prickling pain lurking beneath the soft brown.
And despite this hurt, he is always waiting for me. No matter how long it takes before I go back to him, he is waiting.
Always.
Why? Is it worth it?
Am I worth it?
This single question plagues me as we walk away from the station. The same station I left him at six years ago when I first departed for Tokyo. In past days, he would have entwined his fingers with mine without hesitation. Now, he holds back. It's as if he's afraid of violating something that isn't his. The back of his hand brushes against my own between us. I want to hold his hand, give him some sort of reassurance that in this moment, in this space between and around us, I am his and his alone.
"Look," he says much later, ending the silence that had enveloped us. I follow where he points: It's the playground of our childhood, where we first met. A smile breaks out on my face; with a small whimper of glee I run to the swings and settle into one of the seats that are now too small for me, luggage unceremoniously dropped and carelessly forgotten. I look at him, he laughs and approaches; then, like so many years before, starts to push me gently.
The swing creaks under the strain of my weight, but I don't care. Right now all I know is the feel of the wind kissing my face, the comforting sensation of rocking as I swing back and forth... The pressure of his hands on my back as he pushes me.
It's a steady presence, as if he wants to remind me that he's always there. It delights and frightens me at the same time, that someone could love me so much.
Love? Is that it?
Does he love me?
Or is he just stubborn?
Little by little I let my feet drag on the ground, trying to slow myself down. I feel his hands on my waist catch me at the peak of my backswing. Slowly he returns me and the swing to equilibrium; I give myself a moment before I stand up, a moment he chooses to pick up my bag.
I reach out to take it from him, but he doesn't give it; instead, he moves to hold my hand, then stops halfway in hesitation. I smile at him and start to drop my outstretched hand. He catches it as it falls, and I let him.
There's no reason not to.
=====
"Congratulations!"
I am the first person he appraoches once he breaks out of the graduation lines. Top of the class, athlete of the year, most promising graduate... He really has everything. Not to mention a free ride to college on a tennis scholarship.
"This is my last day here," I tell him.
"I know."
"Come with me?" I am only half-joking.
He laughs; the rays of the late afternoon sun catch in his hair. He can't come with me to New York, but tonight he'll be with me on the train back to Tokyo and tomorrow he will see me off at the airport.
And then it will be a long time before we see each other again
=====
I exit the passenger area and, with much difficulty, search the visitor's area for a familiar face.
It's been four years since I was last in Japan. Four years spent perfecting my craft of photography, playing the occasional tennis game, living under the same roof and sleeping in the same bed as the lover I've had since graduating from middle school.
Tezuka's hand slips into mine and holds it firmly, so that we won't be separated. I gently squeeze, he answers back with a smile.
And then I see.
His eyes are still as brown as the first day we met, his smile still as warm as the last time I saw it. I look up at Tezuka, he looks back at me and nods. Selfishly I leave him with all our bags and run into the open arms that have been waiting for me for so long.
There is only one thing that he says.
"Welcome back."