(no subject)
CATHY, NEVER SAY THAT I DON'T GIVE YOU ENOUGH LOVE.
Instead of claiming my fangirling license today and joining the ranks of the Tezuka/Fuji, I completely wasted my night writing Tezuka/Ryoma for you because you threatened to drop out of the Prince of Tennis fandom. You can stop laughing evilly now.
Expiration Limit
Oishi's the one who sends the outcome of their matches by a text message over the cell phone. He punches in the message the day afterwards, because it takes him all night to figure out what to say and then even more to write two numbers and the name of the school that lead. He has to search for the foreign letters, and he tries to avoid looking at the 7 because that's where the S is, and his thumb bends each time he passes over it.
The screen flashes 'Sending: Successful', and he releases his breath, turns the cell phone off, and refuses to touch it again for the rest of the day.
***
Tezuka is released from the habilitation center exactly one week after he receives the message.
When he sees their faces, their expressions, the spotless blue and white uniforms, he thinks he shouldn't have come back at all. Someone says, half-heartedly, tired, apprehensive, "Nationals are over," and Tezuka doesn't know how to tell everyone to work harder when there isn't a next time to work harder for.
***
It was a hard loss. They'd never heard of the other school before, and it sounded distant enough for Eiji to pronounce the name wrong three times before Oishi hushed him nervously. Their tennis uniforms were plain, practical, well cut: red with white collars and lining, wrist guards, white shorts. Inui took notes.
They lost second doubles, won first, lost third singles.
Ryoma was in second singles. They lost that too.
The issue wasn't about skill or experience. It was the kind of match that, if no one kept score, it'd be unclear who the winner was in the end, because there really was no domination in points. It wasn't a matter of not trying or practicing hard enough, and it wasn't about his opponent being too good. It wasn't much anything at all. Ryoma just lost.
He was sweating heavily when he walked off the court and, feeling the damp lines running down his back, he knew there would be a red sweat line around his forehead from his hat. Ryoma didn't make eye contact with anyone, only picked up his water bottle and sucked his breath slightly when he unscrewed the cap too harshly, the plastic biting into his sweaty palm.
No one knew what to do, to say, and Inui was the first to begin organizing his tennis bag, prompting everyone else to do the same. Ryoma kept drinking water. He started on his second bottle.
Fuji approached him, finally, since no one else would, and waited patiently as Ryoma tilted his bottle higher, letting the water slide faster down his throat. He didn't say anything, not really looking at Ryoma either, and when Ryoma choked on a swallow, the water foaming around his mouth and his body doubled forward from the coughing, Fuji leaned down and handed him a wash cloth, telling him quietly, "Stop it. You're not Tezuka."
It wasn't accusatory, and it wasn't an explanation, and later, Fuji himself won't know why he said what he did, except for maybe that Ryoma just looked like he needed to hear it.
***
All of the Seigaku Regulars avoid Tezuka. It hurts more than he thought it would.
He eventually asks Inui for the statistics from the matches, partly because tournament or no tournament, they're all still a team, at least until the school year ends, and Tezuka isn't ready yet to give up the position of captain, and partly because Inui knows when and how to be indifferent, and Tezuka realizes that's more than he can currently ask for. He goes through each match, mechanically listing off the points he noted down, and when he gets to Ryoma's, Inui slows his pace, choosing his words carefully. "It was well-played. He could have adjusted the power on some of his shots, but there wasn't anything that could have made a large difference. It seemed like the other person just happened to reach the end first."
Tezuka nods, his gaze focused indistinctly at the small numbers on the lined paper, row by row and crisscrossed in columns, neat and orderly like how Inui does everything.
"You might want to ask Echizen about it," Inui adds hesitantly, and the inflection in his voice makes Tezuka forget the numbers, and he nods again, absentmindedly. Inui isn't sure if that's an agreement or if he's just noting what he said, but he doesn't bother asking. It'd be obvious sooner or later anyway, and to Inui, actions always did speak louder than words.
***
There's no more paperwork to be done. There're no more teams to investigate, no more people to scout, no more line-ups to plan.
Being captain of a finished team, Tezuka discovers, doesn't require much work at all.
He requests Ryuzaki for after-practice cleaning duty, explaining that he owed the team for the months he wasn't there, and the freshmen protest hastily, saying that a captain should never have to do work that belonged to lower members, but Tezuka asks again, and no one refuses Tezuka, especially not since Nationals are over and the wound's still fresh enough to sting.
Oishi stays after also, helping him, but after a few days, Tezuka can't stand to look at the guilt riding on his face, and he tells him gently to go home. Oishi listens.
He reminds himself to talk to Ryoma, except it's easier to tell himself that when he's alone than during practice, and with all the formalities and awkwardness traded around, it feels like the time period before Tezuka and Ryoma had their first match, before anything had been established.
Ryoma saves Tezuka the trouble of confrontation by showing up after practice one day, and Tezuka knows he must have gone home and come back again, because he saw him leaving with Momoshiro and Eiji a half hour before. He lets Ryoma have the first word, which is a mistake, because Ryoma doesn't say anything at first, and Tezuka resumes sweeping the tennis court, angling the handle to get the rocks out from under the nets. He finishes with one court and waits, and when Ryoma still hasn't said anything, he walks over to the next court, starting at the corners and working his way to the center. Ryoma's footsteps follow him. The only sound is still just the bristles scraping against the asphalt.
Tezuka's nearing his last few courts, and he starts to worry, because after them, he'll be done, and he wonders vaguely if Ryoma would follow him home.
As if on cue, Ryoma blurts out, "I wanted to say that I'm-" His voice is scratchy from the abruptness, and he swallows visibly, licking his bottom lip. "I'm-" He breaks off again, and gritting his teeth, takes the broom from Tezuka's hands, muttering under his breath, "You're not used to doing this, are you? You're supposed to sweep from the inside out. It gets rid of more dirt that way."
Tezuka steps back as Ryoma moves the broom in quick, efficient strokes, rounding cleanly around the net and court lines. "You hate losing, don't you?" He asks, and Ryoma stiffens, but doesn't turn around.
"Do you remember," Ryoma says instead, back still facing Tezuka, "our first tournament? When we played Fudomine." He places his feet carefully on the white line, making sure to not spread the dirt he's already piled. "My eye injury. You told me if I passed a 10 minute time limit, you'd make me forfeit the match." He looks up expectantly.
"But you didn't," Tezuka replies shortly.
"No, I didn't," Ryoma echoes. "I won within the limit."
Tezuka watches as Ryoma bends down to collect the pile of dirt into the dustbin and sets the broom down. "If I'd lost, you would've had to play Tachibana. That could've made your arm collapse sooner. You would have had to go to Germany before Hyotei. Which would mean," Ryoma breathes, "that you'd have been back earlier."
Tezuka rolls his shoulder involuntarily and, flexing his fingers slowly, adds, "Which would also mean that we wouldn't be having this conversation right now."
Ryoma kisses him then, messy and haphazard, and Tezuka thinks how there's something familiar with the way Ryoma kisses, the pressure of his hands, how much he tilts his head, and how when he pulls away, he stumbles over his words to say, "The reason I want to win isn't because you don't want me to lose," and not waiting for Tezuka's "I know" before kissing him again.
----------------
1. I know it's bad. This has, like, zero substance value. And, um, doesn't flow or make sense because I didn't want to think about how Tezuka/Ryoma works. IT IS WRONG. WRONG. WRONG I TELL YOU.
2. If you threaten to drop the fandom again, I WILL WHINE. AND COMPLAIN AND NEVER LET YOU LIVE IT DOWN. Until next school year begins, you're mine. Mine. And then school can eat both our souls. *weeps*
Instead of claiming my fangirling license today and joining the ranks of the Tezuka/Fuji, I completely wasted my night writing Tezuka/Ryoma for you because you threatened to drop out of the Prince of Tennis fandom. You can stop laughing evilly now.
Expiration Limit
Oishi's the one who sends the outcome of their matches by a text message over the cell phone. He punches in the message the day afterwards, because it takes him all night to figure out what to say and then even more to write two numbers and the name of the school that lead. He has to search for the foreign letters, and he tries to avoid looking at the 7 because that's where the S is, and his thumb bends each time he passes over it.
The screen flashes 'Sending: Successful', and he releases his breath, turns the cell phone off, and refuses to touch it again for the rest of the day.
***
Tezuka is released from the habilitation center exactly one week after he receives the message.
When he sees their faces, their expressions, the spotless blue and white uniforms, he thinks he shouldn't have come back at all. Someone says, half-heartedly, tired, apprehensive, "Nationals are over," and Tezuka doesn't know how to tell everyone to work harder when there isn't a next time to work harder for.
***
It was a hard loss. They'd never heard of the other school before, and it sounded distant enough for Eiji to pronounce the name wrong three times before Oishi hushed him nervously. Their tennis uniforms were plain, practical, well cut: red with white collars and lining, wrist guards, white shorts. Inui took notes.
They lost second doubles, won first, lost third singles.
Ryoma was in second singles. They lost that too.
The issue wasn't about skill or experience. It was the kind of match that, if no one kept score, it'd be unclear who the winner was in the end, because there really was no domination in points. It wasn't a matter of not trying or practicing hard enough, and it wasn't about his opponent being too good. It wasn't much anything at all. Ryoma just lost.
He was sweating heavily when he walked off the court and, feeling the damp lines running down his back, he knew there would be a red sweat line around his forehead from his hat. Ryoma didn't make eye contact with anyone, only picked up his water bottle and sucked his breath slightly when he unscrewed the cap too harshly, the plastic biting into his sweaty palm.
No one knew what to do, to say, and Inui was the first to begin organizing his tennis bag, prompting everyone else to do the same. Ryoma kept drinking water. He started on his second bottle.
Fuji approached him, finally, since no one else would, and waited patiently as Ryoma tilted his bottle higher, letting the water slide faster down his throat. He didn't say anything, not really looking at Ryoma either, and when Ryoma choked on a swallow, the water foaming around his mouth and his body doubled forward from the coughing, Fuji leaned down and handed him a wash cloth, telling him quietly, "Stop it. You're not Tezuka."
It wasn't accusatory, and it wasn't an explanation, and later, Fuji himself won't know why he said what he did, except for maybe that Ryoma just looked like he needed to hear it.
***
All of the Seigaku Regulars avoid Tezuka. It hurts more than he thought it would.
He eventually asks Inui for the statistics from the matches, partly because tournament or no tournament, they're all still a team, at least until the school year ends, and Tezuka isn't ready yet to give up the position of captain, and partly because Inui knows when and how to be indifferent, and Tezuka realizes that's more than he can currently ask for. He goes through each match, mechanically listing off the points he noted down, and when he gets to Ryoma's, Inui slows his pace, choosing his words carefully. "It was well-played. He could have adjusted the power on some of his shots, but there wasn't anything that could have made a large difference. It seemed like the other person just happened to reach the end first."
Tezuka nods, his gaze focused indistinctly at the small numbers on the lined paper, row by row and crisscrossed in columns, neat and orderly like how Inui does everything.
"You might want to ask Echizen about it," Inui adds hesitantly, and the inflection in his voice makes Tezuka forget the numbers, and he nods again, absentmindedly. Inui isn't sure if that's an agreement or if he's just noting what he said, but he doesn't bother asking. It'd be obvious sooner or later anyway, and to Inui, actions always did speak louder than words.
***
There's no more paperwork to be done. There're no more teams to investigate, no more people to scout, no more line-ups to plan.
Being captain of a finished team, Tezuka discovers, doesn't require much work at all.
He requests Ryuzaki for after-practice cleaning duty, explaining that he owed the team for the months he wasn't there, and the freshmen protest hastily, saying that a captain should never have to do work that belonged to lower members, but Tezuka asks again, and no one refuses Tezuka, especially not since Nationals are over and the wound's still fresh enough to sting.
Oishi stays after also, helping him, but after a few days, Tezuka can't stand to look at the guilt riding on his face, and he tells him gently to go home. Oishi listens.
He reminds himself to talk to Ryoma, except it's easier to tell himself that when he's alone than during practice, and with all the formalities and awkwardness traded around, it feels like the time period before Tezuka and Ryoma had their first match, before anything had been established.
Ryoma saves Tezuka the trouble of confrontation by showing up after practice one day, and Tezuka knows he must have gone home and come back again, because he saw him leaving with Momoshiro and Eiji a half hour before. He lets Ryoma have the first word, which is a mistake, because Ryoma doesn't say anything at first, and Tezuka resumes sweeping the tennis court, angling the handle to get the rocks out from under the nets. He finishes with one court and waits, and when Ryoma still hasn't said anything, he walks over to the next court, starting at the corners and working his way to the center. Ryoma's footsteps follow him. The only sound is still just the bristles scraping against the asphalt.
Tezuka's nearing his last few courts, and he starts to worry, because after them, he'll be done, and he wonders vaguely if Ryoma would follow him home.
As if on cue, Ryoma blurts out, "I wanted to say that I'm-" His voice is scratchy from the abruptness, and he swallows visibly, licking his bottom lip. "I'm-" He breaks off again, and gritting his teeth, takes the broom from Tezuka's hands, muttering under his breath, "You're not used to doing this, are you? You're supposed to sweep from the inside out. It gets rid of more dirt that way."
Tezuka steps back as Ryoma moves the broom in quick, efficient strokes, rounding cleanly around the net and court lines. "You hate losing, don't you?" He asks, and Ryoma stiffens, but doesn't turn around.
"Do you remember," Ryoma says instead, back still facing Tezuka, "our first tournament? When we played Fudomine." He places his feet carefully on the white line, making sure to not spread the dirt he's already piled. "My eye injury. You told me if I passed a 10 minute time limit, you'd make me forfeit the match." He looks up expectantly.
"But you didn't," Tezuka replies shortly.
"No, I didn't," Ryoma echoes. "I won within the limit."
Tezuka watches as Ryoma bends down to collect the pile of dirt into the dustbin and sets the broom down. "If I'd lost, you would've had to play Tachibana. That could've made your arm collapse sooner. You would have had to go to Germany before Hyotei. Which would mean," Ryoma breathes, "that you'd have been back earlier."
Tezuka rolls his shoulder involuntarily and, flexing his fingers slowly, adds, "Which would also mean that we wouldn't be having this conversation right now."
Ryoma kisses him then, messy and haphazard, and Tezuka thinks how there's something familiar with the way Ryoma kisses, the pressure of his hands, how much he tilts his head, and how when he pulls away, he stumbles over his words to say, "The reason I want to win isn't because you don't want me to lose," and not waiting for Tezuka's "I know" before kissing him again.
----------------
1. I know it's bad. This has, like, zero substance value. And, um, doesn't flow or make sense because I didn't want to think about how Tezuka/Ryoma works. IT IS WRONG. WRONG. WRONG I TELL YOU.
2. If you threaten to drop the fandom again, I WILL WHINE. AND COMPLAIN AND NEVER LET YOU LIVE IT DOWN. Until next school year begins, you're mine. Mine. And then school can eat both our souls. *weeps*