[Tenipuri] Recollection (Tezuka/Ryoma, G)
Title: Recollection
Author: umarekawareru
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Rating: G
Characters/Pairing: Tezuka/Ryoma
Wordcount: 583
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, et cetera.
Author’s Notes: It feels like it's been a long time since I wrote for Tenipuri (it has), but this was a pleasure to write, I didn't have any trouble getting back into the right mindframe as I feared I might. Written for The TezuRyo Revival Post, which all fans should check out because it was absolutely lovely. Bla bla, onto the fic now.
In the winter, Heidelberg allows itself to be buried under a blanket of white, and goes to sleep. It is cold in that welcoming way that only snowed-over towns manage to be, or perhaps it's just Tezuka having a rare moment of nostalgia for times that were actually more filled with anxiety and fear than real happiness.
And still: the instant they start making their way through the old town, the sounds of rapid German cascading all around them feel like recovering something he wasn't even aware he missed. German is a purposeful language: every word is regulated and efficient, speaks of discipline and goals set. Echizen, of course, turns his nose up at it, although it is more of an implied gesture, lest the icy breeze coming in from the river sneaks through the collar of his jersey and freezes him stiff. Echizen is purpose and goal, but he is also that something else, a force of nature inside a scrawny body, powerful enough that he has no need for other people's rules. He could destroy any obstacles in his way and blast forth like a supernova, a wonder without precedent (not even his father, not anymore), and yet, he stops and waits for Tezuka to catch up every now and then. Other times, he adjusts his pace to follow Tezuka, and makes his footsteps sound like there's nowhere he would rather be than here, by his captain's side. Tezuka is not yet sure which category to sort those moments into, but he drinks them in and takes all that Echizen offers him, like a greedy child. The dimmed streetlamps, the prints they leave in their wake (two parallel sets of footsteps, one slightly smaller than the other), the bratty little smirk on Echizen's face; they all crawl into his mind and build a nest there, making Tezuka feel things he can not rationalize or put into words. Echizen's continued presence at his side, even when he is not in the condition to give Echizen all the challenge he deserves, defies logic, but Tezuka is happy for it.
They continue in silence, and reach the stone bridge. The medieval castle looms in the distance, proof of power and splendor so absolute that it trascends the ages. In the semi-darkness that evening brings, Tezuka can see the ghosts of unstoppable kings and their invincible armies galloping into battle beneath blood-red skies; he can even hear their cries of warfare, telling of great empires and men who became gods. Echizen is going to be one of those men, Tezuka knows; he sees it every day in the proud swing of his racket, in the determined arc of his back. Echizen is going to be great, one day; he already is, but the world doesn't know it yet. It will take time, like everything else does, but one day. One day.
The stars shine brightly in the sky, and Tezuka thinks it's too cold and too late to be standing outside, they should go back to the hotel soon. Their breath makes white clouds in front of their faces and, stealthy like a cat, Echizen's hand slips out of his pocket and grabs onto Tezuka's tightly. Tezuka registers every detail: the warmth of Echizen's body standing next to him, how small his hand feels inside Tezuka's, the streetlamps radiating a fairy-like light around them. He shifts his palm to fit Echizen's better, commits to memory the beauty of that moment, adds it to the heap.
Author: umarekawareru
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Rating: G
Characters/Pairing: Tezuka/Ryoma
Wordcount: 583
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, et cetera.
Author’s Notes: It feels like it's been a long time since I wrote for Tenipuri (it has), but this was a pleasure to write, I didn't have any trouble getting back into the right mindframe as I feared I might. Written for The TezuRyo Revival Post, which all fans should check out because it was absolutely lovely. Bla bla, onto the fic now.
In the winter, Heidelberg allows itself to be buried under a blanket of white, and goes to sleep. It is cold in that welcoming way that only snowed-over towns manage to be, or perhaps it's just Tezuka having a rare moment of nostalgia for times that were actually more filled with anxiety and fear than real happiness.
And still: the instant they start making their way through the old town, the sounds of rapid German cascading all around them feel like recovering something he wasn't even aware he missed. German is a purposeful language: every word is regulated and efficient, speaks of discipline and goals set. Echizen, of course, turns his nose up at it, although it is more of an implied gesture, lest the icy breeze coming in from the river sneaks through the collar of his jersey and freezes him stiff. Echizen is purpose and goal, but he is also that something else, a force of nature inside a scrawny body, powerful enough that he has no need for other people's rules. He could destroy any obstacles in his way and blast forth like a supernova, a wonder without precedent (not even his father, not anymore), and yet, he stops and waits for Tezuka to catch up every now and then. Other times, he adjusts his pace to follow Tezuka, and makes his footsteps sound like there's nowhere he would rather be than here, by his captain's side. Tezuka is not yet sure which category to sort those moments into, but he drinks them in and takes all that Echizen offers him, like a greedy child. The dimmed streetlamps, the prints they leave in their wake (two parallel sets of footsteps, one slightly smaller than the other), the bratty little smirk on Echizen's face; they all crawl into his mind and build a nest there, making Tezuka feel things he can not rationalize or put into words. Echizen's continued presence at his side, even when he is not in the condition to give Echizen all the challenge he deserves, defies logic, but Tezuka is happy for it.
They continue in silence, and reach the stone bridge. The medieval castle looms in the distance, proof of power and splendor so absolute that it trascends the ages. In the semi-darkness that evening brings, Tezuka can see the ghosts of unstoppable kings and their invincible armies galloping into battle beneath blood-red skies; he can even hear their cries of warfare, telling of great empires and men who became gods. Echizen is going to be one of those men, Tezuka knows; he sees it every day in the proud swing of his racket, in the determined arc of his back. Echizen is going to be great, one day; he already is, but the world doesn't know it yet. It will take time, like everything else does, but one day. One day.
The stars shine brightly in the sky, and Tezuka thinks it's too cold and too late to be standing outside, they should go back to the hotel soon. Their breath makes white clouds in front of their faces and, stealthy like a cat, Echizen's hand slips out of his pocket and grabs onto Tezuka's tightly. Tezuka registers every detail: the warmth of Echizen's body standing next to him, how small his hand feels inside Tezuka's, the streetlamps radiating a fairy-like light around them. He shifts his palm to fit Echizen's better, commits to memory the beauty of that moment, adds it to the heap.