PoT - Aite: Surface
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: Fuji/Tezuka, onesided Atobe/Tezuka
Rating: mild R
Continuity: Anime, full spoilers
Notes: There's a sequel to this which was never finished, but I'm so out of the fandom now that I decided to stop sitting on this. For reference, the story as a whole ends up pre-TezuRyo (it's me, after all), but there's no actual Ryoma in this fic. The word aite means both 'opponent' and 'partner', by the way.
Dedication: This is for bookshop and kessie, for reasons I've forgotten in the months since I finished it. >.> Er. ♥?
相手: Surface
and they always talk about connections
and they always talk about the surface
~Rie Fu
Tezuka doesn't realise what's going on until Fuji backs him against a wall in the clubroom and kisses him. They are first years again, struggling to adjust to ball-fetching duty and being ordered around by senpai. Or Tezuka is struggling; Fuji treats their sudden demotion with his usual smiling equanimity, and Tezuka sometimes wonders whether he notices at all.
It is Tezuka's first kiss, and he hadn't been expecting it. He stands frozen, and after a moment Fuji releases him gently and steps back far enough that Tezuka can breathe again. His expression is the same as ever: amused and knowing.
"Why did you do that?" Tezuka asks, when he can find his voice beneath embarrassment and the sudden, ominous weight in his stomach.
Fuji smiles up at him as though suddenly kissing one's male teammates is a perfectly normal activity. Maybe it is, for Fuji. "I felt like it."
Tezuka looks at him helplessly for several moments, and at last he inclines his head, smile fading into seriousness. "We should play another match, Tezuka."
Tennis, Tezuka thinks, grasping at the familiarity of it like a lifeline. "Aa." Strictly speaking, independent matches are not permitted, but it will not concern their senpai if they play out of school. The court under the overpass is the most secluded, and Tezuka has not played there since Echizen's second departure. "The public park at Nishigata has a court," he says instead, and Fuji nods as though he knows what Tezuka is thinking.
Tezuka is three games up to two before it occurs to him that Fuji might consider this a date. The realisation turns his feet to lead for a crucial instant, and he misses what should have been an easy lob. Fuji doesn't say anything, but his eyes on Tezuka are sharp, and his next serve is softer than it needs to be.
Rivalry, Tezuka thinks; that's all that this is about. He has spent a long time making himself a target and an example, trying to draw out Fuji's full potential. If Fuji wants to catch him…
Tezuka wins seven to five, and Fuji laughs ruefully, shaking his hair out of his eyes as his smile falls back into place. His hand lingers a moment too long when he clasps Tezuka's forearm at the net, and Tezuka feels as though his skin is trying to be too hot and too cold at the same time.
Fuji doesn't mention the game or the kiss again until after the third-years have left the club in the autumn. By that point Tezuka has almost managed to believe that the incident had been another of Fuji's games. If Fuji's hands have been a little too familiar on his shoulders during warm-ups, it is nothing to be concerned about. Tezuka tells himself he is used to Fuji being eccentric.
So it's a surprise to feel gentle fingers trailing across his shoulder and the nape of his neck as he changes after clean-up duty. Tezuka freezes where he sits, one arm half into his shirt, as Fuji steps around him, amusement in the set of his mouth. His hand slides down Tezuka's arm in what is unmistakably a caress, and by the time Tezuka has gathered enough wit to ask what he means by it, he's gone, disappearing out of the door.
Tezuka doesn't sleep well that night. His dreams are vivid and uncomfortable, and he wakes cold and sick-feeling and refuses breakfast. When he walks onto the court with Oishi after classes, Fuji looks at him sharply for a long moment, then turns away to warm up with Kikumaru. Tezuka squares his shoulders and begins practice as usual.
After warm-ups and swing drills, the first years are assigned to play time-limit matches against each other. Oishi laughs when Tezuka beats him by thirteen points within ten minutes, and Inui retires to the bench to scribble. Tezuka stands at the fence and watches Fuji play Kikumaru, absently twisting his racquet in his hand. Fuji isn't playing anywhere near his best, Tezuka thinks with a distant kind of annoyance. All he's doing is testing Kikumaru's limits, playing just hard enough to stay one step ahead. Tezuka doesn't understand why Fuji looks like he's enjoying himself.
Fuji is waiting at the gate when Tezuka leaves the clubhouse. Tezuka pauses for a moment, then decides that it's probably inevitable and walks to meet him.
"They'll be appointing the new captain soon," Fuji says, falling into step beside him.
"Aa." Tezuka already knows that he is a candidate for vice captain again; Amano-sensei has spoken to him about it. It is a simple enough job.
They walk without speaking for a while. Fuji seems to be thinking about something, and Tezuka sees nothing to say. Fuji is easier to be around than Kikumaru or Inui, and less inclined to worry than Oishi, but lately something in his silences preys on Tezuka's nerves.
Their paths diverge near the station, and Fuji halts, turning to look up at Tezuka with wide, unreadable eyes. "You need to work out what it is you want, Tezuka."
"What?" Tezuka frowns at him, not at all sure what he's talking about. Fuji shakes his head, looking away towards the distant glow of sunlight reflecting off tall buildings.
"Yuuta's not coming back to Seigaku next year."
"I'm sorry." Tezuka doesn't follow at all, but he knows the subject means a lot to Fuji.
"It was his choice." Fuji looks up at him again, smiling. "He's too used to his current life, I think. It's been a long time since he left, ne."
"Aa." Tezuka can't shake the feeling that Fuji isn't talking about his brother at all.
"I just hope he doesn't regret it," Fuji murmurs, eyes sharp despite the happy innocence painting his face. "Well, goodbye - my sister will be waiting." He raises a hand, turning to walk away without waiting for Tezuka's reply. Tezuka stares after him for a long moment, then sighs and turns for home.
Fuji's words float back to the top of his mind as he's preparing for bed. Tezuka takes off his glasses, staring into the blurry corners of the room, and tries to think. What is he supposed to want? He has a National medal hanging on the wall, the respect of his teammates and opponents, a talented kouhai who is taking on the world in the junior tournament circuit. He has friends and rivals and tennis.
What does Fuji think he should want?
Tezuka dreams of matches and sunsets and opponents that he can't see. Somewhere towards dawn the images slide into darkness, and voices come to whisper to him, over and over. You need to work out what it is you want. Fuji's amused tones are easy to distinguish, but running beneath them is another voice, one Tezuka knows he should recognise. He tries to grasp for the name, but the dream fades quickly into a morass of sensation and arousal, hands-skin-mouths-bodies-sweat-gasps. Tezuka wakes abruptly, hard and trembling on the edge of orgasm with his hand already half inside his pyjama pants.
Autumn ranking matches come as something of a relief. Tezuka makes the top of his block without losing a game; by now, even the second years are used to it. Fuji comes in second in C-block, losing seven-five to Inui after a run of easy victories. Tezuka, watching, sees Inui's face getting tighter and tighter as the match progresses.
Afterwards, Fuji smiles at Tezuka's carefully blank expression. "Were you really expecting anything else, Tezuka?"
They are sitting in the clubroom, passing around the order form for the new Regular uniforms. Tezuka considers the question while he writes his name and sizes carefully onto the paper. It reminds him of filling out play orders for tournaments.
"Inui has seen you play all out before," he says at last, although he knows that it has been over a year, now.
"Saa." Fuji just smiles, brushing seemingly-absent fingers across Tezuka's shoulder as he rises to leave. Tezuka has to work to hide a flinch; on the other side of the room, Oishi starts to look worried.
Tezuka goes home by way of the indoor courts, spending half an hour and all his spare change hitting against the ball machine. He tries to think his way through the next few weeks: Senbatsu, the Under-Eighteen Singles, and the Junior Open for those who make it to the best four. That night, he dreams that he is being broken down, split apart and reconstructed into something alien and unrecognisable. When he wakes, his shoulders ache as though he has been hunching them all night.
Senbatsu begins inauspiciously, with rain. Despite the weather, three of the third-year participants have challenged Tezuka to matches before training even begins. Others eye him with curiosity or awe; across the room, Fuji is in quiet conversation with Yukimura. Sanada, never more than a few feet from his captain's side, is wearing a stoic expression in the face of Atobe's theatrics.
Uneasy and tired of the posturing, Tezuka goes to find his assigned room and change. Rain is the enemy of tennis, but he can still run.
When he returns, soaked to the skin and still restless, Fuji is sitting cross-legged on his bed, tapping messages into his phone. The quiet beeps set Tezuka's teeth on edge; he gets out a change of clothes and makes his way wordlessly to the bathroom. The water in the shower seems the same temperature as the late-summer rain, and the institutional soap smells sharp and abrasive.
Tezuka stares into the mirror for a long time, his face blurred and pale under the harsh light. His hair, roughly towelled, is a messy halo around his head; when he slides his glasses back on it resolves into wild spikes that take three passes with the comb to neaten.
Fuji is reading a book when he emerges. Tezuka notes that he has changed into the Senbatsu uniform, this year a reassuring greyish blue.
"Atobe came by," Fuji says as Tezuka arranges his possessions on the night table. "You won’t be able to avoid him forever."
Tezuka pauses, fingers twitching for a moment, then carefully straightens the corner of his Japanese textbook until it is properly aligned, exactly where it should be. He is not avoiding Atobe. "The instructors will decide who will play practice matches."
Fuji looks up from his book, eyes opaque. "Of course. You may find that's not all he wants from you, however."
Tezuka sets his jaw, and doesn't reply. This is the second year he has roomed with Fuji, and it is always a trial. Even Oishi's worries seem a better alternative, but doubles pairs are always kept together.
After a moment, Fuji drops his eyes, face settling into the usual smile as he turns a page. He is reading classical Japanese, the print small enough that from this angle Tezuka cannot begin to follow it. He turns away, staring out of the window at the sun breaking through the clouds, and waits for the bell to ring for dinner.
That night, Tezuka sleeps restlessly. The bed is unfamiliar, and the sheets seem to scratch at his skin even through his pyjamas. He slides in and out of dreams; one moment he is running under the summer sun and the next he is standing at the fence, watching a match he cannot see while icy rain beats on his head and makes a river of his glasses. Sometime towards dawn, he realises that Fuji is awake too, eyes fixed on him in the near-darkness. When he wakes again, unrested, to the sound of his alarm, he is facing the wall.
It is two days before they graduate from training exercises to practice games. The instructor assigns pairs at random; Tezuka stands bracketed between Fuji and Atobe, staring straight ahead while he waits his turn. He feels crowded, but there is nowhere to move without being rude.
Tezuka plays five matches in the morning, half court games that require three points in a row to win. He takes two games against second years from Rikkai before Atobe's name is called.
Atobe stalks onto the court as though he is convinced the world is watching him. Behind him, at the fence, Tezuka can see Fuji smirking. He keeps his face carefully blank as Atobe prepares to serve.
It is not a particular surprise when Atobe pulls out his Tannhauser Serve for the first ball. Tezuka inclines his head as it hisses past him, hearing the murmurs from the fence. They are playing by the tie-break rules, alternating serves and courts; it feels too familiar. Atobe will know better than to rely on his serve, Tezuka thinks. He pivots on the baseline, tossing the ball and feeling the stretch through shoulder-hip-thigh as he serves.
"Fast," someone mutters from the fence as Atobe barely manages to scrape a return. Tezuka puts the ball neatly past him, into the backcourt, and Atobe laughs, tossing his head.
"You can do better than that, Tezuka."
That isn't the question, Tezuka thinks, as Atobe serves again - slice this time, but heavy and powerful. The question is whether he will need to. He can feel the strain through his arm as he returns, familiar as the court under his feet. Atobe has always been strong, and Tezuka has always been careful.
It takes almost twenty minutes for Tezuka to find three consecutive openings. Atobe smirks as they walk off the court, nudging Tezuka with an elbow.
"Next time, Tezuka."
Tezuka doesn't dignify that with a reply. Two courts down, Fuji is playing a Rikkai third-year; Sanada and Yukimura are waiting at the fence. Tezuka watches Fuji's serve, realising that he is playing at least semi-seriously. As expected, the Rikkai player is good; it only takes him two balls to learn that he cannot rely on topspin. The air is too hot and still for hakugei; Tezuka can feel sweat pooling between his shoulderblades. He feels itchy and uncomfortable.
"Playing around again, na." Atobe is watching too, Tezuka realises. He is standing just a little too close, but Tezuka cannot bring himself to draw notice to the fact by moving away.
"Fuji plays his own game," is all Tezuka says. Atobe snorts as Fuji finishes the game with another counter, and shifts so that he's facing Tezuka.
"I don't doubt it. Aren't you tired of playing him yet?"
Tezuka's skin prickles, as though he is being watched. "He's a strong player." It's the truth, he thinks. It always takes concentration and effort to beat Fuji, to keep him moving forward.
"Ah?" Atobe touches his arm familiarly, looking faintly satisfied. "If you ever want a real challenge, call me, na?"
Tezuka isn't quite sure how to politely respond to that, so he contents himself with moving his arm away from Atobe's hand, shifting to the side as Fuji rejoins them.
"Interesting, ne." Fuji shakes his hair out of his face, smiling. Tezuka doesn't bother to reply; on the far court, Sanada and Yukimura are beginning a match.
Their tennis, as ever, is near flawless. The way they play together is subtly different; years of watching each other's styles will do that, Tezuka thinks. He wonders whether Sanada is actually smiling, or whether it is a trick of the light.
"They look like they're enjoying themselves." There is something in Atobe's voice that Tezuka can't quite place.
"Hmm?" Fuji looks up and smiles; Tezuka wonders why he is suddenly the centre of attention, when this kind of tennis is being played right in front of them. "Rivalry is interesting, isn't it?"
That night, Tezuka takes off his glasses and stares at himself in the bathroom mirror. The walls are thin; he can hear Fuji moving around the room outside, the murmur of his voice on the phone. It makes him uncomfortable enough that he runs the tap as he brushes his teeth, watching the water swirl slowly down the drain.
When he emerges, hair damp on his forehead and leaving wet trails on his glasses, Fuji is standing at the window, looking out into darkness. Tezuka pauses for a moment, wondering what he sees, then goes to set out his clothing for tomorrow.
A hand on his back startles him into stillness. Fuji's touch is familiar and not-quite-casual, and Tezuka can feel the imprints of his fingers red-hot through the thin fabric of his pyjama shirt. It takes an effort to quell the impulse to flinch away; Tezuka holds himself utterly still.
"Oh, Tezuka." Fuji's voice is quiet, amused, and so very close that Tezuka is sure he can feel the hairs on the back of his neck stirring. Is this what Fuji thinks he should want? He opens his mouth, ready to take refuge in a captain's mannerisms, but Fuji speaks over the top of him.
"How far can you go, Tezuka?" His hand slides around Tezuka's side to rest on his hip, and there is no doubt now about the intimacy of this, not when Tezuka can feel the heat of Fuji's body against his back. He can't move.
"How far can you let this go?" Fuji's voice murmurs against his ear, and Tezuka hears echoes of earlier words: You need to work out what it is you want. It's all too easy to realise what his body wants, in this proximity, but the rest of him…
Then Fuji is gone, rapid footsteps retreating to the bathroom. Tezuka is left staring blindly at the wall, skin prickling with humiliation and arousal.
The sound of water running carries through the wall. Ordinarily, it would be familiar and soothing; he has been listening to the sound of the garden pool all his life. Tezuka removes his glasses and settles into bed, flicking out the light. At this distance, the thin bluish glow that filters beneath the bathroom door is nothing but a lighter blur; Tezuka stares into the darkness of the ceiling, trying to resolve the day into something that makes sense.
When Fuji gets into his own bed, he is so quiet that Tezuka eventually assumes he must be asleep. His voice, soft but abrupt in the darkness, is enough of a surprise that Tezuka starts.
"You can't move forward if you're standing still, ne?" Tezuka hears the rustle of covers as he shifts. "No one can push you but yourself. How high can you fly, Tezuka?"
Tezuka stares at the ceiling, and doesn't sleep. Fuji's words murmur back and forth in his mind, strangely familiar in ways that always seem just outside his grasp. Fuji never has just one motive for anything he does, but what does touching Tezuka have to do with moving forward, or flying?
Towards dawn, Tezuka slides into an uneasy, broken sleep, cut with dreams of mountains and clouds and a smiling Fuji who pushes him towards a cliff edge. When Atobe beats him in practice the next day, he scowls and walks away from Tezuka without a word.
The end of the Senbatsu week comes as something of a relief. Fuji makes no further attempt to confuse him, but Tezuka feels himself watched on a near-constant basis. Sometimes it is Atobe instead, or Yukimura; Tezuka catches Oishi eyeing him worriedly on a few occasions, and wonders what Fuji has been saying.
The singles tournament begins well, with even the first-round matches complex and demanding. Tezuka has occasionally considered that part of the reason behind the yearly Senbatsu training camp may be to accustom the players to each other's styles, thus adding an edge to the tournament games. Certainly there seem to be enough potential sponsors and coaches among the spectators, even in the early stages.
The demanding match schedule means that Tezuka doesn't get a chance to see anyone else's games, although he hears the news from Oishi as they ride the train home in the evenings. The doubles tournament will not begin until mid-week, and his friend is already visibly nervous. He has a right to be, Tezuka thinks clinically; they are once again some of the youngest players in the tournament.
Tomorrow, Tezuka will play Sanada in the quarter-final; he is already anticipating an intense match. Fuji will be playing Atobe directly afterwards, and Tezuka wonders which of them he will face in the semi-final. Yukimura, Chitose, and Tachibana are on the other side of the draw; Oishi apologises for not knowing the results of their matches.
"It's fine," Tezuka tells him. If he were Inui, he would be putting good odds on Yukimura making the final. It's an interesting prospect; circumstances seem to have contrived to prevent a match between them. It goes without saying that Tezuka, too, intends to take part in the final.
Sanada is a challenging opponent. Tezuka concentrates fiercely on the game, ignoring the hushed mutter of Atobe's numerous supporters who are already collecting at courtside. Here on the court, the sensation of eyes following his movements is expected and familiar; Tezuka finds that it is a relief to be able to relax into the stretch and push of the game. Sanada's tennis reminds him a little of playing Fuji; Tezuka has to be careful not to fall into the traps that he already knows are waiting.
It takes all three sets, but Tezuka is not going to let himself lose here. Sanada, at least, seems to understand this; he only nods politely when they meet at the net. Rikkai, Tezuka remembers, have taken the Nationals again this year. For some reason, Fuji's words come back to him: Rivalry is interesting, isn't it. Sanada plays differently against Yukimura, Tezuka realises, and it is nothing to do with style.
"Oi, Tezuka, are you going to stand there all day?" Atobe snaps fingers in his face, and Tezuka suppresses a start. He generally finds it easier to ignore as much as he can of Atobe's mannerisms; part of him still vaguely hopes that if he doesn't react then Atobe might cease or at least tone down some of the posturing.
"Excuse me." Tezuka bows to the umpire and shoulders his racquet bag; as he exits the court he passes Fuji on his way in. Their eyes meet for a moment before Fuji looks past him, focusing on the court. He isn't smiling at all, and Tezuka can feel the heat coming off his body as they walk past each other. It is the most serious he has seen Fuji in a long time.
Oishi is waiting at the fence, at the edge of a knot of Seigaku senpai who have claimed a spot in the midst of all the Hyoutei jackets. Kikumaru is there too, clutching at the wire mesh as he calls encouragement to Fuji.
"Good game, Tezuka." Oishi grins and claps him on the shoulder as Tezuka joins them. He nods in acknowledgement, suppressing a grimace of distaste; his clothes are stuck to him with sweat, and the air is humid. This match, though, will be crucial.
Atobe wins the toss, and serves out with his usual theatrics. For the moment, Tezuka is more interested in the return; there is something just slightly different about Fuji's tennis today. His movement is sharper, his swings faster, his potential no longer veiled. Fuji is taking this match seriously, Tezuka realises with a strange kind of discomfort.
"He's playing for real, nya," Kikumaru observes quietly, tilting his head back over his shoulder to look at Oishi.
Inui will be sorry to have missed this, Tezuka thinks absently. Atobe is plainly startled by the sudden depths of Fuji's strength, beginning to play defensively in response to the counters. That's a mistake, Tezuka knows; it's hard to regain ground, better to break through than to back away. He also knows that Atobe will counter-attack in short order. If Fuji is playing for real, then this match will be fought down to the line. Tezuka excuses himself to Oishi and heads for the locker room to change.
When he returns, showered clean and feeling the nagging onset of exhaustion in the wake of the morning's match, the spectators at the fence are murmuring in astonishment. Tezuka's eyes go to the scoreboard: first set six-four to Fuji, second four-two in Atobe's favour. Fuji still isn't smiling; Tezuka wonders if that is the only reason behind his unease. He has rarely seen this side of Fuji, and tomorrow will be the semi-final.
Atobe takes the second set, and sits - poses, Tezuka thinks - on the bench as his supporters chant his name. Fuji stands on the other side of the court, sipping water and looking at something out of Tezuka's line of sight. His face is still and calm, and Tezuka is reminded of light glancing off water. There is something almost dangerous beneath the surface here.
The third set runs into tie-break. Atobe's stamina is suffering from the efforts of the second set, and Tezuka watches as Fuji ruthlessly exploits that, twisting the game in his own favour. He's exhausted too, Tezuka realises; this is the hardest he has ever seen Fuji work for anything. When the game is finally called, he turns away, leaving Oishi and Kikumaru to offer towels and congratulations.
Fuji never has just one motive for anything he does, Tezuka thinks as he walks back to the station. Somehow, he doubts that Fuji has much interest in National trophies - at least on his own behalf.
As anticipated, the semi-final turns into a hard fight. Unlike Atobe, Tezuka has the advantage of having faced Fuji's true skills before; he knows what to expect, as far as it is wise to expect anything from Fuji. The fact that Fuji is equally familiar with his own tennis makes Tezuka doubly wary; he starts the match conservatively, trying to test Fuji's approach without letting himself be restricted.
Tezuka knows how to break Fuji's counters, and Fuji knows how to break the Zone. The match is a challenge, but a frustrating one; Tezuka fights for every point as Fuji cuts holes into his game, turning strengths into weaknesses and exploiting them. At any other time, Tezuka might consider this a valuable lesson, but there is no time to learn; all of his mind is caught up in the struggle not to give Fuji any openings.
He sits on the bench during the break - one set all - and concentrates on slowing his breathing. On the other side of the umpire's chair, Fuji is smiling up at the stands. Tezuka wonders who he sees.
The third set seems to drag on forever; every time Tezuka edges ahead Fuji seems to pull out another counter shot to erode his lead. Deuce and advantage begin to feel like weights; at the third break point Tezuka takes a deep breath and adds topspin to a cross shot, already moving up to volley. Fuji doesn't take the bait, but it's enough that Tezuka can feel the angle and spin on the ball as it returns to his racquet. Even the Zone is a struggle, now; Fuji's eyes are sharp enough to catch the patterns, and he does his best to vary them. Half the fight is in trying to out-think him, trying to avoid being broken.
By the time the final ball hits net, Tezuka can feel the ache of exertion in every muscle. He doesn't understand why Fuji smiles as they shake hands over the net.
That night, Tezuka dreams that the walls of the clubroom are closing in around him, shrinking to box him in. Then Fuji is there, smiling serenely as he backs Tezuka into a corner and stretches out a hand.
"What do you want, Tezuka?" Fuji's voice seems to come from everywhere and nowhere. Tezuka shuts his eyes and lets the walls close around him, hemming him in and restricting his breath. Fuji just stands there and watches, looking sad.
When Tezuka wakes, his shoulders are cramping but he doesn't remember the dream.
Three days after the final, Fuji intercepts Tezuka at the school gates after club and insists on accompanying him to Kawamura Sushi. Tezuka acquiesces with what grace he can muster, and calls his mother on the journey to inform her that he will be eating out. Her voice as she thanks him for the warning seems almost relieved; Tezuka wonders whether it is a bad line.
Tezuka is surprised to find Momoshiro and Kaidoh already waiting at the restaurant, seated prudently on either side of Oishi, Inui, and Kikumaru. A year of forced co-operation does not seem to have mellowed their rivalry if the way they eye each other is any indication. Tezuka sighs as everyone jumps up to congratulate him, and wonders whether he will be doing this again in two weeks, after the Junior Open.
This early in the evening, they are the only customers in the restaurant. Kawamura hurries out from the kitchen with a tray of tea as Tezuka steps out of his shoes.
"Ah, congratulations on your win, Tezuka! Fujiko, I set up the TV for you," he adds with a perplexed grin, indicating the wall-mounted set at the end of the counter.
"Thank you," Tezuka murmurs as Kikumaru and Momoshiro simultaneously demand to know what's going on with the TV. Fuji ignores them, smiling at Kawamura and handing over an envelope.
"Here you go, Taka-san. Maybe we should let everyone eat first, though…"
"Fuji-senpai!" Momoshiro protests as Kawamura laughs. Tezuka sighs and sips his tea, letting the steam fog his glasses for a moment. Next year, he will be partially responsible for this chaos again.
"Ryuuzaki-sensei sent a video," Fuji is explaining as Kawamura fiddles with the television. Tezuka exhales, realising what this must be; he has read every magazine article he can find that deals with the junior division of this year's US Open. He can feel Fuji's eyes on him again, uncomfortably knowing.
"Ochibi!" Kikumaru exclaims as soon as Echizen appears on the screen, leaning closer despite Oishi's attempts to keep him still. Quietly, Tezuka shifts his chair to get a better view. The English letters at the top of the display inform them that this is the final of the Junior Open, between Ryoma Echizen of Japan and a name Tezuka doesn't recognise.
Echizen is strong. Tezuka knows this; every minute of their last match is engraved in his memory. He is expecting to admire the growth and potential of his talented kouhai; he is not expecting to be stunned into stillness by the beauty and power of the tennis Echizen is playing. Part of Tezuka is aware that this match is weeks over, but it ceases to matter as he watches Echizen set a flawless twist smash inches beyond his opponent's reach.
The others are cheering for Echizen as though the match is still in progress. Tezuka sits in silence, fingers clamped white-knuckled around his forgotten cup. Echizen has grown, but not enough to affect his game; his longer limbs seem to make him even more graceful and deadly on the court. Tezuka watches him resolve the opponent's powerful slice into a topspin lob, and wonders whether he is the only one hearing mada mada dane somewhere beneath the applause of the crowd.
Echizen looks like he is enjoying himself, Tezuka realises as the camera angle shifts away during the court change. He is still wearing the same cocky grin, as much a part of him as the ever-present Fila cap, and the sunlight is catching in his eyes like fire. Tezuka remembers that match again, and the breathless power of Echizen's tennis, of playing against him and being pushed to his limits. It has been a year, and he has not played a game that comes close.
Tezuka watches as Echizen serves for match point, feeling the pulse of his heartbeat invading his whole body. His head feels cooler and clearer than it has in a long time. This is the tennis that he loves, the game that can recreate him moment to moment on the court, stronger and faster and more certain with every point. This is what he wants - what he wants to aim for.
Echizen looks like he is flying as he slams the final ball home. Tezuka takes a long breath as the restaurant explodes with cheers and laughter, feeling as drained as though he had fought that match himself instead of watching it. When he looks up, Fuji is smiling at him from the other side of the room.
The junior division of the Japan Open doesn't carry the prestige of the Grand Slams, but there is enough fuss made that Tezuka is thoroughly sick of journalists by the second round. It feels strange to be back at the National stadium so soon, and stranger to realise that he will turn sixteen in only a few days.
Tezuka takes his first match in straight sets; it feels like breathing deeply after too long in a small room, as though he is finally stretching out cramped muscles. For the first time since last year's National victory, Tezuka can see the future laid out before him: Seigaku, and the junior circuit in Japan, and then the pros. This tournament is only the first step, and he doesn't intend to lose.
That afternoon, Tezuka watches Fuji's second round match against an over-confident South American. Fuji puts up enough of a fight that the opponent is left gaping on several occasions, but he is not playing to the best of his ability. As the final ball slides past his racquet, Fuji smiles as though he doesn't care at all. Tezuka turns away, heading back to the stadium to check the court schedule.
His next match will not begin for some time. Tezuka walks along the corridor into the stands and stares out at the crisp white lines of the court, thinking about sunlight and fire and strength. Echizen has already made the leap, and Tezuka knows that his limits are mostly imagined. It's time for him to fly, too.
Pairing: Fuji/Tezuka, onesided Atobe/Tezuka
Rating: mild R
Continuity: Anime, full spoilers
Notes: There's a sequel to this which was never finished, but I'm so out of the fandom now that I decided to stop sitting on this. For reference, the story as a whole ends up pre-TezuRyo (it's me, after all), but there's no actual Ryoma in this fic. The word aite means both 'opponent' and 'partner', by the way.
Dedication: This is for bookshop and kessie, for reasons I've forgotten in the months since I finished it. >.> Er. ♥?
相手: Surface
and they always talk about connections
and they always talk about the surface
~Rie Fu
Tezuka doesn't realise what's going on until Fuji backs him against a wall in the clubroom and kisses him. They are first years again, struggling to adjust to ball-fetching duty and being ordered around by senpai. Or Tezuka is struggling; Fuji treats their sudden demotion with his usual smiling equanimity, and Tezuka sometimes wonders whether he notices at all.
It is Tezuka's first kiss, and he hadn't been expecting it. He stands frozen, and after a moment Fuji releases him gently and steps back far enough that Tezuka can breathe again. His expression is the same as ever: amused and knowing.
"Why did you do that?" Tezuka asks, when he can find his voice beneath embarrassment and the sudden, ominous weight in his stomach.
Fuji smiles up at him as though suddenly kissing one's male teammates is a perfectly normal activity. Maybe it is, for Fuji. "I felt like it."
Tezuka looks at him helplessly for several moments, and at last he inclines his head, smile fading into seriousness. "We should play another match, Tezuka."
Tennis, Tezuka thinks, grasping at the familiarity of it like a lifeline. "Aa." Strictly speaking, independent matches are not permitted, but it will not concern their senpai if they play out of school. The court under the overpass is the most secluded, and Tezuka has not played there since Echizen's second departure. "The public park at Nishigata has a court," he says instead, and Fuji nods as though he knows what Tezuka is thinking.
Tezuka is three games up to two before it occurs to him that Fuji might consider this a date. The realisation turns his feet to lead for a crucial instant, and he misses what should have been an easy lob. Fuji doesn't say anything, but his eyes on Tezuka are sharp, and his next serve is softer than it needs to be.
Rivalry, Tezuka thinks; that's all that this is about. He has spent a long time making himself a target and an example, trying to draw out Fuji's full potential. If Fuji wants to catch him…
Tezuka wins seven to five, and Fuji laughs ruefully, shaking his hair out of his eyes as his smile falls back into place. His hand lingers a moment too long when he clasps Tezuka's forearm at the net, and Tezuka feels as though his skin is trying to be too hot and too cold at the same time.
Fuji doesn't mention the game or the kiss again until after the third-years have left the club in the autumn. By that point Tezuka has almost managed to believe that the incident had been another of Fuji's games. If Fuji's hands have been a little too familiar on his shoulders during warm-ups, it is nothing to be concerned about. Tezuka tells himself he is used to Fuji being eccentric.
So it's a surprise to feel gentle fingers trailing across his shoulder and the nape of his neck as he changes after clean-up duty. Tezuka freezes where he sits, one arm half into his shirt, as Fuji steps around him, amusement in the set of his mouth. His hand slides down Tezuka's arm in what is unmistakably a caress, and by the time Tezuka has gathered enough wit to ask what he means by it, he's gone, disappearing out of the door.
Tezuka doesn't sleep well that night. His dreams are vivid and uncomfortable, and he wakes cold and sick-feeling and refuses breakfast. When he walks onto the court with Oishi after classes, Fuji looks at him sharply for a long moment, then turns away to warm up with Kikumaru. Tezuka squares his shoulders and begins practice as usual.
After warm-ups and swing drills, the first years are assigned to play time-limit matches against each other. Oishi laughs when Tezuka beats him by thirteen points within ten minutes, and Inui retires to the bench to scribble. Tezuka stands at the fence and watches Fuji play Kikumaru, absently twisting his racquet in his hand. Fuji isn't playing anywhere near his best, Tezuka thinks with a distant kind of annoyance. All he's doing is testing Kikumaru's limits, playing just hard enough to stay one step ahead. Tezuka doesn't understand why Fuji looks like he's enjoying himself.
Fuji is waiting at the gate when Tezuka leaves the clubhouse. Tezuka pauses for a moment, then decides that it's probably inevitable and walks to meet him.
"They'll be appointing the new captain soon," Fuji says, falling into step beside him.
"Aa." Tezuka already knows that he is a candidate for vice captain again; Amano-sensei has spoken to him about it. It is a simple enough job.
They walk without speaking for a while. Fuji seems to be thinking about something, and Tezuka sees nothing to say. Fuji is easier to be around than Kikumaru or Inui, and less inclined to worry than Oishi, but lately something in his silences preys on Tezuka's nerves.
Their paths diverge near the station, and Fuji halts, turning to look up at Tezuka with wide, unreadable eyes. "You need to work out what it is you want, Tezuka."
"What?" Tezuka frowns at him, not at all sure what he's talking about. Fuji shakes his head, looking away towards the distant glow of sunlight reflecting off tall buildings.
"Yuuta's not coming back to Seigaku next year."
"I'm sorry." Tezuka doesn't follow at all, but he knows the subject means a lot to Fuji.
"It was his choice." Fuji looks up at him again, smiling. "He's too used to his current life, I think. It's been a long time since he left, ne."
"Aa." Tezuka can't shake the feeling that Fuji isn't talking about his brother at all.
"I just hope he doesn't regret it," Fuji murmurs, eyes sharp despite the happy innocence painting his face. "Well, goodbye - my sister will be waiting." He raises a hand, turning to walk away without waiting for Tezuka's reply. Tezuka stares after him for a long moment, then sighs and turns for home.
Fuji's words float back to the top of his mind as he's preparing for bed. Tezuka takes off his glasses, staring into the blurry corners of the room, and tries to think. What is he supposed to want? He has a National medal hanging on the wall, the respect of his teammates and opponents, a talented kouhai who is taking on the world in the junior tournament circuit. He has friends and rivals and tennis.
What does Fuji think he should want?
Tezuka dreams of matches and sunsets and opponents that he can't see. Somewhere towards dawn the images slide into darkness, and voices come to whisper to him, over and over. You need to work out what it is you want. Fuji's amused tones are easy to distinguish, but running beneath them is another voice, one Tezuka knows he should recognise. He tries to grasp for the name, but the dream fades quickly into a morass of sensation and arousal, hands-skin-mouths-bodies-sweat-gasps. Tezuka wakes abruptly, hard and trembling on the edge of orgasm with his hand already half inside his pyjama pants.
Autumn ranking matches come as something of a relief. Tezuka makes the top of his block without losing a game; by now, even the second years are used to it. Fuji comes in second in C-block, losing seven-five to Inui after a run of easy victories. Tezuka, watching, sees Inui's face getting tighter and tighter as the match progresses.
Afterwards, Fuji smiles at Tezuka's carefully blank expression. "Were you really expecting anything else, Tezuka?"
They are sitting in the clubroom, passing around the order form for the new Regular uniforms. Tezuka considers the question while he writes his name and sizes carefully onto the paper. It reminds him of filling out play orders for tournaments.
"Inui has seen you play all out before," he says at last, although he knows that it has been over a year, now.
"Saa." Fuji just smiles, brushing seemingly-absent fingers across Tezuka's shoulder as he rises to leave. Tezuka has to work to hide a flinch; on the other side of the room, Oishi starts to look worried.
Tezuka goes home by way of the indoor courts, spending half an hour and all his spare change hitting against the ball machine. He tries to think his way through the next few weeks: Senbatsu, the Under-Eighteen Singles, and the Junior Open for those who make it to the best four. That night, he dreams that he is being broken down, split apart and reconstructed into something alien and unrecognisable. When he wakes, his shoulders ache as though he has been hunching them all night.
Senbatsu begins inauspiciously, with rain. Despite the weather, three of the third-year participants have challenged Tezuka to matches before training even begins. Others eye him with curiosity or awe; across the room, Fuji is in quiet conversation with Yukimura. Sanada, never more than a few feet from his captain's side, is wearing a stoic expression in the face of Atobe's theatrics.
Uneasy and tired of the posturing, Tezuka goes to find his assigned room and change. Rain is the enemy of tennis, but he can still run.
When he returns, soaked to the skin and still restless, Fuji is sitting cross-legged on his bed, tapping messages into his phone. The quiet beeps set Tezuka's teeth on edge; he gets out a change of clothes and makes his way wordlessly to the bathroom. The water in the shower seems the same temperature as the late-summer rain, and the institutional soap smells sharp and abrasive.
Tezuka stares into the mirror for a long time, his face blurred and pale under the harsh light. His hair, roughly towelled, is a messy halo around his head; when he slides his glasses back on it resolves into wild spikes that take three passes with the comb to neaten.
Fuji is reading a book when he emerges. Tezuka notes that he has changed into the Senbatsu uniform, this year a reassuring greyish blue.
"Atobe came by," Fuji says as Tezuka arranges his possessions on the night table. "You won’t be able to avoid him forever."
Tezuka pauses, fingers twitching for a moment, then carefully straightens the corner of his Japanese textbook until it is properly aligned, exactly where it should be. He is not avoiding Atobe. "The instructors will decide who will play practice matches."
Fuji looks up from his book, eyes opaque. "Of course. You may find that's not all he wants from you, however."
Tezuka sets his jaw, and doesn't reply. This is the second year he has roomed with Fuji, and it is always a trial. Even Oishi's worries seem a better alternative, but doubles pairs are always kept together.
After a moment, Fuji drops his eyes, face settling into the usual smile as he turns a page. He is reading classical Japanese, the print small enough that from this angle Tezuka cannot begin to follow it. He turns away, staring out of the window at the sun breaking through the clouds, and waits for the bell to ring for dinner.
That night, Tezuka sleeps restlessly. The bed is unfamiliar, and the sheets seem to scratch at his skin even through his pyjamas. He slides in and out of dreams; one moment he is running under the summer sun and the next he is standing at the fence, watching a match he cannot see while icy rain beats on his head and makes a river of his glasses. Sometime towards dawn, he realises that Fuji is awake too, eyes fixed on him in the near-darkness. When he wakes again, unrested, to the sound of his alarm, he is facing the wall.
It is two days before they graduate from training exercises to practice games. The instructor assigns pairs at random; Tezuka stands bracketed between Fuji and Atobe, staring straight ahead while he waits his turn. He feels crowded, but there is nowhere to move without being rude.
Tezuka plays five matches in the morning, half court games that require three points in a row to win. He takes two games against second years from Rikkai before Atobe's name is called.
Atobe stalks onto the court as though he is convinced the world is watching him. Behind him, at the fence, Tezuka can see Fuji smirking. He keeps his face carefully blank as Atobe prepares to serve.
It is not a particular surprise when Atobe pulls out his Tannhauser Serve for the first ball. Tezuka inclines his head as it hisses past him, hearing the murmurs from the fence. They are playing by the tie-break rules, alternating serves and courts; it feels too familiar. Atobe will know better than to rely on his serve, Tezuka thinks. He pivots on the baseline, tossing the ball and feeling the stretch through shoulder-hip-thigh as he serves.
"Fast," someone mutters from the fence as Atobe barely manages to scrape a return. Tezuka puts the ball neatly past him, into the backcourt, and Atobe laughs, tossing his head.
"You can do better than that, Tezuka."
That isn't the question, Tezuka thinks, as Atobe serves again - slice this time, but heavy and powerful. The question is whether he will need to. He can feel the strain through his arm as he returns, familiar as the court under his feet. Atobe has always been strong, and Tezuka has always been careful.
It takes almost twenty minutes for Tezuka to find three consecutive openings. Atobe smirks as they walk off the court, nudging Tezuka with an elbow.
"Next time, Tezuka."
Tezuka doesn't dignify that with a reply. Two courts down, Fuji is playing a Rikkai third-year; Sanada and Yukimura are waiting at the fence. Tezuka watches Fuji's serve, realising that he is playing at least semi-seriously. As expected, the Rikkai player is good; it only takes him two balls to learn that he cannot rely on topspin. The air is too hot and still for hakugei; Tezuka can feel sweat pooling between his shoulderblades. He feels itchy and uncomfortable.
"Playing around again, na." Atobe is watching too, Tezuka realises. He is standing just a little too close, but Tezuka cannot bring himself to draw notice to the fact by moving away.
"Fuji plays his own game," is all Tezuka says. Atobe snorts as Fuji finishes the game with another counter, and shifts so that he's facing Tezuka.
"I don't doubt it. Aren't you tired of playing him yet?"
Tezuka's skin prickles, as though he is being watched. "He's a strong player." It's the truth, he thinks. It always takes concentration and effort to beat Fuji, to keep him moving forward.
"Ah?" Atobe touches his arm familiarly, looking faintly satisfied. "If you ever want a real challenge, call me, na?"
Tezuka isn't quite sure how to politely respond to that, so he contents himself with moving his arm away from Atobe's hand, shifting to the side as Fuji rejoins them.
"Interesting, ne." Fuji shakes his hair out of his face, smiling. Tezuka doesn't bother to reply; on the far court, Sanada and Yukimura are beginning a match.
Their tennis, as ever, is near flawless. The way they play together is subtly different; years of watching each other's styles will do that, Tezuka thinks. He wonders whether Sanada is actually smiling, or whether it is a trick of the light.
"They look like they're enjoying themselves." There is something in Atobe's voice that Tezuka can't quite place.
"Hmm?" Fuji looks up and smiles; Tezuka wonders why he is suddenly the centre of attention, when this kind of tennis is being played right in front of them. "Rivalry is interesting, isn't it?"
That night, Tezuka takes off his glasses and stares at himself in the bathroom mirror. The walls are thin; he can hear Fuji moving around the room outside, the murmur of his voice on the phone. It makes him uncomfortable enough that he runs the tap as he brushes his teeth, watching the water swirl slowly down the drain.
When he emerges, hair damp on his forehead and leaving wet trails on his glasses, Fuji is standing at the window, looking out into darkness. Tezuka pauses for a moment, wondering what he sees, then goes to set out his clothing for tomorrow.
A hand on his back startles him into stillness. Fuji's touch is familiar and not-quite-casual, and Tezuka can feel the imprints of his fingers red-hot through the thin fabric of his pyjama shirt. It takes an effort to quell the impulse to flinch away; Tezuka holds himself utterly still.
"Oh, Tezuka." Fuji's voice is quiet, amused, and so very close that Tezuka is sure he can feel the hairs on the back of his neck stirring. Is this what Fuji thinks he should want? He opens his mouth, ready to take refuge in a captain's mannerisms, but Fuji speaks over the top of him.
"How far can you go, Tezuka?" His hand slides around Tezuka's side to rest on his hip, and there is no doubt now about the intimacy of this, not when Tezuka can feel the heat of Fuji's body against his back. He can't move.
"How far can you let this go?" Fuji's voice murmurs against his ear, and Tezuka hears echoes of earlier words: You need to work out what it is you want. It's all too easy to realise what his body wants, in this proximity, but the rest of him…
Then Fuji is gone, rapid footsteps retreating to the bathroom. Tezuka is left staring blindly at the wall, skin prickling with humiliation and arousal.
The sound of water running carries through the wall. Ordinarily, it would be familiar and soothing; he has been listening to the sound of the garden pool all his life. Tezuka removes his glasses and settles into bed, flicking out the light. At this distance, the thin bluish glow that filters beneath the bathroom door is nothing but a lighter blur; Tezuka stares into the darkness of the ceiling, trying to resolve the day into something that makes sense.
When Fuji gets into his own bed, he is so quiet that Tezuka eventually assumes he must be asleep. His voice, soft but abrupt in the darkness, is enough of a surprise that Tezuka starts.
"You can't move forward if you're standing still, ne?" Tezuka hears the rustle of covers as he shifts. "No one can push you but yourself. How high can you fly, Tezuka?"
Tezuka stares at the ceiling, and doesn't sleep. Fuji's words murmur back and forth in his mind, strangely familiar in ways that always seem just outside his grasp. Fuji never has just one motive for anything he does, but what does touching Tezuka have to do with moving forward, or flying?
Towards dawn, Tezuka slides into an uneasy, broken sleep, cut with dreams of mountains and clouds and a smiling Fuji who pushes him towards a cliff edge. When Atobe beats him in practice the next day, he scowls and walks away from Tezuka without a word.
The end of the Senbatsu week comes as something of a relief. Fuji makes no further attempt to confuse him, but Tezuka feels himself watched on a near-constant basis. Sometimes it is Atobe instead, or Yukimura; Tezuka catches Oishi eyeing him worriedly on a few occasions, and wonders what Fuji has been saying.
The singles tournament begins well, with even the first-round matches complex and demanding. Tezuka has occasionally considered that part of the reason behind the yearly Senbatsu training camp may be to accustom the players to each other's styles, thus adding an edge to the tournament games. Certainly there seem to be enough potential sponsors and coaches among the spectators, even in the early stages.
The demanding match schedule means that Tezuka doesn't get a chance to see anyone else's games, although he hears the news from Oishi as they ride the train home in the evenings. The doubles tournament will not begin until mid-week, and his friend is already visibly nervous. He has a right to be, Tezuka thinks clinically; they are once again some of the youngest players in the tournament.
Tomorrow, Tezuka will play Sanada in the quarter-final; he is already anticipating an intense match. Fuji will be playing Atobe directly afterwards, and Tezuka wonders which of them he will face in the semi-final. Yukimura, Chitose, and Tachibana are on the other side of the draw; Oishi apologises for not knowing the results of their matches.
"It's fine," Tezuka tells him. If he were Inui, he would be putting good odds on Yukimura making the final. It's an interesting prospect; circumstances seem to have contrived to prevent a match between them. It goes without saying that Tezuka, too, intends to take part in the final.
Sanada is a challenging opponent. Tezuka concentrates fiercely on the game, ignoring the hushed mutter of Atobe's numerous supporters who are already collecting at courtside. Here on the court, the sensation of eyes following his movements is expected and familiar; Tezuka finds that it is a relief to be able to relax into the stretch and push of the game. Sanada's tennis reminds him a little of playing Fuji; Tezuka has to be careful not to fall into the traps that he already knows are waiting.
It takes all three sets, but Tezuka is not going to let himself lose here. Sanada, at least, seems to understand this; he only nods politely when they meet at the net. Rikkai, Tezuka remembers, have taken the Nationals again this year. For some reason, Fuji's words come back to him: Rivalry is interesting, isn't it. Sanada plays differently against Yukimura, Tezuka realises, and it is nothing to do with style.
"Oi, Tezuka, are you going to stand there all day?" Atobe snaps fingers in his face, and Tezuka suppresses a start. He generally finds it easier to ignore as much as he can of Atobe's mannerisms; part of him still vaguely hopes that if he doesn't react then Atobe might cease or at least tone down some of the posturing.
"Excuse me." Tezuka bows to the umpire and shoulders his racquet bag; as he exits the court he passes Fuji on his way in. Their eyes meet for a moment before Fuji looks past him, focusing on the court. He isn't smiling at all, and Tezuka can feel the heat coming off his body as they walk past each other. It is the most serious he has seen Fuji in a long time.
Oishi is waiting at the fence, at the edge of a knot of Seigaku senpai who have claimed a spot in the midst of all the Hyoutei jackets. Kikumaru is there too, clutching at the wire mesh as he calls encouragement to Fuji.
"Good game, Tezuka." Oishi grins and claps him on the shoulder as Tezuka joins them. He nods in acknowledgement, suppressing a grimace of distaste; his clothes are stuck to him with sweat, and the air is humid. This match, though, will be crucial.
Atobe wins the toss, and serves out with his usual theatrics. For the moment, Tezuka is more interested in the return; there is something just slightly different about Fuji's tennis today. His movement is sharper, his swings faster, his potential no longer veiled. Fuji is taking this match seriously, Tezuka realises with a strange kind of discomfort.
"He's playing for real, nya," Kikumaru observes quietly, tilting his head back over his shoulder to look at Oishi.
Inui will be sorry to have missed this, Tezuka thinks absently. Atobe is plainly startled by the sudden depths of Fuji's strength, beginning to play defensively in response to the counters. That's a mistake, Tezuka knows; it's hard to regain ground, better to break through than to back away. He also knows that Atobe will counter-attack in short order. If Fuji is playing for real, then this match will be fought down to the line. Tezuka excuses himself to Oishi and heads for the locker room to change.
When he returns, showered clean and feeling the nagging onset of exhaustion in the wake of the morning's match, the spectators at the fence are murmuring in astonishment. Tezuka's eyes go to the scoreboard: first set six-four to Fuji, second four-two in Atobe's favour. Fuji still isn't smiling; Tezuka wonders if that is the only reason behind his unease. He has rarely seen this side of Fuji, and tomorrow will be the semi-final.
Atobe takes the second set, and sits - poses, Tezuka thinks - on the bench as his supporters chant his name. Fuji stands on the other side of the court, sipping water and looking at something out of Tezuka's line of sight. His face is still and calm, and Tezuka is reminded of light glancing off water. There is something almost dangerous beneath the surface here.
The third set runs into tie-break. Atobe's stamina is suffering from the efforts of the second set, and Tezuka watches as Fuji ruthlessly exploits that, twisting the game in his own favour. He's exhausted too, Tezuka realises; this is the hardest he has ever seen Fuji work for anything. When the game is finally called, he turns away, leaving Oishi and Kikumaru to offer towels and congratulations.
Fuji never has just one motive for anything he does, Tezuka thinks as he walks back to the station. Somehow, he doubts that Fuji has much interest in National trophies - at least on his own behalf.
As anticipated, the semi-final turns into a hard fight. Unlike Atobe, Tezuka has the advantage of having faced Fuji's true skills before; he knows what to expect, as far as it is wise to expect anything from Fuji. The fact that Fuji is equally familiar with his own tennis makes Tezuka doubly wary; he starts the match conservatively, trying to test Fuji's approach without letting himself be restricted.
Tezuka knows how to break Fuji's counters, and Fuji knows how to break the Zone. The match is a challenge, but a frustrating one; Tezuka fights for every point as Fuji cuts holes into his game, turning strengths into weaknesses and exploiting them. At any other time, Tezuka might consider this a valuable lesson, but there is no time to learn; all of his mind is caught up in the struggle not to give Fuji any openings.
He sits on the bench during the break - one set all - and concentrates on slowing his breathing. On the other side of the umpire's chair, Fuji is smiling up at the stands. Tezuka wonders who he sees.
The third set seems to drag on forever; every time Tezuka edges ahead Fuji seems to pull out another counter shot to erode his lead. Deuce and advantage begin to feel like weights; at the third break point Tezuka takes a deep breath and adds topspin to a cross shot, already moving up to volley. Fuji doesn't take the bait, but it's enough that Tezuka can feel the angle and spin on the ball as it returns to his racquet. Even the Zone is a struggle, now; Fuji's eyes are sharp enough to catch the patterns, and he does his best to vary them. Half the fight is in trying to out-think him, trying to avoid being broken.
By the time the final ball hits net, Tezuka can feel the ache of exertion in every muscle. He doesn't understand why Fuji smiles as they shake hands over the net.
That night, Tezuka dreams that the walls of the clubroom are closing in around him, shrinking to box him in. Then Fuji is there, smiling serenely as he backs Tezuka into a corner and stretches out a hand.
"What do you want, Tezuka?" Fuji's voice seems to come from everywhere and nowhere. Tezuka shuts his eyes and lets the walls close around him, hemming him in and restricting his breath. Fuji just stands there and watches, looking sad.
When Tezuka wakes, his shoulders are cramping but he doesn't remember the dream.
Three days after the final, Fuji intercepts Tezuka at the school gates after club and insists on accompanying him to Kawamura Sushi. Tezuka acquiesces with what grace he can muster, and calls his mother on the journey to inform her that he will be eating out. Her voice as she thanks him for the warning seems almost relieved; Tezuka wonders whether it is a bad line.
Tezuka is surprised to find Momoshiro and Kaidoh already waiting at the restaurant, seated prudently on either side of Oishi, Inui, and Kikumaru. A year of forced co-operation does not seem to have mellowed their rivalry if the way they eye each other is any indication. Tezuka sighs as everyone jumps up to congratulate him, and wonders whether he will be doing this again in two weeks, after the Junior Open.
This early in the evening, they are the only customers in the restaurant. Kawamura hurries out from the kitchen with a tray of tea as Tezuka steps out of his shoes.
"Ah, congratulations on your win, Tezuka! Fujiko, I set up the TV for you," he adds with a perplexed grin, indicating the wall-mounted set at the end of the counter.
"Thank you," Tezuka murmurs as Kikumaru and Momoshiro simultaneously demand to know what's going on with the TV. Fuji ignores them, smiling at Kawamura and handing over an envelope.
"Here you go, Taka-san. Maybe we should let everyone eat first, though…"
"Fuji-senpai!" Momoshiro protests as Kawamura laughs. Tezuka sighs and sips his tea, letting the steam fog his glasses for a moment. Next year, he will be partially responsible for this chaos again.
"Ryuuzaki-sensei sent a video," Fuji is explaining as Kawamura fiddles with the television. Tezuka exhales, realising what this must be; he has read every magazine article he can find that deals with the junior division of this year's US Open. He can feel Fuji's eyes on him again, uncomfortably knowing.
"Ochibi!" Kikumaru exclaims as soon as Echizen appears on the screen, leaning closer despite Oishi's attempts to keep him still. Quietly, Tezuka shifts his chair to get a better view. The English letters at the top of the display inform them that this is the final of the Junior Open, between Ryoma Echizen of Japan and a name Tezuka doesn't recognise.
Echizen is strong. Tezuka knows this; every minute of their last match is engraved in his memory. He is expecting to admire the growth and potential of his talented kouhai; he is not expecting to be stunned into stillness by the beauty and power of the tennis Echizen is playing. Part of Tezuka is aware that this match is weeks over, but it ceases to matter as he watches Echizen set a flawless twist smash inches beyond his opponent's reach.
The others are cheering for Echizen as though the match is still in progress. Tezuka sits in silence, fingers clamped white-knuckled around his forgotten cup. Echizen has grown, but not enough to affect his game; his longer limbs seem to make him even more graceful and deadly on the court. Tezuka watches him resolve the opponent's powerful slice into a topspin lob, and wonders whether he is the only one hearing mada mada dane somewhere beneath the applause of the crowd.
Echizen looks like he is enjoying himself, Tezuka realises as the camera angle shifts away during the court change. He is still wearing the same cocky grin, as much a part of him as the ever-present Fila cap, and the sunlight is catching in his eyes like fire. Tezuka remembers that match again, and the breathless power of Echizen's tennis, of playing against him and being pushed to his limits. It has been a year, and he has not played a game that comes close.
Tezuka watches as Echizen serves for match point, feeling the pulse of his heartbeat invading his whole body. His head feels cooler and clearer than it has in a long time. This is the tennis that he loves, the game that can recreate him moment to moment on the court, stronger and faster and more certain with every point. This is what he wants - what he wants to aim for.
Echizen looks like he is flying as he slams the final ball home. Tezuka takes a long breath as the restaurant explodes with cheers and laughter, feeling as drained as though he had fought that match himself instead of watching it. When he looks up, Fuji is smiling at him from the other side of the room.
The junior division of the Japan Open doesn't carry the prestige of the Grand Slams, but there is enough fuss made that Tezuka is thoroughly sick of journalists by the second round. It feels strange to be back at the National stadium so soon, and stranger to realise that he will turn sixteen in only a few days.
Tezuka takes his first match in straight sets; it feels like breathing deeply after too long in a small room, as though he is finally stretching out cramped muscles. For the first time since last year's National victory, Tezuka can see the future laid out before him: Seigaku, and the junior circuit in Japan, and then the pros. This tournament is only the first step, and he doesn't intend to lose.
That afternoon, Tezuka watches Fuji's second round match against an over-confident South American. Fuji puts up enough of a fight that the opponent is left gaping on several occasions, but he is not playing to the best of his ability. As the final ball slides past his racquet, Fuji smiles as though he doesn't care at all. Tezuka turns away, heading back to the stadium to check the court schedule.
His next match will not begin for some time. Tezuka walks along the corridor into the stands and stares out at the crisp white lines of the court, thinking about sunlight and fire and strength. Echizen has already made the leap, and Tezuka knows that his limits are mostly imagined. It's time for him to fly, too.