[Log] Fuji & Ryoma: Prince of Billiards!
Characters: Fuji Syūsuke & Echizen Ryoma
Location: Entertainment Deck 2, billiards room
Time: So very backdated to April 3rd (following Ryoma's timeline). (Sorry Gottis! T__T) Not long after the Atobe-Ryoma comment exchange of mega-snark.
Rating: PG for some suggestive wording. ;)
Summary: Shortly after the Ryoma vs. Atobe comment exchange on Atobe's journal, Fuji sends a text to Ryoma inviting him to a billiards game. Fuji, being Fuji, has an ulterior motive that...goes a bit pear-shaped. ^__~ Fuji has a related journal entry set after this log.
The billiards room was half-full when Fuji arrived. When he’d checked it out the other day, it had been nearly empty, and remained that way while he played. Still, it was reasonably quiet, and likely would afford them relative privacy. Fuji staked out an empty table and went to grab a cue for himself.
Ryoma was dressed comfortably in a dark red hoodie whose sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows and black jeans. He had a pair of sunglasses perched on his head - for decoration and nothing more - and his ruby earstuds glittered in the light from the several spotlights littered across the ceiling. He spotted Fuji almost immediately and strolled over to him, raising a hand in greeting. "Been here long?"
Fuji raised a brow as he looked over Echizen. Now that he was looking... Well, well. Their little first-year ace, all grown up. Never mind the height factor (and Fuji wasn’t in position to throw stones about that, being the shortest out of the ex-Seigaku Regulars after Echizen) -- the boy had definitely matured over the years. And the black-and-red color combination was both bold and flattering on him.
“Not at all,” Fuji replied with a smile. He was perched on the edge of the pool table with one foot casually resting on the ground, waxing the tip of his cue stick. For the occasion he’d chosen a pair of form-fitting black jeans and casual black dress shirt with three-quarter sleeves. He’d left the couple buttons open at the top, and the jet-black shirt collar made a striking contrast to the pale skin of his throat. “Why don’t you go grab a cue and join me? I’ll finish setting up.”
Ryoma's gaze inevitably got pulled towards the leg that belonged to the foot that rested on the floor. Fuji had always been one of the prettiest members of the old team, and apparently that hadn't changed one bit. And, he knew how to dress for the occasion, obviously. The younger man's eyes traveled upwards, to that sliver of exposed skin where the collar opened up, and then, finally, up to Fuji's face.
He nodded and sauntered over to the stand where the cues were, picking one and weighing it in his hand. The problem with handling billiard cues was the length, and to be able to work the pin-point precision in spite of that... But Ryoma thought he had the technique down fairly well. He did remember that Fuji was a great billiard player however, and he realized he could be in for some competition. Which, of course, simply made it all the more fun.
He had to wonder, however, if they were only here to have fun. He walked back to the billiard table and allowed his hand to skim over the balls that lay neatly nestled inside the triangle, enjoying the sound they made as they knocked into each other. "Looks good,
Fuji-senpai." He flashed a quick, somewhat crooked grin in his direction and then stepped away from the table. "So... What's this all about?"
"You owe me a rematch, remember?" For his part, Fuji remembered that time quite fondly -- though a few people had fallen to Inui-jiru even then. (Well, some casualties were expected in every battle.) Besides, pocket billiards was one of the things Fuji genuinely enjoyed, and he'd made effort to keep up. And Echizen always rose to the occasion in any game he played. He doubted Echizen would disappoint him today. "And I figured it would be nice to catch up at the same time. Is nine-ball alright with you?"
"Your memory's damn scary," Ryoma concluded while reaching for the chalk. He rubbed the substance on the tip of the cue - and everyone's mind is free to jump out of the gutter now - before carefully studying it.
"Nine-ball's fine. Who breaks?"
"You can, if you'd like." Fuji ran his hand over the sleek shaft, fingers wrapping around to cradle the tip. "Is it so strange to remember the past fondly?" Fuji said, and couldn't help the hint of nostalgia coloring his voice. He missed that time: being part of Tezuka's team, winning the Nationals together, and the connection they'd shared back then. Even years later, that year remained special. "How was America?"
He pushed some hair away from his face as he leaned down, aiming his cue at the small ball numbered with the number 1. He aimed carefully, taking his due time to really feel the weight and balance of the cue in his hand before he pushed at the cue ball towards the number 1. The balls broke with a crackling noise and Ryoma straightened himself up, watching the balls scatter over the table. "Guess so. America? It was... I don't know. Nothing special. Home... I suppose?"
Fuji waited until all the balls came to a rest, and angled his shot in his mind. Walking over to the cue ball, he leaned down, left hand guiding the tip, and struck lightly at the ball, sending it straight toward the 1-ball. The path to the side pocket was clear, and the ball rolled in cleanly. "Home, eh? So you liked America better than Japan?"
His attention was still half on Echizen as he walked around the table, but he wasn't planning to throw the game. Fuji chalked the tip again, the motion smooth and practiced, and leaned down to take aim. This time the cue ball struck the 2-ball with force, which rebounded off the cushion with a satisfying thwack, and sped toward the 7-ball right in front of a pocket. "How are the schools there? My father nearly had us relocate for a few years overseas, but mother didn't want us to move schools so many times."
A small tsk-ing sound escaped Ryoma as he watched Fuji pocket ball after ball. The 9-ball rested innocently in a corner, and he wouldn't risk hitting it unless his aim was really thrown when his time came to shoot, he decided. Well, assuming Fuji wouldn't be able to move it in the meantime. "Lived eighteen years in America, one year in Japan. You tell me which one of 'em is my home." All though, most of the time, Japan truly felt more like home than the States ever had. He wasn't eager to dwell on that fact, however. "The schools are... Different. They're..." He paused, brows furrowing slightly. "What's with the 20 questions, senpai?"
"Home is where your heart is," Fuji said lightly, but there was underlying seriousness in his words. The cue sliced down, and the cue ball jumped, striking at the 2-ball. The 2-ball swerved to a group of other balls, and 8-ball sank to a side pocket. The next strike was a simpler one, and 4-ball sank in a corner pocket.
"And I’m trying to catch up with you. What does it look like?" Fuji's smile held just a tint of challenge as he perched on the table, cue held in his hand like a graceful spear. The 2-ball bounced off the cushion and struck the 5-ball, sending it into a chain of collisions that scattered the 6-ball and the 3-ball. Which also conveniently put three different balls between the 2-ball and the 9-ball -- and none of the balls anywhere near the pockets, of course.
“Your turn.”
And home was in Japan. He knew that. That was where he had his closest friends. His best friends. The friends he hadn't been in touch with for seven years. Atobe's words rang through his mind again and he shook his head, as if trying to chase a way an annoying wasp. He needed to focus on the game. Four is down, but two and three are still in game. Three's the one closes to the nine, so if I manage to hit the three with the two, and it pushes the nine into a pocket, victory's mine. But if the three hits the nine and it doesn't sink, then it's a fault... It was a gamble, but a small plan was forming in his head, and if he were to pull it off... Victory might just be his.
He smirked, looking over at Fuji, eyes telling the fair-haired youth to keep his eyes peeled right now, because now magic was going to happen. Ryoma perched himself on the side of the table, positioning the cue by the cue ball, and focused. He angled the cue slightly, spun it around in his hand once, twice... And then pushed. The cue ball flew over the table, knocking into the 2-ball. That ball swam away across the table in a flat arc, an insane spin applied to it, and it traveled past the 5-ball and the 6-ball, crunching into the 3-ball and sent it rolling. Towards the 9-ball. Come on, come on... Ryoma's focus was on that spinning orb, and he felt as if he would be able to move it the way he wanted it to by simply using the power of his mind. (In reality, it was of course impossible, but the sensation was there never the less.)
The 3-ball and the 9-ball collided and the latter rolled along the edge of the table, towards one of the side pockets. There, it stopped, weighing back and forth, as if unable to decide if it ought to fall down into the cushioning net or remain at the table.
Ryoma held his breath.
Ah, there was that competitive spirit, blazing again, familiar and beautiful. Fuji knew which shot it would be from the challenging smirk Echizen sent his way. And yes, there was Echizen, taking the impossible shot nobody else would dare, because he was Echizen Ryoma. The 9-ball hovered over the pocket just a moment longer, and Fuji actually held his breath for a moment--
The 9-ball sank.
Fuji chuckled. "Good to see some things haven't changed. Good shot, Echizen."
"Drive B." He said it in a voice that could imply that he didn't quite believe it himself, but the 9-ball was down and he had won. Just like that. On his first shot. He basked in this for a moment, before his eyes narrowed again, and he turned at Fuji, nearly pouting.
"Okay, what gives?"
They had gathered a small group of audience by then, and they all clapped and talked excitedly, offering congratulations. Echizen ignored them, his focus still so intent on the miraculous success of his own shot. That was Echizen all over, too. Other people had rarely been the focus of Echizen's existence.
Except for the short time they stand in the opposite court from Echizen, anyway, Fuji thought with a small grin. Echizen was still an alarming mix of innocence and cockiness after all these years. Just his luck -- he'd always found that particular mixture irresistible. "I wanted to confirm something for myself," he admitted.
One man came up to pat him on the back, a woman offered him a bowl of peanuts and he eagerly dug down into it, hand emerging filled to the brim and he he proceeded to stuff about all of it into his mouth. By some miracle he didn't choke, but managed to chew everything down without even dropping as much as a single nut from his mouth. He noticed that Fuji was close to laughing for one reason or the other, and he gave him a bemused look, one hand - sticky with salt and peanut oil - resting on his narrow hip. "So? Did you?"
One fine brow quirked, Fuji gave Echizen a look that said he was being deliberately obtuse. "Some things," he reiterated. "Not all."
Ryoma was a little bit lost at that. "... Did you confirm anything? And what do you mean? I'm not following." Ryoma was brilliant, yes... But sometimes he could be incredibly thick.
Fuji nearly sighed. The last time he'd left someone alone out of respect for privacy, bad things had gone down for four years without his knowledge. Once had been enough for that, thank you.
"Meaning, some things about you have changed. Since when do you back down from a challenge?" By that, he didn't just mean the comment exchange with Atobe, though that was what prompted his invitation today. During the Seigaku reunion dinner, Echizen had nearly run away from their conversation at one point. The old Echizen he remembered would never have reacted like that. And it certainly hadn't escaped his notice Echizen had retreated after much the same prodding from Atobe: tennis.
"I don't know what's been going on with you, and it may be a presumption on my part. But you’ve already run twice when someone mentioned your tennis."
Any glee he might have felt over his victory quickly melted away. It was strange, that, how quickly his mood could change from one extreme to another. His mouth suddenly dry, he pressed his lips together, refusing to look at Fuji. Instead he picked up his cue and walked over to the rack and hung it back up again, assuming they wouldn't be playing another game. He didn't want to play another game, not now. He knew that much.
You don't know me as well as you think you do, he wanted to say. Wanted to accuse Fuji right then and there. They'd known each other for one year, not more. The dry voice in the back of his head that told him it had been an extremely intense year, emotions running high and everyone getting extremely close to one another; it had been a year that helped define the person he was today... He didn't want to listen to that voice. Childish, perhaps, but as everyone kept telling him... He was still nineteen. Not twenty. Not an adult. He was allowed to be childish, right?
But he hated that childish side to him. Hated that he suddenly felt like a deer caught in the headlights.
He wanted to simply up and leave. But that would be running away again, and that would only further to drive Fuji's point home. Still, he shoved his hands down into his pockets to hide the way they had curled into fists, almost unwillingly. He glanced over his shoulder, his back turned to Fuji, and his gaze ended up somewhere on Fuji's left shoulder. "I'm trying for the smooth path instead of the rocky road. That's no crime, is it?"
Noting the defensiveness in Echizen's posture, Fuji's mouth tightened. At least the crowd had dispersed after Echizen put away his cue; he hadn't meant for the whole scene to become public. "If you are content to let someone else pick your fights for you -- then no," he answered quietly, as if speaking any louder could shatter something between them.
Perhaps it wasn't his place to push Echizen about this. But seven years ago, if Tezuka had been their spearhead, Echizen had been their shooting star, blazing ahead with enough brilliance to light up the sky. It was difficult not to miss that Echizen. And for a fleeting moment today, he'd glimpsed at the same fiery spirit he remembered, when Echizen had been twelve and utterly fearless.
“What happened to the Echizen who used to face the strongest opponents without fear? Who said he could never stop loving tennis, no matter what?”
"He's still here," Ryoma said, a clearly defensive note to his voice. Maybe he really should have simply up and left. Maybe. "There's nothing deep or tragic going on, okay? I simply grew up. Priorities change, senpai. They tend to do that." The edge of his voice disappeared as he continued:
"I... I still love tennis. I totally do." He shut himself up, as it sounded like pleading in his own ears, strangely enough. But who was he trying to plead to? Fuji? Himself?
"I'm glad to hear that." Fuji's voice was soft, creating a strange counterpoint to the tension around them. His eyes were open, their color the blue of a calm ocean. But his gaze held gentleness and severity in equal measures. "I can't judge you for avoiding confrontations. But as your friend, I can call you on it when you run away even from your friends."
It was not meant to be an attack. But Echizen could take it as one, especially in his current state. Fuji bit his lip, and then releasing it, he met Echizen's eyes. "If you're truly happy being left alone, Echizen, then I won't speak about this again. The question is -- are you?"
Ryoma's eyes narrowed. He wasn't exactly sure why he felt so cornered like this, but here it was, and he did. It felt like Fuji's eyes looked far too deep into his soul, and it felt like they didn't like what they saw. Echizen Ryoma didn't run away. Fuji knew that. Ryoma himself knew that. And that the thought, the urge still was there was enough to set his temper off, as he felt irrationally angry. Hands still in his pockets, Ryoma turned wordlessly on his heel - of course he was happier like this, things were perfectly fine - and strode out of the room.
Fuji stared after Echizen. That could have gone better. Again. The words sounded flat even in his own head, and he let out a sigh.
To be honest, he wasn’t sure why Echizen's change troubled him so much. True, he'd felt indebted to Echizen for changing Yuuta, for reminding Yuuta there was more to tennis than chasing after his brother. But that was seven years ago. And hadn't he discharged that particular debt in his own way, by taking on Kirihara Akaya? Not to mention the concern as a senpai was past the statute of limitation, given Echizen was nineteen years old.
...On the other hand, Echizen definitely hadn't convinced him on the last point. And they were on a ship. There weren't that many places Echizen could hide, short of locking himself in his room for the rest of the cruise. There would be other chances to talk to Echizen in the future.
Reassured by the thought, Fuji set about cleaning up and putting away his cue.
Location: Entertainment Deck 2, billiards room
Time: So very backdated to April 3rd (following Ryoma's timeline). (Sorry Gottis! T__T) Not long after the Atobe-Ryoma comment exchange of mega-snark.
Rating: PG for some suggestive wording. ;)
Summary: Shortly after the Ryoma vs. Atobe comment exchange on Atobe's journal, Fuji sends a text to Ryoma inviting him to a billiards game. Fuji, being Fuji, has an ulterior motive that...goes a bit pear-shaped. ^__~ Fuji has a related journal entry set after this log.
The billiards room was half-full when Fuji arrived. When he’d checked it out the other day, it had been nearly empty, and remained that way while he played. Still, it was reasonably quiet, and likely would afford them relative privacy. Fuji staked out an empty table and went to grab a cue for himself.
Ryoma was dressed comfortably in a dark red hoodie whose sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows and black jeans. He had a pair of sunglasses perched on his head - for decoration and nothing more - and his ruby earstuds glittered in the light from the several spotlights littered across the ceiling. He spotted Fuji almost immediately and strolled over to him, raising a hand in greeting. "Been here long?"
Fuji raised a brow as he looked over Echizen. Now that he was looking... Well, well. Their little first-year ace, all grown up. Never mind the height factor (and Fuji wasn’t in position to throw stones about that, being the shortest out of the ex-Seigaku Regulars after Echizen) -- the boy had definitely matured over the years. And the black-and-red color combination was both bold and flattering on him.
“Not at all,” Fuji replied with a smile. He was perched on the edge of the pool table with one foot casually resting on the ground, waxing the tip of his cue stick. For the occasion he’d chosen a pair of form-fitting black jeans and casual black dress shirt with three-quarter sleeves. He’d left the couple buttons open at the top, and the jet-black shirt collar made a striking contrast to the pale skin of his throat. “Why don’t you go grab a cue and join me? I’ll finish setting up.”
Ryoma's gaze inevitably got pulled towards the leg that belonged to the foot that rested on the floor. Fuji had always been one of the prettiest members of the old team, and apparently that hadn't changed one bit. And, he knew how to dress for the occasion, obviously. The younger man's eyes traveled upwards, to that sliver of exposed skin where the collar opened up, and then, finally, up to Fuji's face.
He nodded and sauntered over to the stand where the cues were, picking one and weighing it in his hand. The problem with handling billiard cues was the length, and to be able to work the pin-point precision in spite of that... But Ryoma thought he had the technique down fairly well. He did remember that Fuji was a great billiard player however, and he realized he could be in for some competition. Which, of course, simply made it all the more fun.
He had to wonder, however, if they were only here to have fun. He walked back to the billiard table and allowed his hand to skim over the balls that lay neatly nestled inside the triangle, enjoying the sound they made as they knocked into each other. "Looks good,
Fuji-senpai." He flashed a quick, somewhat crooked grin in his direction and then stepped away from the table. "So... What's this all about?"
"You owe me a rematch, remember?" For his part, Fuji remembered that time quite fondly -- though a few people had fallen to Inui-jiru even then. (Well, some casualties were expected in every battle.) Besides, pocket billiards was one of the things Fuji genuinely enjoyed, and he'd made effort to keep up. And Echizen always rose to the occasion in any game he played. He doubted Echizen would disappoint him today. "And I figured it would be nice to catch up at the same time. Is nine-ball alright with you?"
"Your memory's damn scary," Ryoma concluded while reaching for the chalk. He rubbed the substance on the tip of the cue - and everyone's mind is free to jump out of the gutter now - before carefully studying it.
"Nine-ball's fine. Who breaks?"
"You can, if you'd like." Fuji ran his hand over the sleek shaft, fingers wrapping around to cradle the tip. "Is it so strange to remember the past fondly?" Fuji said, and couldn't help the hint of nostalgia coloring his voice. He missed that time: being part of Tezuka's team, winning the Nationals together, and the connection they'd shared back then. Even years later, that year remained special. "How was America?"
He pushed some hair away from his face as he leaned down, aiming his cue at the small ball numbered with the number 1. He aimed carefully, taking his due time to really feel the weight and balance of the cue in his hand before he pushed at the cue ball towards the number 1. The balls broke with a crackling noise and Ryoma straightened himself up, watching the balls scatter over the table. "Guess so. America? It was... I don't know. Nothing special. Home... I suppose?"
Fuji waited until all the balls came to a rest, and angled his shot in his mind. Walking over to the cue ball, he leaned down, left hand guiding the tip, and struck lightly at the ball, sending it straight toward the 1-ball. The path to the side pocket was clear, and the ball rolled in cleanly. "Home, eh? So you liked America better than Japan?"
His attention was still half on Echizen as he walked around the table, but he wasn't planning to throw the game. Fuji chalked the tip again, the motion smooth and practiced, and leaned down to take aim. This time the cue ball struck the 2-ball with force, which rebounded off the cushion with a satisfying thwack, and sped toward the 7-ball right in front of a pocket. "How are the schools there? My father nearly had us relocate for a few years overseas, but mother didn't want us to move schools so many times."
A small tsk-ing sound escaped Ryoma as he watched Fuji pocket ball after ball. The 9-ball rested innocently in a corner, and he wouldn't risk hitting it unless his aim was really thrown when his time came to shoot, he decided. Well, assuming Fuji wouldn't be able to move it in the meantime. "Lived eighteen years in America, one year in Japan. You tell me which one of 'em is my home." All though, most of the time, Japan truly felt more like home than the States ever had. He wasn't eager to dwell on that fact, however. "The schools are... Different. They're..." He paused, brows furrowing slightly. "What's with the 20 questions, senpai?"
"Home is where your heart is," Fuji said lightly, but there was underlying seriousness in his words. The cue sliced down, and the cue ball jumped, striking at the 2-ball. The 2-ball swerved to a group of other balls, and 8-ball sank to a side pocket. The next strike was a simpler one, and 4-ball sank in a corner pocket.
"And I’m trying to catch up with you. What does it look like?" Fuji's smile held just a tint of challenge as he perched on the table, cue held in his hand like a graceful spear. The 2-ball bounced off the cushion and struck the 5-ball, sending it into a chain of collisions that scattered the 6-ball and the 3-ball. Which also conveniently put three different balls between the 2-ball and the 9-ball -- and none of the balls anywhere near the pockets, of course.
“Your turn.”
And home was in Japan. He knew that. That was where he had his closest friends. His best friends. The friends he hadn't been in touch with for seven years. Atobe's words rang through his mind again and he shook his head, as if trying to chase a way an annoying wasp. He needed to focus on the game. Four is down, but two and three are still in game. Three's the one closes to the nine, so if I manage to hit the three with the two, and it pushes the nine into a pocket, victory's mine. But if the three hits the nine and it doesn't sink, then it's a fault... It was a gamble, but a small plan was forming in his head, and if he were to pull it off... Victory might just be his.
He smirked, looking over at Fuji, eyes telling the fair-haired youth to keep his eyes peeled right now, because now magic was going to happen. Ryoma perched himself on the side of the table, positioning the cue by the cue ball, and focused. He angled the cue slightly, spun it around in his hand once, twice... And then pushed. The cue ball flew over the table, knocking into the 2-ball. That ball swam away across the table in a flat arc, an insane spin applied to it, and it traveled past the 5-ball and the 6-ball, crunching into the 3-ball and sent it rolling. Towards the 9-ball. Come on, come on... Ryoma's focus was on that spinning orb, and he felt as if he would be able to move it the way he wanted it to by simply using the power of his mind. (In reality, it was of course impossible, but the sensation was there never the less.)
The 3-ball and the 9-ball collided and the latter rolled along the edge of the table, towards one of the side pockets. There, it stopped, weighing back and forth, as if unable to decide if it ought to fall down into the cushioning net or remain at the table.
Ryoma held his breath.
Ah, there was that competitive spirit, blazing again, familiar and beautiful. Fuji knew which shot it would be from the challenging smirk Echizen sent his way. And yes, there was Echizen, taking the impossible shot nobody else would dare, because he was Echizen Ryoma. The 9-ball hovered over the pocket just a moment longer, and Fuji actually held his breath for a moment--
The 9-ball sank.
Fuji chuckled. "Good to see some things haven't changed. Good shot, Echizen."
"Drive B." He said it in a voice that could imply that he didn't quite believe it himself, but the 9-ball was down and he had won. Just like that. On his first shot. He basked in this for a moment, before his eyes narrowed again, and he turned at Fuji, nearly pouting.
"Okay, what gives?"
They had gathered a small group of audience by then, and they all clapped and talked excitedly, offering congratulations. Echizen ignored them, his focus still so intent on the miraculous success of his own shot. That was Echizen all over, too. Other people had rarely been the focus of Echizen's existence.
Except for the short time they stand in the opposite court from Echizen, anyway, Fuji thought with a small grin. Echizen was still an alarming mix of innocence and cockiness after all these years. Just his luck -- he'd always found that particular mixture irresistible. "I wanted to confirm something for myself," he admitted.
One man came up to pat him on the back, a woman offered him a bowl of peanuts and he eagerly dug down into it, hand emerging filled to the brim and he he proceeded to stuff about all of it into his mouth. By some miracle he didn't choke, but managed to chew everything down without even dropping as much as a single nut from his mouth. He noticed that Fuji was close to laughing for one reason or the other, and he gave him a bemused look, one hand - sticky with salt and peanut oil - resting on his narrow hip. "So? Did you?"
One fine brow quirked, Fuji gave Echizen a look that said he was being deliberately obtuse. "Some things," he reiterated. "Not all."
Ryoma was a little bit lost at that. "... Did you confirm anything? And what do you mean? I'm not following." Ryoma was brilliant, yes... But sometimes he could be incredibly thick.
Fuji nearly sighed. The last time he'd left someone alone out of respect for privacy, bad things had gone down for four years without his knowledge. Once had been enough for that, thank you.
"Meaning, some things about you have changed. Since when do you back down from a challenge?" By that, he didn't just mean the comment exchange with Atobe, though that was what prompted his invitation today. During the Seigaku reunion dinner, Echizen had nearly run away from their conversation at one point. The old Echizen he remembered would never have reacted like that. And it certainly hadn't escaped his notice Echizen had retreated after much the same prodding from Atobe: tennis.
"I don't know what's been going on with you, and it may be a presumption on my part. But you’ve already run twice when someone mentioned your tennis."
Any glee he might have felt over his victory quickly melted away. It was strange, that, how quickly his mood could change from one extreme to another. His mouth suddenly dry, he pressed his lips together, refusing to look at Fuji. Instead he picked up his cue and walked over to the rack and hung it back up again, assuming they wouldn't be playing another game. He didn't want to play another game, not now. He knew that much.
You don't know me as well as you think you do, he wanted to say. Wanted to accuse Fuji right then and there. They'd known each other for one year, not more. The dry voice in the back of his head that told him it had been an extremely intense year, emotions running high and everyone getting extremely close to one another; it had been a year that helped define the person he was today... He didn't want to listen to that voice. Childish, perhaps, but as everyone kept telling him... He was still nineteen. Not twenty. Not an adult. He was allowed to be childish, right?
But he hated that childish side to him. Hated that he suddenly felt like a deer caught in the headlights.
He wanted to simply up and leave. But that would be running away again, and that would only further to drive Fuji's point home. Still, he shoved his hands down into his pockets to hide the way they had curled into fists, almost unwillingly. He glanced over his shoulder, his back turned to Fuji, and his gaze ended up somewhere on Fuji's left shoulder. "I'm trying for the smooth path instead of the rocky road. That's no crime, is it?"
Noting the defensiveness in Echizen's posture, Fuji's mouth tightened. At least the crowd had dispersed after Echizen put away his cue; he hadn't meant for the whole scene to become public. "If you are content to let someone else pick your fights for you -- then no," he answered quietly, as if speaking any louder could shatter something between them.
Perhaps it wasn't his place to push Echizen about this. But seven years ago, if Tezuka had been their spearhead, Echizen had been their shooting star, blazing ahead with enough brilliance to light up the sky. It was difficult not to miss that Echizen. And for a fleeting moment today, he'd glimpsed at the same fiery spirit he remembered, when Echizen had been twelve and utterly fearless.
“What happened to the Echizen who used to face the strongest opponents without fear? Who said he could never stop loving tennis, no matter what?”
"He's still here," Ryoma said, a clearly defensive note to his voice. Maybe he really should have simply up and left. Maybe. "There's nothing deep or tragic going on, okay? I simply grew up. Priorities change, senpai. They tend to do that." The edge of his voice disappeared as he continued:
"I... I still love tennis. I totally do." He shut himself up, as it sounded like pleading in his own ears, strangely enough. But who was he trying to plead to? Fuji? Himself?
"I'm glad to hear that." Fuji's voice was soft, creating a strange counterpoint to the tension around them. His eyes were open, their color the blue of a calm ocean. But his gaze held gentleness and severity in equal measures. "I can't judge you for avoiding confrontations. But as your friend, I can call you on it when you run away even from your friends."
It was not meant to be an attack. But Echizen could take it as one, especially in his current state. Fuji bit his lip, and then releasing it, he met Echizen's eyes. "If you're truly happy being left alone, Echizen, then I won't speak about this again. The question is -- are you?"
Ryoma's eyes narrowed. He wasn't exactly sure why he felt so cornered like this, but here it was, and he did. It felt like Fuji's eyes looked far too deep into his soul, and it felt like they didn't like what they saw. Echizen Ryoma didn't run away. Fuji knew that. Ryoma himself knew that. And that the thought, the urge still was there was enough to set his temper off, as he felt irrationally angry. Hands still in his pockets, Ryoma turned wordlessly on his heel - of course he was happier like this, things were perfectly fine - and strode out of the room.
Fuji stared after Echizen. That could have gone better. Again. The words sounded flat even in his own head, and he let out a sigh.
To be honest, he wasn’t sure why Echizen's change troubled him so much. True, he'd felt indebted to Echizen for changing Yuuta, for reminding Yuuta there was more to tennis than chasing after his brother. But that was seven years ago. And hadn't he discharged that particular debt in his own way, by taking on Kirihara Akaya? Not to mention the concern as a senpai was past the statute of limitation, given Echizen was nineteen years old.
...On the other hand, Echizen definitely hadn't convinced him on the last point. And they were on a ship. There weren't that many places Echizen could hide, short of locking himself in his room for the rest of the cruise. There would be other chances to talk to Echizen in the future.
Reassured by the thought, Fuji set about cleaning up and putting away his cue.