[PoT] Quandary, PG, Angst, FujiRyo
Title: Quandary
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: FujiRyo
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Ryoma finds smiles and lies in a teacup. Geisha AU.
[30_kisses theme: #27 overflow]
Quandary
by meitachi
Ryoma stared hard at his teacup. It was a traditional Japanese one, tall and slender with no handles, white china painted with black ink. He stared also at his hands, laying on either side of the cup, barely touching the smooth surface, fingers curling naturally toward the warmth of the hot tea as they rested on the tabletop.
“Ryoma, I love you.”
His hands looked unnaturally pale, he thought, only a few shades off the white of the teacup. It was the fault of the lighting, bleaching his skin of his customary healthy glow, replacing it with a color that reminded him of the kiss of death. Stillness.
“I won’t ever leave you.”
He wished that someone would turn off the sun. He’d prefer to sit in the darkness, feet tucked under him, hands resting on the table, breathing silently as he stared as his cup. Waiting. For something to change, for the silk to melt into his skin, or the tatami to catch fire, or the stars to fall out of the sky he couldn’t see from inside this room.
“The future won’t change that, I promise.”
He heard the beating of his own heart, fast, uncertain, and he could almost hear a melody to accompany the rhythm. A song he could play on his shamisen, notes hovering in the air until, with a breath or a draft, they would be whisked away to a corner where he couldn’t hear them anymore.
“We’ll always be together.”
Ryoma jerked, and hot tea sloshed over the rim of the teacup and onto his hands, leaving for an instant a burning trail. “Don’t say that,” he said harshly, gaze still focused on the cup in his almost-trembling hands, still by sheer force of will, and his hair in his eyes.
“We’ll always be together.”
His shoulders tensed and he exhaled hard, throat tight, eyes burning from staring so long at the teacup, or so he told himself. Biting his lip, he blinked once, twice, rapidly, and lifted his hands from the table, fishing a handkerchief from his sleeve and carefully wiping off the spilled tea from his skin.
“Please trust me, Ryoma.”
He rose to his feet and adjusted his obi, running a hand down the front of the kimono to smooth out three hours of wrinkles from the heavy silk. His eyes were still downcast and he didn’t look around, focusing intently on the task at hand.
“Ryoma…”
“Liar!” Ryoma cried, whirling. His breath was ragged now, from suppressed sobs, and his hair wild. “Liar,” he repeated, voice catching on the word, shuddering as he closed his eyes and tried not to dwell on the emptiness of the room. He fought back tears, fought back the ache threatening to overwhelm him, and stumbled toward the door, knocking into the table in the process. Tea spilled over the polished wooden surface, racing toward the floor, but Ryoma paid it no heed. He slid the door to the room open and slammed it shut behind him.
“I won’t leave you.”
The whisper faded as he hastened down the stairs, unmindful of his disheveled appearance. Lies, he thought, lies, lies, lies. From the lips of the most beautiful oiran in Kyoto, now the most beautiful oiran in Tokyo. Lies that had hidden behind blue eyes and a smile and a promise to be together.
Ryoma left Fuji’s old rooms, passing a startled Kachiro on the way, and hurried his way down the street. As he went, he told himself that he didn’t want his mentor to come back, not that scheming, lying, betraying boy who had taught him everything but the truth, and had left him in pieces and helplessly in love.
--
Started/Finished: 06.21.05
Edited: 07.10.05
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairing: FujiRyo
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Ryoma finds smiles and lies in a teacup. Geisha AU.
[30_kisses theme: #27 overflow]
Quandary
by meitachi
Ryoma stared hard at his teacup. It was a traditional Japanese one, tall and slender with no handles, white china painted with black ink. He stared also at his hands, laying on either side of the cup, barely touching the smooth surface, fingers curling naturally toward the warmth of the hot tea as they rested on the tabletop.
“Ryoma, I love you.”
His hands looked unnaturally pale, he thought, only a few shades off the white of the teacup. It was the fault of the lighting, bleaching his skin of his customary healthy glow, replacing it with a color that reminded him of the kiss of death. Stillness.
“I won’t ever leave you.”
He wished that someone would turn off the sun. He’d prefer to sit in the darkness, feet tucked under him, hands resting on the table, breathing silently as he stared as his cup. Waiting. For something to change, for the silk to melt into his skin, or the tatami to catch fire, or the stars to fall out of the sky he couldn’t see from inside this room.
“The future won’t change that, I promise.”
He heard the beating of his own heart, fast, uncertain, and he could almost hear a melody to accompany the rhythm. A song he could play on his shamisen, notes hovering in the air until, with a breath or a draft, they would be whisked away to a corner where he couldn’t hear them anymore.
“We’ll always be together.”
Ryoma jerked, and hot tea sloshed over the rim of the teacup and onto his hands, leaving for an instant a burning trail. “Don’t say that,” he said harshly, gaze still focused on the cup in his almost-trembling hands, still by sheer force of will, and his hair in his eyes.
“We’ll always be together.”
His shoulders tensed and he exhaled hard, throat tight, eyes burning from staring so long at the teacup, or so he told himself. Biting his lip, he blinked once, twice, rapidly, and lifted his hands from the table, fishing a handkerchief from his sleeve and carefully wiping off the spilled tea from his skin.
“Please trust me, Ryoma.”
He rose to his feet and adjusted his obi, running a hand down the front of the kimono to smooth out three hours of wrinkles from the heavy silk. His eyes were still downcast and he didn’t look around, focusing intently on the task at hand.
“Ryoma…”
“Liar!” Ryoma cried, whirling. His breath was ragged now, from suppressed sobs, and his hair wild. “Liar,” he repeated, voice catching on the word, shuddering as he closed his eyes and tried not to dwell on the emptiness of the room. He fought back tears, fought back the ache threatening to overwhelm him, and stumbled toward the door, knocking into the table in the process. Tea spilled over the polished wooden surface, racing toward the floor, but Ryoma paid it no heed. He slid the door to the room open and slammed it shut behind him.
“I won’t leave you.”
The whisper faded as he hastened down the stairs, unmindful of his disheveled appearance. Lies, he thought, lies, lies, lies. From the lips of the most beautiful oiran in Kyoto, now the most beautiful oiran in Tokyo. Lies that had hidden behind blue eyes and a smile and a promise to be together.
Ryoma left Fuji’s old rooms, passing a startled Kachiro on the way, and hurried his way down the street. As he went, he told himself that he didn’t want his mentor to come back, not that scheming, lying, betraying boy who had taught him everything but the truth, and had left him in pieces and helplessly in love.
--
Started/Finished: 06.21.05
Edited: 07.10.05