[PoT] Kibou, PG, Romance/Angst, FujiRyo
For aisutenshi.
30_kisses theme: #26 if only i could make you mine
Kibou
Prince of Tennis, FujiRyo, PG, 1024 words
Even the prodigies have their moments of doubt.
Kibou
by meitachi
Fuji didn’t like it when he saw the gleam in Ryoma’s eyes, fierce and bright and burning not for him, a passion reserved for Tezuka only. He knew it was different, of course, because Fuji was far from simple-minded, and he could hardly compare or confuse what he shared with Ryoma-gentle teasing, soft kisses, battling of wits-with what Tezuka offered: tennis. It was nothing more, nothing less; Ryoma saw his former captain as a formidable opponent on the courts, someone to challenge him, who promised no easy victory, and Fuji was left to stand on the sidelines, wondering if what he had was better or worse, and then chiding himself for doubting.
It was so easy to do, though, when he smiled and wrapped his arms around Ryoma, cajoling the younger boy to spend Valentine’s Day with him, and was told instead that Ryoma had already made plans to play Tezuka and would be absent for most of the afternoon.
It made Fuji glad, in a vicious, vindictive sort of way, that he had quit tennis. It also made him wonder unkindly why Tezuka hadn’t gotten himself a girlfriend yet-a shortage of willing females was certainly not the issue-so as to leave Fuji’s significant other well enough alone.
Fuji drew back, arms falling away from Ryoma, as he murmured, “Saa, is that so?” He retreated to his bed, sitting down on the edge. His fingers toyed with the hem of his sweater. “Isn’t it a bit cold, though?”
Ryoma watched him and Fuji wondered what he saw. “As long as there’s not snow,” the incorrigible tennis brat had replied, shrugging offhandedly.
Fuji’s smile was small, twisted with wistfulness. He didn’t like the way Ryoma looked at Tezuka. He didn’t like the way Tezuka would take up so much of Ryoma’s time.
Don’t you know? he wondered when Valentine’s Day rolled around, a Sunday that offered a rare break from most of the blushing, stammering classmates presenting homemade chocolates, and the opportunity for special events. You know, Tezuka, Fuji thought, what we have. The part of him colored in envy, in hurt, wanted to know why Tezuka would so consciously take Ryoma’s time from Fuji-or, at the very least, to so passively allow it, especially as he professed to be a friend. And Ryoma, Ryoma was more. What are they doing to me?
Sometimes Fuji’s smiles were bitter and he took little comfort in knowing that his deception served him so well that no one noticed.
Because he was masochistic, or because there was still a small part of him, sane and rational, telling him that Ryoma didn’t look at Tezuka the way he looked at Fuji, that Tezuka did nothing out of spite or pettiness, Fuji wrapped himself up in his coat and scarf and braved the cold February air to the street courts where the game that held up his day was playing out.
His arrival went unnoticed for a good ten minutes, before Ryoma dropped a difficult shot from Tezuka, bringing the score to three games to two. With a disgusted look, he raised an arm to wipe the sweat from his face and caught sight of Fuji, standing just outside the chain-link fence, hands in his pockets, face expressionless.
“Fuji-senpai,” he called out.
Fuji’s heart turned at his voice. How do I make you mine? he wondered. What do I have to do so that you don’t just look at me differently, but you’re also willing to stay by my side? He couldn’t force a smile, though he tried.
Ryoma paused then headed his way.
“Hey,” Fuji said softly and then a smile came, easier, because seeing Ryoma always reminded Fuji of all the things he loved about him. “Don’t lose,” he teased and it was almost like things were all right, were normal, and it wasn’t Valentine’s Day and he was standing outside watching his boyfriend giving his time and attention to someone else.
Golden eyes narrowed. “I won’t,” Ryoma said derisively. He grinned. “Hey, senpai, want to go to that Mexican restaurant tonight? They have some really spicy food. My stupid old man ordered some the last time we were there and nearly died. It was really funny,” he added with a smirk.
Fuji inhaled sharply, cold air stinging his throat, as he carefully let his gaze fall past Ryoma. He looked at Tezuka, who stood on the other side of the court and lifted a hand in greeting when he noticed Fuji’s gaze, and tried to reorder his thoughts. Ryoma…wanted to spend time with him. Had made plans to.
But then…what was this?
Ryoma shivered suddenly. “It’s cold,” he observed, a note of complaint in his voice. He glanced at Tezuka over his shoulder. “I’ll have to beat buchou quick.” He bounced up and down on his toes slightly, flashing another grin at Fuji. “Naa, Fuji-senpai. Will you wait? It should be over soon.”
A warm flush spread through Fuji. He lifted a hand and prodded the younger boy’s cheek lightly through the link in the fence, the skin cool under his finger. “So arrogant, Ryoma,” he chided, smiling. “Tezuka won’t let you get away with being so cocky.” This, he realized, feeling foolish and relieved, was nothing more than a game to Ryoma. Like any other game, except possibly more challenging than usual.
“Ch’,” Ryoma snorted, lips curling in amusement. “You can wait on the bench over there.” He gestured with his tennis racket. “My stuff’s over there. Oh,” he added belatedly, “there’s something for you. I was going to bring it over later but,” he shrugged, “since you’re here…” With a quick turn, he was returning to the court, determination flashing in his eyes and defining every move of his body, leaving Fuji to make his way to the bench. As the match resumed, he rummaged through Ryoma’s duffel bag and stopped when he encountered the small red box, tied with a simple white ribbon.
Chocolates, he saw. Hershey’s kisses. Fuji’s favorite little indulgence.
Smiling to himself, he put the box back and watched the rest of Ryoma’s match with Tezuka.
--
Started/Finished: 02.09.06
Er, sorry, the muses just wouldn't shut up; I couldn't get a proper ending at half the length. ...so I lie about drabble lengths, as always. ::shifty look::
30_kisses theme: #26 if only i could make you mine
Kibou
Prince of Tennis, FujiRyo, PG, 1024 words
Even the prodigies have their moments of doubt.
Kibou
by meitachi
Fuji didn’t like it when he saw the gleam in Ryoma’s eyes, fierce and bright and burning not for him, a passion reserved for Tezuka only. He knew it was different, of course, because Fuji was far from simple-minded, and he could hardly compare or confuse what he shared with Ryoma-gentle teasing, soft kisses, battling of wits-with what Tezuka offered: tennis. It was nothing more, nothing less; Ryoma saw his former captain as a formidable opponent on the courts, someone to challenge him, who promised no easy victory, and Fuji was left to stand on the sidelines, wondering if what he had was better or worse, and then chiding himself for doubting.
It was so easy to do, though, when he smiled and wrapped his arms around Ryoma, cajoling the younger boy to spend Valentine’s Day with him, and was told instead that Ryoma had already made plans to play Tezuka and would be absent for most of the afternoon.
It made Fuji glad, in a vicious, vindictive sort of way, that he had quit tennis. It also made him wonder unkindly why Tezuka hadn’t gotten himself a girlfriend yet-a shortage of willing females was certainly not the issue-so as to leave Fuji’s significant other well enough alone.
Fuji drew back, arms falling away from Ryoma, as he murmured, “Saa, is that so?” He retreated to his bed, sitting down on the edge. His fingers toyed with the hem of his sweater. “Isn’t it a bit cold, though?”
Ryoma watched him and Fuji wondered what he saw. “As long as there’s not snow,” the incorrigible tennis brat had replied, shrugging offhandedly.
Fuji’s smile was small, twisted with wistfulness. He didn’t like the way Ryoma looked at Tezuka. He didn’t like the way Tezuka would take up so much of Ryoma’s time.
Don’t you know? he wondered when Valentine’s Day rolled around, a Sunday that offered a rare break from most of the blushing, stammering classmates presenting homemade chocolates, and the opportunity for special events. You know, Tezuka, Fuji thought, what we have. The part of him colored in envy, in hurt, wanted to know why Tezuka would so consciously take Ryoma’s time from Fuji-or, at the very least, to so passively allow it, especially as he professed to be a friend. And Ryoma, Ryoma was more. What are they doing to me?
Sometimes Fuji’s smiles were bitter and he took little comfort in knowing that his deception served him so well that no one noticed.
Because he was masochistic, or because there was still a small part of him, sane and rational, telling him that Ryoma didn’t look at Tezuka the way he looked at Fuji, that Tezuka did nothing out of spite or pettiness, Fuji wrapped himself up in his coat and scarf and braved the cold February air to the street courts where the game that held up his day was playing out.
His arrival went unnoticed for a good ten minutes, before Ryoma dropped a difficult shot from Tezuka, bringing the score to three games to two. With a disgusted look, he raised an arm to wipe the sweat from his face and caught sight of Fuji, standing just outside the chain-link fence, hands in his pockets, face expressionless.
“Fuji-senpai,” he called out.
Fuji’s heart turned at his voice. How do I make you mine? he wondered. What do I have to do so that you don’t just look at me differently, but you’re also willing to stay by my side? He couldn’t force a smile, though he tried.
Ryoma paused then headed his way.
“Hey,” Fuji said softly and then a smile came, easier, because seeing Ryoma always reminded Fuji of all the things he loved about him. “Don’t lose,” he teased and it was almost like things were all right, were normal, and it wasn’t Valentine’s Day and he was standing outside watching his boyfriend giving his time and attention to someone else.
Golden eyes narrowed. “I won’t,” Ryoma said derisively. He grinned. “Hey, senpai, want to go to that Mexican restaurant tonight? They have some really spicy food. My stupid old man ordered some the last time we were there and nearly died. It was really funny,” he added with a smirk.
Fuji inhaled sharply, cold air stinging his throat, as he carefully let his gaze fall past Ryoma. He looked at Tezuka, who stood on the other side of the court and lifted a hand in greeting when he noticed Fuji’s gaze, and tried to reorder his thoughts. Ryoma…wanted to spend time with him. Had made plans to.
But then…what was this?
Ryoma shivered suddenly. “It’s cold,” he observed, a note of complaint in his voice. He glanced at Tezuka over his shoulder. “I’ll have to beat buchou quick.” He bounced up and down on his toes slightly, flashing another grin at Fuji. “Naa, Fuji-senpai. Will you wait? It should be over soon.”
A warm flush spread through Fuji. He lifted a hand and prodded the younger boy’s cheek lightly through the link in the fence, the skin cool under his finger. “So arrogant, Ryoma,” he chided, smiling. “Tezuka won’t let you get away with being so cocky.” This, he realized, feeling foolish and relieved, was nothing more than a game to Ryoma. Like any other game, except possibly more challenging than usual.
“Ch’,” Ryoma snorted, lips curling in amusement. “You can wait on the bench over there.” He gestured with his tennis racket. “My stuff’s over there. Oh,” he added belatedly, “there’s something for you. I was going to bring it over later but,” he shrugged, “since you’re here…” With a quick turn, he was returning to the court, determination flashing in his eyes and defining every move of his body, leaving Fuji to make his way to the bench. As the match resumed, he rummaged through Ryoma’s duffel bag and stopped when he encountered the small red box, tied with a simple white ribbon.
Chocolates, he saw. Hershey’s kisses. Fuji’s favorite little indulgence.
Smiling to himself, he put the box back and watched the rest of Ryoma’s match with Tezuka.
--
Started/Finished: 02.09.06
Er, sorry, the muses just wouldn't shut up; I couldn't get a proper ending at half the length. ...so I lie about drabble lengths, as always. ::shifty look::