Fanfiction: Prince of Tennis: Seven Steps To Square One
Title: Seven Steps To Square One
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairings: Oshitari Yuushi/Mukahi Gakuto
Warnings: Slash. Wangst.
Status: Completed, one-shot.
Notes: Written for subrosa-tennis. It turns out my writing style is very distinct. Ah well. Posted to oshigaku.
One:
He’d known where Oshitari had been for the past 5 years. He’d known that he’d been successful like he himself never could be - Yuushi had always led a charmed life, gifted with natural talent in everything: tennis, academics - love.
In many ways he’d always felt inferior to him. Stunted to tall, reckless to calculative, stupid to smart, unliked to loved.
But Gakuto had, despite all this, succeeded. He’d graduated from college, just as the rest of them had. He’d found a good job, one he’d hated, and then he’d found another good job, which he’d liked. He’d worked steadily, and the boss liked his spunk and creativity, so he’d even risen a little over the years. Probably not much as compared to what Atobe and the ilk were, but then again Gakuto had never aspired to be Atobe.
And Gakuto had loved. Oh, how he’d loved. It’d been a burning so bright and fierce that it blazed in his memory as one of the rare lit torches of his teenage years.
He dreamt of them meeting again, partners reunited after a decade of separation. He dreamt of the easy camaraderie of an old, rebuilt friendship that had never been broken in the first place. He dreamt of a lot of things, but when he woke up those dreams inevitably faded away.
In his dreams it always seemed so easy.
He’d known where Oshitari had been for the past 5 years. He just hadn’t wanted to do anything about it.
Until the day he received a month-long out-of-town business assignation and realised that he was being posted to where Oshitari now lived.
As he packed his bags he realised that if he didn’t do anything now, he never would.
Two:
“Hello?”
“Oshitari Yuushi?”
“Yes. Who is speaking?”
“Mukahi. Mukahi Gakuto.”
A pause, then a surprised. “Mukahi-kun! It’s good to hear from you.”
“It’s good to hear from you too.”
“Well, what can I do for you?”
“I’m headed your way in a week. I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner someday.”
“Sure. Is… Wednesday alright?” The sound of pages being flipped.
“Wednesday’s fine. I’ll see you then.”
“Yes. Goodbye.”
Three:
This is how he lives for the next month:
6 days a week, he goes to work. 5 evenings a week, he comes straight home to his rented apartment and eats instant ramen in front of the TV.
One evening he spends at dinner with Oshitari. They talk about everything - about Hyoutei, about where they’d gone after school, about what they’d done and seen. Oshitari turns out to have lived and studied abroad for awhile - Gakuto listens in rapt fascination as he drinks in what that was like. Oshitari, in turn, is amused at how Gakuto’s settled down since his high school days.
The last day, Sunday, Gakuto spends alone. He cleans his apartment (which doesn’t take very long, seeing as how only empty take-out cartons or instant ramen cups inhabit it when he’s not around), does his laundry, then goes out to see the town.
He’s never been so alone in his life, solitary in a big city different from his own. But he doesn’t care. Something that had been missing from his life now feels filled. And that’s enough for him.
Four:
And just once, they had sex.
There is no seduction. One Sunday evening Oshitari walks up to his door with a bottle of wine in hand. He tells a bemused Gakuto, “It’s your birthday.”
As he stands in the doorway, Gakuto realizes that he hasn’t had someone to celebrate with in so long that he’s actually forgotten about his own birthday.
He lets Oshitari in.
They are both extremely flushed by the time the bottle is mostly empty. Neither of them are drinkers, though both of them thought the other was; neither of them would admit, however, that either of them were wrong, or that either of them couldn’t hold their liquor.
They are both extremely flushed, though, by the time they begin to talk about the past. The flush remains in Gakuto’s cheeks when finally he confesses that he’d always loved Oshitari.
Oshitari reaches out his hand and lays it on Gakuto’s wrist, only for Gakuto to take hold of that hand and stroke his fingers.
They are both flushed when they kiss.
Five:
When he wakes up the next morning the night before is a jumble of memory. All he remembers is the feeling of being stretched more than he’d been in a long, long time, and of being filled fuller than he’d ever been before. He recalls himself, swollen and red, and it hurt but it felt so insanely good, and that rhythm moving inside of him, filling every inch of him with heat and unbelievable ecstasy, and then there were those fingers which touched and fondled and held and caressed and finally stroked, and stroked, and stroked, and harder, and faster, and - grasping and scrabbling for hold as he arched -
He rolls over but realises Yuushi is gone. There is just a note on the bedside table explaining that he was going to be late for work, and that he’d see him again. Gakuto grins in a silly way. He rolls out of bed and goes around picking his clothes off the floor - then he stops as he is confronted by an unfamiliar mobile phone on the floor.
He realises that it’s Yuushi’s, and that it must have fallen out of Yuushi’s back pocket when his pants had lain on the floor at night. Yuushi had probably left so early that the sun hadn’t even come up yet.
Gakuto moves to put the phone on the table, but at that moment, it vibrates. On instinct he flips the top up and freezes.
Where were you last night? You didn’t come home, did you?
Six:
“Oshitari-san? There’s a Mukahi Gakuto here to see you. He says it can’t wait.”
“Send him in.”
Gakuto thanks the secretary. He’s feeling strangely calm as he turns the knob on the door, walks in, and closes it.
He walks over to the table and says, “You left this at my place last night.”
He puts the phone on the table, but leaves his hand on it. He swallows. “Your wife - girlfriend - whatever - messaged you. I’m sorry I read it.”
He takes his hand away and in a near whisper, says, “I won’t bother you again.”
Seven:
He finishes up his work in this new town as quickly as possible. He ignores the messages, the calls from Yuushi. Ignores every apology, every plea to ‘talk’, every textual beg on his knees.
He moves back home at the end of the month. Changes his number.
He wishes he could ask Yuushi a million things. Why did you lie to me? Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you let it happen? Who was I going to be? What was I to you? But he’s not sure he really wants to know the answers.
He tells himself he should have known better, really. Tells himself that someone like Yuushi, who had been loved and idolised in high school, would hardly have been unloved and alone after high school. That Yuushi, with his natural charm and looks and smarts, probably could have had any girl he wished. That Yuushi hadn’t even loved him the way he had.
His life needs no rebuilding. He simply carries on the way he’d had before Yuushi had walked in and out into his life.
He tells himself it serves him right. That it had been his own fault, after all, to believe that it would have been as easy as it had been in his dreams.
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Pairings: Oshitari Yuushi/Mukahi Gakuto
Warnings: Slash. Wangst.
Status: Completed, one-shot.
Notes: Written for subrosa-tennis. It turns out my writing style is very distinct. Ah well. Posted to oshigaku.
One:
He’d known where Oshitari had been for the past 5 years. He’d known that he’d been successful like he himself never could be - Yuushi had always led a charmed life, gifted with natural talent in everything: tennis, academics - love.
In many ways he’d always felt inferior to him. Stunted to tall, reckless to calculative, stupid to smart, unliked to loved.
But Gakuto had, despite all this, succeeded. He’d graduated from college, just as the rest of them had. He’d found a good job, one he’d hated, and then he’d found another good job, which he’d liked. He’d worked steadily, and the boss liked his spunk and creativity, so he’d even risen a little over the years. Probably not much as compared to what Atobe and the ilk were, but then again Gakuto had never aspired to be Atobe.
And Gakuto had loved. Oh, how he’d loved. It’d been a burning so bright and fierce that it blazed in his memory as one of the rare lit torches of his teenage years.
He dreamt of them meeting again, partners reunited after a decade of separation. He dreamt of the easy camaraderie of an old, rebuilt friendship that had never been broken in the first place. He dreamt of a lot of things, but when he woke up those dreams inevitably faded away.
In his dreams it always seemed so easy.
He’d known where Oshitari had been for the past 5 years. He just hadn’t wanted to do anything about it.
Until the day he received a month-long out-of-town business assignation and realised that he was being posted to where Oshitari now lived.
As he packed his bags he realised that if he didn’t do anything now, he never would.
Two:
“Hello?”
“Oshitari Yuushi?”
“Yes. Who is speaking?”
“Mukahi. Mukahi Gakuto.”
A pause, then a surprised. “Mukahi-kun! It’s good to hear from you.”
“It’s good to hear from you too.”
“Well, what can I do for you?”
“I’m headed your way in a week. I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner someday.”
“Sure. Is… Wednesday alright?” The sound of pages being flipped.
“Wednesday’s fine. I’ll see you then.”
“Yes. Goodbye.”
Three:
This is how he lives for the next month:
6 days a week, he goes to work. 5 evenings a week, he comes straight home to his rented apartment and eats instant ramen in front of the TV.
One evening he spends at dinner with Oshitari. They talk about everything - about Hyoutei, about where they’d gone after school, about what they’d done and seen. Oshitari turns out to have lived and studied abroad for awhile - Gakuto listens in rapt fascination as he drinks in what that was like. Oshitari, in turn, is amused at how Gakuto’s settled down since his high school days.
The last day, Sunday, Gakuto spends alone. He cleans his apartment (which doesn’t take very long, seeing as how only empty take-out cartons or instant ramen cups inhabit it when he’s not around), does his laundry, then goes out to see the town.
He’s never been so alone in his life, solitary in a big city different from his own. But he doesn’t care. Something that had been missing from his life now feels filled. And that’s enough for him.
Four:
And just once, they had sex.
There is no seduction. One Sunday evening Oshitari walks up to his door with a bottle of wine in hand. He tells a bemused Gakuto, “It’s your birthday.”
As he stands in the doorway, Gakuto realizes that he hasn’t had someone to celebrate with in so long that he’s actually forgotten about his own birthday.
He lets Oshitari in.
They are both extremely flushed by the time the bottle is mostly empty. Neither of them are drinkers, though both of them thought the other was; neither of them would admit, however, that either of them were wrong, or that either of them couldn’t hold their liquor.
They are both extremely flushed, though, by the time they begin to talk about the past. The flush remains in Gakuto’s cheeks when finally he confesses that he’d always loved Oshitari.
Oshitari reaches out his hand and lays it on Gakuto’s wrist, only for Gakuto to take hold of that hand and stroke his fingers.
They are both flushed when they kiss.
Five:
When he wakes up the next morning the night before is a jumble of memory. All he remembers is the feeling of being stretched more than he’d been in a long, long time, and of being filled fuller than he’d ever been before. He recalls himself, swollen and red, and it hurt but it felt so insanely good, and that rhythm moving inside of him, filling every inch of him with heat and unbelievable ecstasy, and then there were those fingers which touched and fondled and held and caressed and finally stroked, and stroked, and stroked, and harder, and faster, and - grasping and scrabbling for hold as he arched -
He rolls over but realises Yuushi is gone. There is just a note on the bedside table explaining that he was going to be late for work, and that he’d see him again. Gakuto grins in a silly way. He rolls out of bed and goes around picking his clothes off the floor - then he stops as he is confronted by an unfamiliar mobile phone on the floor.
He realises that it’s Yuushi’s, and that it must have fallen out of Yuushi’s back pocket when his pants had lain on the floor at night. Yuushi had probably left so early that the sun hadn’t even come up yet.
Gakuto moves to put the phone on the table, but at that moment, it vibrates. On instinct he flips the top up and freezes.
Where were you last night? You didn’t come home, did you?
Six:
“Oshitari-san? There’s a Mukahi Gakuto here to see you. He says it can’t wait.”
“Send him in.”
Gakuto thanks the secretary. He’s feeling strangely calm as he turns the knob on the door, walks in, and closes it.
He walks over to the table and says, “You left this at my place last night.”
He puts the phone on the table, but leaves his hand on it. He swallows. “Your wife - girlfriend - whatever - messaged you. I’m sorry I read it.”
He takes his hand away and in a near whisper, says, “I won’t bother you again.”
Seven:
He finishes up his work in this new town as quickly as possible. He ignores the messages, the calls from Yuushi. Ignores every apology, every plea to ‘talk’, every textual beg on his knees.
He moves back home at the end of the month. Changes his number.
He wishes he could ask Yuushi a million things. Why did you lie to me? Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you let it happen? Who was I going to be? What was I to you? But he’s not sure he really wants to know the answers.
He tells himself he should have known better, really. Tells himself that someone like Yuushi, who had been loved and idolised in high school, would hardly have been unloved and alone after high school. That Yuushi, with his natural charm and looks and smarts, probably could have had any girl he wished. That Yuushi hadn’t even loved him the way he had.
His life needs no rebuilding. He simply carries on the way he’d had before Yuushi had walked in and out into his life.
He tells himself it serves him right. That it had been his own fault, after all, to believe that it would have been as easy as it had been in his dreams.