Prince Of Tennis Fan Fiction ❯ To Sedate ❯ Chapter 1 ( Chapter 1 )

Fuji had always liked the spring. It was the time in which it was warm, but not as hot and sticky like the summer weather brought. A blur would pass, which would be the only sign of the passage of time. Summer melted into fall, and fall would melt into winter. Only then does it switch back to spring, where ever so slowly, life springs up. Coincidentally, spring is notorious for the bad weather and frequent rainstorms. Fuji never had really minded the rain, though. It was a pleasant way to prove life was being renewed. When the warmer weather approached, he would through his bedroom window open risking the fact that just a while later, after the wind blew cold and the air grew moist that he'd be struggling against the pull of the gusts of air to get his windows closed while he and his floor would be soaked.

While some people would say “What horrid weather,” at the sight of such, Fuji would only smile, as the torrents of water, drenching the ground in sheets, would hit his window like bullets. The view of the outside landscape would become blurred and gray, as if somebody had spilled a cup of water across a paining. Through the city, people will make their way through the storm with their umbrellas. What's a little rain going to stop them from traveling to work and school, anyways? Fuji is no exception, but he sometimes would be caught on a day where it rains and he forgot his umbrella. Then, he doesn't mind. Even in the rain, where most people retreat to the safety of the clubhouse, he can play tennis. He would glide across the court as if sped up, kicking puddles of water up and getting his shoes wet. Sure, it got slippery, but the rain was only yet another opponent for him. Fuji liked his opponents, to. Being a prodigy, he was so rarely challenged that whenever a risk was added on to something, it just became more of an interesting game for him. Tezuka Kunimitsu is a prime example of one of those challenges.

What Fuji especially likes is when the sakura petals scatter, being blown by the wind. A simple gust whittles them away with passing winds, creating a complex melody among a landscape turning green. The soft, almost mute symphony is enough to make Fuji smile. The rain looks nice against the pink petals, too. The water will form rivulets downhill and carry the sakura petals along with them. One day, he things to himself, he'd rather like to go to a sakura festival with Tezuka and enjoy a peaceful celebration with his friend. Yeah, that would be fun.

Today, Eiji is trotting alongside Fuji like he often does, because they're practically best friends. Fuji is happy to reply to anything that Eiji asks or says, unlike Tezuka because of two reasons. For one, he is quite closer to Eiji than Tezuka was, and for two, he talked far more than Tezuka did. After all, Tezuka was a man of few words. His voice was like rain to Fuji's ears, but he seldom heard it, and in a way, it bothered him. Today, at tennis club they are the regulars are practicing volleying while the freshmen go around collecting balls. Fuji and Eiji are practicing together, but Fuji's mind happened to be elsewhere.

“Fuji-kun?” a questioning voice asks him, making Fuji turn his head just in time to sidestep from a ball that would have hit him smack dab in the middle of the forehead. The ball whizzes closely to his shoulder and lands just on the white line, still in-bounds. Tezuka stares over at him for a moment, and Fuji momentarily wonders why he wasn't able to return such an easy volley. After all, Eiji's aim hadn't been to score. They were just practicing on hitting it back and forth. Eiji's must have noticed that he was especially distracted today, for he was tilting his head to the side in a curious, almost puppy-like manner and scratching the back of his head.

“Hey, are you distracted, Fujiko? Nya!” Eiji's questioned seemed meddling, but after all, Eiji was a close friend, and all he was doing was voicing his concern for Fuji. Distantly, Fuji was startled, but managed to shake his head in order to provide some sort of reassurance to his friend.

“No. Let's continue.”

You're falling into obsession. Tezuka knows it. You know it. Admit it.

Through a wave of sakura petals, time passes slowly. The pink sea is a signal of the passage of time itself, showing the growth of the bond between the two. The boundaries between Tezuka and Fuji remain the same. That was all because of the fact that outwardly, neither boy seemed too have much of a desire to get intimately close to each other. If somebody who knew Fuji very well were to analyze it, they would be able to tell that this was Fuji's deepest desire. However, Tezuka on the other hand, was a completely different story. Rarely conveying many emotions at all, it was hard for the ever-calculating Fuji to be able to tell whether or not Tezuka had such a wish. That, Fuji doubted.

Slowly, Fuji was beginning to get used to the feeling, at least, that's what he liked to tell himself. No,, he wasn't lonely. Fuji liked to deny the sort of thing, to shun the fantasies of kissing Tezuka, and everything else. Until everything is gone, Fuji would scoff at them for them being the fantasies they were. He'd always been told that it wasn't wrong at all to dream, and up until now, he hadn't thought so, either. Now, though, he didn't like it, for those dreams were filled with longing and pain. There was a difference in that. From just simple friendship, Fuji would never think that such a thing as something significant beginning to blossom. Nowadays, his hopes are uncontrollable, and as soon as Fuji tries to ouch them, the image that he had in mind distorts, and makes him squint out of confusion. The image that always was distinguishable was Tezuka. Never before, though, have has thoughts been so taunting as to make him want just a single person so much that it hurt.

This isn't the real you. It simply cannot be. No, your real potential is locked away. The real you is locked away, too. Tezuka and Fuji would have a match, soon. Fuji had, indeed, been looking forward to that since their first year when they first faced off with each other. He tries to tell himself that, yet, they'd gotten distracted. Now, Fuji feels as if he needs to settle this between them, to really determine who was better, and reassure that as soon as they faced off, these strange fantasies would be over. Somehow, he knows they won't, but it doesn't hurt to hope. Maybe after this, he would be able to proceed without Tezuka.

Now, the wind whipped his hair crazily. Frowning, he wondered to himself about life. Where is the real me? Where is it? Frankly, he didn't know. He's never needed to try that hard, only a few times before. In a way, it's thrilling, even though he wants it to go faster. However, with the faster it goes, the les bearable it becomes.

Today, Fuji decided that he would stay late, once again. Tezuka always seems to, too; the duties of being a captain aren't the only things that keep him busy. Fuji, though, having no obligations other than being part of the regulars, shouldn't have found any sort of reason to stay any later after tennis practice. It was easy for Tezuka and Fuji to cross paths after practice, especially when there weren't many people at school. Fuji would smile in front of that mask, partially for Tezuka's sake, partially for his own. Even now, thought, after their match, they seemed to still be addicted to each other's presence. It could be shameful; at least, that's how a bystander would describe it. Fuji fails to detect such a thing. He's caught up far too much in his confusing thoughts of Tezuka and the concept of attraction.

A pair of lips pressing together can cause a lot of chaos, whether it is in private, or most embarrassingly, in public. Fuji contemplates on what it would be like if he were to be kissed. Not in public, of course—he just wonders what it would be like to kiss. In the past, he would've tried to divert such thoughts. They seemed to come quite naturally now, though; it was more natural than being hit smack dab in the forehead due to lack of attention, of course. For a brief moment, he was highly annoyed about how Tezuka was able to do such things to him. Somehow, though, it remained hidden. His painful longing was silent, muffled as if hidden behind a sturdy brick wall.

They used to talk about love, sometimes. It was casual, and somewhat offhanded. They were at `that age', as most would say. They were young and going through the stages of puberty, so it was normal. Of course, it wasn't they discussed the idea of love with each other. No, they talked about girls. It was offhanded, and Fuji's interest in women was fleeting. They had nice bodies, but there was something about him that just turned him away from them. Perhaps it was the fact that they were too clingy sometimes, or the ones he knew seemed a little whiny. That wasn't to say that he didn't have great respect for his sister; he just didn't like the idea of dating one.

It sometimes felt like there were prison bars between he and Tezuka. There was some sort of literal barrier there, and Fuji could've fairly called himself a coward for running away from his problems like this. Don't run away, he would tell himself. It was helpless of him to deny it. No… he wouldn't deny it; he just wanted to think about the concept of telling the captain of his obsession. Fuji wanted to think that it's lust. That time, though, his smile was bitter. Lust was an entirely different thing than love or like. He could have called it that at one time, but the concept that he thought about a lot wasn't only about how attractive Tezuka was, but something far deeper. That wasn't love, though, was it? It was admiration and lust. If he called it anything else, even though he did all the time, he would be sickly wrong. Hypocrite...

There was a spiraling insanity, though, that seemed so impossible to get rid of that Fuji couldn't do anything to stop it, no matter what. He tries to divert his mind from Tezuka, yet his attempts remain highly unsuccessful, and so much that he really wants to scream as a result of it. Life isn't fair sometimes. Fuji is a mature young man, but he knows that he can't let go of Tezuka. That doesn't stop the childish questions, still. “Why so?” If Tezuka meant to do this to him, then he had succeeded, and was laughing in triumph right at this very moment. Fuji was so caught up in these emotions that he was growing to be very week. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he was thrilled so much because Tezuka, who was such a good opponent, was exciting when he was given the chance to play with him. However, it took all hiss self-control after a while not to blush when a simple gesture such as a pat on the shoulder was given.

He and Tezuka have gotten into the habit of playing checkers. Originally Fuji was interested in playing with a club. There was indeed, a club that met. Rather than just chess or checkers they played an array of bored games. Being a Seigaku regular, and part of the tennis club, though, was something that kept them both too busy. The club met always when they had some sort of practice. That didn't stop Tezuka and Fuji from getting into a hobby, though. They couldn't bring the bored game to school, those types of things weren't allowed. The only choice was to go back to either Fuji or Tezuka's house, which they now did twice a week after school. They'd play checkers for a while and would soon study and do homework together. When it got to late they would head in their respective directions.

It was that on this particular night, Fuji really realized that he had a hopeless friendship built with Tezuka. Here he was, absolutely infatuated and obsessed with Tezuka, somebody who, in his opinion, was somebody who he frankly could never have the hope of being with. This wasn't being morbid; rather, he was just stating the truth. He wasn't the one who Tezuka would ever share any sort of private moment with Tezuka. He'd been the one to hear his thoughts on girls, though. Tezuka never dated, took initiative, or showed anything other than a casual interest, but it showed Fuji something. If Tezuka were to start dating when they started high school, it wouldn't have surprised Fuji, even though the stoic captain would probably be very private about such a matter. Such a relationship would never be very public when it was with Tezuka.

It was raining once again. Fuji turned his eyes to the sky. The rain seemed peaceful and full of lament even though it slammed down to the ground with force. They were third years now, meaning that this would be their last time at Seigaku. They would not be attending here next coming school term. Fuji isn't sure of what High school that Tezuka is planning on attending or if he's been accepted to anything yet. Fuji doesn't dare ask, either, for some unforeseen taboo is holding him back. His lips were pressing together in a frown, and briefly, he rested his fingers on the tennis racquet. You can't forget him because you're too weak, Shuusuke. He controls you in every single aspect, and you know that there's nothing you can do or say that will disprove it. The thoughts make Fuji fill with an unknown, bitter emotion. On the empty, desolate landscape, his hand clenches his racquet tighter. Everybody else is headed for home by now. Even Tezuka, the one who was probably most involved at school, is probably off-campus by now.

Really, what he needed was to forget; he needed to forget everything and everyone, including Tezuka.

Therefore, he decided that his studies would be able to wait for just an hour or so, just so that he would be able to vent his emotions. If worst came to worst, he would stay up later that night in order to make up for the time he lost. Rather than go anywhere else or take a chance by relaxing at home, he kept a tight grip on his tennis racquet and retrieved a tennis ball. There's nobody on the courts, and Fuji finds precious little to practice there, so he retreated to the side of the school building most devoid of windows and idly bounced the ball against the wall. That's the way many people practiced serves and techniques when alone, but this time, Fuji was distracted and wasn't doing very well at all. Whenever Fuji tried to do something, he realized that his grip or accuracy was beginning to grow sloppily. So, he would hit it with force, sometimes it would bounce off in another direction, and he'd have to go retrieve it. There was so much pent up frustration that was tearing itself at Fuji's mind that the was prepared to hit the tennis ball as hard as humanly possible.

You're lonely, and you're sad.

Now Fuji's frown grew deeper at the thought of his own thoughts. He hit the tennis ball against the wall evenly a few times, but with these emotions, it's hard to keep it going straight anymore. His expression slowly changed into a slight grimace, showing anger. With all his strength, he slammed the ball against the wall, exhaling harshly. Each time he did this he needed to move farther and farther away from the wall to be able to hit it, and each time it rebounded, the force seemed impossibly greater. Finally, Fuji must've hit it too hard, because the tennis ball went off in a completely different direction, rolling off somewhere in the general direction of the tennis courts. As soon as the racquet drops idly to his side, his arms begin to ache, because he was using so much force. Now the tennis ball will probably be all worn out from Fuji hitting it so hard. That only deepens his frown.

You need him.

This time Fuji's eyes are wide open, the blue seeming oddly clairvoyant against the gray sky and hammering rain. He may have looked cold before on the tennis courts, but this has to be his angriest look by far. No! He shouldn't have to rely on anybody. He was his own person, and that was the way life went. Something inside was laughing at him. The part laughed because he was so pathetic.

Clenching his fists, he goes off to find follows the direction of the missing tennis ball in an almost obedient manner. With silence plaguing him, he follows a path over to the tennis courts, following some invisible trail with his eyes fixated on the ground, searching for it. It was dark, but among the pouring rain, the yellow of a tennis ball should've stood out easily among the landscape. Then again, his eyes are getting rather unfocused, and he blinks a few times in order to regain some of the vision that is slipping from him. Abruptly, his eyes meet a pair of shoes. Who would be here so late at night? Fuji thought that even Tezuka had left. Then, how was anyone here? Fuji shouldn't have even been here, but he didn't think that he'd actually meet somebody. Maybe it was a school employee or something, telling him to get off campus and go home.

“Why the face?” an unfamiliar voice asked. Fuji was overcome with a sort of disappointment, because it wasn't Tezuka. This strange voice was deep, and heavily accented. Even within the first sentence alone, it became apparent that this man wasn't very familiar at all with the Japanese language. In one question alone, he'd made a good few mistakes, making Fuji squint slightly when it came to comprehending him. Fuji got lost in the voice for a moment, and as he felt sanity slip through his fingers, he had to grit his teeth and tighten his grip on the tennis racquet. Somehow, he manages to look up. Maybe he was still expecting that this would turn out to be Tezuka, playing some sort of trick. It isn't, and he's highly disappointed. The unspoken phrase travels through the air without words or gestures. You aren't Tezuka.

The boy, or man who was standing before him was obviously a foreigner, at least by the looks of things. Tezuka had always been tall, but the stranger would've been at least a head taller than Tezuka, making it so that he was practically casting a shadow over Fuji. Fuji would've gawked at that alone, even though it was quite intimidating. His eyes were dark, lighthearted, yet carrying some odd sort of emotion. His hair was light and varying slightly in color. Overall, the man was very nice to look at. He was handsome, tall, and slim, clad modestly in a t-shirt and jeans. His deep accent told Fuji he was a foreigner, perhaps an exchange student or a new teacher coming to check out the school grounds. Why so late, though?

“Who are you?” was what Fuji asked, his voice dangerously cool. The man arched an eyebrow at him, which posed an unspoken question asking why Fuji was being so rude. The answer should have been obvious, or at least, that's what Fuji thought. The man had been rude first. If he hadn't expected that rudeness, then he needed to stop butting into the business of complete strangers and leave Fuji alone.

“Really, now, my name doesn't matter, Shuusuke.” He said, in a rather pensive voice. It took a moment for the fact that the man had used his first name to really hit him hard. Seeing as this man looked at least a little older than him, he should've known better, even if he was a foreigner. His manner of speaking was so rude, and it annoyed Fuji so much. If he was planning on coming to Japan, then why didn't he learn Japanese better, so that he'd get along with the locals? Was there something that he'd forgotten, like the vital fact that the man was some old friend that he couldn't remember? Fuji doubted it.

So, in an almost desperate manner, he searched his mind for the man, anything, a name or a face. Fuji, however, can't recall anything about him. He has no memory of the man.

When the man took a step forward, his fingers made light contact against the skin of Fuji's cheek. Never before had Fuji felt so cornered. Usually, he was the one to be doing the cornering. How had this suddenly reversed? He tried to take a step back, but his feet were literally frozen in place. His grip on the tennis racquet loosened and slipped. The sound of the object hitting the ground sounded dissonant against the pouring rain, and the angry, somehow self-assured look is beginning to slip into one of misery and fear. Fuji does his best to restrain it, but fails miserably. Why? All the pain he'd ever felt from having to smile around Tezuka, and having to hold back such misery was slowly coming back to him. There were haunting memories of him with Tezuka, and the loneliness he felt, creeping up on him slowly but surely. Squeezing his eyes shut, Fuji gave a muffled whimper, something he hadn't done in years. The man hadn't done anything to harm him in any way…

Then, if he hadn't, why was it so painful? It felt as if his heart had been ripped apart.

“Leave me alone,” Fuji said, with his voice shaking slightly. Perhaps it was a poor attempt at warding the man off, though he was trying to put up a strong front. Here this man was, being difficult when Fuji was at his weakest. It made Fuji very frustrated, and his left fist clenched tightly. “Get away from me!” His voice shook even more, and the man doesn't seem very much intimidated by it. Then again, he was so tall, precious little probably intimidated him. His fingers grip the air in search of his tennis racquet, but Fuji, seeming to have lost his wits about him, forgets that the racquet has fallen to the ground.

“Go home, “ he ordered in a pressing voice. “Shuusuke, your family is probably worried sick about you.” Fuji's teeth clenched. The nerve of that man! He had no right to order anybody around, much less, a complete stranger. Was he egotistical? A weaker part of him said that the man was just trying to help and was concerned for his safety, but in his angered, weakened state, that voice wasn't loud enough to rule everything out. The man took another step closer to him, and Fuji shuttered under his touch, with was light, yet unbearable at the same time.

“Go away!” Fuji made his final protest, but it didn't seem to work at all, leaving Fuji more and more frustrated. With a sort of numbness, he was aware of fingers gripping his chin, in a gentle, yet firm gesture. Fuji saw a flash those dark eyes before he felt the sudden surprise of the feeling of cool lips upon his. Somehow, Fuji never had the strength or the willpower to push him away, though the touch from the man still left him trembling.

With that, the light-haired, dark-eyed stranger pulled away, leaving Fuji frozen and unblinking. For a moment, he took a step back, maybe in order to give Fuji some much-needed space. Fuji trembled, and only realized that tears were falling from his eyes when he put his hand up to his cheek and slowly realized that the wet, cold rain wasn't the only thing running down his cheek. Letting his head hang low, he bit his lip, as if ashamed, as if he thought that somehow, through these tears, he was defeated.

He was scrutinizing Fuji in the oddest way possible. Though appearing pretty calm, he seemed slightly troubled, and though Fuji had dropped his tennis racquet, it seemed as if he was expecting that the prodigy, after the unwelcome display of affection, would pick it back up and hit the stranger upside the head with all his strength. Slowly, Fuji bent over to pick the racquet up; however, despite the man's predictions, all he really seemed to do was keep it close to him, as if it were some sort of treasure. Biting his lip stubbornly, his eyes narrowed slightly, the ice blue cutting through the dim, gray atmosphere. “Why are you telling me what to do? This is none of your business.” His voice was icy in nature; enough to send shivers down anybody's spine.

“You're going to make yourself sick,” the man told him calmly, leaning in for a moment to brush aside sopping bangs and plant a soft kiss on the trembling forehead. “Spare your mother the worry. Go home, now.” His voice pressed in a gentle order, but Fuji still wasn't ready to listen. Somehow, when he tried to protest, his voice always ended up caught in his throat.

In the blink of an eye, the stranger was gone.