Disclaimer: The original manga Tennis no Oujisama is the work of Konomi Takeshi. Characters, settings, and events have been adapted without authorization or approval.

Since Last Goodbye

- Prologue -

He could see the wind, his mother had always said, because of the blue in his eyes. Whether that was true or not, Fuji Syuusuke had no desire to learn for certain. As he rose from the lunge that had nearly caught the last shot of the match, at least for that moment it wasn't his eyes alone that knew the way the breeze moved. He could tell from the scent exactly where it had been, and he could hear every rustle of the wind in the leaves. He could even taste the salt of the sea in the air, a colder, fresher salt than the biting taste of the sweat running down his cheeks. Perhaps his sense of touch was extending beyond his fingertips, covering the tennis court as the daylight slowly dimmed, because even if he shut his eyes too tight to see, Fuji Syuusuke knew exactly how and where the wind was blowing. His opponent stood in the center of a gentle storm, as if all of the air were swirling and fighting for the chance to stand next to him... Or maybe I'm just projecting, Fuji amended. But after that match... a three-set match, Fuji thought, grinning slightly... even though he'd lost and that had hurt, he had never been more certain that no one could stand closer to Tezuka Kunimitsu than he did.

His limbs were trembling to the point where Fuji was afraid he wouldn't make the short walk to the net without his legs betraying him. In all three years that they'd been classmates and clubmates, as close as they had grown, this was the first time he and Tezuka had really been alone together. Even that time during their freshman year, when he'd tried to arrange a secret match, they had been found. I knew, didn't I? I knew I wouldn't be able to ever just shake his hand and walk away from this match. But there's no way I could have known how this would feel. The finals against Rikkai had left him at once refreshed and still unsatisfied. He may have been playing against Tezuka's moves, but that hadn't been Tezuka. The Rikkai player's counterfeit tennis didn't contain anything near the power Tezuka could put into one glance, and that tease of a match had whet his appetite for the real thing. Having tried it now, Fuji knew he'd always want more.

Tezuka was still standing mid-court, watching him approach the net with eyes narrowed slightly in rapt attention. Sweat dripped from his hair, a wind-swept, gorgeous mess as always. Fuji met his gaze without flinching. Sometimes, he could tell just what Tezuka was thinking, and he knew his thoughts were understood in turn. He hoped this was one of those times. Fuji wanted to see how Tezuka would react if that man could read what he was feeling right now. All of his lust, all of his longing he put into his gaze and his posture as well as he was able. I want you to know, Tezuka, exactly how much I want you right now... Seeing his captain's eyes traveling slowly over his body as he walked put a little swing into Fuji's step. The man looked hungry. It almost made Fuji's mouth water just imagining what thoughts were running behind those eyes. Over their three years at Seishun, he'd only grown more certain of the distinctly non-platonic longings Tezuka stirred up inside him. Every day they'd spent together, everything he'd learned and seen distilled what he'd thought to be an ordinary crush into a more potent emotion. And if Fuji were ever going to act on that, ever see enough of that longing returned to risk laying open what he felt... it would be at a time exactly like this, when it was just the two of them alone and Tezuka's eyes burned like a wild beast's with its prey in its sights.

It hadn't quite occurred to Fuji before exactly how sexy it felt to have the man you wanted wanting you, or at least looking at you as shamelessly as Tezuka was staring at him now. Should I try something bold, tell him he doesn't have to just look...? Maybe that wouldn't do. Tezuka had never been the type for longing gazes. He'd always been good, responsible, respectful... and getting past his reserved, stoic shell wasn't particularly possible for most people, though the result was worth the effort to those who could. If the Tezuka he knew weren't still hot from the match, still in that place where reason couldn't follow, Fuji doubted he'd be letting himself stare like that. And if he didn't realize he was staring, telling him he should do more than look might not get the response that was desired. Fuji had to get him closer, get him talking, get Tezuka thinking just enough... but not too much.

"Your game," he said with a smile, waiting patiently at the net. "You got me completely."

Tezuka's eyes never left him. "This time." His voice was low and rich; on an ordinary day, the sound of it could set Fuji's hair on end. Today, those words and the promise they contained nearly broke the heart that was already throbbing so hard in his chest. To say this time implied a next time, a prospect that was beyond pleasing. Fuji ran his hand through his hair, waiting ever so patiently, watching Tezuka watch him during the excessively long walk to the net. He knew Tezuka was walking at a normal pace, but the moment when their bodies would meet, their lips touch, when he could say out loud exactly what he thought about his captain -- that moment couldn't come fast enough. He'd had his uncertainties, naturally; had he not, this conversation would have taken place long ago. Tezuka Kunimitsu was not the most expressive of men, nor the easiest to distract from his duties. But right now, Fuji knew, he had Tezuka's full attention. The National Tournament was over, Tezuka would start training next year's replacement soon, and that had been a very good game... His breath caught as Tezuka approached the net at last, close enough to smell the heady musk of game sweat coming through the scent of the soap Tezuka used. Before he spoke again, Tezuka lifted his hand to brush the bangs out of Fuji's eyes, running through the length of his hair with his fingers. There was no light left to reflect on the lenses of Tezuka's glasses and obscure the emotions stirring in his eyes. Fuji swallowed once, suddenly nervous. Breathing was overrated anyway. Tezuka's voice stirred again, as the man's hand drifted down to Fuji's cheek. "You played well."

"You did, too. Tezuka..." He paused, not quite sure of what he was supposed to say. Was there a good preamble? Or would it be better to just confess, now, quickly?

"Fuji," Tezuka said. "There's something... I feel I need to tell you." Or I could just listen to what he has to say... Fuji thought, finding that making his mouth form words was difficult even when he'd decided what they should be. It didn't seem to be much easier for Tezuka, of course, but since he'd declared the intention to speak it was only fair to let him try. The air between them was still and quiet, and a frown troubled at the corners of Fuji's mouth. Tezuka's eyes were burning, certainly, but some kind of conflict was the most evident thing. Whatever Tezuka planned to say, it was because he considered it necessary and not at all because he wanted to express it. His opponent took a deep breath. "Last time, I kept wishing that I'd told you first..." One by one, Fuji felt that all his vital functions were shutting down. This can't be happening. Not now.

He didn't have a long list of last times to examine for one that Tezuka might imagine would concern him so. Fuji's hand was clenched around part of Tezuka's shirt, and he'd found his voice at last. "You're leaving?" The words tasted bad, like it ought to be a lie or a joke, but that man wasn't capable of that kind of deceit. Which just made things worse. If he wasn't lying and he wasn't joking, that meant it was true.

"I'm going back to Germany." Everything seemed to freeze. In the very conclusiveness of his tone Fuji could hear the worst implied. This time wasn't going to just be for a few months, not with the gravity in Tezuka's voice. This statement wasn't followed by promises that he'd make it home in time for Nationals. Or for anything. He was just going; Tezuka wasn't coming home at all. His voice wavered slightly when he started speaking next, and Fuji hoped it was because the look in his own eyes was giving Tezuka second thoughts. "I plan to go professional."

That one had the ring, not of a lie, but of being less than the whole truth. Everyone knew Tezuka should be a professional with the level of skill he had. That didn't mean he had to go all the way to Germany, specifically, immediately... He wasn't even quite fifteen. And the only reason Fuji could imagine that it had to be Germany... he had been so sure it couldn't be true. Fuji put all the calm that he could find into his speech. "I thought your arm was healed."

The only reactions in his captain's face were a flicker in his eyes and a twitch at one corner of his mouth. That was enough, and Tezuka knew it. "I'm playing at full strength, Fuji." He said it with such complete sincerity that had anyone been here to watch, they would have needed to be within six inches of the two players to know that this was not going according to Fuji's hopes; from further away, there would be no means of knowing that Tezuka's passionate whispers were about tennis. The thing that upset Fuji most of all was the fact that Tezuka's talk of tennis could make him feel this way. He appreciated the sentiment on several levels, most noticeably in the way that the soft touch of Tezuka's hand still on his cheek told him that this moment could be the closest he'd ever be to hearing Tezuka say, I care about you. Because Tezuka was leaving. "If I don't correct the flaws in my form, next time the damage may be irreparable." Tezuka's glance wavered a little, as if he had only just now noticed his hand touching Fuji's face. Without mentioning it, the hand fell casually away. The slow return to sensibility had begun, Fuji thought, setting his jaw to stop the weak trembling he felt beginning. "With the Nationals over, and the team doing fine... this is the time--"

"To say goodbye?" I'm not going to cry... I'm not going to beg him to stay... But he couldn't keep everything he was feeling out of his voice.

The man who didn't regret anything paused, looking at him with an expression of gaze more eloquent than his expressions of tongue had ever quite managed. "To go. I'd... rather not say goodbye. To you, at least."

"Meaning what?" Saying it or not didn't change anything, after all. Not now. He'd said enough. "Maybe you think... the team doesn't need you anymore, so going is okay. But you'll still be gone." Fuji's grip tightened on his racket as his other hand fisted in Tezuka's shirt. He wanted to say, I'll miss you, but the words wouldn't come out. He wasn't going to beg for Tezuka not to leave. Not here, not now, not when he'd already made all his decisions. "If this is goodbye, then say it."

"If you keep playing, I'll see you again."

That was his captain's conclusion and reason and complete lack of understanding all in once sentence, Fuji knew. It meant that Tezuka expected to see him in the pros, and he'd never considered anything else. It meant that he wasn't going to even get a real goodbye because Tezuka didn't see that this was really leaving. It meant that Tezuka didn't have a clue at all, not about what being gone meant. But if he needed a clue, he'd get one, Fuji decided. "I might not go professional, Tezuka. I definitely won't, if I don't see you there first." He hoped that glimmer of confusion in his captain's eyes meant that he was feeling even one hundredth of the finality of parting this way. Fuji's hand shook just a little where he was still gripping Tezuka's shirt, and he pushed up onto his toes, his heart pounding so hard that his ribs felt like breaking and his head was filled with the sound of it as he gave Tezuka his first kiss.

The thought brushed against his conciousness that this wasn't wise, that he was doing this the wrong way... that he was panicking and this would probably hurt more than if he hadn't tried; but Tezuka was kissing him back. For one terrible moment, when Tezuka's arms wrapped around his waist and one of them deepened the kiss... he would never be sure who it was... Fuji saw clearly how unwise it was. Because not a thing had changed. But I'm not going to cry, damn it. I'm not going to cry over this. He pulled back and breathed, opening his eyes and hoping he'd see something in Tezuka's face to imply that he was sorry to go. Something to say he got it now, all of it.

But no such luck, apparently. "... Fuji," was all his captain said before trailing off into silence, sounding almost lost and looking so very confused, as if he hadn't even noticed that he was still holding Fuji close in those damned arms of his.

What do you think you're doing, Tezuka, kissing me that way and not even knowing what's going on? He wasn't going to cry. Not a single tear. As much as he was shaking inside, he was never going to let Tezuka see how this hurt. The only way he'd ever see it was by feeling it for himself. "Come back soon, Tezuka. Or go pro before I change my mind." All he could do was walk away, pretending to be more steady than he was. Fuji brushed some hair out of his eyes, stepping back out of Tezuka's embrace. "Or if you really do want to see me so much, I'm sure we'll run into each other someday. But don't expect me to wait around for you."

The wind bit at his eyes as he turned and walked away. He had to close them for a moment. But he wasn't crying.