A.N. This one was hard to write, so cons. crit. Would be really appreciated. Enjoy!

And Slowly Joining Confluence

It's a hot day. Stifling. Tezuka raises his head as someone enters the room, but lets it thump back on the tatami mat when he realizes it's just Fuji. Too much effort to sit up.

He smiles as Fuji sets a glass of ice water next to his head, even though Tezuka hasn't asked for one. 'Thank you,' he says, and means it. The water is delicious.

Fuji sits carefully on his bed and spreads a handful of photographs in front of him. 'You should do that more often,' he says.

'Say thank you?'

'Smile.' Fuji waves a picture of the team in the air – one, Tezuka notices, with himself standing sternly in the background. 'I would get better photographs that way.'

'Don't you have enough already?' Tezuka sits up against the side of the bed and looks around the room pointedly. Scattered around the walls and on top of the desk and windowsills are dozens of carefully framed pictures – of the team, of Fuji's family and his friends from Chiba and the other schools, and of cacti at various horticulture conventions, several of those featuring a bored-looking Yuuta posing by the plants.

'Saa, Tezuka…you can never have too many memories.' The bed creaks; Tezuka can hear Fuji move up behind him.

'I thought we were talking about memories.'

'We were,' Fuji says.

Tezuka stares at the pictures on the wall and listens to Fuji shuffling through the pictures. He can smell him – light, inconspicuous deodorant, herbal shampoo that Inui offered to make for all the regulars, and the cologne that he always dabs on just a little bit of after showering. It's comforting, somehow. It's always comfortable to be around Fuji.

'Are they good ones?' He asks eventually, when he starts thinking he'll fall asleep from the heat and the sound of the shuffling.

'The pictures or the memories?'

Tezuka shrugs and turns around. 'I thought they were the same.'

Fuji grins – the way he does when he's happy, so just the smallest bit of blue shows between his eyelids – but it fades when he looks down at the photographs on his bed. His breath catches. 'Some of them are.'

Tezuka hooks his chin on the edge of the bed. Fuji, he decides, must have been thinking of something else – the pictures on the bed are of a good day, the Saturday two months earlier, when Fuji had gone fishing with Tezuka and his grandfather. It had been a good day: they had gotten rained on and ended up staying the night at a swanky hotel in the mountains, the roads foot deep in mud. They'd been wiped out after the long day at the lake and had headed straight to their room, but they'd ended up spending most of the night talking – about school, Yuuta, Tezuka's plan of going to Germany to become a pro, Fuji's indecision concerning his future. It had been nice.

And there's one picture – the one in Fuji's hand – that catches Tezuka's eye: it's of both of them the next morning in the hotel's dining room, at the breakfast table. Tezuka is chuckling at something his grandfather just said, and he has his arm slung across the back of Fuji's chair. And Fuji – well, he's smiling the same way he always does, except that his eyes are wide open, almost startling in their intensity. They look just like any other two teenaged friends out for the day.

'Can I have that one?' Tezuka asks before he thinks. 'Sorry, I just meant-'

'No, no, that reminds me…' Fuji opens his nightstand and passes Tezuka a folder. 'I made copies of the ones from the fishing trip. I thought you might like to have them.'

'Thanks.' For some reason, Tezuka feels inordinately pleased that Fuji thought of him. 'Thank you very much.'

Behind him, Fuji snaps the picture of the two of them into a frame and props it up on his nightstand, then smiles and suggests they go buy some ice-cream bars.

It's not until later, when Tezuka's walking home, that he never figured out which pictures Fuji was thinking of when he said 'some of them.'

Though he does care about winning them, Tezuka sees the exhibition games – mostly against schools that didn't make it past the first round of the local tournaments - as more of a training experience as an actual competition, though he tends to keep those thoughts to himself. For the first of the many tournaments, Tezuka picks names out of a bowl to decide who will be in doubles two and who will get to play singles. The first such pair is Echizen and Inui. It's an interesting pair, and once Tezuka tells them he'll let them both play singles in the next round if they win this one, they play a decent enough game. Tezuka does not mention that he was going to let them play singles anyway. He does, however, mention it to Oishi, who tells Eiji, who lets it slip to Fuji, and the next day Tezuka finds a brightly-colored card on his desk congratulating him on his deviousness. Fuji runs the ten laps at practice with a grin and a 'You'd make a very good politician, if you wanted to,' and Tezuka slips the card in his backpack. It smells like Fuji's room, he notices, and when he gets home he props it up on his nightstand, next to the picture of him and Fuji, and stares at the bright green and orange swirls on it whenever he needs a break from his homework. It adds color to his room.

The weekend before the winter term exams, Fuji invites Tezuka to his house so they can study together. His parents and sister are visiting relatives, he says, and he always studies better with someone else. Which Tezuka is fairly certain is untrue, as, apart from doing homework and reading assignments, no one has ever seen Fuji actually study for anything, not to mention that Tezuka has different professors altogether. However, he accepts, and they do spend most of their waking hours perusing their textbooks and quizzing each other. It's nice, actually, and Tezuka's glad Fuji invited him. On Sunday evening Yuuta comes to visit, and Fuji lights some candles and makes a Western-style dish - veal parmesan – to celebrate having 'good friends' with him. Tezuka is pleasantly surprised to find it delicious, considering it was made by Fuji, and Fuji boxes some up for him to take for lunch the next day. Yuuta's just been selected captain of the tennis team for next year, and Fuji teases him about it, telling him he's going to get all the girls – just like Tezuka has, neh? And Tezuka swats Fuji with a napkin and Yuuta laughs, and it's a good time.

Yuuta studies with them for a while, and afterwards they walk him back to St. Rudolph, despite his protests that he's perfectly fine alone. It's cold out, and cloudy, and Fuji spends points out where the constellations should be. Tezuka doesn't know how he can tell, or if Fuji's just making it up, but when they're walking down the streets, side by side, breaths misting in the air, Fuji's gloved index finger pointing up at the sky, his eyes shining from the light of the streetlamps, it's easy to believe that he's right, that somewhere beyond the clouds the constellations are shining exactly where Fuji says they are.

They stop at a tea shop and get this highly caffeinated herbal drink that Fuji swears by for study nights. It's hot, and it tastes like ginger, as Tezuka discovers with his first tentative sip. Tezuka says he'll have to go back to the tea shop together again, and Fuji smiles. That will be nice, he says. There are more flavors I can show you.

They stay up late studying, quizzing each other on the history chapters that overlap and munching on pocky. The caffeine wears off about one in the morning, and by two o'clock Tezuka is slumped across his social studies book, conscious enough to realize his glasses are bent but not quite alert enough to take them off. He's used to staying up late, but weeks of stress and studying are starting to catch up to him. Fifteen minutes later he wakes groggily at a touch on his shoulder. Fuji's beside him, having readied their bags for tomorrow and put away the snacks. He smiles tiredly and leads Tezuka to his room. Neither he nor Tezuka change, just collapse on the futons Fuji's thrown next to each other. Tezuka wonders why Fuji doesn't just sleep on his bed, but figures it doesn't matter. Tezuka doesn't mind, and this way he doesn't have to worry about being stepped on in the morning. Not that Fuji ever would, of course, but Eiji and Oishi always seem to forget they have guests over.

Tezuka lies flat on his back and closes his eyes, but he suddenly can't seem to fall asleep. He's just not that sleepy anymore. A few minutes pass, and he hears Fuji adjusting his covers.

'Are you asleep?' he whispers, his words seeming loud in the quiet quiet room.

The rustling stops. 'You can't fall asleep either?'

'No.' Tezuka turns in Fuji's direction, even though it's too dark to see. 'Do you think you're ready?'

'For the exams?'

'Mm.' Tezuka brings his blankets up to his chin. 'You never really study for tests, do you?'

Fuji chuckles. 'Well…I usually read over the chapters the chapters again, and do some practice problems.'

'But not like this.'

'Saa, I suppose not.'

'So why did you have me over to spend the weekend studying?'

There's a silence so long that Tezuka wonders if Fuji's asleep, but then there's some more rustling, as if Fuji's turning to look at him.

'Because I like spending time with you,' he says simply. And then, a few seconds later, 'Good night, Tezuka.'

And by the time Tezuka says a heartfelt 'Thank you,' Fuji's breathing is deep and even.

When he wakes the next morning, Fuji's curled up beside him with his hand on Tezuka's shoulder. It's very light. Fuji's hair is splayed out on the futon, his mouth open just a little, and he looks young. Innocent. And Tezuka turns off the alarm and lies there for a minute, listening to Fuji breath, and thinks how nice it is, and there is no such thing as stress in the world. And then he remembers that this is Fuji, one of his best male friends, and Tezuka shakes him awake gently. And every time he thinks of it afterwards, it brings a sense of peace and contentment, and, though he's not quite sure why, he feels the slightest bit of guilt as well.

The store where Tezuka shops for presents is packed, with mothers chasing children and old ladies with big baskets and teenaged boys buying, nervously, cheap jewelry for their sweethearts. Tezuka does not particularly enjoy shopping, and he avoids doing so when he can. Unfortunately, his mother's taste in boys' clothing is much like Fuji's taste in food, so Tezuka is well acquainted with the store.

The lines are ridiculously long, but Tezuka waits patiently and leafs through a tennis magazine. He's almost at the register when he hears a shuffle and a familiar voice saying 'Not the orange ones, aniki!'

Tezuka turns. Yuuta and Fuji are walking past the aisles nearest the registers, Fuji walking behind his brother and stealthily random items into their basket – hair clips, a pair of large purple sunglasses, a small poster featuring a drama star. Yuuta looks exasperated, while Fuji looks incredibly pleased with himself.

Tezuka grins as they turn into an aisle and are lost from sight. After shopping, he thinks, maybe some herbal tea would be nice.

Tezuka and his family spend the first half of the holidays with relatives in Osaka. On Christmas morning he checks his e-mail and finds three messages: the first is from Oishi, hoping everything is going well and all of Tezuka's family is healthy. The second is from Yukimura, who's looking forward to getting together when Tezuka gets back. And the third is from Fuji, with best wishes, a short rave about this new dish with wasabi he tried, and links to some pictures of him and his family. Just a short e-mail, nothing out of the ordinary, but when he sees who it's from this short burst of happiness seems to shoot into Tezuka that has nothing to do with the contents of the e-mail, and he replies to it in far more length than he usually does.

Well, he tells himself later when he thinks about it, Fuji's been a very good friend lately. That's all.

The tradition of going out for tea with Yukimura and Sanada started several years ago, after the first time Tezuka beat Sanada. Old-fashioned, most people his age call it, but Tezuka doesn't mind. He likes going out for tea.

He doesn't go very often with them; just every once in a while, he'll call one of them or one of them will call him, and they'll set aside a time for the next weekend. It's usually just the three of them, but once in a while Atobe or Oshitari or some other friend will come as well, so when Tezuka invites Fuji, Yukimura and Sanada are not unduly surprised.

Yukimura looks well; when Fuji inquires, he says he's completely healed, barring relapses. It doesn't stop Sanada from hovering over him, though, or holding his chair or opening the door for him or doing any one of a dozen things that say more about how glad Sanada is to have him back than Sanada ever would.

Fuji, Tezuka notices, looks particularly smug every time Sanada does something, though Tezuka's not sure why. Everyone knows those two have been best friends since childhood: it's hardly surprising Sanada looks after his captain.

It's an unspoken rule that the four of them don't speak about tennis. So they talk about high school entrance exams, and Atobe's new girlfriend, and Fuji shares an interesting anecdote about the photography convention he went to.

After the tea they head towards Yukimura's house to see his new dog, an akita, but on the way they spot an empty park, and somehow they end up lying on top of the jungle gym, pointing out shapes in the clouds.

'That one looks like pokemon,' says Fuji, pointing at a cloud that looks more like a rice cooker than anything to Tezuka.

'You watched pokemon?' Sanada asks, and Tezuka can hear the laughter in his voice.

'I used to watch it with Yuuta when we were little.' Fuji replies.

Suddenly a wind sweeps across the park, making the swings squeak back and forth and side to side. It's cold; Tezuka rubs his arms across his chest and mentally thanks his mother for reminding him to put on his warmest coat. Next to him, Fuji shivers, and Tezuka takes off his cap and pulls it onto Fuji's head. It won't do for Fuji to get sick. Fuji smiles at him and looks back at the sky, and they're so close together that when their breath mists, it joins and forms a cloud above them.

'Yukimura – your fingers are cold.'

Tezuka hears rustling and turns his head; it's hard to see, with their coats bunching up between them, but Sanada and Yukimura's fingers are linked together, Sanada rubbing his thumb gently across Yukimura's. Tezuka's stomach gives a little lurch.

'Yes,' says Yukimura pleasantly. 'I think they're numb.'

They leave soon after that; Sanada keeps saying they'll all get colds. Eventually they make it to Yukimura's house, and then his mother insists they all have some more tea to get warmed up again, so it's hours later that Fuji and Tezuka finally walk out and wave goodbye. Fuji has a standing invitation to the next tea – and the next, and the next.

They walk in silence, Tezuka lost in his thoughts. After that it had been sort of obvious, really: the way Sanada always walks on the outside of the sidewalk, the way he puts his arm around Yukimura's shoulders when they go through the back alleys. Tezuka wonders why he didn't see it before.

Tezuka's not sure what to think of it. It goes against everything he's been taught, everything that he thinks is right and proper. But at the same time… they look comfortable together, Sanada and Yukimura do. Not ecstatically happy, not euphoric, but comfortable. Content.

Wrong, perhaps? Unnatural? Maybe. But still… it must be nice. To have someone, like that, with you, someone who understands. It must be nice.

Tezuka is so lost in his thoughts he almost misses Fuji's 'See you next Monday, Tezuka – I had a nice time today,' when they pass Fuji's house.

Yes, it must be nice. But still Tezuka is confused, torn. It's not something he can figure out in an hour or two, he decides eventually. Further thought is necessary.

On the second Monday after the winter vacation, Tezuka prints out the new club practice schedule for the last time. It's the same as usual, with Momo and Kaidoh trying to glare each other to death, Echizen showing off a new drive in a practice match against Inui, and Horio the freshman accidentally wreaking havoc in the locker room with a tennis ball and a bottle of Inui's juice.

The only difference, so far as Tezuka can see, is Fuji. The genius plays several of the non-regulars in practice when they ask him, and, though as usual he plays at his opponents' strength, for the first time in anybody's memory Fuji does not let any of them take away a single point. It doesn't matter who he plays, or how many sets the match is supposed to be: in the end, the score is 6-0, 6-0, match to Fuji Syuusuke.

Tezuka stays behind that day, hitting balls at a wall after all the others have left. He's not particularly surprised when someone comes up beside him and starts bouncing a ball next to his.

'The competition shouldn't be too challenging at the exhibition games, Tezuka, but I think they'll be slightly more adept than a brick wall.'

'You should never lower your guard,' Tezuka says, more out of habit than anything, but then his lips quirk up in spite of himself. 'But I'm not practicing for the exhibition games. And neither are you.'

Fuji chuckles. 'Saa, I suppose not.'

Fuji's ball picks up speed: it thumps against the wall exactly one and a half times as quickly as Tezuka's.

'I saw your games today,' Tezuka offers after a while.

'I noticed.' Fuji's tone gives nothing away, his expression even less. But there's something in his posture – something timid, yet oddly defensive.

'You've been like that since your match with Shiraishi.'

There's something very soothing, Tezuka thinks, in hitting tennis balls against a wall, and he lets his eyes drift close until they're almost as small as Fuji's.

'Not really.'

Tezuka's eyes snap open as Fuji thwacks his ball against the wall, hard, and catches it when it bounces back.

'It's been coming on-' and Fuji steps back to grab Tezuka's ball, which bumps against his foot. 'For a while now.'

Fuji takes one of Tezuka's hands in his own and holds it up, places the tennis ball in it. When he looks up, Fuji's eyes are wide open.

'After the match with Echizen, when you asked me why I didn't play to win, I realized I wanted to find a purpose; I wanted to see if I could find it in myself to want victory as much as you did – as passionately as you did.'

Fuji looks down, and Tezuka realizes Fuji is still holding his hand up between them. He starts to lower it to his side, but Fuji's grip tightens like a vice and draws it back up again.

'There's something else I started realizing, Tezuka.' Fuji's staring at their hands in some sort of fascination, and his voice is so low that Tezuka has to strain to hear it. 'Something I think you should know.'

Tezuka's mind races, wondering if Fuji has decided to quit tennis – or maybe he wants to become a pro as well? – but when Fuji looks up, his expression isn't resolute or happy, it's hesitant. Pained, almost.

Fuji takes a deep breath. 'Tezuka, I-'

'Fuji-kun! Tezuka-kun!'

The shrill voice slices through the air between them like a cold splash of water. Tezuka feels Fuji tighten his grip on Tezuka's hand suddenly, painfully, before letting it drop, and then Fuji's turning around and smiling complacently at Kuromi-san, the math professor who's running towards them comically, his short legs pumping jerkily like a marionette's.

Tezuka misses whatever it is Kuromi-san's asking about, but Fuji covers for him, smiling, chatting with Kuromi-san as if he and Tezuka had just been talking about the latest homework assignment, or Oishi's new haircut. Tezuka knows the moment's over, that Fuji won't say anything now, but maybe…

'I'm afraid I'm busy tonight, but I'm sure Tezuka would be happy to help.'

Before he understands what's going on, Tezuka's been roped into walking Kuromi-san home and 'discussing the details' on the way. Fuji smiles and waves until they're out of sight and Kuromi-san is deep in an explanation about some early-morning tutoring which he's setting up – which, an inwardly irritated Tezuka thinks, could easily have waited until the next morning. But as he and Kuromi-san reach the school's gate, Tezuka hears a clatter that sounds suspiciously like a racket being thrown, very hard, against a brick wall, and though he still has no idea what Fuji was going to tell him, he's fairly certain it had nothing to do with tennis.

On Thursday, Echizen and Fuji play a three-set practice match that will be talked about for years to come. It's just that amazing, and this time there's no rain to stop them.

Echizen clearly regards this as a step on the path to beating his father, and the light in Fuji's eyes is that of a boy with a purpose, the consummate athlete who only sees victory. Most eyes are on Echizen, and he well deserves it, but Tezuka can't take his off of Fuji. There's something about the way he plays, something in the grace and artistry of his shots that enthralls Tezuka. It's not until hours later, when Tezuka is lying in bed and playing the match over in his mind that he realizes what it is: Echizen, with his cool moves and sarcastic wisecracks, makes tennis seem easy, but Fuji – Fuji makes it seem beautiful.

The next day, Fuji's sister picks him up early, before practice. Eiji says that his dad is back in Japan on vacation, and the family's spending the weekend in Okinawa.

Practice goes well: everyone's still pumped up from watching the match, and even the freshman do well. For Tezuka, however, something seems to be missing. It's just not the same without all the regulars – especially when the one missing is Fuji. Tezuka realizes he's come to rely on him, to some extent, and practice just isn't as interesting without him.

When Fuji comes back he seems happy, and Tezuka doesn't try to ask him about the match or what he was going to say. All seems well with him, and Tezuka's happy for Fuji. Fuji, Tezuka thinks, isn't the sort of should be sad. Things just don't seem right when he is.

Two weeks pass. The other third years are starting to cram for the high school entrance exams, and Tezuka can't help but feel left out, even though he knows it's unintentional. Everyone has a school they've chosen, if they can make the cut: Oishi and Eiji have decided on Todaiji Gakuen, which has a good tennis team. Inui is trying for any of the three best high schools in Tokyo: if he gets accepted to one without a tennis team, he says, he'll just join a club after school. Taka's going to go to a night-school so he can work at the sushi shop during the day. And Fuji – well, every time someone asks him where he's planning on going, he gives a different answer. Tezuka has no idea what he plans on doing. He does mention he's reviewing for the exams, however, so one day Tezuka invites Fuji to his house for a study session on Saturday.

'But you don't have anything to study for, Tezuka,' says Fuji.

'I can do homework.'

And Fuji says it sounds good.

At first it's just on Saturday mornings, from eight to twelve. Tezuka likes mornings. Then, as exams get closer, They'll just head to one of their houses after practice, first two times a week, then three. Whoever's visiting usually stay until after supper, and once in a while they get so into it they lose track of time, and someone has to stay the night. It's strange; two months ago Tezuka couldn't have imagined spending so much time with Fuji, but now he misses Fuji when he's not around. Much as he likes the other regulars, Tezuka knows spending this much time around, say, Eiji, would drive him insane, but with Fuji it just feels comfortable.

They start out with the practice exams, but it takes less than a week for Tezuka to realize that Fuji could ace the exams in his sleep. Homework doesn't take them that long, as the professors are assigning less than usual, so instead they start checking out other literature and math books and start studying for next year – wherever the next year is. It's more interesting than any of the work they're doing in class. And when they get bored, whether it's at six in the morning or nine at night, it just takes one phone call and they're off to the street courts, playing until they get too tired or they have to go to school. Tezuka's never been this close to someone before. Oishi's been his default best friend for a few years now, but this thing with Fuji – it's different.

With Oishi and his other friends, Tezuka still feels he has to hold back – with them, he's always the buchou, always the one they look to when in doubt. He doesn't mind, really, but when it's just Fuji he doesn't have to lead – he can just lay back and enjoy himself. And that, he thinks, is a very comfortable thing.

It's Thursday and, as he's been doing more often lately, Tezuka joins the other third year regulars on the roof for lunch, despite the cold weather. It's a good lunch. Fuji brings the pictures he took in Okinawa, Eiji prods a red-faced Oishi to tell how they were mobbed by Seigaku girls at the arcade, and Inui even sets aside his notebook to join in with a story about Kaidoh and an orange alley cat.

But soon Oishi and Inui have to leave for class meetings and Eiji remembers he has a tutoring session, and it's just Fuji and Tezuka alone on the roof, picking at the last bits of their lunches. The silence is nice.

'I heard Sanada and Yukimura are planning on going to Azabu High together,' Fuji says after a while.

The remark catches Tezuka off guard, and he manages a tentative 'I see.' Fuji, he's learned, doesn't usually say things just because. There's always a reason.

Fuji drops the subject, however, and Tezuka fluffs up his bag and uses it as a pillow, his arm shading his eyes from the sunlight. He didn't get a lot of sleep last night, but there are eighteen minutes until the bell rings – good enough. He hears more than watches Fuji flop down next to him. Tezuka relaxes and closes his eyes.

'Tezuka…did you know that you talk in your sleep?'

'Fuji?' Tezuka takes a peek at the genius, but Fuji's staring at the sky and smiling serenely.

'You do – not much, but sometimes you'll quote a math equation we've been studying, or say 'Eiji, twenty laps.'

The imitation's so good Tezuka grins.

'And sometimes you'll ask where Marilyn is.' Fuji pokes Tezuka in the arm, and Tezuka looks to see him propped up on his elbow, staring at him. 'Who's Marilyn?'

Tezuka closes his eyes again. 'I'm trying to sleep, Fuji.'

'Tell Marilyn I said hello.' Fuji's tone is teasing, and Tezuka knows he'll never hear the end of it if he doesn't explain. He sighs. At least Fuji won't write it down and analyze it like Inui would.

'When I was young I was afraid of thunderstorms. I'd hide under the bed, actually. One day my mother bought me a potted bonsai and put it on my windowsill. She called it Marilyn, the Magical Bonsai, and said it would protect me from the thunderstorms.' Tezuka feels his face get hot, but grins in spite of himself. 'That's all.'

Tezuka pretends he doesn't hear the giggling. 'I'm sure there were plenty of things you were scared of, Fuji.'

'Saa.' Fuji sighs softly. 'There are plenty of things I'm scared of now, Tezuka.'

Sleep, Tezuka decides, is not going to work out. 'What things?'

Fuji's not smiling any more. 'Losing things. People.' He sits up, moves close so he's almost leaning over Tezuka. 'Having them leave me if they find out.'

'Find out what?'

Fuji doesn't answer, just purses his lips together and shakes his head. Tezuka doesn't think he's ever seen Fuji so emotional before. So vulnerable.

'Your family would never leave you,' he says. 'Not even Yuuta.'

Fuji leans in closer, so close Tezuka can feel his breath, and Tezuka stops breathing.

'It's not my family,' whispers Fuji, 'I was thinking about.'

And then he's leaning closer, and Tezuka's throat is dry and his breath is short and his heart is racing. Oh gods, he thinks. Fuji's going to kiss me.

But Fuji doesn't. He stops just short, his lips centimeters away from Tezuka's, and then he brings hand between them. It's shaking, and he slowly, softly, rubs his thumb across Tezuka's lips. It feels – heavenly.

And then just like that it's gone, and Tezuka snaps open his eyes to see Fuji jerk away with this look of sheer horror on his face.

'I'm- I'm sorry.' And then he's gone too, sprinting across the roof, his book bag forgotten, and by the time Tezuka gathers his wits and goes after him, Fuji is nowhere to be seen.

Tezuka waits outside Fuji's classroom until the bell rings, but Fuji doesn't show. Tezuka can't concentrate through the rest of his classes; every time he tries to pay attention he sees Fuji's bag lying by his desk.

He's not sure what to think, what he's supposed to do. It's – well, it's just…completely unexpected, for one thing. Tezuka's gotten confessions before – often, really – but this isn't a girl who would be crushing a drama star before the week was over, this is Fuji – his closest friend, someone he cares about.

Tezuka's initial reaction is to pull away; it's wrong, it's not how things go – and it's Fuji. But then there's a bit of him that says yes, it's Fuji, and it's unexpected, but – it's not entirely unpleasant, is it? Maybe – it might be – nice. Maybe-

But then his original reaction kicks in again, and it's a litany of 'It's Fuji, and it's not right, it's Fuji, and there are so many problems with this situation, and it's not right,' and Tezuka pulls his mind back to his professor's lecture, and he listens until he catches sight of the bag at his feet again.

Fuji doesn't go to practice that day. Eiji says he went to the nurse a few minutes after lunch, says he looked really sick – maybe he's catching a cold. Tezuka didn't expect him to go, but he doesn't say anything. It's easier than his classes were; for the most part, he leaves Oishi in charge and plays a game with Inui. He wins it, barely, but he plays so badly Oishi makes him go home early in case he's getting sick too.

As Tezuka's learned over the last month, when Fuji is bothered by something he tends to isolate himself from his friends, to take it out on his racket at the street courts. Tezuka doesn't think he'd go home right after school today, and either way he'll need his bag. He walks up to the house just as Yumiko pulls into the driveway.

'Tezuka-kun! Are you studying with Syuusuke again today?'

'No, I…Fuji asked me to bring his bag home. He's – he's playing at the street courts.' Tezuka's grandfather always told him liars were the worst type of cowards, and Tezuka certainly feels like it. Though he could hardly tell Yumiko the truth, could he?

'I see,' she says, although her tone says the exact opposite. 'Eh – thank you.'

Tezuka nods and starts walking off.

'Tezuka-kun!'

Yumiko's standing by her car, the bag in her hands. 'Is Syuusuke all right?'

'Ah.' Tezuka crosses his arms and curls his fingers into his palms. 'I – I think so.'

She doesn't ask him anything else, and he nods again and walks home.

Tezuka doesn't sleep well that night. Every time he starts to drift off, he starts thinking of Fuji again – seeing Fuji lean over him. Not my family I was thinking about playing over and over and over and over in his head. And his grandfather's voice: 'But men need a wife, a family. It's the way things should be, Kunimitsu. It's the moral way of things. The – the others are confused.' Confused. Is that it? No- no. Fuji is a friend, that's all. His best friend. And that's all Tezuka thinks of him as. Not my family I was thinking about…

Tezuka doesn't sleep well that night.

Practice goes on much as usual the next day. Fuji smiles and 'saa's and acts as if nothing happened, and Tezuka's content to follow his lead. He focuses on his training instead, pushing himself hard so he doesn't have time to think. Fuji seems to do the same, as later in the locker room Eiji jokes that they should miss practice more often – maybe the day before a game, nya?

Fuji leaves as soon as he's dressed, and Tezuka doesn't follow him. He's not ready for that; he needs to think first.

The English essay is dull, the history readings are uninteresting, and the math problems are boring beyond comprehension. Four days since lunch on the roof, and the only thing Tezuka's been able to figure out is that he misses Fuji.

Tezuka's family does too, apparently. His grandfather in particular was happy that Tezuka was finally forming a close friendship. It's good for boys, he says. Healthy. The second day that Fuji doesn't come, he tells Tezuka of a trip he has planned – a four-day mountain climbing trip for when school finishes, because Tezuka's done well in school. Tezuka's grandfather wants to take Fuji along with them, he says, just the three of them trekking up the mountain. He knows Fuji's never been, and since Tezuka enjoys it so much he thought it would be nice, but if Fuji's not interested…

'I'll ask him,' says Tezuka. 'He's just – busy, with studying.'

'I thought you were studying together,' his grandfather points out. 'Is there something wrong, Kunimitsu?'

Tezuka can't look his grandfather in the eyes. 'No – we're… he's very busy.'

Two lies in four days. Tezuka is ashamed of himself. But his grandfather wouldn't understand, more than anyone.

It's not that they're very much like each other, though in certain ways they are: It's that they're very unlike most of the others. Right now, Tezuka thinks as he sits with his physics textbook open in his lap, right now Fuji would look out at the snow and suggest they study by the koi pond for a while, maybe, or that they make some tea and take a break, or convince Tezuka's mother to play the piano and study in the living room. Something strange, something Tezuka wouldn't think of by himself, that he might hesitate to do if it were someone else, but that turns out to be really nice once Fuji convinces him to try it. Well, usually, anyway. There was that night that Fuji suggested Tezuka try to toss a tennis ball into the trash can without his glasses on, and Yuuta, by unfortunate coincidence, was walking by with that potted cactus… but that had been an isolated incident, and everything else had turned out well. Or, at the very least, interesting. Before Tezuka and Fuji started studying together, the homework had been important, something he had to do well in order to be able to focus on tennis.

But now it's not important, and it's not studying by the koi pond or drinking tea or listening to his mother play, it's just homework. Just another afternoon.

Tezuka's history professor, in particular, notices the difference. She calls him into the classroom one day before the bell rings, sitting at the desk, a stack of papers in front of her, and purses her lips. She's not particularly tactful.

'Your essays from this last week are missing something,' she tells him. 'Whatever you were doing for the last month – you're not doing it anymore.' She sighs. 'Not only have you stopped referencing books you're not supposed to have read yet, your essays are… dull.'

Tezuka bows his head. 'I'm sorry.'

'It's not that they're bad, of course. You're still ahead of almost everyone else. There are only one, maybe two others with grades as high as yours.' She clucks her tongue; pushes her hair out of her eyes. She always does that when she's annoyed with a student, he's noticed. ''But they've lost spirit.'

Loss of spirit: It's a good enough way to put it, Tezuka thinks.

It's not like they're strangers; it's more like they regressed, to where they were in their first year, after they met but before they were familiar enough with each other to really say anything of importance. They start talking during practice again, but they keep it to tennis – how they're playing, how Seigaku's going to do next year, how the results of the Australian Open have affected international rankings. Tezuka doesn't want to bring it up if Fuji doesn't want to bring it up, and Fuji seems content to talk about tennis.

Yukimura has called once or twice to set up a date for the next tea, but Tezuka tells him he's busy. He knows Fuji is invited as well, and that would be – awkward. Tezuka says maybe after the next exhibition tournament, and Yukimura lets it drop.

Fuji's birthday – or the day he usually celebrates on – passes relatively unnoticed; Fuji says he's too stressed out studying to have a party, with the entrance exams and all. No one really buys the excuse, but they don't ask. Every time someone asks what happened between him and Tezuka, he either brushes them off or distracts them until they're confused. Tezuka wishes he could do that; Eiji tells him the cold stare he gives when anyone asks him personal questions is 'scary, nyah!'

It's an obsession, Tezuka decides. If he's not focusing on school, or tennis, or something in particular, his mind will eventually, inevitably, turn to Fuji. Of drinking tea with him, of teasing Yuuta together, and now, more and more often, of the way he looked when he played Echizen – back arched, sweaty hair like a halo, eyes wide open and amazing. And more and more often when Tezuka closes his eyes at night, he thinks of that not-quite-kiss, of the feel of Fuji's thumb across his lips. Heavenly.

Tezuka wonders if he would be thinking of Fuji, like this, if Fuji had let him fall asleep that day at lunch. Probably not, he thinks usually. But once in a while he thinks that yes, he might have any way, and it scares him. He's never thought of any other boys this way before. Girls – a few, yes. But that's normal, isn't it? This… this is something else. And Tezuka spends hours and hours thinking about it, but he can't reconcile it with what he's always thought about the way things should be.

Midway through March, Tezuka gets a call from Yuuta. Yumiko's decided to host a 'birthday plus a month' party for Fuji at the end of March. All the regulars are invited, he said. Tezuka's fingers curl around the cell phone so it leaves marks, but he says yes. He has to. It would be a slap in the face if he didn't, and even Taka-san would notice something was wrong.

And maybe, part of Tezuka thinks, maybe they can talk.

Every day now, Tezuka goes to the street courts after practice, trudging home only when the sun sets it gets too cold to play. The days are getting warmer again though, slowly but surely, so he starts playing longer and longer, until he's beaten all the high-schoolers who loiter on the courts and no one else will play him, and he has to resort to hitting balls against the wall until someone needs a volleying partner.

It works, partly. When Tezuka's playing everything else disappears; it's just him and the homework, and the only thing he needs to know is that he's going to get better. It fills him. But then the game ends, his opponent tires, and he's right back where he was before he picked up his racket. It's frustrating. Usually playing a game will help him think clearly and come up with a course of action, but it's too complicated this time around.

One day he finishes a set with a high schooler who says he's too tired to finish the match. Tezuka hunches next to his bag and puts his rackets away, and when he straightens back up Yukimura's standing in front of him, a placid smile on his face.

'Niou told me you've been here lately.'

Tezuka says something about extra practice. No doubt Yukimura's annoyed that Tezuka's brushed him off about the tea date.

'Walk with me, Tezuka? I want to show you something.'

'I…'

Yukimura's smile doesn't falter. Tezuka sighs.

'All right.'

Tezuka can't really think of anything to say, and Yukimura doesn't offer much beyond telling him which way they'll be turning at the next street. Ten minutes – fourteen – twenty; finally, half an hour later, Yukimura stops in front of a large Shinto shrine, somewhat old but well taken care of. This is definitely not what Tezuka expected.

'Yukimura?'

Yukimura says nothing, just Tezuka past the gate until they reach the ema shrine.

'Here,' he says, pulling two prayer tablets out of his coat pocket and handing one to Tezuka. He writes something down on his own and hangs it up, then steps back and stares at the rows and rows of tablets.

'My mother used to bring me here when I was young,' he says, voice rippling like water, 'And now I come here whenever I need peace.'

Tezuka turns the tablet over and over with his fingers. It's smooth. Soft.

'You looked,' says Yukimura, 'Like you needed some peace.'

'What do you pray for?' The tablet Yukimura hung up shivers in the wind; there's the sound of a koi pond reaches Tezuka's ears.

Yukimura shrugs. 'The team. My friends. Anything, really.'

Sanada? Tezuka thinks, but doesn't ask. Yukimura, though, must see something of it in his face, because he takes a step back and looks up at Tezuka.

'You're very like Genichirou, you know. In certain ways – mannerisms you have.' Yukimura smiles and gets a far away look in his eyes. 'Whenever he's troubled, he plays tennis until he thinks things through or is too tired to hold his racket.' Yukimura focuses his eyes on Tezuka. 'It must be something very troubling.'

Tezuka says nothing, and Yukimura shrugs.

'Some things,' he says, and Tezuka's not sure Yukimura's talking to him, 'Don't make sense. You just have to accept them for what they are, and let the future settle itself.'

Tezuka feels Yukimura's hand rest briefly on his shoulder, and then Yukimura walks off, and Tezuka stands in front of the shrine and rubs his fingers across the soft smooth surface of the prayer tablet, and he stares at the shrine for a long, long time.

The party goes well, though Tezuka initially feels – nervous. Apprehensive. But everyone is in high spirits (not to mention chock full of Yumiko's incredibly delicious but sugary cake), and Tezuka finds himself relaxing. It's nice to get together with all the regulars off the court, and Fuji in particular seems happy at the surprise. Towards the end of the party, when things are winding down, Tezuka spots Fuji watching everyone from a corner and, taking his gift out of his bag, walks up beside him.

'Congratulations,' he says, holding out the gift.

Fuji takes it with a polite smile. 'Thank you, Tezuka. Did-'

Fuji stops as he gets the box open. 'Tea leaves?'

'It's for the herbal tea you like.' Tezuka's hands feel cold, and he shoves them in his pockets. 'I thought we – if you wanted to – could study. On Saturday.' He swallows. 'The entrance exams are in a few weeks, after all.'

Fuji sets the box down, knots a bit of his shirt in his hands. 'Are you sure, Tezuka?'

Tezuka swallows, but nods. He still doesn't know about everything else, but this much he's sure about. 'I miss talking to you, Fuji.'

'Saa – Saturday, then.' Fuji grins as Eiji starts bouncing towards them. 'I've missed you too.'

Tezuka's heart skips a little bit.

It's a step in the right direction, thinks Tezuka as he walks home that night. Friends again, at least. But still… it's not quite satisfying. Tezuka pulls his sweater close and looks up at the sky. It's cloudy. If Fuji were walking with me, he thinks, he'd tell me where the stars are hiding.

The study session goes well, though they do little studying. Mostly, Tezuka and Fuji sit in Tezuka's room and talk – about Yuuta's new girlfriend, the new sports store near the street courts, whether Ryuzaki-sensei is retiring next year. It's nice. Not as comfortable as it was before, and once in a while they stop talking and there's a long, awkward silence, but it's still much more enjoyable than spending the day alone, and Tezuka is happy.

Two weeks later it's Tezuka's parents' nineteenth wedding anniversary, and they decide to fly to Okinawa for the weekend. Tezuka and his grandfather spend the morning at the dojo, then go home before they go shopping for an anniversary present. Tezuka's making lunch when his grandfather collapses.

It's a rational sort of numbness that settles on Tezuka. Though the back of his mind is in a state of panic, he methodically checks his grandfather's pulse and breathing and dials for an ambulance. His fingers are cold but not shaking, his breath short but not hyperventilating.

It's not until he calls his parents and sits down in an empty waiting room that the panic of the situation starts to set in. He doesn't even realize he's dialing Fuji's number until Fuji picks up; it's an instinctive reaction.

Fuji's there in twenty minutes. He's dressed in a button-up shirt and tie, but when Tezuka asks he says it's nothing important. Later, Tezuka will remember Fuji had mentioned something about an American friend of his father's, but right now he doesn't think of that. Right now Tezuka's mind is on his grandfather, his knuckles clenched until they're bright white, head bowed, wondering what's wrong, why the nurses won't tell him anything, dear gods please don't let his grandfather die. And Fuji sits next to him and doesn't really say much, just sits and pats his back once in a while, and Tezuka finds it comforting.

Finally the nurse comes in and says it was a stroke, and Tezuka's grandfather is stable and, though things aren't certain, he's expected to recover. Tezuka lets out a deep breath and lets his hands uncurl from around the arm rests he didn't even realize he was gripping, and beside him Fuji smiles and wraps his arm around Tezuka's shoulders in a hug.

'You don't have to be here,' he says to Fuji. 'My parents won't be here for a while.'

Fuji smiles and hands Tezuka a handkerchief, and Tezuka realizes his eyes are leaking tears.

'I know,' says Fuji. He stays until midnight, when Tezuka's parents finally arrive.

When Tezuka's grandfather is well enough to go home, Fuji comes over for another study session. This time they actually study for most of the day, reviewing the study packet for the entrance exams, doing problems from a high school physics textbook and, together, writing an essay about feudal Japan for extra credit in their history class.

After supper they lie down by the koi pond and talk about the mountain climbing trip.

'Saeki invited me to play him in a doubles match at some street courts near his house after school on Thursday,' Fuji says after a while. 'I thought you might be interested.'

'I see.' It sounds like fun, Tezuka thinks. And then… 'Fuji... isn't Thursday the day Seigaku's administering the entrance exams?'

'I'm not taking the entrance exams.'

Tezuka turns his head.

'My father is working in California next year, and there's a tennis school nearby.' Fuji pauses. 'I was accepted two days ago.'

Tezuka turns back to look at the sky. 'California?'

'Ah.'

'That will be interesting.' Tezuka shuts his eyes, breaths deeply, listening to the gurgling of the koi pond. It's very comfortable. He says nothing for several minutes – and then a thought strikes him, and he opens his eyes. 'Fuji.'

'Tezuka?'

'Did we just spend a day studying for an exam neither of us is going to take?'

Silence.

'Saa… I suppose so.' Fuji chuckles. 'It was fun, though.'

'Yes.'

And Tezuka shuts his eyes and listens to pond and the wind and the sound of Fuji's breathing, and the day is beautiful.

They take the train to Saeki's house. It's fairly packed, so they stand in front of each other and talk all the way. Fuji stands in front of the window and the light from the setting sun frames him and makes his features hard to make out, so Tezuka just sees the bright bright shining when he opens his eyes, or the little glint when he wets his lips with his tongue, and he wonders what it would feel like to rub his thumb over those closed eyelids, over those lips, and he almost does, but at the last minute his grandfather's voice echoes through his mind, and he loses his courage and looks away.

The match goes very well. Three sets, so it takes longer than usual, but Tezuka enjoys every minute of it. He and Fuji don't make a bad team, he decides at the end of it. They won't be winning any doubles tournaments, but they're not bad. In fact it's kind of nice playing with Fuji; they've played each other so often they know how the other thinks, and it helps make up for the fact that they are both definitely singles players.

It doesn't help them beat Saeki and his partner, but at least they put up a good, long fight.

Afterwards, the four of them eat supper at Saeki's house. Saeki's parents are like Tezuka's – proud of their son, loving towards each other.

This is the future that is expected for himself, Tezuka knows. It's not bad. On the contrary, it looks happy, stable, full of joy. It would be a good life, he thinks. But then he turns around and there's Fuji sitting at his side, taking a sip of his soda and smiling at a story Saeki's telling.

His parents would have a hard time accepting it; his grandfather would never be able to understand. They're both so young there would be no guarantees of anything at all. It makes no sense that he would yearn so much to see, just to see what it could be like, that he would envy that more than a life like this. It makes no sense whatsoever.

But some things, Tezuka hears Yukimura say, as he has a thousand times in the last few weeks, Some things don't make sense. You just have to accept them for what they are, and let the future settle itself.

And it's there that Tezuka makes his decision.

The train is a little less packed on the way back, but Tezuka and Fuji end up giving up their seats to a pair of old ladies who have more shopping bags than they can handle.

Tezuka doesn't mind; they stand in front of each other again, and every time the bus jolts Fuji bumps into him. They're halfway home by the time Tezuka gathers enough courage to say anything, and he can barely stop his hands from shaking, even the one he's holding the handrail with.

'Fuji,' he says in a low voice so the old women won't hear.

Fuji moves in closer and looks up at him. 'Tezuka?'

He swallows. His heart is racing harder than he can remember. 'About that day… on the roof.'

Fuji's eyes widen.

'I've been thinking…' Tezuka trails off and looks down at his hand. His fingers are numb. 'Fuji, I…'

'Tezuka, don't-'

Tezuka puts his index finger on Fuji's mouth, looks him in the eyes. 'We're – I – There's…there's not much time left before we leave.'

Fuji nods, slowly. Tezuka doesn't take his hand away.

'You – We'd be living thousands of miles away from each other, probably for years.'

Fuji nods again. His eyes are wider than Tezuka's ever seen. He looks scared, but Tezuka can feel his lips twitching, as if he wants to smile.

'And for all I know, we'll both be married and raising families in ten years.'

Tezuka takes his hand away and puts it on Fuji's shoulder.

'But… if you still – still want to, I would… I'd like to try.'

Fuji reaches up with his free hand, grabs on to the bottom of Tezuka's shirt as if to steady himself. Tezuka can feel him knotting it around his fingers, and Tezuka holds his breath.

And then Fuji smiles.

A few seconds later, when he can breath again – when he thinks he could climb a mountain and laugh and never run out of air – Tezuka moves his arm across Fuji's shoulder, so it's almost a hug, and slowly, a bit awkwardly, pulls Fuji close so his head is against Tezuka's shoulder.

It's a simple gesture, not indicative of eternal love, not a show of anything more than simple affection. It's not a promise that they'll be together a month – a year – from now. It is what it is, and neither of them is going to pretend that it's anything more. But Tezuka stands there and feels his heart race and wonders if Fuji can hear it, and when Fuji looks up at him and grins, Tezuka understands.

It's enough, for now.