Current mood:	calm
Entry tags:	fandom - prince of tennis, fic - prince of tennis

Fic: "Open Your Eyes" (Fuji/Tachibana, Shinji/Kamio) Shounen-Ai, G
"Open Your Eyes
by: Trinity Helix
Feedback: Everything to trinity_cross@yahoo.com
Website: www.trinityhelix.com
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Characters: Tachibana, Fuji, Shinji, Kamio
Genre: Shounen-Ai, G
Warnings: None
Notes: For happiestwhen. This was my fic for the Tenipuri Fantasy Fest before my old laptop crashed and deleted everything. -_-;; Sorry, luv. This is half a year late but I hope you like it anyway...

Original Prompt: Fuji/Tachibana and Shinji/Kamio: "missing scene"; hospitals change people and... loosen inhibitions...? ;) any rating, angst a plus, no implied tezufuji plz, but other pairings welcome.




There are half a dozen daisies on Tachibana’s side table, white on white in a sterile room. His eyes are half-lidded and he dozes off at three o’ clock, lulled by the steady hum of the hospital vents.

He wakes only when he hears the dull monotone of Shinji’s voice and the scrape of a chair being pulled towards him. Kamio is there, too-- his eyes very blue and very wide, hands twisting in his lap.

It takes a while before Tachibana registers that Shinji is asking him a question, his lips mouthing words so quiet that the other boy has to strain to hear.

“...flowers?”

Tachibana stares at him for a while, blinking sleep from his eyes and running a calloused hand through his hair. He looks at Kamio for help, but he is red-faced and won’t meet Tachibana’s eyes.

Oh.

Flowers.

“Fuji dropped by a couple of days ago,” he replies, propping himself up on his elbows.

Shinji shrugs, strands of hair clinging to a pale cheek. “That was nice of him, bringing you flowers. I suppose he must have been trying to get information about that Kirihira from Rikkai-- did you tell him anything? I hope you didn’t cave just because he gave you flowers,” he says, then frowns. “Come to think of it, no one except An has given you anything since you came here. That’s really bad manners on our part, considering we’ve been here every day since you were admitted.”

Shinji pauses and fishes around in his pocket, then holds out a stick of gum. “Here,” he says. “Please get well soon, Tachibana-san.”

Tachibana takes the stick of gum, offering the other boy a game smile. “Thank you, Shinji,” he says. “I’ll do my best.”

“Tachibana-san!” Kamio rises from his seat. “Please get well soon!!”

He’s holding out a ballpoint pen and a (slightly squashed) chocorone. Tachibana suspects that he might’ve been sitting on it for the better part of the day, but takes it anyway.

“Thank you, Kamio-kun.”

His vice-captain looks almost mollified at that, but when he sits down again his eyes are invariably drawn towards the vase beside them.

“See, Akira,” Shinji says, crossing his arms over his chest. “If you didn’t spend all your lunch money on sweet bread and soda, we’d have enough money to buy Tachibana-san a proper ‘Get Well Soon’ gift…”

“Shinji!!” Kamio yells, then gets up and runs out of the room.

Shinji frowns. “He eats too many sweets, Tachibana-san,” he says. “Maybe you should put him on a diet-- I think he’s so high-strung because he’s got all that sugar in his system. Who knows, maybe he’ll have a different play style altogether if he’s not so hyper.”

Tachibana grins weakly.

It is almost relieving to see that nothing has changed in his absence.



***



Four days pass before Fuji drops by again, and he brings a fresh bouquet of flowers. Tachibana doesn’t know if it’s terribly appropriate for boys to bring other boys flowers, hospitals or no, but he also doesn’t think Fuji cares.

Fuji makes the appropriate small talk, chatting about how Seigaku is training hard for their upcoming match against Rikkai.

There is a pleasant smile on his face as always, never breaking, never wavering. Tachibana finds himself thinking that he is like an opposite Shinji-- whilst Ibu always seems to say exactly what he is thinking, Fuji says everything /but/.

Fuji crosses his legs self-consciously. “May I have this?” he asks.

He is holding up Tachibana’s grip tape.

“Please,” Kippei replies. It isn’t like he’ll have much use for it any time soon; he’d only brought it out of some automatic response while packing his hospital bag.

Fuji nods in thanks, pocketing the tape. “Kirihara will be a good match,” he says thoughtfully, almost as if he were talking about the weather. Almost as if Tachibana had not spent his last visit warning him to be careful.

“You can beat him,” Kippei replies evenly.

Fuji hums a little and says no more about the subject. An has brought candy, and he unwraps a piece and chews in silence.

Tachibana can’t make out what to think of the whole thing, and when a nurse drops by to tell him that visiting hours will be over soon, he sighs in relief.

Fuji smiles a little and nods, getting to his feet. “Thank you again for the grip tape, Tachibana,” he says. “Please get well soon.”

He’d absented himself from training for this, to see Tachibana, and he wonders if it is because of his innate need to fight for something other than himself or… something else.

Tachibana wasn’t Taka, after all, and neither were they childhood playmates like Saeki and he. Tachibana wasn’t a good friend or a teammate… he just /was/.

Fuji gives him a final enigmatic smile before walking out of the room.

Kippei watches him go.

“Fight well, Fuji,” he says.

But the other boy is already gone.


***


Come the day of Seigaku’s match against Rikkaidai, Fuji is ready.

He binds the grip of his tennis racquet with Tachibana’s tape, winding methodically from bottom to top.

Inui has just won and everyone is beaming; Echizen gives Fuji a look. The boy rarely speaks, but with his eyes he begs Fuji to win. He wants to play Sanada badly, and maybe he wants Seigaku to win just as much.

No matter; Fuji will not lose.

Later-- on his knees and badly bruised-- Fuji grits his teeth. He prays for strength to come to him; the will to move. There is a cut on his cheek and he opens his eyes, glaring at Kirihara across the net.

“I’m terribly sorry,” the other boy says. He doesn’t sound sorry at all. “I don’t know where the knuckle serve is going to hit-- the mystery is part of the technique.”

The referee looks at him uncertainly, but Kirihara bows and looks appropriately contrite.

Fuji gets to his feet.

His gaze drifts towards the stands-- past the line of Seigaku regulars and trainees-- to the Fudomine group watching him intently. An looks worried, chewing her bottom lip.

Fuji shakes his head; he can do this. He /will/ do this.

A shout from Rikkai’s stands distracts him, and he looks up to see Tachibana limping towards the entrance. The cane he is using doesn’t look very comfortable.

“Fuji!” He yells, and his teammates look up.

“Aniki!” says An. “You should be in the hospital!”

Tachibana ignores her for the moment, and he grabs the chain-link fence. “Fuji!” he calls. “Don’t give up. You can beat him-- just don’t give up!”

Fuji smiles, his eyes open. “I had no intention to,” he replies.

His eyes meet Kirihara’s across the net. “Sorry for the interruption,” he says. “Let’s continue.”

Kirihara nods in acquiescence but doesn’t reply. They switch courts, Fuji wiping the side of his mouth with his towel. It comes away tinged with red and damp with sweat.

It’s Fuji’s serve, now, and he hits the ball hard across the net. Kirihara’s eyes meet his for a split second before he returns it.

Fuji frowns; his form is wrong somehow, a little off around the chest and arms. If he hits it like that, Fuji thinks, it’ll go right past--

There is a startled yell as the ball hurtles towards Tachibana Kippei clear across the stands. He falls, the cane clattering from his grasp as An rushes to help him up.

The fence had thankfully caught Kirihara’s ball, but his intent was unmistakable.

Fuji opens his eyes, anger a slow burn in the pit of his stomach.

Kirihara will pay for that before the match is over.


***


The next time Fuji sees Tachibana is after he is out of the hospital. He stops by his house for a friendly game, wanting to test his mettle against a Nationals player.

Tachibana obliges him, and it isn’t long before two of Fuji’s triple counters are broken, a few not-so-subtle requests succeeding in drawing out Tachibana’s true play style.

Fuji’s eyes open when he sees the marked difference in the way Tachibana now moves, his muscles holding the coiled strength of a wild beast.

/So this,/ he thinks. /Is what I’ll be playing against./

“Be careful, Fuji,” Tachibana says quietly. “Or you might get hurt.”

It might have been a boast coming from anyone else, but Fuji knows otherwise. He merely nods in response, readying himself for Tachibana’s serve.

It’s almost like Taka-san’s hadokyuu, he thinks analytically, even as he moves to return it. The power behind it makes the air shiver with intensity, and it arches across the court. The perfect execution of a complex technique, and it is a perfect set-up for the Higuma Otoshi.

It is this that breaks Fuji’s third counter, the last of his special techniques. His racquet flies from his grip, strings broken.

If Tachibana is the standard of Nationals players, then Fuji will have to come up with something new if he wants to win. He is Seigaku’s second best player, perhaps third when Tezuka comes back, and he must maintain his level of play.

Across the court, Tachibana smiles.

The ball has managed to find its way back to his side even with Fuji’s broken racquet, and he makes no move to return it. “Very impressive, Fuji,” he says.

“Thank you, Tachibana,” Fuji replies, fingering the broken strings of his racquet. Tennis is the only thing on his mind; he wants to win. “Perhaps we can continue this match another time.”

Kippei nods, clear black eyes watching him keenly. “Of course.”

He puts his racquet away.


***


Their next meeting occurs during the Shitenhouji-Fudomine matches, and now it is Fuji who watches from the stands while Tachibana plays against Chitose Senri. They are evenly matched for the most part of the game, playing as closely as only old rivals possibly can.

Fuji thinks it almost beautiful.

He can hear Echizen muttering something under the brim of his cap, but Fuji’s open eyes don’t leave the courts.

“Fascinating,” he says.

On the floor, Tachibana has eyes only for Chitose. His left eye is a bruised mess, his mouth set in a determined smile. This is where the Nationals will end for Fudomine, he knows, and he will make it an end to be /remembered/.

He moves into a familiar pose, preparing for the very technique that changed both his and Senri’s lives.

“Rage Ball,” Chitose whispers, across the net. It is what he came to the Nationals to see.

He has a split second to prepare for it and then it is upon him, the racquet’s throat creating an impact that silences the stands.

His left eye is useless to him, but he bares his teeth, picks a ball, and prays.

It turns out to be the right one, and by the time he opens his eyes, he has returned an impossible play.

“Game and Match! Shitenhouji’s Chitose wins!”


***


Tachibana almost can’t bring himself to watch Seigaku’s match with Shitenhouji, but Fuji plays singles three against their captain and his resolve crumbles to dust.

He makes his way back to the stands with Kamio at his side, a myriad of cuts and bruises covered with newly-wound bandages.

The eye-patch Tachibana is sporting ruins his depth perception some, but he can still see well enough to watch Fuji play.

And, eventually, to watch Fuji lose.

Tachibana feels his stomach clench in sympathy as Fuji takes his seat on the players’ bench, draping his towel over his head. Even after upgrading his triple counters, even after the unveiling of a fourth… it was all for nothing.

Fuji’s head is bowed in defeat.

Momoshiro and Kaidoh are up next, and Tezuka nods at them.

He does not look at Fuji.

And Tachibana, for all that he respects Tezuka Kunimitsu, cannot help but see his lack. All players are equal, he knows, and defeat does not diminish this if a captain does not let it.

Even later, after the doubles two pair wins and Momoshiro gives Fuji a thumbs-up sign, his smile is strained.

Unable to stand it, he leaves Kamio and makes his way to Seigaku’s side. “Fuji,” he says.

The other boy does not turn, but he straightens up a bit. “Tachibana.”

The Fudomine captain opens his mouth to speak, to offer words of comfort, but as he watches Tezuka and Inui play against the Shitenhouji D1 pair, he realizes that it is not his place to do so.

So he lays a hand on Fuji’s shoulder instead.

Syuusuke tenses under his touch, but when no trite words are forthcoming, he slowly relaxes.

They remain that way for some time, Tachibana’s hand a soothing weight. Eventually, Tezuka and Inui win and Echizen shrugs off his jacket.

Tachibana leaves as quietly as he came, but Fuji feels the warmth of his palm until far after the matches are over.


***


Almost every school is present the day that Rikkai and Seigaku meet for the finals. Fudomine goes early at Tachibana’s urging, and they get good seats on Seigaku’s side. With them are Yamabuki, St. Rudolph, and Rokkaku; Hyotei, Jousei, and Higa are barely visible figures on the other side.

Sengoku Kiyosumi immediately sits next to Kamio and pesters him for a match afterwards, and the vice-captain looks at Tachibana pleadingly.

Kippei merely winks at him. He’ll be captain next year; the match will be good social practice.

Shinji, however, is accosted by St. Rudolph’s Mizuki, and here Tachibana /does/ step in. If Fuji’s reaction is anything to go by, Mizuki Hajime is not someone he wants hanging around his team.

“Nfu. Nfu,” Mizuki chuckles, giving Tachibana a look that could melt butter. In spite of himself, the captain finds himself shrinking away.

“It’s starting,” Kamio says loudly, crossing his arms over his chest. Sengoku backs off with a grin; he’ll rib him during breaks and afterwards instead.

As the two teams line-up, Tachibana’s breath catches in his throat.

Fuji is in singles three… against Yagyuu Hiroshi.

Niou is benched, Yanagi and Kirihara are D1, Marui and Jackal are D2. Tachibana squints, trying to read the Kanji on the boards. Sanada and Yukimura are, of course, S2 and S1.

“Tezuka and Sanada,” Ishida says in a low murmur. “This is going to be a hell of a game.”

The other schools are all talking about Echizen and Yukimura, or Inui and Kaidoh and the Golden Pair, but Tachibana is only interested in singles three. “The Laser Beam is tough to beat,” he says, frowning slightly.

Fuji Yuuta looks at him in surprise, then shrugs and nods. “Aniki can do it,” he says.

“Aa,” Tachibana replies.

/I hope so./

On the players’ benches below, Fuji makes eye contact with him and winks.


***


After Seigaku has won, everyone is eager to congratulate their friends. Kamio and An have gone over to shake Momoshiro’s hand; Shinji is talking in Echizen’s ear.

Tachibana walks over to Fuji, waiting patiently as he accepts a hug from his brother and completely ignores Mizuki.

“I’ll see you at home then, Yuuta?” Fuji asks, ruffling his hair. “Oneesan says she’s going to cook me a celebratory dinner.”

Yuuta nods. “Yeah, I’ll definitely be there… I just have to grab some stuff from my dorm first.”

“I’ll make sure he gets home safe and sound.” Mizuki chuckles beside him, raising an eyebrow at Fuji.

Yuuta blushes a little; Fuji’s eyes open.

“We’re leaving now,” he says hurriedly, taking Mizuki by the arm and tugging him away. “Bye, aniki! Congratulations again!”

Fuji’s brow wrinkles as he watches them go, then his face relaxes into his customary smile. “Tachibana,” he says. “Thank you for watching us.”

Kippei shrugs. “I doubt I could have kept Fudomine away,” he says, laughing a little. “Shinji will be talking about Echizen’s match for weeks.”

Fuji makes a small, approving hum. “Tachibana, would you--" he begins, but is cut off abruptly by the arrival of Saeki, who runs up and gives him an enthusiastic embrace.

“That was brilliant, Syuusuke!” Saeki grins. “Congratulations!”

Momentarily distracted, Fuji accepts the praise. “Well, I couldn’t have done it without your assistance,” he says. “The extra training helped quite a bit.”

“Oh, don’t remind me,” Saeki laughs. “You’ve got a hell of a serve!”

Tachibana’s mouth tightens at that, but he forces out an easy grin. “I think I hear An calling for me,” he says to Fuji. “I’d better go. Congratulations again.”

And he is gone, side-stepping past Momoshiro and Kaidoh and disappearing into the thick of the crowd.

Fuji is momentarily taken aback. “Tachibana?”

He cranes his neck and tries to spot the familiar blond head, but the jumble of students is somewhat overwhelming. He spots An standing next to Kamio and Shinji; Kippei is nowhere in sight.

“Huh,” Saeki says, grinning. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say Tachibana was looking a little green around the gills…”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” says Fuji automatically. “There is absolutely no reason for him to be jealous of you.”

Silence hangs between them for a moment before Fuji realizes what he has just said.

He blinks.

“I was kidding,” Saeki points out unhelpfully. “But it looks like you weren’t.”

And he gives Fuji a little push towards the entrance, grinning.


***


It doesn’t take Syuusuke long to find Tachibana; the captain is not particularly hard to read.

Fuji walks into the street tennis courts and up the bleachers, smiling a little as he spots the lone figure hunched on the lowest stoop.

“Feeling sorry for yourself,” he says. “Doesn’t really suit you.”

Tachibana’s back is to him but he doesn’t seem surprised to hear Fuji’s voice. “I suppose it doesn’t,” he says evenly.

Fuji sighs, studying him for a while. It has been a long year for both of them, though this not-quite friendship of theirs has somehow endured. Fuji is surprised at how much he cares.

Carefully, he takes a seat beside him.

Tachibana shifts a little to make room for him but doesn’t speak; Fuji sighs inwardly.

“Saeki was talking about team training,” he offers. “Between Seigaku and Rokkaku. Our teams had a joint training session shortly before Nationals.”

He smiles somewhat self-consciously. “It was beach volleyball,” he continues. “And Saeki was my partner.”

Tachibana doesn’t say anything for a long time, but Fuji senses the tension ebb from his shoulders.

“I wasn’t jealous,” Tachibana finally says, but he is smiling just a little. “Not really.”

Fuji chuckles. “Of course you weren’t,” he says.

He leans back, resting his hands on his stomach. He thinks about tennis and Kirihara and hospital beds, and then he thinks about how the color of Tachibana’s hair reminds him of buttercups.

“I only ever asked to play you,” he says suddenly. /I didn’t want to play against anyone else./

Tachibana turns to look at him, his eyes unreadable even by geniuses.

“It wasn’t always about tennis,” he says. “Was it?”

“No,” Fuji agrees readily.

His hand brushes against Kippei’s, just enough to be entirely deliberate.

His eyes are open, impossibly blue, and he smiles a real smile.

It’s not a promise, he thinks. But it’s a start.

Tachibana takes his hand.

It’s going to be an interesting year.


*Fin*