Archive of Our Own ^beta

Tezuka got on the plane with a phone against his ear, assuring Mika that the press conferences shouldn't take much longer than the tournament itself and that he would be back by the twelfth in time for their honeymoon. That was true enough, though there were still forms to fill out for the following tournaments and the new kid he was managing didn't have enough talent for half of the things that Tezuka was registering him for, for all that he had determination enough to win all of them. He found his seat quickly enough, shoved his carry-ons into the overhead compartments, and slid in. The seat was by the window and he turned to watch the airline workers pack the luggage into the plane while Mika relayed every detail about the resort they had already booked for the second time in ten minutes.

He could hear someone sitting down beside him as he promised Mika, "No, there are no tennis courts nearby."

She laughed lightly. "You've already told me, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm just so excited to have you to myself for once, I just really want to have all of you."

"I know." Tezuka checked his watch. The flight would take off in five minutes; cell phones would need to be turned off then.

"Are you already on the plane?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry--"

"You don't need to apologize."

He could almost see her blushing on the other side of the line. "It's just that everything's going so well, I feel like something has to go wrong soon."

"You're being silly." A flight attendant walked to the front of the plane and held out the unattached seatbelt to demonstrate how to buckle it in. "We're about to take off."

"Oh. Well, I guess I'll see you in a few weeks, then."

"It's not even two weeks," Tezuka reminded her.

"Well, yes. But--"

"You're worrying too much."

"There is so much irony in what you just said," she commented. "Say it again."

The attendant was putting on a lifejacket now, and the plane began backing out into the runway. "I'm sorry, I have to go now."

"All right." She didn't hang up, though. "I love you."

"...I love you too."

She laughed happily. "I'll see you soon, then."

"Yeah."

"Not going to hang up?" she teased. "Have a nice flight, Kunimitsu."

He pulled the phone away from his ear. The screen shone brightly and read in blinking letters, Time: 00:34:58.

"Girlfriend?" the man sitting next to him asked.

Tezuka stiffened, not quite taking offense to the prodding stranger but not pleased, either, and turned to his seatmate to--

"Fuji," he whispered, something not quite like guilt twisting in the bottom of his stomach.

Fuji smiled and Tezuka thought that Fuji's smile hadn't changed at all. "It's been a while, Tezuka."

"Mm." Tezuka managed to meet Fuji's eyes, but barely. "You look different."

"It's been ten years." Fuji chuckled. "People change."

"I didn't expect you would--" Tezuka swallowed. "You look well."

Fuji shrugged. "You've changed too."

Tezuka nodded. "I don't play anymore."

He wasn't sure why he said that, but he couldn't unsay it. Fuji didn’t look surprised or confused.

"I was just about to ask, too," was all that he would say.

The plane finished a turn onto the runway. The engines fired up and the plane accelerated down the runway.

"Do you?" Tezuka could have kicked himself. Of course Fuji still played. He was the favorite to win Wimbledon that year and on the cover of half the tennis magazines that Mika subscribed to for him, though most of the stories were more about Fuji's supposed romantic affairs than his tennis.

"Yes, captain," Fuji murmured with a smile. "Still the only thing on your mind?"

"No."

"Your girlfriend?"

"Wife." The word felt strange on his tongue and especially wrong when Fuji was the only one listening.

"Ah." Fuji's smile didn't waver but for a second it seemed faker, more plastered on. Almost immediately, though, it fixed itself and Fuji was prodding Tezuka for information about her. Did she play tennis, how did they meet, when did he propose.

Tezuka answered each question shortly as he tried to settle the feeling in his stomach. They were only kids back then, but when someone who tried as hard as Tezuka did to hold himself honest and honorable broke a promise, the single smear stuck out in memory and conscience. It had been inevitable, that they wouldn't be able to keep in touch. Tezuka didn't even know if Fuji had asked it of him out of a simple child's wish for nothing to ever change, or if he had honestly wanted keep their friendship as it had been.

Eventually their conversation dwindled down to nothing and Fuji leaned his seat back to sleep. Tezuka sat next to him uncomfortably until the stewardess came down their aisle offering drinks. Tezuka politely declined and waited for her to pass before maneuvering around Fuji's legs to get into the aisle. It took only a minute to get his briefcase from the overhead compartment and the match schedules and interview times from the briefcase. Fuji woke up and watched him put the briefcase back up. He got out of his seat and let Tezuka slide in, then sat back down. They didn't speak.

Fuji went back to sleep after that and Tezuka reviewed the schedules for the umpteenth time. There was little else that he could do with the match schedules. Jacob, the player he was managing, already knew who to watch out for and why, which ones he needed to really prepare for in advance, and there was little that Tezuka could do other than wait at this point. His odds weren't great to begin with, and it was practically a miracle that Tezuka could convince the reporters to take any interest in the boy at all. The interviews, though. Those Tezuka could, and did, go over in detail. It wouldn't be hard to paint him as a promising newcomer, because Jacob had enough charisma to charm a reporter or two, even if he didn’t have the skill to warrant the attention.

Tezuka must have fallen asleep between jotting down a note to remind Jacob to keep his comments on the safe side with Smithson and thinking that perhaps he should keep the overzealous player away from the female reporters, because the next thing he knew Fuji was shaking his shoulder and the stewardess was waiting for him to choose beef or chicken. He blinked and, in that moment of disorientation, Fuji smiled at her and said, "He'll have the chicken."

She smiled back uncertainly, but pulled a tray of the chicken meal out and passed it to Tezuka, who took it groggily. She wheeled the cart forward and Tezuka noticed that his schedules and notes were gone.

"I put them away for you," Fuji told him. "They fell all over the floor when you were asleep."

"Thank you."

"It was nothing."

The food tasted like sawdust with artificial flavoring thrown in to give it the illusion of actual chicken and the screen at the front of their section announced that they were two hours from landing. Fuji didn't quite fidget, but he was considerably tenser than when they had taken off. Tezuka didn't say anything, because he had never needed to say anything before and the years had only taken the unnecessary words and turned them into something that he no longer knew how to say.

The attendant came to collect the trays and Fuji handed his--also chicken--to her without touching most of it. Tezuka couldn't blame him. After she left, Fuji turned to Tezuka. "You missed the movie," he said.

"I'm not interested in movies," Tezuka said plainly.

"How silly of you." Fuji leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "I used to love you, you know."

Tezuka didn't know what to say to that.

"It was a long time ago, though." Fuji opened his eyes and lifted a hand to the air conditioning control above his head. "I used to think you might have liked me back."

Tezuka swallowed. "I think I did."

Fuji laughed. "Really? I wonder if we could have become something."

"Probably not," Tezuka looked at Fuji. "We were too different." It felt like a lie.

"Are." Fuji put his hand down onto his lap. "We are too different, right?" He turned to look back at Tezuka, smile uncertain and looking for Tezuka to confirm the lie that they were telling themselves.

"Yes." Tezuka couldn't look away. "We are."

Fuji looked away, then. "We couldn't have known, back then," he said softly. "No one expected us to become like this either. We couldn't have known."

"But we know now."

"It's strange to think of you sitting behind the scenes instead of playing on the courts," Fuji said, changing the topic.

Tezuka shrugged and said that it had seemed like a more viable option than destroying every limb that he had. Fuji bit his lip, then steered the conversation away from tennis. Tezuka let him do that, since he seemed to need to distract himself more than anything.

They arrived on time and Fuji grew even more nervous as they landed. He didn't say anything about it, and Tezuka didn't ask. The plane touched down and slowly navigated the turns to the terminal.

The unfasten seatbelts sign lit up.

Fuji took a deep breath before he unbuckled his seat belt and stood up, reaching for the overhead compartment.

"Ah, good, they weren't crushed," he muttered. He pulled a bouquet down and took another deep breath before he stepped into the aisle. Tezuka followed silently, checking his own bag to make sure that Fuji had put the schedules into the right compartment. Their seats were close to the exit so it didn't take long for them to find their way out of the plane.

Fuji stopped walking once they got in sight of the entrance to the airport. "You might want to want to wait a minute or two if you don't want any pictures taken."

Tezuka shook his head. "It won't be any news if a manager's picture is taken."

Fuji shrugged and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he smiled, dazzling, poised, and almost certainly more confident than he felt. Tezuka remembered that smile. They entered the terminal together and walked down the escalator to the luggage claims. As soon as Fuji stepped into view, cameras started flashing.

"Mr. Fuji! Is it true that you're not playing this season?"

"Your manager says that you're completely ready to take Wimbledon again this year--"

"After two years of straight wins, are you confident of another great year?"

"Are those flowers for someone?"

Fuji ignored all of them and scanned the crowd until he found who he was looking for. The tension melted from his shoulders and he stepped towards a girl who was standing behind the reporters looking entirely annoyed. Tezuka recognized her as Fuji's rumored girlfriend and then he realized--

And Fuji was walking towards her, pushing past the reporters and cameras, holding out the bouquet. She ran into his arms and the cameras flashed again and again. Tezuka's phone rang. He opened it without looking at the caller's name. "I'm here, Mika."

"Did you have a good flight?"

Tezuka tore his eyes away from Fuji. "Yes," he said, and he wondered why it hurt so much to just look away. "It was a nice flight."