fic: surreal to real
Nov. 11th, 2011 10:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisTitle: surreal to real
Series: tenipuri
Character/pairing: Tezuka, Fuji, (skipping between TezuFuji and gen, basically.)
Rating: no more than G, surely.
Word count: 306
Author's note: fic_promptly: any, brilliantly. Written half in a rainstorm on notebook (with coffee as my companion) and half much later.
The first time Fuji played tennis, the true first time, was against Tezuka. Every other game seemed a practice steps of match and set, those wobbling first steps that he never remembered.
It was that match he could recall with such stunning clarity.
Time slowed and Fuji savored it. Anticipation flowed though each vein, artery to capillary, through the entirety of his body. It was the first time Fuji felt tested, first time he’d met an equal, no, someone far greater than himself.
The first tournament felt half-real, the skies looked painted on, the clouds dabs of drying paint. There were hundreds of people and yet it felt so solitary. It was just him and the wind, gravity felt optional and each tennis court was an asteroid in a universe, with planets and places unto themselves.
Tezuka seemed closest to understanding, how it felt to simply play, testing and teasing opponents along, in the end the victory was secondary to the adrenaline rush. No one had more devotion than Tezuka, the sheer depth of it was fascinating to Fuji. Passion was often an curious thing to the languid, and the undeclared, smoldering passion of Tezuka was irresistible and fascinating to him.
Maybe that was why he strayed to Tezuka’s side that first time. What was closer than a kindred spirit? Another half? To find a trace of yourself in someone else?
All he knew was that the first match he lost against Tezuka wasn't a humbling, so much as a discovery.
Series: tenipuri
Character/pairing: Tezuka, Fuji, (skipping between TezuFuji and gen, basically.)
Rating: no more than G, surely.
Word count: 306
Author's note: fic_promptly: any, brilliantly. Written half in a rainstorm on notebook (with coffee as my companion) and half much later.
The first time Fuji played tennis, the true first time, was against Tezuka. Every other game seemed a practice steps of match and set, those wobbling first steps that he never remembered.
It was that match he could recall with such stunning clarity.
Time slowed and Fuji savored it. Anticipation flowed though each vein, artery to capillary, through the entirety of his body. It was the first time Fuji felt tested, first time he’d met an equal, no, someone far greater than himself.
The first tournament felt half-real, the skies looked painted on, the clouds dabs of drying paint. There were hundreds of people and yet it felt so solitary. It was just him and the wind, gravity felt optional and each tennis court was an asteroid in a universe, with planets and places unto themselves.
Tezuka seemed closest to understanding, how it felt to simply play, testing and teasing opponents along, in the end the victory was secondary to the adrenaline rush. No one had more devotion than Tezuka, the sheer depth of it was fascinating to Fuji. Passion was often an curious thing to the languid, and the undeclared, smoldering passion of Tezuka was irresistible and fascinating to him.
Maybe that was why he strayed to Tezuka’s side that first time. What was closer than a kindred spirit? Another half? To find a trace of yourself in someone else?
All he knew was that the first match he lost against Tezuka wasn't a humbling, so much as a discovery.
