title: plans
fandom: Prince of Tennis
characters/pairings: Tezuka/Fuji
rating: G
warnings: none
summary: Tezuka and Fuji, the future, and what they plan for it.
notes: for my peta, for her birthday, much late, and hopefully, just to give her a smile. *hugs her hard*

Tezuka always called on Sunday, usually late; at least, late where he was. Sometimes, that was Monday morning for Fuji, and sometimes, it was late into the night Sunday. No matter what time it was, Fuji always teased Tezuka about how inconsiderate it was, and Tezuka always apologized.

The next Sunday, though, Tezuka would call again, late for wherever he was.

Fuji dominated the conversation. Always. In fact, it was a good conversation if Tezuka got in ten words. Fuji would tell Tezuka about the pie Yumiko made for dessert, or how he was really into pottery just then. Fuji's choice of art college was entirely surprising to everyone, so there were always new things to explain. Tezuka was just playing tennis, after all. He would patiently listen, making the appropriate noises of interest at respectable intervals. Once, only once, Fuji asked Tezuka why he didn't talk more, and after a few moments' pause, Tezuka replied, I just want to hear your voice.

Tezuka was fond of email. Or rather, he wasn't, but he was fond of writing out his thoughts, and less fond of waiting for the postal service. Fuji expected, and was rarely disappointed, emails from Tezuka everyday. However, in his emails, Tezuka didn't really say anything more than Training was hard today, or I got a new racquet, but I'm not sure how I feel about it. His emails weren't exactly terse, or boring, but they lacked color. He never wrote about, for instance, what fancy restaurants he went to, or what celebrities he met. Fuji felt like Tezuka was writing about the things that were important to him, but it didn't give him a flavor of what Tezuka's life was like.

Rarely, about once a month, he got a letter from Tezuka. Most often, it was written with a ballpoint pen on ordinary paper, sometimes hotel stationary. The characters were likely to be messy, uncharacteristic of Tezuka, belying the speed at which he wrote the note. Whenever he received a letter, he saved the stamps, and burned the letters after reading them once. Those letters were only ever about one thing, and he didn't need to keep them to remember. Tezuka wrote about need.

He couldn't forget those words. Having them tangibly present on paper was redundant.

It was a Sunday, of course, because it was Tezuka's voice. Tezuka interrupted him, excusing himself. He wanted to know if Fuji wanted to come and see Wimbledon. Fuji didn't speak for a moment, because of course he wanted to go to Wimbledon. He'd played tennis for most of his youth; naturally he wanted to see Wimbledon in person. It was going to be Tezuka's first Wimbledon. He could sit in a box. Tezuka started to speak quickly, detailing out a rather complete plan for Fuji's visit.

It wasn't that Fuji didn't want to go. It had never occurred to him. Not once, in all the calls or emails or letters, the concept of going and visiting Tezuka... staying with him in the apartment his manager had rented for him. As shocking as the idea was, so was listening to Tezuka babble, or at least approximate the sound.

He'd believed, always, that Tezuka leaving would be a semi-permanent thing. Tezuka would go, and he would have his life, and it would be over there, and Fuji would have his life in Japan. Tezuka would come home, because it was home, and he would visit, but their lives would exist in separate arenas. After Tezuka retired, he'd come back to Japan, possibly with a wife.

Fuji had planned on seducing Tezuka then, and having a torrid affair. It would have been the perfect thing to do in their midlife.

Tezuka was suggesting something else.

Well? Fuji. What do you think?

He thought about the letters he'd burned. He thought about the emails that were filling up his computer. The regular calls, and how he wanted to hear Tezuka's voice, just like Tezuka wanted to hear his.

They could meet, visit. See each other. He could watch Tezuka play. At Wimbledon.

Fuji smiled softly, and licked his lips.

Somehow, Tezuka continued to surprise him. It was infuriating, but he couldn't say absolutely that he minded.

That's expensive, isn't it? Will it be worth my while?

He held his breath while he waited for Tezuka's response. Would Tezuka blush? Would he follow the innuendo? Would he even catch it?

Only one way to know, right?

Fuji laughed, because, of course, he already knew.

Will you still call me on Sundays? While I'm there, I mean. Will you send me emails? I've gotten used to it.

For a moment, Tezuka was silent, but then, Fuji was nearly sure, he heard Tezuka lick his lips.

Anything you want.

And of course, that was exactly what Fuji wanted to hear, exactly what he needed to hear if he was going to change his plans.