Chapter Text
That last ball floated slowly past the net and into a corner his opponent could never reach. At least, that's how it seemed to Tezuka. He did not hear the announcement, that he scored the tournament point, that he had won Wimbledon. He had known that since the ball hit his racket.
Up, he looked, to the audience. People clapped, smiled, cheered for him in English, Japanese, other languages.
But Fuji wasn’t there.
So he did the best thing he could and showed a smile, hoping the brunet was not so angry that he did not watch him.
*
“2 years,” Fuji had whispered in his ear, 2 years ago.
Tezuka had looked up from his computer. “Hmm?”
“I’ll give you two years. You will quit your job and do nothing but prepare for Wimbledon.”
“Impossible. How will….”
“I will work.” Fuji had run his fingers through Tezuka’s hair. “Do not argue. It’s something I want for myself as well, seeing you there.”
Of course he had argued, but Fuji had run him down, tackling every one of his objections in the following weeks. When he had finally agreed, he had managed to work in a clause, that he would quit after that and help realize Fuji’s dream.
It had all been more expensive than they had thought, but Fuji had peservered, working full-time and on the weekend in the beginning. His book with photos had sold reasonably well, leaving him the option to quit his weekend job and help Tezuka prepare.
When he did not play Fuji, he would challenge any Japanese player he could find. Atobe was quite amused by his goal and been generous enough to allow him to make use of his facilities.
Then he had played in tournaments, again and again. And finally it had been enough for a wild card for Wimbledon.
But also so much that he barely saw Fuji. When he did see him, tired and pale, he felt nothing but guilt. It had all come to a head the day he left Japan, when he had found out about the camera.
Fuji’s eyes had shifted when Tezuka asked him why he did not bring it out for a last picture, as he had expected. The moment he realized Fuji had sold it to pay for his plane ticket, the stress and guilt got the best of him.
When he had finished accusing Fuji of dishonesty and meddlesomeness, Fuji had no longer looked at him. Without saying another word, he had left their apartment. Tezuka had called out for him, but Fuji did not listen, and the taxi waited. If he wanted to pay Fuji back, he would have to win Wimbledon.
*
And now Tezuka had.
Fuji watched Tezuka’s opponent, the Colombian Sebastian Perez, come to the net to shake his hand. Holding a pillow, Fuji had barely dared to watch during the tension-filled five-set match. Occasionally he had sipped from his tea, the caffeine making him more nervous than he had already been.
This was what he worked for the last two years. To see Tezuka receive the cup and smile like he did so rarely. He had seen the smile, right into his view. The British commentator had joked about it, already having the measure of his stoicism.
Now the microphone came in his direction. Tezuka wiped the sweat from his forehead with his hand and bowed at the interviewer.
“You are the first male player from Japan to win on these courts. How does it feel?”
“It has been a great honor to be here,” Tezuka said with his slight accent. “I hope it will inspire more young people in Japan to take up tennis.”
“Had you expected to get this far in the tournament?” the interviewer asked.
“There were so many great players at Wimbledon.” Tezuka nodded at Perez. “It was a privilege to play against him. Yet I had to win.”
“You had to…?”
“There is someone who gave up a lot just so I could play here.”
Fuji nervously took a sip of his tea. If Tezuka was going to say ‘Atobe’, it would be over between them.
“Your parents?”
“They have been very supportive. But I meant my boyfriend.”
Fuji spit out his tea, his eyes widening as he stared at the T.V. Had Tezuka really just admitted…?
The interviewer paused for a few seconds, while the noise in the crowd swelled. People behind Tezuka were whispering and staring at him. Some clapped and cheered.
“I spoke harsh words to him when I left. I hope he will allow me to still stay with him. He did not deserve any of it.”
“Is he here today?” the interviewer asked eagerly.
Tezuka shook his head. “We did not have the financial means to buy one more ticket.”
“Well, you will now,” she said with a smile.
“Yes.” Tezuka nodded. “Thank you.”
*
He stood by respectfully as they interviewed Perez, but Tezuka’s attention was on the audience. People whispered, looked at him, and he knew that most did not talk about the match. The rush of adrenaline had diminished. Worry crept up on him. What would his parents say? Would the people in his country embrace him, or resent him for drawing the attention to his relationship?
Then he saw an old couple, three rows up. The woman smiled at him, while the man stuck up his thumb. Tezuka took a deep breath and relaxed.
What was important now were Fuji and their future together. Tezuka hoped he had not gone so far that his Fuji would leave him.
There had been no sponsors for him at the beginning of the tournament, but now he would be flooded with requests, he knew. Still, the first calls he made were to airline companies, to make sure he would get a ticket home as soon as possible.
*
From the moment he booked his ticket, Tezuka took as many interviews as he could, to make up for his quick departure.
More questions about Fuji had been asked, but he had politely declined answering them until he was sure Fuji would be fine with it.
Evening fell when he had still been on the plane, and he arrived at their doorstep at nine o’clock. Tezuka took a deep breath. For all he knew Fuji had left their apartment for good. Perhaps he would even take up with one of those that always swarmed around him. If he had, not even his Wimbledon title would make up for it.
He turned the key and walked in. The hallway was dark, but Tezuka heard the noise of the television from the next room. Kicking off his shoes, he put down his luggage and entered the living room. Fuji slept on the sofa, remote control fallen from his hand. He had lost weight and looked pale. Tezuka felt a stab of guilt. He knew very well he had been the cause. He sat down next to Fuji, but did not wake him up. Instead he watched the sports channel.
Oishi was on the television, looking extremely nervous with all the press surrounding him. Tezuka had to admire the reporters for having flushed him out so soon.
“Did he always play like that?” an old reporter asked.
“He was our pillar at school. We won the nationals thanks to him.”
A young woman shoved her microphone into his face. “Do you know his boyfriend?”
“Does he play tennis too?” A bald man added.
“We all played together.” Oishi bowed. “You’d better ask them.”
“Where is he now you think?”
Oishi ran away. “I don’t know!”
Fuji stirred, so Tezuka gently laid his hand on his arm. Suddenly the shorter boy jerked up and stared at him. When realization hit Fuji, he did not relax, but edged further away from Tezuka.
“I bought you a camera,” Tezuka started, nervously. “I hope it’s one you like. Perez recommended it to me.”
“You should be in England, talking to sponsors,” Fuji said curtly.
“How can I stay one minute longer, after what I did?”
Fuji said nothing, glanced away from him to the television.
“I should have been grateful instead of angry. I made a horrible mistake.”
“You mentioned me to the whole world.”
“Shouldn’t I have?” Tezuka asked. “I saw this as the best way to prove my commitment to you. ”
"You told me you had had enough." Fuji's voice broke. "I thought you wanted to leave me."
Tezuka took his hands in his and kissed them both, before leaning his face against them.
Fuji swallowed, looked away.
"I will work for five years to build your dream, if needs be."
"Stay with me," Fuji whispered.
"And what else?"
"Just that, for now."
Tezuka nodded, eager to make things right. "I never thought I would talk about my private life like that."
Finally Fuji’s eyes met his and a bit of a smile appeared. “You do realize you are going to be the face for gay athletes now.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I am tired of hiding.”
Fuji shifted closer, taking his left hand between his own. “This won Wimbledon.”
Tezuka sighed when Fuji kissed it. Their arms came around each other, Tezuka nuzzling his hair. “Did you still watch me?”
“What did you think?”
Caressing his back, Tezuka could finally feel the joy of winning flood over him. “I won Wimbledon,” he said, only now getting through to him what it meant.
“Yes, you did.” Fuji chuckled. “And you should go back to England.”
“I need you first.” Tezuka rushed his lips over Fuji’s throat, raining kisses on it.
Fuji arched his back, moaning at the sudden onslaught. They had not had sex for weeks and Tezuka’s sudden fury stirred up passions in him as well. He grabbed at Tezuka’s shirt, undoing the buttons and trying to pull it off.
Tezuka was having none of it. He pinned the shorter boy down on the sofa and loomed over him. “Today I will please you.”
So he slowly took off all Fuji’s clothes, kissing and caressing the skin that he revealed. Fuji lay back, his arms behind him, reveling in the attention.
He let out a gasp when Tezuka pulled down his underwear, leaving him naked and exposed before him. It had been a long time since they had been shy in front of the other, and Tezuka did not want to give embarrassment a chance. He therefore lowered his head and took Fuji into his mouth.
Fuji’s moan could be felt more than heard.