A Prince of Tennis fanfic. One-shot.
Alpha Pair a.k.a. SanaYuki

Story: P.S. I Love You

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis belongs to Konomi Takeshi.

Author's note: I cried writing this.

Please review!

Goodbye.

Yukimura woke, gasping for breath as his body trembled involuntarily. Coughing, he reached for the glass of water on his bedside table to soothe his throbbing throat. His hand shivered with strain as he brought the cup to his lips. But as the water went down his throat, he suddenly, and violently, coughed and choked, spilling water all over his shirt. Pushing the blanket aside, he slipped off the bed, walking slowly and wearily across to the other side of the sanitised room. He took the towel hanging from the hook by the door and began patting his shirt dry.

He would have to change it later. But right now, he was too tired. He no longer had the energy he possessed a few months ago. Drained, his body was slowly deteriorating, becoming heavier each and every day.

The surgery had failed.

The numbness of his body screamed to him that he would not – could not – last much longer. His time left could be counted in days now. Insomnia used to trouble him, but now, as he withered away, he could barely stay awake; only occasional sharp pains and nightmares would disturb his slumber.

As fatigue overwhelmed him again, he lay back onto the uncomfortable hospital bed and stared out the window. A butterfly, its delicate, black wings painted with magnificent orange stripes, flew past and reminded Yukimura of the past few years. He had been brilliant, at the insurmountable apex. He was everything everyone wanted to be. But this sickness, this crippling sickness, took it all away from him. The brilliance was too delicate. One touch and it shattered, crumbling like the butterfly's wings.

Yukimura's head began to throb again. He pressed his hand to his forehead, repressing his pain. Headaches were more frequent now, intensifying as his time became shorter. Sometimes he did not know why he still bothered to grasp onto life, when it was clearly impossible for him. He felt as if life was toying with him, letting him experience thrills and delights before snatching it all away in a flash. Life was bitterly ironical, he often thought. Staring at the butterfly, he drifted to sleep, allowing his consciousness to slip into dreams, where he could hide away from the omnipresent pain.

When he woke, Yanagi was sitting by his bed, reading a book. The curtains were drawn wide open and the bright sunlight shone intensely. "Renji," Yukimura muttered in a hoarse whisper, "can you please close the curtains?" Yanagi nodded and drew the curtains. He sat down again and looked at Yukimura. His captain seemed particularly frail today, dark rings under his half-closed eyes standing out against his pallid cheeks.

"I miss home," Yukimura said suddenly and Yanagi nodded, at a loss for words. Nowadays, it seemed he did not know what to say anymore. As his captain slipped further and further away towards the other world, words were more difficult to pick and express. "Where's Sanada?" Yukimura suddenly asked.

"He couldn't come today," Yanagi said. "The team came as well, but you were asleep and we didn't want to disturb you."

"I see," Yukimura said. He picked up the photo frame on his bedside table and stared at it. It was photo of the Rikkai regulars on the day the team was selected. Everyone had a wide grin on their faces and even Sanada had a suppressed smile. Yukimura remembered that day vividly, his heart ached with a sense of nostalgia and hopelessness, and a silent tear slid down his cheek.

Yanagi placed a hand on Yukimura's shoulder. Yukimura nodded and sighed. Visiting hours ended and Yanagi turned to leave. "Renji," Yukimura called out, "tell Sanada to come tomorrow. I have something to tell him."

"Yes. Goodbye."

"Goodbye," Yukimura's voice reverberated in the lonely, enclosed room, a sudden smile illuminating his wasted features.

The next morning, Sanada and Yanagi were awakened by a phone call from Yukimura's mother. Yukimura had passed away. He had departed when the first light of dawn streaked across the dark heavens. His words for Sanada were never said, buried forever along with his body.

The sky was grey on the day of the funeral. His family and friends were present, paying their last respects to their loved one. The team had lost their captain, their admired leader. The hope of avenging their Kantou loss seemed impossible now, and the hope of winning the nationals even more so.

Kirihara's eyes were bloated and swollen. His body shook with sorrowful disbelief as he bowed in front of Yukimura. "Buchou," he whispered, his shoulders heaving up and down as his words became lost in broken sobs, "why did you leave us behind?"

Sanada was next to pay his respects. He placed the white flower onto Yukimura's body. Yukimura looked so peaceful now. Perhaps the suffering became unbearable, and he finally decided to rest. Sanada took one last look at Yukimura before they closed the coffin lid. The pale cheeks would never regain its rosy blush, and those eyes would never open again. Yukimura had passed away. Forever. He would never come back.

After the ceremony, Yukimura's mother handed Sanada a sealed envelope. "It was his will," she said, "and this was addressed to you." Sanada nodded and took the envelope. His name was printed in Yukimura's elegant handwriting, the first character larger than the second as usual. He took the letter out and read it silently.

Sanada,

Do you remember the blue sky on the day we first met?

It was sunny and cloudless, and on that day, we shook hands and promised to be rivals and friends for as long as we live.

I'm sorry for not fulfilling our promise.

I would like to stay, to live, and to be with you forever. But I cannot last much longer.

Live your life happily and don't linger on the past. Live for me, for the dream that I could not live. Be fearless. Don't ever give up. Lead our team into the nationals. I believe in you.

Will you remember me forever?

Yukimura Seiichi

Beneath his signature, there were a few lines that were scribbled out, rewritten and scribbled out again. Then, gazing down the page, he finally reached the last message Yukimura wanted to tell him. In his elegant, cursive handwriting, these simple words, smudged slightly by tear stains, were printed:

P.S. I love you.

The heavens split open then and the rain poured down. Sanada stood motionlessly, his tears sliding off his cheeks, blending with the rain. The butterfly whose wings were destroyed by this traumatic illness was finally carried away by a dream that sheltered him from pain, fear and despair. His heart filled with sorrow, mourning for his best friend and captain. He wanted to see Yukimura again. He wished he could have relieved Yukimura of his pain, and even traded places with him. He wished he was the one lying in the grave and Yukimura the one living the life he deserved.

For a long time, he had wanted to tell, to confess something to Yukimura. But he never did. Now, it was too late, for Yukimura was in another world, separated by death. He looked at the grim, sombre sky and whispered,

"Yukimura, wait for me."

The thunder roared and lightning cracked, and Sanada collapsed in front of Yukimura's grave, repeating his name mournfully as tears rolled down his cheeks uncontrollably.

I Love You.

Please review.