MIZERABLE

Author: playgirl_eugene

Pairing: Fuji/Ryoma, Fuji/OC, OC/Ryoma, others for later

Genre: AU, drama, romance, slice-of-life

Warning(s): slash/yaoi/male x male, explicit sexual situations, dub-consensual

Rating: M/NC-18/R

Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis and all of the characters, including the original plot and situations, are created and owned by Konomi Takeshi-sensei. This fic is purely fictional and I do not earn profit of any kind and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Summary: Between them, there's always a fine line. But even then, does it matter anyway?

Author Note: Mizerable is one of the stories that I always have to revise again and again every time I re-read the whole thing just to dive in deeper to the character's thoughts because it's not easy, writing in first person. Anyway, not that much changes here, but there are a couple of one-liners that I slipped in just to make Ryoma's thoughts a little more… uh, humorous.

- x - x - x -

Prologue: "It'd be way easier if you were though…"

I always thought that Fuji-senpai was… strong.

Until I found out that he was more "smart" than "strong."

- x – x – x –

So yeah. Sometimes, people would ask me, what do I think about Fuji Shusuke?

Well, none of their fucking business.

Or at least, it was true that my opinion of him was none of their business, the fact remained that I really didn't know (no, I was not about to tell them that either). I've never given much thought about it before, not until recently. And it still wasn't their business, was it?

To the people around him, Fuji Shusuke might have been a "classified situation," maybe even a phenomenon. Like natural disaster. Some people adore him, some don't. There was that (jealousy that is) but then, there was hate as well.

He was a natural born talent, a tensai.

But then again, so was I.

When it started, he was someone who just happened to be there. He was always around, but nothing more than that.

That was until buchou made us fight it out like school girls that rainy day. And something between us changed, sparked, awakened. Whatever. I didn't know if I like it or not though.

To me, Fuji-senpai was a decent opponent and someone I'd call senpai and actually mean it (some seniors just didn't act the parts).

I guess, looking back now, there were some things similar between us. We had unhealthy egos, for one. We both had something to do that we didn't really wanted to, but we dealt with pressure differently. I did it with lots of tennis, lots of snarking and lots of harassing my senpai-tachi for free burgers.

Him, he did it with indifferent smiles and channelling his leftover energy into the art of torturing people for fun. Hmm. Evil.

We were not exactly oil and water because I probably should say something more fitting like tennis and rain. No, I didn't mean it as a pun.

So, when Fuji-senpai kind of… bounced on me a few days after our match, I was scared. No, I didn't even care about my pride anymore.

"Nee, Echizen-chaaaan! Let's warm up together, ne?"

He sounded, uh not so sane.

Granted, not exactly Inui-senpai insane, but he was still that: mentally unhimged and close enough really. That was saying something because Inui-senpai brought the word to a whole new level when he was trying to turn us, unfortunate souls, into his lab rats. And then, Inui-senpai was reunited with his childhood friend.

Now their talk was creepy.

They called it "scientific discussion." I called for bullshit because "doctor" and "professor" must be some kind of bedroom kinks and safewords and all those huge words must be some kind of verbal foreplay (I ended up getting reprimanded by a mortified Oishi-senpai for "Language, Echizen!"), while Kikumaru-senpai folded his arms and sagely muttered something like, it was hormones and mentioned something about some river in Egypt.

In my humble opinion, I thought Kaidou-senpai and Inui-senpai had something going on. There had to be some reason why Kaidou-senpai's morning jog passed Inui-senpai's house twice. Inui-senpai crossed me as the sadistic type and something about Kaidou-senpai just rubbed that instinct. They gave off the feeling of "rawr, eww, horny."

Something like that. I was too lazy to make much sense.

Kikumaru-senpai, Momo-senpai, and the three guys from my year, the ladies, the usual, were excited with the prospect of a hot, forbidden, steamy love triangle (the fuck was that) like it was Hollywood's front page headline.

Buchou seemed pissed, always giving them laps whenever. People would normally think that he was upset with their slacking off, I'd personally bet it was because he was still sore with that little incident when his affair with a certain king of monkey was outted to the public like a buy-three-for-ten announcement at open-spree fish market.

I heard it from Momo-senpai, who heard from Kikumaru-senpai, who heard from Horio, who heard it from that noisy Oka-female-something, who heard it from some "reliable resources" from Hyoutei, who heard it from the tensai of Hyoutei, who heard it from the saru-sama himself that they were dating.

They were dating.

I had always taken buchou as tennis-sexual. How did he ended up with stupid saru-sama, I'd never know. I didn't think saru-sama was even evolved enough to understand that they were not the same species and could have sex; buchou was questionably human, him not so much. And no, I never wanted to know either.

It shattered my delicate childhood dream and I liked to think it made me vulnerable.

And I was getting sidetracked again. So, Fuji-senpai and his apparent attempt of being friendly.

Back then, I was closer to Momo-senpai and Kikumaru-senpai, he was closer to Kawamura-senpai and maybe even buchou.

We weren't exactly enemies, or even rivals. But we were just never close. He was a third-year and we were fine playing the amicable-strangers-working-in-somewhat-close-contact part. We never felt the need to make small talks—unless it involved something important, like tennis—and mostly because we didn't talk much in normal human capacity (okay, so he was mostly quiet in that diabolical, evil-genius-plotting-to-world-domination kind of way and I always made someone or two dozen feeling murderous when I opened my mouth, so) we had that unspoken agreement of peace between us.

Not that I didn't like him. I voted for neutrality. You know, like how America adopted Lend-Lease act for neutrality in World War II? Yeah, something like that. I felt like bombing something. Or just overall homicidal.

Fuji-senpai was just weird. He looked like a fox and his smile, the one that looked like a permanent facial dent on his face, made him look even more suspicious, like he was permanently up to something no good.

I didn't like his smile (because hate was a strong word for someone I didn't know that well), maybe because I hate cheery, pretentious people in general and I could never guess what he was thinking inside that messed up place he called mind.

Fuji-senpai had… habits. They were not particularly, uh disturbing. I'd say dainty, but even that wasn't quite right. Fuji-senpai had always been kind of girly for a straight guy. His otouto's so-called boyfriend (otouto-kun said no, but whatever) screamed gay in huge, bold letters. Compared to that creep in faux-drag, I settled with dainty for Fuji-senpai.

At least, Fuji-senpai would make a vaguely pretty girl.

Being around him for a while, even someone as thick as Momo-senpai would start to pick up things, like how his fingers would touch his lower lip when he laughed behind his hand or the way he tugged his hair behind his left ear, or the way he titled his head with that incorrigible tainted innocence he often displayed.

Fuji-senpai must've used a woman's shampoo, maybe his mother's or his sister's, or his girlfriend's. His hair was way too pretty. And he always smelled nice, like baby powder and clean soap. That was definitely not how most boys his age should smell like after being the mercy end of buchou's and Inui-senpai's combined training programs.

Long story short, this person had reached some levels of understanding with me. He was a decent opponent when we did play occasionally and he was never too noisy or meddlesome. Things were super fine and dandy.

At least, I was fine with ignoring him unless we were doing something important (like, a game match or if he offered to buy me lunch).

Outside the court, Fuji-senpai was almost, well… normal. Normal in a way a sociopath went bone collecting kind of normal. That was something odd in this dysfunctional community that made Seigaku tennis team. He was polite, soft-spoken, helpful even, never mind that his tennis game made me think about S and M porno.

I had seen how some people just overshadowed him. Take buchou for example, then saru no taichou. There was that girly looking captain from Rikkai.

Bandage boy.

Fuji-senpai was kind of easy to miss in the crowd. He might keep the attention when he got it, but really, when saru-sama strutted the way he did in purple and pink, Fuji-senpai just didn't stand a chance.

He blended in easy, not too tall or too intimidating in appearance, not too loud, not anything actually. Somehow, I felt a little disappointed. Fuji-senpai was kind of boring.

That was, until that day.

- x – x – x –

People had called me all different kinds of genius in my life. They called me all sorts of teasing bastard too, but I didn't care about that, did I?

They assumed that birds of a feather flocked together and shit (not so sure about Fuji-senpai, but I was not a bird and I did not flock or act feathery in any way), so they thought that asking me would help make sense of Fuji Shusuke. Ceh, some people.

But for someone to understand the inner working of Fuji-senpai's mind, someone had to be obnoxious, twisted and diabolically genius. Honestly, I didn't think I was that smart—no, the right world would be mentally degraded.

That being said, it made sense that the reason why he suddenly decided that it was a good idea to came on me during morning practice and acted as if I was his fidus Achates or something equally senseless and mushy, was completely out of me.

He looked so goddamned happy, I knew someone slipped him too much sugar. Well, either that or he had gotten laid. Not that I wanted to know about my senpai's sex life at twelve, but you couldn't live with Echizen Nanjirou without being sexually and emotionally harassed on a daily basis and by the way, I was so going to tell mom that he had been teaching me, uh bad words.

And show me bad, bad pictures. Hah!

Anyway, Fuji-senpai used to call me Echizen-kun, but that day he didn't. Much as I became used to the many bundles of rainbow-vomit and sunshine that littered the place since I returned to Japan, I was never comfortable with nicknames that suggested something offending about my height and my face.

It was a little different when Kikumaru-senpai gave me stupid nicknames (I was pretty sure Kikumaru-senpai was not really sub-human species, not really meaning he was half-might-be) when Fuji-senpai did. I felt ten times more annoyed and insulted.

I tried the ignore tactic. Apparently, it didn't sit well with him. It might be just be, but I felt like he was trying to make a point by calling me with that stupid, humiliating nickname, drawing out the "aa" like he was trying to annoy me.

Could I kill him and throw his body without buchou knowing? If I did it, buchou would probably make me run laps until I lose my leg or both because Fuji was an important member of the team and we were going to the nationals after all.

But I think buchou wanted do it himself sometimes. I mean, judging by the unhealthy amount of veins popping every time Fuji-senpai did something, he might or might not have wanted to strangle Fuji-senpai or just make him run laps until next apocalypse.

I remembered that one time when Fuji-senpai sprained his wrist after he went hiking (who the hell in their right mind went hiking in the middle of freaking summer a week before the regional, oh right, Fuji-senpai did) and had to take a week rest from training.

He didn't have anything to kill time with. So he decided to kill us instead. It was a week of hell, and I mean it literally.

Hmm, maybe I should ask buchou to join me because we'd need all the help we can get. Saru-sama could play the sponsor or something. If anything went wrong and Fuji-senpai decided to get back at us, we could just push everything on to him; I don't think buchou would mind that much.

So anyway, counting back to why I had this sudden homicidal urge to kill him again: Fuji-senpai offered to be my warming-up partner, which was weird and unusual but fine, it was the way that he called me was not. I was feeling just a little disoriented and moody.

So naturally, I snapped.

"Stop it with the "-chan" thingy. I'm not a girl."

I was being rude and I really should've though about my mortal wellbeing before I yap away. But Fuji-senpai just giggled—yes people, giggle—and made a weird hand motion.

"Tee hee, I know. Of course I know! But you're still cute enough. I like cute things, you know."

He winked. And for a moment, I could only blink.

I think he just made a pass on me.

Contrary to the belief that my being thicker than Momo-senpai (which was offending, by the way), I didn't miss it when someone was hitting on me (Fuji-senpai wasn't so much hitting as punching with that one, really).

I wasn't completely clueless, by the way. I probably knew more about sex and creating babies than anyone else in the damn school; why would I miss something like that?

Guys talked me up all the time and older men tried to feel me up and under, something that worried my mom pretty much though oyaji got the kick of it (because he thought it was hilarious that I took up the role of blushing maiden or something equally perverted, that old bastard). As long as they didn't take up on the raping me in locked broom closets, I'd learned to let the world bypass me.

Just because I just didn't do kiss and tell, it didn't mean that I was a clueless, innocent little virgin (the virgin part was a questionable aspect, but the rest, not so and I'd kill someone if I heard the word little again).

I simply thought that crushing Kikumaru-senpai's delusions about my spotless innocence would be too inconvenient since he would probably cry his eyes out. Then, Oishi-senpai would know because Kikumaru-senpai knew. Oishi-senpai would probably panicked for a few weeks and then attempt to give me the talk, you know, the birds and the bees and the fuck why they called it that never failed to amaze me.

I'd poke my eyes with chopstick and hang myself when that happened. It was Oishi-senpai, that was just sooo wrong.

Fuji-senpai wasn't exactly the most subtle flirt by far, but the fact that it was Fuji-senpai freaked me. You know, like when someone poked you in the nose with catnip when you were not feeling catty, which was never on a normal human being like me? Yeah, that kind of feeling.

"It'd be easier if you were though…"

My brain kind of stuttered and stopped for two seconds. I didn't think he meant for me to hear it, but I sort of did anyway.

If I were what?

It took me ten seconds to put it together. Now usually, I was decent at math. Two and two was grade school, but this was a little bit more complicated than that. Or at least, like Trigonometry. Fucking senseless.

Then it hit me like a Scud Drive on the face (and it kinda dent my precious teeth in somewhat).

He was hitting on me. I knew that Fuji-senpai had some kind of attention on me and he often stared at me until I felt like doing something stupid like bouncing on my head or something just to feel less awkward.

But he had just looked. He never touched.

I thought it was just concern. Curiosity.

I thought he was straight.

Was he in a phase where he wanted to try it out with guys or something? Hormones? Hormones made us do the crazies. I'd know—I did a lot of things because of that. Like, agreeing to move back with my old man and all that shit. The only good thing that came from there was Seigaku (and that was even questionable sometimes when Inui-senpai was forcing toxic waste down our delicate throats).

So being the in-a-way-socially impaired people that we were, we said nothing. We worked in a relatively calm, awkward as hell but calm. Usually, that was good and all, but somehow I'd rather be somewhere else, with anyone else at the time.

Momo-senpai and Kaidou-senpai looked as if they were about to bite each other's head off and Kikumaru-senpai looked as if he was about to have a nervous breakdown and cry or both because Inui-senpai was looking at him like he was thinking of ways to slip some new, mysterious concoctions in his water bottle.

I'd change with them if I just could get out of this vaguely sexual harassment situation with Fuji-senpai, but apparently, except for Inui-senpai and buchou—and me—no one was willing to partner up with Fuji-senpai (even Inui-senpai mentioned that pairing with Fuji-senpai didn't give him any new data to help improve his Penal Tea).

I'm not saying that Fuji-senpai was evil, he was just—well, okay. So he was kinda evil. But he wasn't so bad. I'd seen worse. Everyone knew that. Yes, by everyone I mean even buchou and Inui-senpai. So when Fuji-senpai decided that he wanted me, no one would try to say otherwise. They seemed happy to leave him to me.

Cowards; I was younger than them. I felt so betrayed by my senior figures that it fucked up with my impressionable youth.

I thought that Fuji-senpai was just being Fuji-senpai and he was screwing around with my head so I didn't think much. And guess what, huge mistake. I mean, I wasn't a stupid kid—not by far, I knew I got my mom's brain because there was no way I got oyaji's—but I guess I was a little thick headed back then.

And really, I should've given my instinct a little more credit. Which was to run away, as far as physically possible.

He was straight. He was hitting on me, a boy. Then, he held some sort of ambition that I was a girl.

Wow, he was more fucked up than I thought. Or maybe it was just me. I was never one to give a flying fuck about someone being gay, straight or even bi. I mean, sex was still sex, right? I mean, when you feel good, then who the fuck cares.

I think I was violated. No? Yes. Fuck, yes. I was.

He was sexually harassing me. Not obviously, but you just knew these things when it happened.

Fuji-senpai touched (read my lips: groped) me a lot more than never. And I let him. Why wouldn't I? I allowed Kikumaru-senpai. Fuji-senpai wasn't half as bad (he didn't try to cut off my air or anything). Though his intentions might be a little more sordid than Kikumaru-senpai's could ever be, but whatever.

I liked to think that I had a pretty good judgement of people. Sensible. Sort of. Mom did. But then, look at who she ended up marrying. I kind of got it from here.

Fuji-senpai looked at buchou with obvious respect and understanding. If Fuji-senpai ever did turn out gay, I think he might be all over buchou (but as you can guess, it didn't happen that way). He looked at saru-sama with dislike, maybe a little bit of begrudging acknowledgement and the sentiment was… reciprocated.

The way he looked at his brother was, uh interesting.

On me, it was… hard to say. I wasn't so good in Japanese to put a name to it, but if you have a name for curiosity, confusion, denial and misguided fondness, call me. No, really. Like call me. Or just leave a voicemail, whatever. He looked like he couldn't understand me (hah!) and himself for trying to anyway.

I didn't know what brought on this sudden change in our so-called relationship, if there was any. I didn't push it away either. I was good at pushing people away when they tried to come close, but I could never really push them away when they did come close.

- x – x – x –

A week later, I found him and some girl from third year getting frisky at a deserted corner in the library during after-hour duty, hand under the skirt and all that. I raised an eyebrow and stared for a grand five seconds before turning to put away some books some irresponsible seniors left after an evening of cramming fest for exams.

I wasn't surprised. Perhaps it was because I was cool-as-fish (again, their words not mine and that sounded just stupid) or it was my lacking adrenalin (no, I don't care even if adrenalin had nothing to do with my late-reacting nerves). I just thought that Fuji-senpai had more sense than that. Honestly, the school library? That was cliché to the max, worse than buchou's decision to date saru no taichou.

I don't really give a damn even if someone saw them. I just didn't want to be the one to clean up later (because eww, bodily fluids and eww, it was Fuji-senpai's).

After that, rumours had it that Fuji-senpai had girlfriends. As in, girlfriends. I didn't even know how to start emphasizing the 's' without going about being overly excessive rather than more than one.

…

Okay, so more than several. Some two dozen with extras didn't even start to cover it. He had one and then another after fifteen minutes recess. Sometimes, he had two or even three at one-go.

Not one of his relationships was long enough for people to remember faces. He went through them faster than Kawamura-senpai went through rackets (and Inui-senpai through lab victims put together). I think his record was three weeks. He looked like he was trying out for a Guinness World Record or something.

The boys kept raving about how lucky Fuji-senpai was. Every one of his girlfriends had been (their words not mine) fucking hot.

Buchou and Inui-senpai thought it was best to leave him alone and sort it out by himself. Oishi-senpai just fretted and Kikumaru-senpai found it strange how his relationships ended without anyone knowing what or why when because it seemed to be pretty serious when it started.

The girls always left him furious and broken-hearted before the break-up came swift and painful. No one really expected that coming from Fuji-senpai. He was, uh genteel.

When it started, it exploded. Not in a good way. Then again, it was a gossip community—everything tended to be overblown in focus and out-of-proportion. There were so many versions of childhood trauma to unrequited love to simply being loose with women.

It died down eventually, but Fuji-senpai seemed to have assumed some kind of bachelor playboy mansion throne and the guys paid their due respect. And of course, the girls—lines of them, from here to the next neighbourhood, because Fuji-senpai had a nice face and a nice voice and a nice everything.

I wasn't too overly close to him so I didn't mind. It wasn't my business.

…

But gee. Personally, I have always thought that he was gay.

- x – x – x –

I always thought that Fuji-senpai was… strong.

Until I found out that he was more "smart" than "strong."

- x – x – x –

… Turns out, he wasn't so smart after all.

Seven years later found one Echizen Ryoma tossing in his bed, attempting to block out the sound of the world, or mostly, the front door's buzzer. Not five minutes ago, some bastard had the gall to ring him at—what, it was fucking two in the morning—and had him awake, but he refused to leave the warmth of his bed.

So, cursing the world into the preferable next week, he groaned and buried his head further into his pillow.

It was fucking two in the morning and he had all the right in the world to ignore whoever it was banging on his door. They could've had the decency to wait another four hours or eight if they wanted something.

Yet, the bastard outside was persistent as hell.

Not wanting to risk the neighbours, especially Sugayama-baba next door, yelling his ears off the next morning and leaving a lasting buzz in his head for the next three days, he begrudgingly slid out of bed.

Grunting with irritation, he tossed his blanket aside and stomped to the door. Damn low blood pressure, they always made him crankier than usual.

Nearly tearing the door from its hinge, Ryoma put on his best glare at his late-night, uninvited offender and snapped, "What!"

It was a muscled, dark-skinned looking young man with short, spiked blond hair and pierced ears. He was wearing a sheepish, apologetic look. He shot a look at the sloppy form slung around his shoulders and Ryoma followed his gaze.

Fuji was barely standing, out drunk, even with Mitani supporting his weight.

Mitani, as he remembered the bleached blond, dark-skinned man that was a part of Fuji's circle of somewhat close friends, had the decency to flush. Apparently, this was somehow his fault (or Ryoma just had that uncanny ability to make people feel like that), or at least a part of it.

Although, even in his half-asleep state, Ryoma still thought that Mitani's reddening face was out of place. He wasn't exactly properly dressed to come out of a bedroom and was somewhat popular at campus, but it didn't warrant anything for straight guys.

His face was half-delicate, not exactly girlish but still pretty, even if his attitude left people wanting to strangle him or just break down and cry. He wasn't so flighty as he was moody and had a face full of complaints and temper friction issues. The girls at campus cooed over his manga-like look and squealed that he was a perfect tsundere bishounen (girls, and their obsession for troubled pretty boys).

Ryoma narrowed his eyes, blurry and unfocussed from sleepiness and the lack of lighting, but his glare turned hardened when he saw the dead weight slung over Mitani's neck. He didn't even look at Mitani when he said, "Why couldn't you just dump him on the street and let me have a decent night sleep? The police's gonna return him in two days anyway."

It was kind of heartless, even for his standard.

Mitani winced but decided to play it smart and didn't comment. Instead, he looked down and settled on trying to be invisible. He glanced and might have gulped a little when he caught glimpse of the thin waist and pale flesh exposed by Ryoma's low riding track pants.

Mitani was sure that he strictly liked girls (pretty girls with cute face and F-cup, hell, he was a normal guy) and didn't have the slightest bit interest in experimenting because the idea just came off to him as weird, even if he could deal with homosexual friends as long as they didn't come on him.

But Echizen Ryoma was just above all that.

Ryoma leaned his right forearm against the door panel, placing the other hand on his hips, and raised an eyebrow as if waiting for an explanation. Something about the way he looked that made Mitani think he was compelled to explain, and maybe just be a little more careful about what he said, lest it got Fuji into trouble. Because no one at campus was really sure about what went on between the two of them anyway.

Mitani coughed awkwardly and lowered his head. "Actually, me and the others kinda dragged him earlier and uh, forced some down on him, since it was Saegusa's birthday and all. I-I really told the others to go easy on him, but uh they didn't and we didn't think that he'd become like this and, uh… umm… well, you see…" He stammered, thinking feeling like he should've prepared something before; write it down on his palm or something.

At least, now he knew why the others disappeared so quickly when someone asked who would be taking Fuji home.

If anything, Echizen Ryoma was known for his steam-train-like temper. Mitani was not about to test the truth of that rumour, ignoring the fact that Ryoma was small for someone his age (he heard you say that and it would be your head rolling off). He was at least a head shorter than Mitani, but the way he glared made him seem just bigger.

Ryoma didn't really care how Fuji ended up like that more than the fact that he was the one who had to pick-up the messes after. Ryoma thought he should just dump ice water on him or something and slam the door to his face.

"Oi, snap out of it! Fuji!" He snapped, grabbing and shaking Fuji's head with his hands and startling Mitani. "Drag your sorry ass inside yourself or freeze to death for all I care. On second thought, just stay here and freeze."

Fuji mumbled and slurred something in return and Ryoma rolled his eyes. He grabbed Fuji by the collar and nodded curtly to Mitani before he started to literally haul Fuji inside, smirking slightly when Fuji bumped his nose on the panel and whined in pain.

Mitani stared, wanting to help and at the same time, wanting to excuse himself before the younger man snap or something equally terrible. He opened his mouth, but Ryoma saved him from making a choice as he muttered a curt doumo and slammed the door to his face.

Well, that was that.

When they said that Echizen Ryoma was one icy bitch, they weren't bluffing.

Mitani stood in front of the closed door for a minute, wincing when he heard Fuji throwing up, followed by a loud bang. It sounded worrying, because Mitani really didn't want to think about what Echizen would do to Fuji for that move.

Maybe he should knock and check, but then he thought the better when he remembered the glare Echizen shot him earlier.

As Mitani walked down the last flight of stairs, he faintly wondered how did those two ended up rooming together. They were polar opposites and Echizen wasn't exactly Mr. Sunshine around Fuji either. Everyone knew and talked about how they had a history together, but no one really knew for sure how Fuji ended up living together with the resident Alaskan Queen.

There were rumours about their relationship, from version A to Z-part-two and sequel, which wasn't so weird because Fuji popular with tons of friends and girlfriends in his directory, while Echizen was a loner who refused to socialize like a normal human being.

It didn't make sense: a playboy like Fuji having something or anything scandalous with another male, especially someone like Echizen Ryoma.

Well, it hadn't been so bad in front of them like it was behind. It took only one glare (that promised painful, painful things) from a certain bad-tempered Echizen to keep them out of his life. Fuji's reputation wasn't exactly saintly either.

Not his business anyway.

Shrugging, Mitani took out his car key and decided to get home as soon as possible for a quick hot bath and make do the last four hours for some much needed some sleep. He had a hangover to deal with tomorrow.

- x – x – x –

Ryoma dumped Fuji on the couch and tapped his foot impatiently. Considering that the brunet was considerably taller and heavier than him, it took quite an effort too.

Bending slightly over his former senpai's dismal form, the smell of beer and intense floral perfume made him frown.

This was something that became a routine after the first ten times. Just two years ago, he'd have dumped Fuji on the hallway and hit back to the sacks. But annoying and bothersome as it was, he couldn't bring himself to ignore it. He was becoming too accustomed with this pattern and sometimes wondered if things would still be the same without it.

That might be a good thing, but still a new thing all over again and Ryoma was never good with new things.

Sighing, he unbuttoned the first three buttons of the Fuji's blue shirt and loosened anything that might be restricting, cuffs to belt.

Gathering his coat and shawl—scowling at that indefinable stain that was going to be a bitch to remove—Ryoma went to the kitchen adjacent to the living room and dumped the clothes into the laundry hamper.

He took out a basin and handtowels from the kitchen cabinet and placed it on the counter. He ignored the pained groans from the general direction of the living room as he made a mug of warm rosemary tea, adding honey ginger and lemon. He contemplated adding arsenic, but then thought about the troubles he had to go through to hide the body and decided that it just wasn't worth it.

Then, he took out the first aid box he kept in the lower left shelf.

When he walked back to the living room, he found Fuji vomiting on the floor, knocking his forehead against the small coffee table and sending some of the things on top of it to the floor. Ryoma's only consolation was that it would bruise pretty nasty in a few days.

He darkly thought that Fuji had better started praying to whatever god he believed in that Ryoma owed him someone's life in the past life, and he better pay for the carpet's dry cleaning.

Ryoma sighed, tucking the basin under Fuji's face and waited until he stopped. He didn't try to make Fuji any more comfortable but he still gathered Fuji's hair and pulled them back from his face until the older man slumped back against the sofa.

Ryoma used a wet tissue to wipe the fair face half-covered in perspiration and sick before heading back to the kitchen to fetch his mop. He wondered if he should just dump the content of the mop bucket on Fuji rather than dragging him under the cold shower, before he suddenly remembered that he'd be ruining that sofa—the cleaning fee would cost his leg—and he still had to clean it up afterward.

So much for his evil plans.

Fifteen minutes later, Ryoma was forcing the rosemary tea down Fuji's throat. Fuji was whining and struggling and Ryoma promised himself to hide the hangover pills and the likes just to be mean.

Ryoma took out a bottle of disinfectant from the first aid box and uncorked the cap. He picked a cotton bud, dipped the tip and pulled on Fuji's left arm; revealing scrapes and chafed skin on the elbow and forearm where Fuji had scrapped and knocked against rough surfaces.

He cleaned the wound and rubbed some salve on it, earning him a few soft groans. He suddenly felt the surge of malicious streak and was tempted to make it really hurt, but decided against it in the end.

Three minutes later, Fuji passed out comfortably on the couch, sleeping in odd angles that would make his muscles sore the next morning. Ryoma wouldn't fix that. The guy deserved it.

Sighing again, Ryoma walked back to the kitchen and placed the mug on the sink before taking out a comforter from the shelf and some change clothes that he had just taken down from the hangar. Draping the comforter over the back of the couch, Ryoma started to unbutton Fuji's shirt to change his clothes.

Suddenly, he was pulled down by the wrists. Ryoma stumbled forward and ended up sprawling on top of Fuji. The blanket slid from its place and the spare clothes were crumpled between them.

Ryoma blinked, finding himself straddling Fuji's lap. Cold, familiar hands held his hips, stroking flesh under the shirt. Dry, chapped lips were pressed against his own, then a tongue. Ryoma tasted alcohol and rosemary tea in the kiss.

He wasn't surprised. It wasn't the first time it happened.

Their mouths pulled away, a string of saliva connecting glistening flesh, and Fuji proceeded to attack Ryoma's neck. Ryoma tried to squirm away, but Fuji was persistent. He flipped their body so that Ryoma was the one pinned underneath. The younger closed his eyes in annoyance and let out an exasperated sigh.

"Fuji…" Ryoma tried, raising a hand to push his stubborn bangs up and aside, only to find the older man catching his wrist and holding it above his head; so tight that it hurt.

Ryoma winced. "Stop it. I'll get angry."

Fuji didn't. He clawed at Ryoma's oversized shirt and tried to pull it over his head, struggling as if the task was something with surgical complexity.

"Fuji." Ryoma repeated, but didn't really do anything to stop him. He could never really say no to Fuji after all (which he never knew the fuck why, because he didn't even like him). Just like when he forced himself back into Ryoma's life and acted as if he had any right or say in it. "I mean it. I'm not in the mood. You're heavy."

And you smell like woman's perfume.

"You're never in the mood…" Fuji's sad, slurred reply was nothing but harsh, brutal truth.

It wasn't like they were lovers. There was no lost love, hidden longings, or anything like that between them. What was there had been hurried awkwardness. Ryoma didn't know what to do with Fuji. Kissing, touching, sex—they got terribly used to it all.

Ryoma didn't want that, but he'd never thought that he'd found Fuji to be so helpless, to be so cute, so vulnerable… so…

Pitiful. Adorable, but pitiful.

And he was helpless to deny him.

It was almost sad what the tensai had been reduced to. Fuji brought in onto himself, but the younger boy still felt like it was such a waste.

There was something unattractive about Fuji's sudden change, but Ryoma was being uncharacteristically nosy. He wanted to leave Fuji as it was, before things got complicated, but he just couldn't. Not when Fuji looked at him like that, like he needed him or something, as if they were still in middle school and carefree and careless, as if he would cry and break down if Ryoma left again.

With the comforter spread between them and the cold floor, they moved in a sensual, rough pace in the middle of the living room. Not loving, but it was still sex all the same.

It was four in the morning when Ryoma came to from his falling asleep and got enough strength to push Fuji's limp body off his own. Fuji's soft snore indicated that he was dead to the world. As usual, he was even more vigorous when drunk. Ryoma mentally cursed him with every single vulgar word he knew when a dull throb shot down his spine, which was a lot.

Ryoma cradled his chin and studied the sleeping Fuji, face blank and distant. The telling pain around his lower back told Ryoma that Fuji torn some tissue inside again. He didn't prepare him after all and he wasn't exactly warm and loving when he got that much into it.

Fuji was… attractive, there was no denying (he was not one for denials, that was Fuji's department). He was tall and slender for a man, but not thin like Ryoma. Fuji always smelled nice and had a good face (Ryoma could always appreciate his nose, his lips, his cheeks, just not his eyes), proportionally toned arms and legs, long body, and very skilful mouth and beautiful fingers. Sleeping with him wasn't a black concept anywhere anytime.

But, at the same time, he wasn't Ryoma's type. Ryoma knew his type very well. Fuji certainly wasn't and was not going to be anytime soon.

Fuji was simply too… happy, too pretentious, too gentlemanly, too loose with women. Straight (something about Ryoma and straight men just didn't get on that swell). And pathetic.

Fuji-senpai was not so smart after all.

End Note: I hope that you guys can bump me another review anyway?