Disclaimer: Konomi Takeshi is the owner of Prince of Tennis—do we have to go over this again? XD

Dedication

ezylrybbit

:D

ezylrybbit Ah, nostalgia –weeps- ;_; Middle schooool~~~ -clubbed- Ahem, sorry about that xD Thanks, ezyl.

Charmane :D I personally think that a bit cliché, but still...as long as it's likable :D XD Those two are hilarious. The guy who went on the trip is freaking funny; he's so perverted and random....

AgentClau Thanks so much n__n I'm really happy to hear you say that :) That sort of thing stokes my ego a lot :D

It was all a lie. One lie, one big lie—built on more lies.

Everything was fake: That curve of a smile set immobile on that mask-like face; that pair of lids that shuttered the two hidden moons; that light laugh; that soft and steady voice—that was but a shell. It was an artificial façade for a cryptic being.

It shocked Tezuka to find that people could not tell that it was all fake. After all, who could truly be so cheerful, so calm—when his face was so mask-like?—the smile, the closed eyelids?—could they not see that it was a disguise?

No, they all thought he was the perfect, happy prodigy.

But Fuji was simply human—more than human, but still human. Humans felt, they always felt. It was the nature of a living being. Tezuka knew that, and he sometimes only wanted the boy to melt into him, to stop being a guiser for at least a while—he wanted to know what it was like, to love a boy that was Fuji but not the puzzlement he knew; a clearly defined person.

But he loved the puzzlement. There was nothing so—complete, so perfect; so great a whirlwind.

Because if anything, life was boring without enigma.

Sometimes the thought would almost make him smile, when he and Fuji were together, when they were together in his German apartment.

"Ashiteru yo," Fuji would say, but almost with hesitation, for a simple "suki sa" would suffice.

"Ich liebe dich," Tezuka would say, and Fuji would laugh at how he spoke the foreign tongue, which he almost teased was "cute."

Life was smoothing down, like a paste on something flat, something smooth, something solid. They were together, in Germany—so far away from Japan. It seemed so strange that Fuji would go so far just to be with Tezuka—"Indirectly," the former pointed out, a smile plastered to his face. But Fuji was Fuji, and Tezuka would wonder....

--

They were both strange, but still stiff—intertwining ivory and ebony—so stark against each other—so wound up, so tightly around each other.

Then came the day Fuji actually moved into Tezuka's apartment.

The day came, and he merely walked in, dragging a case behind him. "My apartment's kind of dingy...," he said when his friend looked at him; and nothing more was said.

There was only one bed in the apartment.

--

PT: Erm…idk xD –shot- Because…at school I have a tendency to be all insanely happy all the time—really a façade; strangely enough, no one can tell. And now I'm taking Japanese at school, so I might be abusing my lessons soon. Soon. xD This one's kind of short...