soracia

[one-shot | PG13/R? | FujiRyo, one-sided FujiTez | angst, weirdness, Fuji POV]

Title: Displacement (title changed with apologies to Jenn D...I didn't realize there was a Fuji/Ryo fic already titled Substitution -_-;)
Author: Kagemihari

flamesword
Rating: PG-13/R?
Genre: Angst/Romance
Pairing: Ryoma/Fuji, onesided Fuji/Tez
Crossposted:

tenipuri_yaoi,

potfics,

fuji_ryo
Summary: Echizen had always reminded him of Tezuka, somewhat...but it had never been more obvious than it was now. -- warnings for angst, weirdness, Fuji POV, possible smut, eventually... and spoilers for eps 65-75

Kagi's notes: this happened after I watched the episodes where Tezuka leaves for Germany. I can't believe I'm writing this pairing--usually I'm a major ZukaFuji fan, but...Tezuka's gone. ;.; And right after the stuff about Ryoma becoming the pillar of Seigaku and the flashbacks to young!Tezuka (eeee! teh cute! <3) who Ryoma looks so much like. And Fuji's all alone now and it's sad, so...yeah... it gave me ideas.

Displacement

Sometimes the only thing he saw when he looked at Echizen, was Tezuka. Especially now. Tezuka had never been farther away, never seemed more unattainable, but if he looked at Echizen just right, it was almost as if Tezuka had never left them.

Then of course, just when the image seemed almost perfect, Echizen would smirk in an expression that was purely Ryoma and no one else, and say something snarky or bratty, ruining the effect. Fuji almost hated Echizen then.

He wished he could just avoid the first year player, ignore the doppelganger of the captain that seemed to haunt the courts these days, but there was an irresistible fascination in watching him--seeing someone else entirely in those moments when the line between them blurred beyond recognition in his mind. Tezuka...

No, it was Echizen. He had to remember that. The captain was far away now, injured and healing, and if Tezuka missed anyone at all, it was probably Oishi. Fuji was his friend, maybe his best friend, but he wasn't going to fool himself thinking they were close enough that Tezuka missed his company.

Oishi had become the substitute captain in Tezuka's place, stepping up as the right hand man to fill the gap left by the absent buchou. But Oishi was nothing like Tezuka, and as a substitute, he only made it more obvious that Tezuka was gone.

Echizen was the one who was a living, breathing reminder of the missing captain, the one that drew the eye again and again in bittersweet reflection, particularly whenever he was without the usual white cap drawn low over his face. Echizen had always reminded him of Tezuka, somewhat, and playing him had been just as interesting a challenge, but it had never been more obvious than it was now.

The blank, focused expression and wide brown eyes, his steely determination and dominating presence on the court, the drive and intensity in his game...if one squinted and looked at him through the lens of incircumspect memory, one could almost believe Tezuka himself was standing there, a solid, sure constant with an air of abstracted concentration that made you wonder if he really saw you at all.

At least, you wondered until you somehow caught his attention for a moment. Then his eyes would focus on you, seeming to look through you and into your soul. A knowing, measuring certainty, causing twinges of longing and doubt...as if he knew you better than you knew yourself.

That look always felt as if he either knew Tezuka too well, or not well enough. It was thrilling and almost frightening all at the same time, implying as it did that the captain knew him so well, while Fuji sometimes felt that he barely knew the other at all. It made him want to solve the mystery that was Tezuka, to break him open to see just what kind of fire lay beneath that calm surface. He never doubted that there *was* a fire, banked and hidden, but pure and intense as a white flame.

The same look from Echizen was just as disconcerting, if not moreso. Diconcerting because it was so familiar, the tingle of fear and something else that came from being laid open, bared to that searching look, no matter how Fuji hid behind his smile...that look could see right to his soul.

Fuji would smile and allow his memory to paint a more accustomed overlay on reality, and for a moment it was the same as always, a tingle of mixed excitement and dread sparking in his gut. Excitement for the promise of passion in the intensity of the gaze, and dread for the sheer complete knowing it possessed. Dread which nonetheless, was mingled with desire...being known and exposed, laid bare even in such a metaphoric fasion was undeniably just the slightest bit erotic.

Especially when one had spent years watching and being attracted to the owner of that gaze. Especially when one felt that perhaps, just maybe, this one person was worth being that open with, giving that much of yourself to. Not that there was any indication that person had any desire to accept it--but the familiar, tantalizing possibility was there.

It was there, until a quirk of the lips and a raised eyebrow accompanying the brief 'mada mada da ne', smashed the illusion into twisted, broken fragments and one remembered that this was Echizen Ryoma who had been standing here with Tezuka's look on his face. That Tezuka was far, far away, farther even than he always was, farther than he would be even if he had been here.

In that moment, Fuji didn't know who he hated more--Tezuka, for abandonding him to this hopeless desolation, albeit unknowing of the nature of his desertion; or Echizen, for reminding him so strongly of that fact.

=_=_=

Perhaps it was the wrong time for Echizen to say what he did. Perhaps if Fuji had been in a less volatile mood, he wouldn't have responded the way he did. Perhaps if others had been there, and it had not been just him and Echizen, the last two in the abandoned locker room. But Echizen said it, just then...

"Do I remind you of him so much?"

Fuji raised his eyebrows slightly, looking up at the first year, his eyes still hidden by his smile--looking up, for Echizen was standing, while he remained seated on the bench by his locker. "Of who?"

Echizen's eyes gleamed briefly at the dissembling, probably with amusement. "I remind you of buchou." His calm voice was certain, self-assured. Stating a fact, not a question. "You look at me sometimes like you don't know who I am." He paused, considering, watching Fuji's closed expression. "Like you wish I was something else...something more. I'm not there yet."

"No," Fuji agreed amiably, "you're not. You're not him."

There was perhaps more of an edge to his voice than he meant, and maybe Echizen heard it, for the smirk returned. "Mada mada...but maybe close enough..." He stopped; waiting, it seemed, for some kind of reply.

Fuji studied him from behind his smile, wondering what the brat was getting at. "Close enough?"

Echizen was no longer smirking, and his serious gaze was uncomfortably like Tezuka's, intent and focused. "What do you want? That look, when you see him instead of me...what are you looking for?"

Fuji's eyes opened in surprise, his smile slipping. What? Echizen couldn't possibly have seen...he smiled again. "What makes you think I am looking for anything?"

Tezuka's look again, straight to his soul, and in spite of himself Fuji felt that customary tingle of danger and excitement threading it's way through him. In a thoughtful tone, Echizen replied, "It's that look you give him, like you're waiting for something...like you want something." Like you want him, he didn't say.

Perhaps that spark of danger was affecting his judgement, for Fuji found himself opening his eyes again, recklessly meeting that knowing look with his own in a faint challenge. "Perhaps I do," he said, and it was not quite a question, almost a dare...

The intensity of Echizen's gaze was too familiar, too magnetic, mesmerizing in it's surreal likeness. "Do you?" he said, musingly; but it was not a question. "I wonder..."

He was close, suddenly, too close and leaning forward, and Fuji could see the golden flecks in his brown eyes, just like... no, the glints were the light of determination, of purpose, and the eyes were bright and gold, not Tezuka's eyes, not at all....

This was Echizen--Echizen, not Tezuka, not at all--but that look in the brown eyes was Tezuka, was as familiar to Fuji as the sound of his own name. It called to him with a pull as irresistible, as unthinking as obeying the law of gravity. The attraction, fascination, the assertion of it provoking him to meet and match it, to defy and yet confirm that clear perception, had been enticing and captivating him for years. It was that same constant gaze that held him now.

Almost, but not quite. Not Tezuka, not with that gleam of something else, temerarious purpose or enjoinder, or just plain ironic amusement in that look; yet still in response to it that spark of danger, of excitement, of...anticipation, rose inside him...

It was a complete lack of surprise, rather a thrill almost of victory that he felt as warm, soft lips descended on his own, and Echizen was kissing him, firmly, insistently, one hand resting on Fuji's shoulder as he leaned in and took possession of his mouth. For that was unmistakably the intent, the impression, the heat that lay behind the action--a claiming and a proof of an answer to a question that had not, quite, been asked.

Can I give you what you want? Will you let me be the reflection that you see? Is it close enough?

Fire licked along his nerves and sparked on his skin, out from the point where Echizen's fingers gripped his shoulder, and Fuji suddenly, fiercely, wanted it to be. Wanted this. Knew that what Echizen was offering was perhaps the closest he would ever get to something he had only dreamed of for too long...and oh, he wanted it.

Echizen drew back without ever deepening the kiss, and Fuji bit his lip to deny the uncharacteristic tiny whimper that somehow wanted to escape. He gazed up at younger boy, his blood simmering with a curious mix of hunger, slight frustration and fierce elation. Echizen looked, not smug, not quite, but satisfied, almost vindicated.

Fuji was aware now of a charge in the air, a tension that seemed about to snap; a demand, desire, and maybe a warning--a promise of fulfillment or retribution. And the smirk, the ever maddening smirk was back, but the clear, brown--golden-brown--eyes looked through him still, and Fuji knew he could not resist that knowing glance.

It was too tempting a lure to resist.

-tbc-

=_=_=