TF FanFiction 1

^-^~ Ano... This is my first time writing a fanfiction about my favorite perfect pair, Tezuka-sempai and Fuji-sempai. Please give me your guidance, minna. Reviews would also be greatly appreciated. Enjoy! ^•^~

*Words enclose within single quotation marks (') are the line of thoughts of the characters, while words enclosed within double quotation marks (") are lines actually being said by the characters.*

Disclaimer: I don't own Prince of Tennis *sigh* ^-^~
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Tezuka let out his nth sigh since he woke up that gloomy morning. It's already 11:55a.m.. He though that he could have been doing something more constructive had he not been forced (begged?) by a certain someone to be a guest reader for the poetry reading club. *Sigh* Just remembering how the club members squealed in delight upon his consent is now giving him a bit of a headache. With that, he massaged his temples a bit, then resumed to concentrating with the task - writing an original soulful poem - he is supposed to accomplish.

It's not that Tezuka hated dealing with poems, in fact, he rather enjoy reading them. He regarded poets, such as, Robert Frost and Pablo Neruda (to name a few of his favorites) with saluting respect. He understood the soul, the being and thoughts, of these people simply because of the essence of their obra maestras. He is also well aware that a part of him envies these poets for they are able to face off with their thoughts and feelings head on. Tezuka smiled a barely visible smile at that thought. 'They are brave soul who have conquered and triumphed over their visceral complexities through poetry.'

'But I am no poet. I have been raised well enough to have total control over my emotion. I have not perfected this stern straight-forward feature only to be broken down by writing down my innermost feelings. Even if I won't be able to tell that person... Stop! Don't go there, Kunimitsu! Now is not the time to take that route! Concentrate!'

Still, as Tezuka stared at the blank paper, crisp and untainted, in front of him no thoughts came to him. He just wasn't inspired. 'Wait, scratch that. I'm just not motivated.' He corrected himself.

"Hn." 'Ayase-sensei said the theme to write about is with regards to the 'Inner Self.' What exactly am I supposed to write? I don't really fancy writing about myself nor do I intend to leak of my emotions in public.'

"..."

'And I especially have no inclination to let my guard down in place of written literary art, wherein the evidence may be used for other means (blackmail material) than it's intended purpose.'

Tezuka reached for the sandwich and green tea his okasan had thoughtfully brought up to his room. He savored the taste while pondering seriously at the topic to write. After time passed, several tries, and finishing his meal, another exasperated sigh escaped his graceful lips.

A familiar ringtone alarmed through the quiet room. He instantly knew it was him, mainly because he had set a special tone for each of his teammates. He was a bit hesitant, but cautiously he decided to pick up his cellphone.

"Hello?" The caller' voice was a bit strained lacking its usual calm and melodious tone, as if he had been running. After which, he heard hard panting sound from the other end, and that was enough for him to feel a little heat rise to his face.

'It's just a call, calm down.' And so Tezuka leveled his voice to answer.

"Hello..." But before Tezuka was even able to address the person on the other end of the line, the caller cut him short. 'This is really quite unusual,' he thought.

"Ne, Tezuka," the caller seemed to have regained the his composure, Tezuka noted, although still grasping for a bit of air. "Could you go on ahead to the meeting place... later... without me? I might run a little late. I have... uhm... some things to take care of right now. Would that be alright with you?"

Tezuka was a bit shocked (a bit disappointed) and little panic surge, though it doesn't seem to be apparent in his voice. "Ah. What..."

He was again cut short by the caller, who has clearly sensed the change in his tone. "Thank you and I'm really, really sorry, Tezuka! I'll explain everything later! I've got to go now! Bye, Mitsu!"

With that the call was over. He glanced at his watch - 2:30p.m.

'What exactly happened to have cause that panic?'

'What...?'

'Wait... What did he call me?'

"Mitsu..." His mind recalled the sweet melodious voice again for him. The little heat on his face now began to hint a bit of rose pink.

'I must have misheard him.' But a part of him doubt that what with his sharp hearing ability. 'I think he's alright though, and he said that he'll explain later. So, I must think... must believe he's alright.' Still, he spared a little prayer for the caller's safety.

He was, then, again faced with the dilemma of what to write. Tezuka removed his glasses, closed his weary eyes, and rested his head upon his crossed arms.

'Why is it that I always clatter my mind with him, when he might not even feel the same way? With that beautiful gorgeous smile and piercing gem-like cerulean eyes, that beast of a person could entice anyone to do his every wish! Yet I could do nothing more than to increase my desire and possessiveness of having his presence always by my side! Oh, cruel reality!'

Disregarding his minuscule emotional line of thought, he suddenly straighten himself on his chair, eyes shot open complemented with his rimless glasses on, and focused on the small potted circular cactus with soft chiffon colored flower on top sitting on his window pane. It was as if something big has struck to him.

The scene before him perfectly complimented the thought, the idea that struck to him. The drizzling rain outside splattering onto his glass window, the cactus beaming with all it's chi to enlighten the gloomy mood. He smiled, not caring who might see him, reminiscing his tennis match with him and those tears that did nothing but rise his ethereal beauty even more. The way he doesn't get angry at whatever happens to himself, but if his family or friends are in danger, he would attack with no reservation and dead-on seriousness. The strength and vulnerability of that special person vividly visible only to him. 'It's him, my muse, who always pull me through.'

'Sensei only said to write something about the inner self, but didn't exactly express whose inner self to write about. Hmm... A beast of a person... Why haven't I thought about this earlier on?'

Tezuka begin to feel a slip of stupidity creep in, but brushed it off to complete writing his poem. Nothings hindering him now that he's motivated. 'Wait, scratch that. I'm completely inspired.' He bashfully corrected himself.
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