Disclaimer: I do not own the Prince of Tennis. By writing this piece of fanfiction, I do not claim it for any commercial use, and it is meant to be read by fans, for no charge. The Prince of Tennis belongs to Konomi Takeshi. Any original characters will be stated as such.

Tezuka Kunimitsu was by no means a romantic man. He was not one to speak in flowery languages, not one to give roses to someone for their birthday, and his definitely wasn't one to give anyone chocolates on Valentine's Day.

Many admired him, for his looks, and his ability. He knew that most of the female population in Seigaku would swoon if he ever showed a softer side of himself. He also knew that most of the male population in Seigaku was envious of him – technically, of everyone in the Regulars, really. A lot of people thought he didn't know, but he wasn't blind. Of course he knew.

He was cold, and he was demanding. It was frightening that everyone thought he wouldn't have a partner to spend time with him. They all said that he was too upright to have a partner, too cold to ever show his feelings to anyone, perhaps even to himself.

There was someone who heard all of these rumours, and who begged to differ.

Fuji Syuusuke was the lover of Tezuka Kunimitsu, a phenomena rumoured to be a miracle. Fuji Syuusuke was said miracle. He was the one, with his smiles and his laughter, jabbings and teasings, had broken the shell of the might Captain of the Tennis Team, and had become his lover.

They said Tezuka didn't have a heart, but Fuji knew Tezuka could be a romanticist deep down, and the things he did for Fuji, just to prove that he loved him, or even to apologize if his training of Echizen as the next 'pillar' was cutting into the time that they usually set for each other, could shock the entire Seigaku into the next century.

But honestly, Fuji thought as Tezuka slumped into his arms, face buried in the chestnut brown hair, he didn't want anyone to know about this side of Tezuka, because this side of his lover was his, and his alone.

Fuji smiled, snuggled himself into Tezuka's warm embrace, and left this world for the one of dreams.

Review, perhaps?