Chill radiated from the glass behind Shuusuke’s head, creeping through the dampness of his hair. He searched for words to explain why he played matches like the one just past. “Tezuka. I don’t really think I have the passion for winning.”

“Fuji.” There was startlement, maybe even apprehension, in Tezuka’s voice. Shuusuke tried not to react.

“I think I just enjoy the thrill of seeing my opponents play to their limits.” He looked up at Tezuka, searching for understanding in dark, guarded eyes. “What about you?”

The stern focus of Tezuka’s gaze on him never wavered. “What do you mean? I’ll win; regardless. Winning Nationals is all I can think about right now.”

Ah. Everything for the team. Yes, that was their captain all over. Strictly responsible—the leader, the teacher, taking nothing for himself anymore. Shuusuke’s eyes fell. “If it is a mark against me, then please remove me from the Regulars.”

Now Tezuka stirred. “Don’t let that happen.”

The fresh edge in his voice pulled Shuusuke’s eyes back up, for all that he didn’t want Tezuka to see the helpless frustration he was sure showed there. He couldn’t go against his own nature, so what did Tezuka want from him?

He remembered enjoying the silent pleasure with which Tezuka watched his games. Remembered seasons of offering Tezuka his encouragement, and learning that particular angle of brow and faint curve of mouth with which Tezuka returned it. He wished he understood why he was losing these things this year.

He held a hand out to Tezuka, though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was asking for or offering any longer. Finally, Tezuka’s eyes softened, only serious and not hard—the eyes of his friend. Tezuka touched Shuusuke’s fingers, lightly, before their hands fell apart again.

“Fuji,” Tezuka said quietly, “I am the captain of this team, now.”

Meaning, of course, he would not, could not, lessen his demands even on a friend. Shuusuke closed his eyes. “I know,” he whispered.

They flickered open again, wide with surprise, when Shuusuke felt a hand, still cool from being rain drenched, touch his face. Tezuka was standing much closer over him, now. Shuusuke’s breath caught; it was so rarely Tezuka who moved close.

“Is there anything you do have passion for?”

A shaky laugh escaped from Shuusuke. “You’re asking me that right now?”

Tezuka’s brows tipped up, and Shuusuke smiled up at him, a little rueful for that unthinking admission.

Tezuka’s hand slid over his shoulder, down his arm, caught Shuusuke’s wrist and pulled him to his feet. An arm tightened around Shuusuke’s waist, drawing him snugly against Tezuka’s body.

“Show me.”

The moment fractured in Shuusuke’s senses as his thoughts froze. Little things stood out: Tezuka’s fingers, closed lightly around his hand; rough, damp creases of cloth, pressed between their bodies; the lag between a flash of lighting and the rumble of thunder that followed it.

He didn’t think he could speak to save his life. So he abandoned words for the time being. It was easier, and surely clearer, to slide his free hand into Tezuka’s hair, ruffling it even further than Tezuka’s rough toweling had. Clearer to lift his face and open his mouth under Tezuka’s. Surely nothing could be clearer than his moan, as Tezuka’s grip tightened.

“Show me,” Tezuka murmured again, against his lips, and Shuusuke shivered. He wanted to. He tugged his hand free of Tezuka’s fingers and wound that through Tezuka’s hair too, threading his fingers into the strands drying in messy spikes. He smiled at the stray thought that the chance to disorder Tezuka didn’t come along every day. Shuusuke kissed him fiercely, searching, asking, and was answered. Both Tezuka’s arms closed around him, hard enough to lift his weight off his feet, and his breath left him on a pleading sound. More than Tezuka’s tongue stroking against his own, that firm hold occupied Shuusuke’s mind and defined the world for him at that moment. It was so unmistakably Tezuka holding him. Powerful, demanding, overwhelming. He felt so light in Tezuka’s grasp, as if Tezuka might breathe him in.

Shuusuke pulled away and buried his head in Tezuka’s shoulder, panting. “Tezuka…”

Immediately, Tezuka’s hold gentled. A hand lifted to settle on Shuusuke’s hair. “It’s all right, Fuji,” Tezuka told him, evenly.

Tezuka stroked his hair while the thunder died away into the distance.

End