Disclaimer: All creative rights to the Prince of Tennis plot and characters belong to Konomi Takeshi.
Challenge Prompt: You can do whatever you want, but I want the title to be 'The Girl Who Loved Horio.' (from Dudly)
The Girl Who Loved Horio
"You know, Echizen. I, Atobe Keigo, am tired of hearing that freshman cheerleader of yours cheering all the time during our tournament matches."
Looking up from his English paper, Ryoma offered his boyfriend a confused look before returning to his paper.
"Who?"
Rubbing his chin, Atobe tried to describe the 'freshman cheerleader'. It was not until he mentioned bragging did Ryoma get whom Atobe was talking about.
"Oh. You mean Horio, right?"
Atobe waved his hand back and forth, "Whatever his horrendous name is, I am tired of hearing his annoying voice."
Smirking, Ryoma sat upright from his slouching position a second ago and spun around in his spinning chair to face Atobe. Atobe, who sat in a large faux deerskin chair opposite of Ryoma, was not amused by the younger boy's smirk.
"What are you smirking about, brat?"
Ryoma began to twirl the pen in his left hand as his smirk grew wider, "I don't know why you're so 'tired' of it. You and Horio are practically clones, personality-wise."
Atobe nearly fell out of his chair at that declaration, "What?! I'm nothing like that... uni-browed freak!" He had never felt so insulted in his life, it was almost enough to cry. But this was the Echizen Ryoma he was talking to, the boy who could make Batman himself cry from an insult if he wanted to.
"Is too," Ryoma said simply, the same smirk still plastered on his usually stone-cold face.
"Well, you're like a girl then!"
Ryoma blinked, a pregnant silence permeated the air.
"How?" was the answer given. "You're more girlier then me."
Atobe's jaw practically dropped onto the floor by now, "I ooze masculinity, thank you. You, on the other hand, like to play with cats, have stick legs, a girly-pitched voice… even your name sounds feminine. If it were 'Ryomo', that would have been a different story."
Ryoma calmly clicked the pen's top so that it was closed, and placed it on top of the desk behind him.
"Well, you're like Horio because you two think too much of yourselves, both wear too much flashy clothing, talk way too much, and both you have two years of tennis experience."
That hit the nail right on the forehead. Atobe was absolutely baffled by not only that fact that he was similar to Horio (yes, Atobe really had been practicing playing tennis for only two years. But unlike Horio, he was practically a professional tennis player), but also the fact that Ryoma had not been even the slightest bit insulted.
"I hate you, girly brat."
"I hate you too, Horio."
End