Atobe gave the librarian a look of utmost incredulity.
"But it's in Greek."
"That's correct, Atobe-sama…" She laughed nervously and flapped a hand. "But someone else has already taken it out. It'll be returned next week."
Atobe placed his hands flat on the desk and leaned forward. "I'm the only one in our class- No, in the school- who can read in the original Greek. The others all use translated versions."
The librarian looked a little worried and Atobe watched her eyes unconsciously slide to a point somewhere over his shoulder. That was all the indication he needed.
Atobe turned around to spot Oshitari Yuushi for the first time, calmly reclined in a comfy chair, to all appearances deep in the original Greek version of The Iliad. The sunlight shining through the window hit him perfectly as if he'd arranged it for full effect, and his glasses and hair shone with the peaceful, angelic aura of the deeply studious.
Atobe walked up and clicked his fingers in his face. "Are you even in my class?"
Oshitari slowly looked up at Atobe Keigo as if coming up from a state of intense distraction. "Hmm?"
Atobe applied his most forbidding look that even had his senpai falling over themselves to do his bidding, and held out an imperative hand. "Ore-sama requires that text."
Oshitari stretched back languidly and dragged his eyes up and down Atobe before resting on his face. "Ah, you're Number 23."
Atobe paused for an infinitesimal moment, and then dropped his hand. "Not for much longer."
The library around them had grown especially hushed. Oshitari sensed the other students watching and smiled like a cat. "Oh?"
Atobe shifted and posed with a hand on his hip. "I mean that Ore-sama will soon be top."
"A freshman regular?" Oshitari looked thoughtful. "That would rather upset tradition."
Atobe made sure to raise his voice, secure in the knowledge that the librarian loved him, as everyone loved him. "Ore-sama is beyond tradition."
He plucked the book from Oshitari's fingers and snapped open his mobile phone. Within moments he had relayed the book reference to a mysterious conferee and slid the book back into Oshitari's hand.
A gaggle of freshmen girls sitting at a neighbouring table swooned with admiration as Atobe flashed a dazzling smile and declared: "I'll make Hyoutei number one."
"Yourself or Hyoutei?" Oshitari drawled quietly, and watched as a flicker of something passed across Atobe's smooth features.
"You're obviously new and your Kansai accent suggests you're the not from Tokyo."
The door banged open and all the other students swivelled their heads to look as a man immaculately dressed in uniform hurried over to Atobe's side and presented him with a freshly bound book. It was exactly the same volume as the one in Oshitari's lap.
"You'll soon discover how things are." Atobe flicked his hair and took the book, turning smartly on his heel to leave the library with awed stares following in his wake.
Oshitari also watched him go. Atobe was short and skinny for a freshman and his beauty mark made him look effeminate. Oshitari was surprised. Everyone had pointed him out as the unbelievable new rookie who was disseminating the pre-regulars of the Hyoutei's elite tennis ranks. It was unheard of for a freshman to enter the hundreds, let alone promote himself from the freshman default Number 250 to an official Number 23 within a week.
And now Oshitari had met him. He didn't understand, but he had a good idea. Atobe had an undeniable aura, but he also had a problem.
Oshitari sat back and took out a pencil to circle the Greek word that had suddenly jumped out at him from page: Hubris.
*
"Why are underclassmen here? There aren't any balls for them to pick up. Get out from under my feet!"
A senior kicked at Oshitari's ankles as he walked past. Gakuto immediately whirled around beside him, vibrating with anger and ready with a thoughtless retort. Oshitari quickly took his arm and swept him further into the room.
"They're just jealous, Yuushi," Gakuto hissed to him as soon as they were out of earshot. "They keep on as if Atobe and you aren't better than all of them put together! Sakaki-sensei knows. That's why he bent the rules last year to allow you two on the team!" He squeezed Oshitari's arm and looked up at him through his hair. "You shouldn't have to put up with them being sore about it."
Oshitari pulled him further into the room full of students milling around, all talking and playing the politics of private school networking. The largest and loudest group in the middle of it all was the hub of power, the most popular and rich and envied. Atobe was right in the centre, flicking his hair and clearly holding sway of the conversation despite being a head shorter than everyone around him.
Gakuto snorted and tugged on Oshitari's arm, heading for a table in the corner where Jiroh was sprawled out fast asleep. Shishido was beside him looking suicidally bored. They sat down as Shishido hugged a bowl of potpourri to himself.
"I don't know how he manages to escape their needling," Gakuto continued, narrowing his eyes over at Atobe. "He ponces about like he owns the entire school and we know Atobe's nothing special."
In that instant Atobe looked over and nodded at them with cool acknowledgement. Gakuto perked up and waved energetically.
"Hah," Shishido threw a piece of potpourri at Gakuto and then continued systematically placing them into two piles on top of Jiroh's head.
Across the room, Atobe's eyes settled on Oshitari. The conversation among all the seniors seemed to stall as Atobe paused. He spared a last smile for them and then smoothly extracted himself from the circle.
Oshitari slid his arm out from Gakuto's as Atobe waltzed over.
"Having fun?" He stood directly beside Oshitari's chair and looked around at them all. Atobe was a presence that couldn't be ignored and even Shishido sat up straighter.
"No," Shishido said. "This party is lame and a half of this potpourri smells funky."
Atobe looked amused. Oshitari felt the strange urge to say something interesting and gain his full attention, which wasn't normally in his character. He preferred to sit back and observe. Now he observed as Shishido and Atobe began to banter, and observe as Atobe moved around the table to lean over Shishido and delicately smell a sample of the two little towers on Jiroh's head. Atobe scrunched up his nose and pulled a face at a dried rosebud. Oshitari felt unusually irritated as Shishido stared at Atobe's neck, and Atobe let his long fingers dip into Jiroh's curls.
"The potpourii is lacking. When Ore-sama is Student President we'll have real roses."
Gakuto slipped his arm back into Oshitari's and this time Oshitari let him.
Atobe's eyes fixed onto the movement and his hand knocked a tower of dried petals over into Jiroh's face.
"WAAH!" Jiroh jerked awake and jumped to his feet, upsetting the drinks on the table over Shishido's lap. Gakuto leapt up as well and tried to grab Jiroh's arms before he knocked over the expensive-looking glass trophies on the cabinet wall.
Shishido stormed off to the bathroom shouting Super lame and Atobe dropped weakly into the seat next to Oshitari.
All the seniors were staring over at them. Atobe turned his face away and Oshitari thought Atobe probably felt a bit deflated, dallying with undignified junior pre-regulars and disrupting the civilised party. The team Vice Captain burst into the room just then and started flapping around after Jiroh with Gakuto, scrambling to pick up the scattered pieces of potpourri and squawk his fear of the Captain's wrath.
Oshitari was surprised to hear quiet laughter coming from beside him.
"Atobe?"
Atobe picked up a dried cedar root and twirled it in his fingers. "When Ore-sama is Captain there won't be a Vice Captain. They only cause trouble." He watched the boy berate a confused and sleepy Jiroh, adding darkly: "And fuss."
"That's true," said Oshitari, after he had recovered from the fact that Atobe seemed to be more disgusted with the Vice Captain's behaviour than their own. "You could make enough fuss for two people. No, ten people. A hundred. A-"
"If you continue in this vein you won't be on any team Ore-sama is in charge of." Atobe had his arm pressed against Oshitari's, despite how they now had the entire table to themselves. "And I want you on my team."
Atobe had been the first freshman in Hyoutei history to make it onto the regulars. Now they were both juniors and regulars and Atobe was making the club ever more his own. They shared classes in which Atobe aced, and tennis practice in which Atobe shone, and general school proximity which had gradually morphed into meeting everyday for lunch with Shishido, Jiroh and Gakuto.
Oshitari supposed that made them 'friends'. Though Oshitari wasn't sure he could call himself and Atobe friends. There was always an odd distance with Atobe, as if he held himself at a remove. He was always busy, always moving, and always talked in an artful, grandiose manner that won him instant attention, but spoiled any smaller-scale intimacies.
They forgave him though. Atobe was like the sun: the universe basked in his light, but he seemed too big and bright to tie-down alone for quiet, casual conversation.
Atobe was sitting here now though, having chosen to walk away from his crowd-pleasing and let his elbow rest in the crook of Oshitari's arm.
And I want you on my team. Atobe turned his head and looked at him.
A blast of Atobe's infamous Insight made Oshitari start as if it had been a physical touch. Atobe kept looking at him, his eyes clear and curious and unmistakeably communicating a question: Will you be on my team? Will you be ruled by me?
Oshitari didn't doubt that Atobe intended to and would be captain next year, but he wondered why Atobe was bothering to check with him. He knew Atobe swept people up without pause, getting them to do what he wanted without them even realising it, before simply moving on to the next thing without looking back.
Atobe didn't discuss things, he just took.
"Don't dwell on details," Atobe murmured quietly, the corner of his mouth tugging up. He'd taken to saying this lately whenever Oshitari was caught in the middle of analysing.
Gakuto plopped himself down on the other side of Oshitari and sighed loudly. "Jiroh needs pills or something. He just heard Buchou is playing tennis outside and almost broke his leg tripping over to go watch."
Atobe snapped his attention away in a heartbeat and Oshitari was left reeling.
"Really."
Before anyone had a chance to say anything, Atobe had stood up and swept outside through the side doors toward the courts.
Gakuto shared a look with Oshitari, and they both rose resignedly to their feet at the same time.
*
Watching Atobe play tennis was a strange experience.
Oshitari usually noticed flaws, openings, habits and technical methods. He was never drawn into other person's game; he remained objective, rational and detached. That was the key to good tennis.
But Atobe's tennis was natural perfection.
Atobe's energy exuded a boundless passion and love for the sport that should have made him uncontrolled; he barely seemed to think before his body was already in motion. Only when watching Atobe would Oshitari feel his heart pumping faster, his body fidget to be out on court too. After watching Atobe play, Oshitari would often lift his hands to stare at the half-moon nail prints in his own palms with bemusement.
Oshitari thought out every detail of his own tennis to make it fluid and graceful. His wasn't a style that poured from his soul, but transmitted from his brain. Atobe was also an academic, so Oshitari couldn't see how he let himself rely on the spur of the moment.
Yet Oshitari never felt nervous for Atobe while watching him play, he never came across as unruly or unreliable. It was a pleasure to feel that confidence and security that made his tennis strong. The mystery was where that strength came from.
"Game and Match, Atobe: 6 games to 3."
By the time the final score was called, the current Hyoutei captain was on his knees and gasping for breath on the other side of the net. Atobe stood looking fiercely unsatisfied, but he shook hands politely before storming off court.
Gakuto gave a low whistle at Oshitari's elbow. "He's on fire. I swear every game he gets better and better. He trounces Buchou easily now."
Oshitari stared at his upturned hands with a distracted frown.
"Hey Yuushi," Gakuto nudged him. "Let's go get a drink."
Oshitari shook his head and looked out across the court in the direction Atobe had left. "You go on. I'll be right back."
Atobe was hitting balls hard against a wall.
His shirt was plastered with more sweat than when he'd been playing. Oshitari watched the muscles in his legs and arms shift in the fading light. The back of his neck glistened and the thwack of the ball carried rhythmic and resolute in the air.
Atobe seemed to sense Oshitari standing there and abruptly stopped, catching the ball on the rebound.
"You're always watching me."
Oshitari paused to consider this. The wind was picking up and blew his hair into his face, so he took off his glasses and wiped them clean.
"Everyone watches you."
Atobe bounced the ball a few times and then turned around. His face was tight, the corners of his mouth pinched and obstinate.
"We're going to be seniors soon. I want a match."
Something in his voice caught Oshitari. Hyoutei had spent a two successful years trouncing every rival team. Atobe had personally obliterated the Seigaku captain for them and he easily defeated his own captain now. He aced every class, every teacher adored him, and the entire school was only waiting until next term to unanimously elect him as Student President.
Atobe had hit the ground running and everything was already laid out for him.
Oshitari stepped forward and something in Atobe's face flickered. It reminded Oshitari of unavailable Greek texts that could be ordered with minutes and that same flicker when Oshitari had questioned him the first time they met.
Atobe was talking about more than tennis. If Oshitari played tennis now he would lose and Atobe would only win again. I want a match.
"No," said Oshitari.
Atobe looked, for a suspended second, torn between overwhelming anger and a sort of desperate relief, and Oshitari knew that he'd been right. Atobe did nothing in retaliation except throw the tennis ball at Oshitari's head.
"Ore-sama would only beat you anyway." Atobe said, sounding something like himself again.
Oshitari smirked at him as Atobe swung his racquet over his shoulder and posed dramatically. "I suppose we'll never know."
Atobe clapped his hands. "Can I test something on you?"
Oshitari was wary. "What is it?"
Atobe put away his racquet and took out his regular jersey, swinging it onto his shoulders. "Chant 'The winner will be Hyoutei'."
Oshitari raised an eyebrow and adjusted his glasses. "What for?"
"Do it!" Atobe was definitely back to his usual self.
Oshitari sighed and leaned back against the fence, chanting and trying not to let his voice shake with laughter as Atobe strutted around the court, perfecting the swish of his jacket and the tilt of his head in time to the words.
"You look like a peacock."
Atobe stopped suddenly, stripped off his jacket, and threw it high in the air.
It landed on Oshitari's head and Atobe was the one laughing. "Now what do you look like?"
He came over and lifted an edge of the jacket, peeking underneath to grin at Oshitari's crooked glasses. Oshitari couldn't see properly, but he felt the brush of Atobe's fingers against his cheek as he reached out to adjust them. Atobe's face came into focus then, warm and close and smiling. Something about it made Oshitari lean closer and Atobe's pupils flooded to full, his breath catching on nothing.
"There you are!" Shishido rattled the chain-link fence behind them. "What kind of lameasses stay out in the dark practising? Come on!"
Atobe stepped quickly away from Oshitari and gave Shishido an annoyed look. "Perhaps if you practised more you'd improve that weak serve."
Shishido went red and started shouting. Atobe went on coolly criticising until Gakuto turned up with Jiroh and reminded them about the last bus home. Atobe refused to travel on such plebeian modes of transport and flipped open his phone for a limo, until Shishido called him a spoiled lameass and Atobe wound up getting the bus anyway.
Atobe sat next to Oshitari.
Everything seemed to happen in a blur sometimes. Oshitari felt like he observed events like watching through a television screen. It gave him a chance to take in all the details of a scene, like Jiroh drooling on Gakuto's shoulder at the back, and Shishido hanging over his seat to argue with Atobe while self-consciously checking his long hair in the window every five seconds.
Odd things would jerk him into reality, like Atobe's calf pressed up against his under the seat, or Atobe tapping his wrist to get his attention. At moments when Atobe looked at him, it felt like all the shutters fell away and he was breathing for real, like the world wasn't so fuzzy at the edges. Oshitari wasn't sure what to think about that.
Atobe's hand brushed his when he got up for his stop.
"Practice at 7am tomorrow. No one be late."
"Che, you aren't buchou!" Shishido folded his arms mutinously.
"I will be." Atobe shot them a smile as he went.
*
In third year, Atobe came back and taught their chant to the rest of the school.
The winner will be Hyoutei.
Atobe never caught his eye when he did the routine. Oshitari wondered if that was because Atobe might laugh or accidentally aim his jacket at someone's head.
The winner will be Atobe.
"Hyoutei or Atobe?" Oshitari murmured, and felt a rush of wind pass his ear.
"Oshitari-senpai?" Ootori fumbled with his racquet, looking worried. "Did I serve out?"
"Of course you didn't serve out!" Shishido snarled, and threw down his hat in frustration. "Oshitari's too busy daydreaming. Snap out of it!"
Oshitari glanced over his shoulder at the ball rolling up against the fence… and where Atobe stood, still as a statue of ice.
"30 laps."
"What?!" Gakuto half-screeched. "We ran 50 at the start of practice!"
Atobe had his arms folded and a frosty expression on his face. "You'll run more until you stop shirking."
Gakuto opened his mouth and Oshitari put a hand on his shoulder to forestall the explosion. Atobe glared at his hand. "If you aren't 100% focussed then you'll fall behind. Isn't that right, Kabaji?"
"Usu."
Oshitari ignored them both and walked past to start his laps. Everyone else on the courts lost interest and didn't see Atobe's hand shoot out to grip Oshitari's arm.
"You'll make up for it here after school," Atobe told him, not looking at him and letting go just as fast. He moved on to shout at a pre-regular who was tripping over his own feet.
Oshitari felt the imprint of Atobe's hand on his skin throughout his laps and the rest of practice. Atobe never looked at him again once, but his arm still tingled like a ghostly promise well into his afternoon classes.
*
No nets were up when Oshitari arrived on court. There was no practice on Thursday nights; the courts were deserted. It wasn't a warm evening and the breeze bit at Oshitari's bare skin as he took off his blazer and headed for the clubhouse. Atobe wasn't in sight.
He went inside, pulling at his tie as he sat down, thinking about Atobe's recent coldness. It contrasted with the fire that he knew stoked Atobe's tennis, normally bubbling beneath the surface of everything he did. It wasn't obvious, but Oshitari had spent three years watching Atobe Keigo.
It wasn't hard to figure out either.
Last week they'd lost the Kanto tournament. Atobe's ambition to take Hyoutei to the Nationals, to win the Nationals, all vanished with that one match.
Atobe hadn't strutted since; instead he stalked down the halls, his once refined movements laced with a kind of brutal restraint, as if he'd quite like to break something. Or someone.
No one blamed Atobe; he'd won against Tezuka of Seigaku in a tiebreak match worthy of the history books. It was just 'Pure bad luck', everyone said.
As if Atobe would accept that. Hubris, Oshitari's mind whispered.
The sound of a door slamming made Oshitari whirl around in his seat. Atobe stood immaculate in his school uniform, holding his schoolbag by his side with white knuckles, much like he held everything nowadays.
"Are we playing tennis, Atobe?" Oshitari asked quietly.
Atobe dropped his bag and didn't answer.
Oshitari didn't spot any flicker in Atobe's expression so he stood up slowly: "All right." He raised a hand to the row of lockers to get his tennis uniform.
Atobe's lip curled. "If you're always stuck on working out all the little details, you'll never be able to stand at the top."
The clubhouse looked strange in the fading light, the normally stark white benches and walls were cast in shadow. A faint sliver shone through the high window, striking the lockers beside them and reflecting a blurred impression of Atobe's scowl.
Oshitari remembered first year and Atobe's name rising along each door, knocking down each member in turn. Shishido and Gakuto had stood in front of the lockers, pointing at Atobe's name and tracking his way as he headed inexorably toward Number One.
Atobe's name was still there now, gleaming at the top of the Regulars' row.
"It's in the details that you discover things," Oshitari replied lightly. "Steamrollering over the world might put you on top of it, but you'll finish as blind as you started."
"What," said Atobe dangerously, "is that supposed to mean?"
Oshitari shrugged and opened his locker door.
Atobe was beside him in an instant and slammed it closed again. "You're always acting like you know better, watching me all the time like I'm about to trip up and prove you right." Atobe's eyes glittered feverishly in the gathering dark and he made a fast slicing gesture through the air in front of Oshitari's face. "I suppose Hyoutei's complete loss has at least provided some personal victory for you. It's so easy to stand back and watch the mighty fall when you've never tried to be mighty yourself. At least I risk. At least I dare. Who are you to judge Ore-sama?"
Oshitari heard an explosive noise rip from his throat and shoved Atobe against the lockers with a resounding clang.
"I don't care about your stupid performances," Oshitari told him harshly. "Is that why you think I watch you?"
Atobe's eyes flashed and he hauled Oshitari forward by his school tie. "I think you watch me because you like what you see."
Oshitari slid his hands roughly down Atobe's arms. "I think you're jealous of Gakuto."
Atobe laughed breathlessly, delightedly, wrapping a hand around Oshitari's neck. "I think you're jealous of everybody."
"I think your biggest flaw is your pride," Oshitari told him recklessly. "And I can see it being your downfall."
Atobe was laughing like he was high on something, his hands touching Oshitari sporadically, as if he'd been cataloguing places for ages and only now had a short time to try them all out. "What does it matter? We aren't going to Nationals." The intensity in Atobe's eyes sharpened to breakpoint and he said: "I don't want to lose this too."
"Atobe-" Oshitari leaned in and kissed him, feeling Atobe clutch urgently at the back of his shirt. Oshitari had waited so long for this, and now he was scared things were happening too fast: Atobe arching up against him and kissing him back, their mouths sliding open, hot and demanding. There was no time for details or analysing, just the insistent tug of Atobe's teeth against his lip and the curl of his fingers against Oshitari's neck.
Atobe made a frustrated sound and broke away, pulling off Oshitari's glasses to toss them on top of the lockers. Oshitari laughed and pressed a kiss to his jaw, running his hands down Atobe's chest and around his waist. The lockers felt cold against his knuckles and he wondered what that felt like along Atobe's back, but then Atobe twisted and wrapped an arm around Oshitari's neck, yanking him back for deeper kiss.
Atobe had been on edge all week, all year- Maybe longer. He pressed up all along Oshitari, drawing a sharp gasp when he ground their hips together. When Atobe whispered 'Please' into his ear, Oshitari didn't stop to think.
He slid a hand between them and tugged open Atobe's school trousers, already aware of how hard Atobe was against his hip. His fingers brushed hot skin and Atobe pressed his head back against the lockers, throwing the back of his hand against his mouth to keep quiet. Oshitari pulled Atobe's hand away as he made his first smooth stroke, and the resulting moan making Oshitari hide his smile in Atobe's neck.
"Feel good?" Oshitari asked needlessly, flicking out his tongue and tasting salty skin.
"Oh," Atobe managed, his breathing shallow and ticklish against Oshitari's cheek. "It's all right-" His words morphed into a broken groan as Oshitari deliberately swirled his thumb. "Keep-"
"I'm not stopping," Oshitari told him roughly, and moved his hand faster. Atobe spilled out a fast string of curses and pulled his head down for a fierce kiss. He thrust mindlessly into Oshitari's hand, and Oshitari couldn't help rubbing back. The movement felt incredible and Oshitari accidentally twisted his hand for a better angle. Atobe's nails dug tightly into his shirt in response, so he did it again and heard Atobe gasp. Oshitari pulled back to see.
Atobe's skin was covered in a light sheen of sweat, his mouth red and swollen from kissing. Atobe opened his eyes, panting hard, and tipped his chin to meet his stare. His tie was loose and skewed, it seemed like the lockers were the only thing keeping him standing. He looked exquisite. Oshitari moaned and twisted his hand hard, now slick and sliding easily, watching as Atobe's eyes squeezed shut and he came apart in front of him. The sight sent a fresh wave of arousal crashing through Oshitari, and with a few last erratic thrusts he came against Atobe's hip, his mind fragmenting into blissful white noise.
Atobe continued to arch against Oshitari, clinging to his shoulders for a protracted moment before melting back against the lockers.
"I always said you had talent," Atobe remarked groggily. "Once you forget about the details."
"Oh, shut up," Oshitari buried his head in Atobe's shoulder. "I don't think I can move."
"You'd better be able to move, Ore-sama is being crushed under your immense bulk. Also, you notice it's quite cold when you aren't getting sexually-molested by your resident genius."
"Sexually-molested?" Oshitari lifted his head and looked at him. Atobe's eyes sparkled at him, his face more relaxed than Oshitari could ever remember.
"Yes," Atobe kissed him lightly on the cheek. "You can molest me anytime."
Oshitari stared at him until Atobe started to look uncomfortable. "Except for, you know, when Ore-sama is in class or at practice or walking around in public." He shoved at Oshitari's shoulders to escape.
Oshitari smiled and refused to move. "That sounds workable."
Atobe huffed and tried to hair flick in a confined space, which wound up with him poking Oshitari in the eye. "Can Ore-sama be allowed to breathe properly now?"
Oshitari leant in. "Not quite yet."
Atobe managed to look outraged in the split second it took for Oshitari to kiss him, and then Atobe had his hands back in Oshitari's hair and his tongue in Oshitari's mouth.
"Stay?" Oshitari finally murmured against his lips.
"Ore-sama has a very busy schedule," Atobe told him meaningfully, and tugged Oshitari's shirt out of his trousers. "Maybe if it were a long-term investment…"
This time Oshitari didn't hide his smile.
*
"Where the hell is Atobe?!" Shishido yelled excitedly, grabbing Ootori's hand as he span around in frustration. "He needs to hear this!"
Oshitari watched everyone run off in different directions in search of their captain, and carried on walking at a sedate pace. He wanted the Nationals as much as they did, but he knew Atobe.
He stared down at the pathway alongside the courts and wondered if their excitement was for nothing. If this beautiful chance was going to be wasted because of one impossible boy.
Hubris. Atobe's biggest flaw, maybe his only flaw, but it was enough. Oshitari touched the side of his neck where Atobe had left a mark from the night before.
"Will his pride accept this?"
The thwack of a ball came into earshot from the practice courts, rapid as gunfire. Oshitari didn't know anyone who could hit the ball like that and keep returning it, except-
He ran through to the stadium bleachers just as the rest of the team burst onto the scene. Atobe was busy massacring his tennis ball against the wall and didn't seem to notice any of them. It was Shishido who yelled the news out.
Oshitari felt that slow churn of time as he watched Atobe let the ball go, watched as if through a television screen as he turned around with a fierce scowl.
He can't. Oshitari felt his heart drop.
Then, suddenly the windows of the school were being flung open; students poured from the doors and invaded the roof, setting free banners and whoops and wild applause. Oshitari looked back at Atobe's thunderous expression and felt a sickening swoop of panic. This is going to be awful.
The noise coalesced, and from it Oshitari suddenly recognised their chant emerging, growing in strength until the whole stadium was ringing with the Hyoutei's belief and love for Atobe.
"Yourself or Hyoutei?" Oshitari murmured.
Atobe raised his hand and the school fell silent.
"Come with me to the Nationals!"
Everyone exploded: the stadium shook with cheers and the rest of the team launched themselves down the bleachers to throw themselves at Atobe and dance for joy. Oshitari lifted his hand and stared at the half-moon indents deep in his palm.
Only Atobe.
Oshitari looked down as Atobe tilted his head up and looked at him. He smiled his bright, dazzling smile, as if he'd planned it all along, and flicked his hair in the sunshine.
Oshitari smiled in return. He could pay Atobe back any time.
~ End
A/N:
- 'Hubris' (/hjuːbrɪs/) (Ancient Greek: ὕβρις) is a term used in modern English to indicate overweening pride, haughtiness, or arrogance, which usually leads to the hero's downfall.
- The title 'Hamartia' (Ancient Greek: ἁμαρτία) is a term developed by Aristotle, generally translated as a character's Tragic Flaw (such as Hubris). However, the character's flaw must result from something that is also a central part of their virtue, which goes somewhat awry, usually due to a lack of self-understanding.
(I used these because I felt like Atobe suffers from pride and Oshitari suffers from over-thinking, but they make each other aware of these traits by the end of the story so they can LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER or something. Omgwtflol why am I using Greek in a tiny slash tennis fic?! Oh well.)