Til now, I always got by on my own
I never really cared until I met you
And now it chills me to the bone
How do I get you alone?

Atobe Keigo's father was very invested in his son's education. He was prepared to send him to the finest high school in all of Japan, and when even the finest high schools weren't fine enough, he created his own private school to send his son to. There Atobe was lucky to have the best educators in the country, the best facilities in the continent, and ruled as the king of Atobe Gakuen.

It was a little unfortunate that he was the only student attending it, though. At the start of his second year, he persuaded his father to allow other students besides him to enrol – though he had insisted it should be an all-boys school, hence the reason why no girls will appear in this story ever. What a sausage fest. Seriously.

It had been boring, being the only student there – and besides, what good was a king without his loyal subjects?

With the fresh wave of students came new teachers, too. Atobe Sr. had weeded out the ones that hadn't lived up to his standards, or the ones that he just plain didn't like. Atobe wasn't particularly interested in the rotation of staff, and he ignored most of the new staff. That was until their new homeroom teacher walked in on the first day of term, and bowed deeply to the class.

"Ohio gozaimasu. I am Tezuka-sensei, your new homeroom teacher."

As he wrote his name on the blackboard, Atobe thought that Tezuka must be written with the kanji for "Major" and "Hottie". From the moment he first saw him, he was hooked; he ogled Tezuka all through home room, admiring his handsome (though admittedly somewhat expressionless) face. When Tezuka turned to the side, Atobe marvelled at the gentle curve of his nose, the glasses that rested on its bridge giving his mature face a distinguished appearance. When Tezuka took attendance, Atobe almost melted at the sound of his voice – smooth and lyrical, and he became so lost in the wonderful noise that he almost forgot to answer when his name was called.

Could this be love? Atobe had never loved anyone but himself, but now he was thinking that he might have fallen… and fallen hard. He contemplated this in the bathtub later that night, closing his eyes as he sunk into the bubbles.

His eyes opened a few minutes later as the bathroom door opened, and Kabaji entered, holding a tray with a tall champagne flute on it. As Kabaji knelt beside the bath Atobe took the glass soundlessly, taking a long sip. The champagne was non-alcoholic, of course, because this fic does not support underage drinking.

"Well, Kabaji," Atobe said, setting the glass back down on the tray. "Did you enjoy your first day at Atobe Gakuen?"

"Usu."

Kabaji had never been a big talker, but he'd always been a good listener. Atobe had always enjoyed that fact – partly because it gave him plenty of opportunities to hear himself talk. Now he genuinely felt grateful for it, however; the thoughts mulling around in his head were confusing him, and he was not sure what to make of them.

"Oresama met the most wonderful man today," Atobe began. Well, he hadn't really met Tezuka – he hadn't even spoken to the other, besides answering when his name had been called. "He was… just wonderful. He's as close to perfect as anyone can be without being me."

Atobe leant back, staring at the tiled ceiling above him. As near perfect as Tezuka was, though, there was an obvious problem: he was his teacher. Atobe wondered how old he was. He didn't look old, but he seemed like the type of man to take care of himself – he could be at least thirty. He certainly had the mannerisms of an old man. Maybe he was forty! Maybe fifty! Maybe a hundred!

Well, if he was a hundred, he'd be one sexy centenarian.

"Kabaji," Atobe said briskly, downing the last of his champagne in one swell swallow and placing the glass back on the tray. "Leave me alone."

"Usu," Kabaji said, leaving the room as quickly as Atobe had demanded he should.

Left alone, Atobe tried to remember all the things he'd noticed about Tezuka: his height, the precise structure of his face, the way he'd said his name. Atobe wasn't sure exactly how the next year would go, but he knew how it would end. He would make Tezuka his own. He didn't know exactly how – all he knew was that he wanted Tezuka, and he always got what he wanted.