A/N Part of my spree of writing that I did over the holidays. I think a few months earlier, doro-dear requested some Royal. Well. Here it is. Pitiful, isn't it? Sorry I couldn't do any better.

So, this is dedicated for doro-dear, who I dearly miss. This is not AU, but a few years in the future, when Ryoma is 21 and Atobe is 23. If anyone cares, that makes Momoshiro 22.

Disclaimer: Let's be reasonable now, shall we?

"Ryoma, don't take it that way-" Momoshiro pleaded, regret in his eyes.

"Echizen." Ryoma coolly corrected. "You may call me Echizen." His anger seethed inside him.

"Please, can't we still be friends?" Momoshiro's voice fell.

"Are you sure you want to be friends with a gay person? Considering you yourself is straight?" Ryoma's tone was icy cold.

"That has nothing to do with being friends." Momoshiro paused. "Besides, I thought I was… gay."

"Yeah well, you're not. As you so conveniently found out." Ryoma rolled his eyes, gesturing at the blonde bimbo that was standing off to the side, gazing up at the pretty lights. Ryoma was disgusted. How could someone pick that wretch over someone like him? She wasn't even fluent in Japanese, the idiot.

"I don't want a fight to start between us. Not here." Momoshiro begged quietly. He was getting frazzled, and he didn't want to lose his temper.

"Why? You afraid that your little girlfriend will be jealous?" Ryoma glared. "Oh wait, she can't, because the only words she knows in Japanese are hello, goodbye, and don't stop!"

Even though both of them were quite a sight, nobody really noticed what was going on. Well, what would you expect in a crowded dance hall packed with people? Everywhere, you could see couples making out, people getting stoned, and various types of dancing. The loud music certainly didn't help any, either.

"You know, it's because of that attitude that made me so annoyed every day." Momoshiro's eyes hardened.

"Oh, and to think that just a few months ago you called it cute and lovable." Ryoma noted sarcastically.

"You always thought you were better than me!" Momoshiro accused.

"Well, perhaps that's because I am." Ryoma glared.

"You're going to end up lonely and single, brat." Momoshiro seethed.

"And you're going to end up with a fat wife and two screaming babies." Ryoma sneered.

"You'll see. Sometime down the road, you're going to realize that you need an attitude adjustment." Momoshiro clenched his fists.

"If you keep on dating girls, you'll find that you may need to make an adjustment of your own." Ryoma stared knowingly at Momoshiro's bottom half.

"You sick, stubborn brat! I hate you!" Momoshiro fumed.

"I bet you want to break up with me all over again, don't you?" Ryoma replied dryly.

"Later." Momoshiro spat out, turning away. He started making his way to his new girlfriend.

"Sure, just leave. It's what you do best!" In an act of momentary insanity, he took off one of his brand new Armani leather shoes and threw it as his ex-boyfriend's head.

It hit with dead accuracy, causing a loud swear to travel across the room.

"Jerk." Ryoma muttered. He wandered off to find his shoe, cursing over the 6 months he wasted with that blasted Momoshiro.

Atobe was not enjoying this party.

"Tell me why I agreed to this again?" He muttered to his co-worker Oshitari.

"Because even if you're soon to become the next CEO of Armani, you need to live a little. Jesus, Atobe. You haven't done anything your age in years. Let me take you out to have some fun once in a while, alright?" Oshitari smiled back.

"Oh please. You're just here to see your little boyfriend." Atobe rolled his eyes. He had much better things to do than to attend a stupid, loud party.

Planning his celebration party for when he was named the CEO of Armani was one of them.

Staring at his watch, he groaned.

"Heads!" Shouted someone in the crowd. Atobe looked up just in time to have his beautiful face meet with a shoe.

And a very hard one, at that.

"Who. Did. This?" He called out angrily after he picked the shoe up off the floor. How dare someone throw a shoe at the Atobe Keigo, soon-to-be CEO? And it had hit his face! Millions of people around the world got surgery to try to have a face even half as charming as his own, and there were people trying to damage it?

"Oshitari. I'm leaving." He glared at the immense crowd, shoving his belongings into Oshitari's arms.

Oshitari just chuckled and went to find his red-headed lover.

Atobe sifted through the crowd, keeping his eyes on the ground. He was in search for feet. A pair of very small feet.

The shoe was tiny, fit for someone equally small. Now, all Atobe had to do was find someone with exceptionally small feet, or someone with only one shoe. He glared at the floor beneath him.

Heaven or hell, he'd find that damned person who dared to throw a shoe at the almighty Atobe Keigo. And then, perhaps a lecture on how to treat expensive shoes with care would happen.

He was looking forward to it already.

Ryoma stared at his empty Styrofoam cup. He had just filled it up, but it was already gone.

As he made his way to the punch table for the 5th time that night, he felt a little queasy.

Maybe drowning his anger with punch was a bad idea, he thought as he hurried off to the washroom.

Atobe scowled. What the hell was wrong with this party? He had already found several people with shoeless feet, and none of them fit the shoe.

"Huh?" One drunken barefoot guy had slurred. "I saw 'em flying aroun' in da air, so I took mine offa my feet and threw 'em." He grinned stupidly.

"Well, my shoes are like, so uncomfortable." Complained a prissy girl. "And then I saw some shoes getting tossed back and forth, so I was like, I'll join in! It's totally the new fad." She tossed her hair.

"Er… Say again?" The dj shouted over the music.

Useless. That's what they all were. Atobe shook his head in disgust. He didn't expect them all to be like his glorious self, but couldn't they at least be half as tolerant and dignified as he was? Sure, he wasn't asking for someone of equal calibre of himself, but Christ, even Shishido was better than this.

Speaking of Shishido, he looked around. His old-time friend was lounging around, scowling at the air in front of him.

"Still haven't made up with Choutarou yet?" Atobe taunted, poking Shishido out of his daze.

"Shut up." Shishido's two words spoke millions.

"Shishido-" Atobe paused, looking down. "Why aren't you wearing your shoes?"

"I needed to relieve some anger." Shishido muttered. "When a shoe came flying over the head of the crowd, it landed in front of me. After I threw it back into the crowd, I felt better. So I took off my shoes and threw them as well."

"You're an imbecile." Atobe shook his head.

"Like you're any better." Shishido grumbled.

Atobe decided to not even grace the lame comeback with one of his witty ones. Instead, he thought, he might as well show some generosity and be kind to the poor soul that was wilting in his presence.

"You know, I think I saw Choutarou getting teased at somewhere by the cupcakes…" Atobe hinted.

Shishido pondered over this for a few seconds.

"Oh no." He said dryly, spilling his cupful of punch onto the floor. "I spilt my drink. I'm going to get some more." And with that, he left.

Atobe paused his search for a minute to honour his beautiful generosity for the poor soul. After his momentary ego-burst, he went on, refreshed and ready for a new battle.

"Move it." Ryoma grunted as a heavy body pushed past him. Already unhappy, he tried to push the guy back, but he was already too far gone.

So, he did what he felt like doing. He took off his other shoe and promptly threw it at him.

At the loud cuss, he felt a surge of the past come to him. Boy, that really did sound like that Shishido guy from Hyoutei.

Shaking his head, he turned around. Old memories were not what he needed. Even if they were ones of pure enjoyment.

He sighed, looking down at his shoeless feet. What a waste of perfectly good shoes, he thought. Thinking he might as well go find his shoes then leave this dizzying loud place, he ambled off.

"Atobe." Atobe looked up from his expensive hand-carved wooden desk to see Oshitari in his office doorway.

"Yes?" A lock of stray silver hair fell into Atobe's face. Brushing it away with the end of his pen, Atobe leaned back in his chair.

"Congratulations." The one word that Oshitari said spoke millions.

"Naturally." Atobe beamed as Oshitari replaced the brass nameplate on his desk with one that clearly said Atobe Keigo, Chief Executive Officer.

"So, what will be your first order as the CEO of Armani?" Oshitari spent no time in asking with a smirk.

Atobe had only one thing on his mind.

"Get me all the sales information for product #2385." As Oshitari left the room, Atobe gazed into the mirror he kept conveniently on his desk.

Stroking his cheek, he recalled the brutal night 2 weeks ago.

"I will have my revenge." He glared into the mirror.

"I can't believe you're actually going to do this." Oshitari sighed in frustration with his boss.

"Don't tell me what to do. I'll take care of my business just fine. It's your job to make sure everything goes smoothly for me, not be my personal counsellor." Atobe rubbed his eyes, tired after hours of staring at the computer screen.

"At least let someone else do this for you." Oshitari watched with a bored face as his colleague scrolled down the seemingly endless list of names.

"No. I will familiarize myself with all the names by myself." Atobe muttered stubbornly, absorbed in his work. "My secretary can write them down later, but I must first see them all."

Oshitari shook his head in amazement. Atobe could be an egoistical stubborn prick sometimes, but when it came to work, no one put in as much effort as he did. Deep down inside the diva, there was a hard working old-fashioned man who wholeheartedly believed that if you wanted something done, you had to do it yourself.

"Oshitari." Atobe's unexpected voice broke through the silence. He beckoned Oshitari over to his desk with his hand, never once taking his eyes off the screen.

"Yes?" Oshitari made his way around and behind the big desk. Staring at the computer, he frowned. "What is it?"

"Look at this." Atobe pointed at a name onto the screen, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Well, that certainly brings back memories…" Oshitari murmured, the ends of mouth tugging up into a smirk.

"He paid with cash." Muttered Atobe, who seemed to be in a daze. "How did that little brat get so much money?"

"I heard through the grapevine that he started dating that Momoshiro." Oshitari added in needlessly.

Atobe said nothing. He looked up to glare at Oshitari. "You may leave now. Go and grab me some coffee."

"Yes, Atobe-sama." Oshitari drawled and walked out of the room slowly with ease. It looked like the mighty Atobe Keigo still hadn't fully gotten over his junior high crush, he mused to himself.

Nothing could possibly get worse, Ryoma thought darkly as he slammed down the phone. Nothing.

"Shit." He cursed as the impact of the slam made his hand tremble. Damn his boss. Damn his whole company. Him taking a week-long break from work was his own decision. They didn't need to call him every single day to make sure he was still alive, damnit.

After the party, he had left for a long bus ride home with only one shoe (which he had painstakingly searched for). Damnit to hell, who was the punk who thought it'd be funny to bring his shoe home? That had been around 2 weeks ago, and he still hadn't found out how to get his shoe back.

He checked his watch. He had an hour to dress and get to the party he was invited to. When he had gotten back from the party the night before, he had crashed onto his bed. And then he had woken up at 4 in the afternoon.

That was pretty much the life for Ryoma now. He would wake up in the afternoon grumpy from being hung over, get dressed, grab something to eat, get to the party just in time, get drunk, stumble back to his house to crash, and then start all over again.

He was not taking his break-up well.

As he struggled to button up his shirt, he pulled up the jeans that were falling down his hips. Lately he had been getting thinner, he noted.

Grabbing his mug of hot coffee, he took a swig of it as he slipped into his shoes. As he moved to get to the washroom, he bumped into a stray table and swiftly spilled all his hot coffee all over his new shoes.

"Shit!" Cursed Ryoma out loud as he let the mug fall to the carpeted floor of his apartment. Quickly sliding off his soggy socks, he ran to the washroom to wash his burning feet and stained shoes.

Blowing on his feet to cool them off, he looked at his shoes. They were completely ruined. Muttering expletives, he went to his closet.

Slippers he stole from a hotel, a pair of running shoes he had outgrown, and one Armani shoe. Groaning, he clenched his fists and hit the wall.

That was when the doorbell rang. Trembling with fury and aggravation, Ryoma took his sole Armani shoe in his hand to give the person at the door a piece of his mind.

The anger all pent up inside of him sat at the tip of his mouth, ready to be unleashed at the innocent person at the other side of the door.

Atobe was not having good days lately. He had gotten into his car at the start of the morning, given his driver a large piece of paper with many addresses on it, and settled into the plush seats comfortably.

One by one, he visited each address on the list. One by one, he asked the owner to try on the shoe. When it didn't fit, he would politely dismiss himself. Slowly, he became impatient, grumpy, and tired.

"This will be the last one." He announced to the driver as he pushed open the car door for what seemed the hundredth time. As he stomped up the steps of the large apartment building (not bothering with the elevator), he had felt a bubble of irritation burst inside him. At this rate, he'd never find the owner of the shoe. It was so god damn tiny; no one so far had even been able to put it on.

He didn't glance at the nameplate beside the apartment door. He didn't care, really. He'd had a horrible day and he could care less who he would unleash his aggravation on.

He rang the doorbell, and waited for a few minutes. What he got when the door opened was not what he expected.

When the door swung open, both people had been ready to give the other a great bashing, but both had been too shocked to speak. They stopped in their movements, both of their mouths froze before their words formed.

Atobe was hardly aware of the flush that was spreading on his face. He stared at the unkempt younger man in shock.

His shirt, improperly buttoned, barely covered his slim shoulders and revealed a bit of his bare chest. His jeans were slipping down his hips, and his feet were red and blistered. His face was in shock, but his eyes were the same old stubborn golden orbs from years ago.

Ryoma wasn't that surprised by the older man's attire. He had on a grey business suit, a dark blue striped tie and a suave haircut that shone brighter than his shoes. His eyes held a proud look to them, ones of many years of hardening and polishing. He radiated power and money; just like before.

"You-" They stuttered out unanimously. Then they glanced at the other's outstretched hand.

Atobe's eyes narrowed at the shoe gripped in Ryoma's hand. It was just as small as the one he had in his hand.

Ryoma glared at the shoe bound in Atobe's hand. It was his other shoe, all right.

"You-" They said again, except this time each had much more anger and malice in their tone.

In one swift action, they both hurtled the shoe in their hands at the other, and caught the shoe thrown at them with their other hand.

"You thief!" Ryoma glared, snatching the other shoe from Atobe's hand.

"You violator!" Atobe held his hand over his cheek, remembering the impact he had gotten from that shoe weeks ago.

"What do you want?" Ryoma put down his shoes warily.

"Well, a few weeks ago that shoe," Atobe pointed at the shoe on the ground. "Hit me on the face."

"And why is that any of my concern?" Ryoma crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"That's what I'm about to tell you." Atobe flicked a stray lock of hair over his shoulder and began his tale.

After that, Ryoma told his side of the story.

At the end of it, they both glared sullenly at each other in silence, knowing the other was not completely at fault.

"It's the damn Momoshiro's fault." Ryoma said at last.

Atobe thought it over. Then he nodded. "Damn Momoshiro." He agreed.

Ryoma glanced at his watch. "Hey, I have to go to a party. Mind giving me a lift?" He pointed at the long limousine a few stairs down.

Atobe's nose crinkled in disgust. "You're going to a party like that?"

"Yeah." Ryoma shrugged. "Let me go put on a pair of socks."

"Oh no you don't." Atobe grabbed Ryoma by the arm. At the contact, both felt a spark of electricity speed through their veins.

"You're coming with me." Atobe smirked at Ryoma's confused expression as he dragged him into his car.

That night, when Ryoma arrived at the party with the most expensive clothes money could buy and a handsome Atobe by his side, Momoshiro couldn't help but wonder if he had done anything wrong. With the way Atobe was glaring at him, you'd think he'd have thrown a shoe at his face or something.

Omake

Momoshiro was washing his hands when he heard the countdown. Inside the small washroom of the party hall, he heard several people chanting numbers.

"10, 9, 8…" He quickly wiped his hands, not wanting to miss what was going to happen.

"3, 2…" He swung open the door.

Immediately, a loud "ONE!" was shouted and from all directions, shoes were thrown by a whole crowd of people at him.

As he got pelted by millions of shoes, he swore that he saw Atobe with a bucketful of high heels advancing upon him.

And then everything went dark.