Author: Dana-chaaaan.
Information: Anime - Tennis no Oujisama - AtobeJiroh
Disclaimer: I'm not doing another disclaimer, so you know, so recognize that I do not own these songs or these characters, or this anime, or anything else for that matter. Except this story, I own that.Uhmmm. Nothing really. I just felt like writing a story, and I've always loved the title "Paper Heart", so... Here is my lovely AU. Hopefully it's good. :D
Story Summary: Alternate Universe. Atobe's rich (of course), and his father owns the most popular clinic and sister/brother clinics in the area while his mother is always away on trips, personally designing the look for famous people. He, incidentally of course, runs into a boy named Jiroh in the hospital. Fancy meeting him there...
Chapter Summary...
Fairy tales can come true, it can happen to you if you're young at heart
For it's hard you will find to be narrow of mind if you're young at heart
You can go to extremes with impossible schemes
You can laugh when your dreams fall apart at the seams
And life gets more exciting with each passing day
And love is either in your heart or on the way
Don't you know that it's worth every treasure on earth to be young at heart
For as rich as you are it's much better by far to be young at heart
And if you should survive to a hundred and five
Look at all you'll derive out of being alive
And here is the best part, you have a head start
If you are among the very young at heart.
"Young At Heart", Young At Heart
ChapterOne...Young At Heart
Sighing for what had to be the hundredth time today, Atobe straightened his posture in the chair placed in his father's office, waiting ever so patiently for said man. He had told his son he simply had to a check up around the hospital and that he'd be back in a few minutes to meet with Atobe. That was thirty minutes ago and Atobe Keigo was not pleased in the least.
First off, it was his father that had asked him to come today, so why was he the one waiting? Secondly, his father hated doing these "check up" things, so why would he waste time to be with his son to do something he loathed? Thirdly, no matter the person, it was down right rude to disregard Keigo in that fashion. He did not care if it was his father who was commanding him to wait in this room, he was unsatisfied.
Standing from the comfortable, leather chair, he pondered upon why his father had to be here every single day. Just because he owned the place didn't mean he had to live in the place. Honestly, it was a Saturday, a day when most people would be at home with their family. But, no, his father insisted to be at work, requesting that Keigo come at precisely 12 o'clock to have a dicussion.
Father dear, the clock has chimed 12:43.
The younger Atobe walked around the large, cherry-furnished desk to pass over the door's threshold. Disregarding whatever his father's request was, he moved down the hallways, ignoring the questioning looks he received from the workers. They knew, of course, who exactly he was. They knew he was the Atobe Keigo, son of the owner of this building and of the famous designer in whatever country she was in at the moment. Sometimes, it was brutal being known everywhere you went.
Dressed in fine, black trousers, a dark blue button-up shirt, and an expensive suit top, he walked with dignity and power, smile claiming his authority and eyes challenging one and all. Keeping that same look, as to not get anyone to come up to him and speak, Atobe shoved his perfectly moisterized hands in his pant pockets and swaggered down the hallways.
Like any other clinic, on the higher few floors there were plenty of sick people in white, glassed-in rooms, sleeping in what could be claimed as peaceful ignorance. Many elderly humans were lying in beds, or sitting in beds, or roaming the floor in their wheelchairs and whatnot. Keigo silently scrutinized these seniors with uncaring eyes before taking another turn and going about his way to the elevator. If his father was going to be late, he'd show the older man just how Keigo would take it.
He still had homework to do, as he had to keep the position of top student in his class. To do so, he had to be sure to complete all his required assignments on time, if not earlier and make sure they were one hundred percent accurate. Or, at least, amazingly close.
Deciding to spite his father even further, he choose to go home, complete his homework excrutiatingly slow, and come back to the clinic with take-out in his hands. Yes, even though he disliked the foul after-taste he received from fast food, he'd do it. Dear ol' daddy-kins wouldn't be abandoning him any time soon.
Finally, the elevator doors opened and a boy with messy, orange-tinted hair rushed out of the open doors, a few items held in his hands. Keigo made sure to get a good look at this kid while he passed by, curiousity piqued. The boy had glassy eyes, although he missed the color, like he was constantly yawning, and almost child-like features. The boy's hair was brushed, it appeared, but still slightly untamed. His clothing was regular, albeit better than most. His pants were snug jeans while his shirt was pushing it's way out from the bottom under his black jacket rolled to quarter sleeves.
He looked about Keigo's age.
Not letting this odd occurrence get in his way, he walked into the elevator, pressing the button that would take him to the main floor, and watching absently as the doors slid shut. Being the only one in the elevator, Atobe leaned against the side wall, arms folded over his chest and eyes closed in consideration. Surely, his father wasn't doing just check-ups on the building. He had to be up to something. Completely washing his mind from the boy he just observed in a few seconds moments ago, Keigo concentrated on his father's actions as of late.
Brushing off whoever may have decided to speak to him, he left the elevator once the doors opened, walked through groups of people and out the front doors. He wasn't staying here any longer than he had to.
II
It wasn't until a few hours later that Atobe Keigo leisurely walked back into the hospital. He had a white bag with take-out in his right hand, the other shoved in his pocket. He strutted through the main doors and straight to the elevator, avoiding the fact that many people were watching his entrance. With a proud look, he waited for the elevators to open and stepped inside, pressing down the button to take him to the floor his father's office was on.
Studying the enclosed area he was in, he crossed his arms over his chest, white bag dangling from his wrist. Soon enough, the doors opened and he stepped out casually, eyes scanning the rooms around him before walking further away from the elevator. As he started walking down the hall, something seemed to have attracted his attention. Looking into a room, he saw a boy about his age, one that looked oddly familiar, sitting on a wooden chair by a white bed. The white bed was perfectly tidy with no one laying under the covers like Keigo had pressumed. The boy was leaning forward, arms folded on the edge of the neatly made bed, chin and lips mostly hidden from the arms.
Shocked that he was actually curious, the lavender-haired boy walked over to the threshold, keeping his arms crossed arrogantly and leaning on the length of the door frame. "Are you sleeping?" he asked suddenly, noticing the slight jolt the other gave at being spoken to.
Without looking back to see who was addressing him, he answered in a gruff tone, "No."
"Well then, why are you laying there?" the other responded with a question, perking a delicate eyebrow at the impolite reply he had been given. Shaking off the rudeness, he continued to interrogate this boy, "Why are you visiting an empty bed?"
"I was visiting my grandfather," the tone was detached.
"Not anymore, apparently." Ignoring the wince he saw, Atobe observed as the boy straightened his posture and continued to stare at the clean bed.
"What do you want anyways?" Eyes narrowed, even though it was unseen; the gestured was an assumtion of Keigo's from the tone of voice.
"I saw you on my way out," pushing himself away from the wall, he shrugged, "That was hours ago. Have you left at all?"
The boy shuffled his legs over the side of the chair and rotated his body, head turning to finally meet the other speaking to him. His eyes, like the first time Keigo saw him, were glassy. The boy twisted his body in a seemingly uncomfortably position, resting his arms on the back of the chair and placing his chin on the arms, eyes boring into the other's.
"No, I haven't." A curt response.
"Was your grandfather here when you first came here?" That appeared as though it struck a chord through the other's body. Appearingly red eyes adverted and stared bitterly at the tiled floor.
"No, he wasn't."
"And you stayed here?"
Those blank eyes that Keigo wanted to hate so very much seeked out his own, "Yes. I... Anyways, why are you talking to me?" Strangely enough, the emotion that flickered through the other's sense of sight was not residual bitterness, but sheer curiousity.
Unfolding his arms, he lifted his right wrist slightly, gesturing to the white bag, "I bought take-out. The problem is, though, that I don't like take-out." With a smirk, he walked closer to the boy and motioned to the white bed. "May I sit here?"
The seated male opened his mouth to speak, yet no sound immediately came out, "...sure." He offered a small, thankful gaze to Keigo, before rotating himself once again to face the boy sitting on the edge of the bed.
Atobe elegantly put the bag on the bed, separating the flaps and pulling out the white boxes within. He placed them on the bed as well, popping them open for the other boy to choose what he wanted. Allowing the boy a small smile, Atobe tilted his head slightly, "Sit on the bed with me." He turned his positioning and sat on his bottom, one leg bent, knee poiting to the side, half in front of him and half underneath him, while the other bent upward, knee pointing to the ceiling.
Happy to oblige, Keigo noted, the other climbed onto the bed and sat Indian-style near the head of the bed. "Looks good, what is it?"
"Honestly, I don't know. Have whatever you want," Keigo chuckled a little before pulling out some plastic utensils and handing them to the boy. This meal was meant to spite his father, but he could care less at the moment. "By the way, what's your name?"
The orange-head looked up from the boxes, "Oh. I'm Akutagawa Jiroh, and you are?" His eyes sparkled with raw emotions, although Keigo wasn't sure what to name each one specifically.
"Atobe Keigo. It's a pleasure to meet you, Akutagawa," he gave another polite smile, excusing the small blush that accompanied Jiroh's cheeks at the kindness.
"Pleasure's all mine," Akutagawa said with a grin before picking up one of the take-out boxes and preparing to eat to his heart contents. "Thanks again, for the food," he said with scarce embarrassment before digging into his meal.
"You're perfectly welcome," the owner's son announced, smiling at the other boy's actions, despite him being unwilling to do so.
Throughout the meal, the two rarely spoke. Jiroh ate and Atobe relaxed, both seated in a comfortable silence, even though the other was unknown to them. It was a strange ocurrence, but almost definitely not a bad one.
Eventually, Jiroh was finished with his meal, having eaten the majority of three boxes Atobe brought. He realized what he had done and looked up sheepishly at his new friend. Or, who he assumed to be his new friend, "Sorry I ate all your food," he gave a nervous laugh, scratching the left side of his jawline.
Reassuringly, Keigo gave the other a charming smile, "It's alright. I intended it to be for you."
He laughed full heartedly, feeling relieved from the odd restrictions that had been coursing through his body the last few hours. "Thank you so much." Seconds after, his face fell and his eyes looked more panicked, "Atobe, what time is it?"
Keigo pushed his arm out of his sleeve and read the exquisite watch settled on his wrist. "It's a little past six o'clock, why?" He watched, amused, as the other's eyes grew wide before the orange-haired boy quickly stood from his seat.
"I was supposed to be home by now. And, I have to tell my family about...grandpa. And, I just... I have to go," he gave an apologetic look, "I'm sorry. Thank you for everything, but I really need to get home."
Atobe, bemused, raised a thin eyebrow and the edges of his lips twirked upward, "Of course, you go on home." He slightly ushered the other out, standing as well and closing the white boxes and putting them in the bag.
Jiroh flashed a big grin before sprinting to the door and putting a hand on the frame to twirl him around to turn. Quickly, he stopped his movement and looked at the other, "Hey, Atobe, we're friends, right?"
Keigo inwardly narrowed his eyes at the term, "Friends?" Outwardly, he shrugged with a hesitant smirk, "Sure, why not?"
"Okay then, bye!" And with that, he was gone.
"Even though I'll probably never see you again, Akutagawa," but he was speaking to an empty space.
What a strange boy, he thought, cleaning the room from its inhabitants and exiting, heading toward his father's office that he should've been in quite a while ago. Sighing, he wondered what exactly his father wished to speak to him about. Surely it wasn't too important, as his father had avoided him for three-fourths of an hour; however, he would be the polite one and discuss this professionally.
Keigo sighed, it was just another mediocre day.
Endofchapter.
Last words... Please, give me constructive advice, or tips or anything of that sort. Please, though, do not claim that these characters or this story was and/or horrible, completely wrong, or incorrect. First off, this is my story, I'm sorry to say, but I will take it as I please, and it's very disrespectful of you to simply insult it just because you didn't enjoy it. I apologize that you did not like it, but honestly, that's not my problem. Secondly, these characters, although very important, do not really get that much screen play. Or, I have not seen it. Jiroh, for this story, is going to be slightly serious, like I have seen him in the anime. Yet, he will still have his playfulness and active nature. And, Atobe, while being slightly cocky and prideful, he is still aware of manners and is not without emotions. I understand he has a huge ego, but half of that is from being NUMBER ONE at tennis and at school. So, take away tennis, and his ego isn't so incredibly high. Please, I just request that you do not insult me or my stories unless you have any true data to go against me.Tell me if my sentence structure is incorrect, or my word-use is uninteresting, or my grammar needs to be tweeked. Do not tell me this pairing is wrong, this story is dumb, or these characters are "OOC". This may be over the internet, but I do request to have respectful reviews, if I am to receive some. Thank you very much for reading this author's note. And for reading this story, regardless of whether or not you liked it.
Hinty pinty... I will tell you right now, I have seven songs planned to be the chapter summary for the six chapters and an epilogue. Some of them are easy to comprehend and to understand the full meaning I am getting behind it. Some, however, are hard to signify why it was used for the chapter summary. If you wish to know the reason as to why I chose the songs I decided upon, simply PM me or tell me in a review, or anything. I'll respond as quickly as possible. Thank you for understanding.Next, I have in store... "Watch What Happens", The Umbrellas of Cherbourg