Disclaimer: I do not own Prince of Tennis or any of its characters. I only own my crack muse.

Warning: Absolute craziness.

Pairings: Possible Atobe X Mizuki, or Mizuki X Atobe. Depends on how you see it.

War of the Purple Shirts

By: Gwynhafra86

Atobe considered himself to be a very blessed person. He had the looks, the grades, the wealth, and everything peasants could only dream of. Of course, it was only natural if his loyal subjects felt so compelled to follow everything he said. If he snapped his fingers, he'd have hordes of fans screaming his name. If he so much as swished his racket, he'd have his opponents rooted to the spot, stunned by his beautiful skills.

Oh yes. Be awed by his magnificence.

However, while he was fine with these commoners following his orders, he was dead set against them trying to start a trend by using his beautiful looks as a sample. His hair, for example. The beautiful shiny gray hair, cut in a style fitting his regal heritage. No one else was allowed to have the same hairstyle, and they know it.

His snap would be another one. No one else was allowed to snap like how he did it. He didn't care if they had to snap with all five of their fingers, or if they had to snap with their toes, just as long as they didn't produce one which looked or sounded like his, and they know it.

Last but not least, his fashion sense. It would have been every popular teen's dream to have his or her style of dressing become a fashion statement, but not to Atobe. If everyone dressed like him, wouldn't he be as indistinguishable as those peasants out there?

That being said, imagine the mortification he must have felt when he attended a tea party of a friend of his aunt's, only to find St Rudolph's Mizuki Hajime turning up dressed in the exact same purple shirt as the one he was wearing.

He didn't know how Mizuki could turn up at such a grand party like this, which was only for royalty like him. Maybe they were related in some way, connected by some aunt's cousin's sister's friend's who knew what. (Atobe shuddered at the very thought of being related to a peasant). That thought, however, was more bearable than the very idea that someone else was walking around looking like him...well...not exactly like him, per say. No one else could be given such godly looks as he did. Someone else was walking around in clothes like his, and that was unacceptable.

Mizuki didn't seem at all affected by that. In fact, Mizuki didn't seem to have noticed his ore-samaness in person, despite the fact that Atobe was standing on the stage, in front of everyone, and was therefore at the most eye catching spot available. He continued to mingle around with Atobe's high class, distinguished guests, charming them with his data talk, speaking with his trademark soft laugh while his fingers continued to twirl his hair.

Atobe couldn't take it anymore. It would be so embarrassing if anyone associated him with Mizuki just because of their clothes. He hopped off the stage and made a beeline towards the black-haired teen, dragging him off inside the building.

Mizuki was looking affronted, of course, by the time Atobe stopped, satisfied that his guests wouldn't be able to see Mizuki and his horrible choice of clothes here. Mizuki patted his hair, giving that eerie chuckle of his as he did so. "Ufufufu. That was very unrefined of you, Atobe-san. What a surprise to see you here. Were you invited?"

Atobe gave the peasant a stare. The nerve! After ruining his beautiful mood with his choice of clothing, was he also going to question his royal rights to being here? "This building has ore-sama's name, in case you haven't noticed, ahn."

Mizuki looked up. Surely enough, the Atobe's family portraits were hung all around the hall. His aunt had a severe family complex after all. "I see. Well, as much as it is charming, I am not interested in taking a tour around the house at the moment. Now if you'd excuse me, I will be looking around to see if Fuji-kun is here yet."

Oh great. Was he related to the Fuji's too? Atobe placed a vice grip on Mizuki's shoulder. "You are not excused." He stated flatly. "Ore-sama demands that you make another choice of attire for the night."

That sent Mizuki into another bout of chuckling (giggling?). "My my. It just occurred to me that we're wearing the same shirt." Incredible. It actually took Mizuki so long to notice? Peasants were peasants indeed. "However, I do not have a change of clothes, so I will not be changing this shirt."

A vein popped on Atobe's head. "Ore-sama doesn't care if you have to turn up at the party topless. You will change out of that shirt immediately."

Mizuki twirled his hair. "I will not. Now if you'd excuse me." With that, the black-haired teen turned around and walked back to the party.

Atobe was left seething. His pride was being trampled upon, and while he would have liked to choke the data player then and there, he would only be further embarrassing himself as one of his butlers was heading his direction.

"Keigo-bocchama. It's almost time for your speech." The butler informed.

Atobe bit his bottom lip. He'd have to act fast if he were to salvage what was left of his pride. Using his quick thinking, he leapt into action.

He changed out of his shirt.

XXX

If an Atobe was insulted, it was equivalent to an act of war.

Atobe could not forget the day he was humiliated, and he threw back a silent challenge of his own. It was a competition of whose sense of dressing was better.

If Mizuki turned up with a frilly purple T-shirt, Atobe would turn up in a shirt with twice as much frills and ribbons, just to show who had the better attire. It would always be purple, of course. Purple was, after all, the royal colour for the romans, and was very fitting for Atobe's image.

Mizuki seemed to know what Atobe was doing, if that smirk (accompanied by his giggling and hair twirling) thrown in his direction was any indication. He accepted the challenge, and whenever he was not in school or on the courts, he'd be wearing fanciful purple clothing which Atobe never knew a peasant could afford.

Of course, if it was a competition of clothing brands, there was no way Atobe would lose, of course. He was, after all, perhaps the richest guy in Japan...or at least his dad was.

With that confident thought in mind, Atobe stepped into a Gucci store...and came face to face with Mizuki himself.

"You!" They both pointed at the same time. What was this peasant doing here? Worse still, they were wearing the same shirt...again.

Atobe placed one hand on his hip. "Oh? What are you doing here, ahn?"

"Clothes shopping, obviously." Mizuki stated flatly. He didn't feel the need to ask what Atobe was doing here.

Both of them walked into the store at the same time...or more like, they squeezed through the entrance, shoulder to shoulder, neither allowing the other to walk in front. Once they have finally cleared the entrance, they went on separate paths, Atobe taking the right, and Mizuki taking the left.

Atobe browsed through the selection of clothes carefully, intent on buying one which would definitely put Mizuki to shame, one which would show off his royal self perfectly. He frowned at a few frilly shirts, wondering if that was enough frills to actually beat the ones on Mizuki's clothings. He didn't think so. With that, he abandoned that rack and proceeded on to the next.

After nearly half an hour of shirt-hunting, Atobe finally came to the racks around the middle of the store. There, glowing in his vision, tempting his sight, was a beautiful purple shirt with so much frills that Atobe was pretty sure would take Mizuki's at least ten years worth of sewing to achieve. That shirt was practically calling out to him, acknowledging him as its one true owner.

Sadly, it seemed to be acknowledging Mizuki as its owner too, for the data player was making a beeline towards it.

"That shirt is mine!" Atobe lunged forward, seizing the sleeve of the shirt.

Mizuki seized the other sleeve, and held on for dear life.

Atobe gave his ice emperor stare, his favourite tactic when he wanted things to go his way. "This is mine. Let go."

"Ufufufu. I was the one who saw this first, so it belongs to me." Mizuki insisted, twirling his hair with his free hand.

It was too precious a jewel to be taken as a tug of war item, and when Mizuki dragged the shirt over to the changing room, Atobe, who was adamant in not letting go, ended up being pulled along for the ride as he didn't want to tear that shirt. They resumed the battle for the ownership of the one true purple shirt in the changing room, which involved a lot of fists fights, scratching and hair pulling. Mizuki gave a grunt as he lost his footing in the small, cramped changing room, and his back hit the wall, which caused the changing room to shake slightly.

Atobe took that chance to grab the shirt from his temporarily weakened grip. He took the shirt and wore it in a flourish. He was the proud owner of this shirt. Be awed! With that, he threw back the curtains and made to walk out smugly.

He certainly didn't expect to see all the salespersons, along with a number of other customers, all standing right outside his changing room, blushing slightly. What were they all doing there?

"Mommy? Why are they both in the same changing room? What were they doing inside? And why is that onii-chan looking so messy?" A young child asked.

The parent threw a glare at them before leading the child away. "Well...when two teenage boys get too hormone charged..."

Atobe whipped around to look at Mizuki. It had just occurred to him that the data player was looking very ruffled, like a rooster which had some of its feathers plucked. Also, the scratch marks were quite visible on his hands and face. No...this looked very wrong...his reputation...

It wasn't helping that Mizuki had a slight limp thanks to his fall.

Mizuki had the nerve to giggle at him, twirling his hair faster this time. "You win this round, Atobe-san. The next time, that shirt is mine." His voice held a promise, even as he fisted the shirt lightly.

Atobe gulped.

The End

Please Read and Review. No Flames Please.

-Gwyn86