Fic written for the Pointless but Original Talking Forum Secret Santa Fic Exchange
Request Number: 02
Pairing/Groups: If there's a Shiraishicentric with some Oshitari Kenya or Fuji, I'd be ever grateful. IMPERIAL (TezuAto), Tango, Perfect, Pillar, or Royal. Anything involving Ann is okay, too.
Squicks/Turn Offs in Fic: Emerald and Golden. And if Ryuzaki Sumire is involved, I'll sue.
Interests in Fic: Angst and hawt stuff.
Gen/Het/Slash/Smut/None/All-of-the-above?: ALL OF 'EM.
Request: Something Royal. And charrie death. Maybe even Imperial, if anyone is up to it
PT: ...Yeah.... A late "Happy Holidays!" and a "Happy New Year!" to everyone!! Holy sugar, it's 2009 now o.o Happy New Year, ezyl!!
The italicized part is a flashback-ish thingy from Atobe's viewpoint. May be clear, but I've had previous encounters...yeah....
Disclaimer: ...B—but...I'm only thirteen! -Glare-
--
Sanada smiled.
The smile didn't reach his eyes. Hardly.
His mouth was curved upwards, in that smile he owned; the smile that appeared when it was truly called for with the most insistent of tugs. Those smiles reached his eyes.
That was what set this smile apart from the others.
This was not a rare gesture of goodwill.
It was fascinating how a small curve of the lips that never reached the eyes—by will or something that could not be helped—could speak of so much; Sanada's own curve in the face displayed a worthy example. It all showed...the mysterious cheer, the well-defined bittersweetness, the hidden pain, the sort of sadness that was so clear—and the shame for oneself.
It was his fault.
He was the one to blame; he knew, he knew all too well, and it hurt him; it hurt him to the farthest extent, but he wondered, vaguely, as he clutched lifeless fingers, how far the limit had stretched for the one before him.
How long did he endure it? How did he survive it...until the end he came to terms with?
Sanada tightened a grip around chilling fingers that held no more life. His fault...
And he smiled.
Smiled, and clutched the fingers of one dead.
--
It was his fault—that was truth, and he would never forget; he who stood there, mahogany eyes that froze, the rigid smile that was fake and never reached past his cheekbones. He knew the blame was correctly placed on himself; if he had just noticed earlier, the events could have been different. Granted, things would be better then what had actually occurred.
--
Atobe only smiled arrogantly as he kissed Ryoma, right before Sanada's eyes. Yet, his eyes watered up at the slightest, because there was a cold feeling about his stomach.
He shouldn't be doing this.
He loved Sanada—it was the very reason he had taken advantage of Ryoma's feelings and got together with the younger boy. He didn't see anything coming—just Sanada—and he had been shocked beyond belief when he found that he had fallen for Ryoma.
Nothing had made the buchou of Hyoutei feel so much like a whore, ever.
When did such a thing begin? How did Atobe find feelings for two?—and why did it have to tear him?
Atobe Keigo. Sanada Genichirou. Echizen Ryoma.
Sanada Genichirou. Echizen Ryoma. Who to choose?
Who?—Sanada, the one that he had fallen for, in an irrevocable love; Ryoma, the one who wanted him as well as the way Atobe loved him? Which to choose? Which to break? Which to love?
He was with Ryoma—yet every time they touched, every time they pressed their lips together, every time they so much as made eye contact, he would remember Sanada; Sanada with his cold personality, the player that was his rival; and he would want to want to wrench away, sink into something, disappear.
He felt for Sanada—but when he saw the Rikkai fukubuchou, he would think of Ryoma. Ryoma, who looked at him with those large, unique eyes; eyes that were cat-like; eyes that matched his personality; eyes that loved him. When he talked to Sanada, so much as made any sort of contact with him, his heart rate would increase, slam against his chest so hard he heard blood coursing through his ears, so hard that he wanted to either get closer or just run away, get away from the stoic regular. Then he would remember Ryoma's face, how he said his name when they were alone at night, once when they shared a bed an lost themselves in a blaze of passion. The feel of skin against his own, the soft murmurs against his ear—he would remember it all—he would feel himself pierced by a myriad of ice daggers, cold and malicious.
Conscience would never lift from his chest; and Atobe was left with a want to disappear, just disappear, waste away, escape from what he was feeling—
And it was only when, one day, he went to his regular's locker and found a sharp knife—one day, when he slit his left wrist, almost fatally in a state of a weird stupor—did he find himself frozen as Sanada screamed his name in alarm. Then the feel of the capped boy's iron grip around his wrist. He had no clue as to why the Rikkai was at Hyoutei, which was so far, but the next instant he had dropped the knife that landed with a loud clatter, and found himself dizzy from blood loss.
It was only then when Ryoma came in for a planned meeting with the diva, found Atobe in Sanada's arms and halted in shock; the wealthy buchou lost consciousness shortly after.
He found himself in a stupor, weaving in and out of the real world, seeing a white ceiling, hearing distant footsteps, catching the whiff of antiseptics...
Then there were the faces. Faces that only appeared one by one, never together. Mahogany eyes that stared at him, fingers that touched him every so often, a shaded face with the brim of a cap above it. Huge, cat-like eyes that glittered in a saddened gaze, the constant grip on one hand, dark greenish locks that lacked a white cap.
Atobe was released from the hospital when his veins, tendons, and arteries had been sealed again, when he was confirmed to be strong enough. He found two waiting for him, indifferent, but with eyes that told a different story. One had pulled his cap down, asked about his condition, then left. The other had pulled his own cap down, but not before he had given a tiny smile and muttered a heart-filled "glad you're okay, Keigo."
Then they everything was back to the way it was prior to Atobe's incident—but one small exception made all the difference in the world.
Sanada and Atobe—they saw each other more often; and Atobe did not know how, but he swore he had spotted the Rikkai "Emperor" on many occasions. He had seen the smallest of smiles, the smallest twinkle of the eyes that emitted an awkwardness, underneath a dark blue cap that was easy to spot.
He found himself in battle again, swirling in a realm of love, confusion, want, self-loathing, and guilt. Constantly stabbed in the heart by nonexistent knives.
Only one Christmas Eve night did he find an escape from the dream disguised as a nightmare (or was it the other way around?).
Or was it too late? Atobe had already kissed Ryoma before Sanada's eyes. It was as if his decision was made.
--
Ryoma and Atobe walked, hand-in-hand (ignoring the stares of rare passerby), down an empty street, wrapped up well against the swirling snow and raging cold.
Atobe's watch declared the time "6:58."
"I've got to get home soon, Keigo," Ryoma said. "My oyaji wants me home today." He looked slightly miffed at the memory.
Atobe gave what must have been a shrug. "Ore-sama wants to meet you later then."
Ryoma was silent after that, having no more to say.
Then Atobe's eyes widened. Because he suddenly saw something...just across the street—Sanada. But Sanada was not what horrified him, nor was the sight of the other boy's brown gaze staring at him—it was what was behind him.
A drunk. A figure that staggered in steps, some ambling, some hurtling. A bottle in one hand, nearly empty save for a slight bit of liquid sloshing within. The figure—must have been someone who had a tad too much to drink that night, perhaps at some sort of celebration. But it didn't matter.
What mattered was what happened next—
Sanada, noticing too late, everything a blur for the human eye, Atobe yelling, Ryoma giving a startled shout, drunken man lunging, silver hair that fluttered—
Fluttered, as Atobe flung himself before Sanada, taking the blow and tackling the assailant.
More screams filled the night, then blood, then what must have been the unmistakable scene of a figure making its way to escape the scene while two crouched over a bleeding one, unconscious with a gaping wound in the chest.
--
Sanada remembered how Atobe had struggled for his life for hours one end, and recalled the feeling of helplessness and anxiety wash over him as he and Ryoma waited in the hospital. Ryoma had called an ambulance, holding Atobe's bloody hand the whole time.
Into the night, Sanada did not speak another word; Ryoma called Atobe's parents, but they were too far away. Atobe's parents had tried to get to the hospital as soon as they heard the sobbing account given to them, but all their efforts did not get them to their destination in time.
At one point, the doctor had come out with a slightly grieving face, told the two waiting boys that Atobe was dying, that there was nothing else to do. Ryoma had cried out, Sanada had said nothing.
They were at the side of Atobe all night.
The dying buchou was calm, even in the face of eternal sleep. He told Ryoma that he loved him, that he enjoyed every moment spent with him, that he wanted the freshman to move on but never truly forget him. He told Sanada that he was glad to have crossed paths with him, and Sanada had only nodded.
And smiled.
When Ryoma was staring too intently at Atobe, the silver haired boy had looked up at Sanada once; Sanada had stared back, eyes sending a clear message. "I love you, you know that," and he smiled before letting his face slip back to a stoic expression. But it was fitting; Atobe had fallen for the Sanada that was stoic, but clearly emotional when one focused.
Eventually, Atobe Keigo left the world, as a clock struck for one o'clock. He departed the land of the living with a half-smile, on a quiet Christmas night.
Ryoma eventually fell asleep, with his hands clutching Atobe's cold hand, dried pathways of tears imprinted on his face.
And Sanada stayed as well, wide awake, looking at the now serene expression on the dead boy's face. It was then that he became aware of how much pain Atobe must have gone through; he had seen the love in Ryoma's eyes, the love in Atobe's eyes for him and the other, the relief in Atobe's eyes. They were telltale, telling the boy's love story, and Sanada understood. Eyes could only reveal so much.
He remembered kissing Atobe on the brow, then holding his other hand, wanting to do something he should have done; and regretting his blind eye when seeing the way Atobe looked at him.
--
Sanada presently felt something leave him.
He was part of the Shinto religion, and his upbringing brought him to believe in Kami-sama and other gods up in the stars. It was not a large part of his life, but he did believe in an afterlife and judgement.
Seeing the peaceful look over Atobe's facial features, he secretly hoped that Kami-sama would accept him in Heaven, wishing the deceased boy a happy time in the other life—and asked his gods to let him meet with his rival—the rival he found that he loved—when his own time came.
Presently, Sanada felt a tear slide down his face, then another to accompany.
--
PT: o_o I hope that wasn't too confusing.... I think I made Atobe too much of a helpless uke, oops...o.O