Author's Note: I don't know if Atobe plays piano, but it seems like something he'd be able to do. I haven't decided yet whether I like using "Ore-sama" or not. There's really no English translation, so it's kind of annoying, but some people use it and some people just use "I", so if anyone's reading this (Which wouldn't be me if I weren't the author, I'm the type to skip straight to the story haha) I guess give me your opinions on the matter? Well I don't really care actually…
Whenever Hyotei second-year Ohtori Choutarou wasn't spending his time on the expansive training grounds provided for the tennis team, chances are he was in one of the academy's many music rooms. Ohtori appreciated the time alone to bask in his thoughts and his piano. It was a good change of pace from the general chaos that was the Hyotei tennis team. Not that he didn't enjoy spending time with his teammates, but Ohtori supposed he had never really been much of a social butterfly, and often felt off-kilter if he went more than a day or so without giving himself time to step back and process the goings-on of his life.
Lately though, it seemed like all he ever wanted to do was be alone in the music room. And, while that didn't necessarily seem odd for someone who planned to major in the subject, he had come to realize it was more for the solitude than the practice time. He would occasionally make an attempt at one of the more complicated songs he was working on in class and in his private lessons with Coach Sakaki, who instructed him in both tennis and piano, but there was simply no passion in it. Ohtori often found himself wondering, in his time alone, if he had reached his peak. After all, everyone has a limit. Maybe the reason he can't seem to perfect his new solo, the reason he can't seem to grasp the key to controlling his Scud Serve, is because he just doesn't possess the capability.
This was the situation Ohtori found himself in now as he glanced at his wristwatch. Even if I left right now, I'd still probably be twenty minutes late. The realization that he didn't care startled him. It was one thing to be a bit antisocial, but Ohtori usually strived to be a perfect student and club member. He had never been late before, much less skipped practice entirely, which was what appeared to be happening judging by the way he couldn't seem to find the motivation to get up.
Ohtori was woken from his reverie by the sound of the large double doors being opened behind him. Go away.
"Find another room." He called from his position; seated with his forehead down on the lid that covered the piano keys. He hadn't even made the effort to open it, although he had been sitting here for nearly an hour. If he had been feeling slightly less pitiful, he probably would have greeted the intruder, asked them politely to use another practice room, as this one was currently occupied. As it was, he was hardly feeling charitable today.
"Ahn~? How surprising, I wasn't expecting such an attitude from the usually obedient Ohtori."
"Atobe-san!" Ohtori shot up from his seat immediately. When he turned around to confirm the obvious, that he was indeed in the presence of his wealthy captain, he found he had nothing really to say. How embarrassing.
"Um…I'm sorry, Atobe-san. About practice…I guess I lost track of time." Ohtori spoke haltingly while he avoided his captain's piercing stare.
"You're not a very clever liar, are you?"-was the reply he received, but Atobe didn't seem especially put off by the attempted deception, or question why the younger boy was lying in the first place. He sauntered casually up to the piano, because Atobe never just walks, and took a seat. He sat at the right, leaving enough room for Ohtori to join him but not instructing him to. Ohtori sat.
He had never heard that Atobe played piano, but he supposed he shouldn't be too surprised. Atobe swiftly lifted the piano's lid and Ohtori watched him skim his fingers over the perfect row of keys. It would have been reverent, if anyone besides Atobe were sitting beside him. As it was, it only seemed like a challenge, as if he was daring the instrument to disobey his commands. Someone had once told Ohtori that seeing him at the piano was like seeing two old friends reunited. Atobe, Ohtori observed, looked like he was going to war.
"Blue Tango Duet?" Ohtori couldn't help naming the piece.
Atobe made a small noise of confirmation. Ohtori wondered, not for the first time, what his captain was thinking. Atobe, no longer jumping from song to song, played the duet alone.
"It's one of Sakaki's favorites, it would appear he can't seem to resist teaching it to all of his students. You do know it, correct?" It was less of an invitation and more of a demand, but Ohtori wordlessly joined him nonetheless. They finished the rest of the song in silence, but before Ohtori could lift his hands from the instrument Atobe had begun again. So they continued to play.
"As expected of Atobe-san, nothing less than perfection", Ohtori commented, a wry smile on his face.
Atobe laughed lightly, as if he found Ohtori's opinion to be particularly humorous.
"I'm serious." the younger continued, "Meanwhile, I…even at the things I'm supposed to excel at…"
Ohtori trailed off, fingers slowing down until his playing stopped entirely. What am I saying? He shouldn't be talking to Atobe about this. Atobe isn't pathetic like him. Atobe doesn't know what it's like to feel this weak, this worthless, of that Ohtori is sure. His hands which had previously been dancing over the ivory keys with such fluidity now seemed heavy and immovable. This feeling was not a new one. Ohtori had experienced this before, and he couldn't stop the memories from rushing to the forefront of his mind. Of countless recitals ruined as he froze onstage, mid-song. Of standing across the net, watching his serve miss and miss and miss but being unable to do anything about it. Fault, Fault, Fault. Staring down at those hands, now clenched in shaking fists, Ohtori's vision began to blur with wetness. No. Not now, not in front of the captain. He shut his eyes tightly, refusing to allow the potential tears to fall. Disgraceful, he thought.
"Atobe", Ohtori said, ignoring the way his voice was audibly wavering, "The Scud Serve-"
"It's fine", Atobe interrupted.
Ohtori paused, eyes shooting open, momentarily surprised by his captain's words, before the realization hit him. He's patronizing me. A flash of anger shot through the normally tranquil second year.
"It's useless!" Ohtori shouted, punctuating his outrage by slamming his fists on the piano keys as he stood, creating dissonance in Atobe's light melody. Ohtori didn't care. Now his whole body was shaking as he full-out glared at the older boy, the only witness to his outburst. Atobe, who had stopped playing by now as well, turned in his seat to gaze back at him with those all-seeing eyes. Not that Insight was even necessary, with the state Ohtori was in.
The other's silence only spurred him on.
"It's completely useless! You've seen it! I practice it over and over again, every day and there's still only a fifty-fifty chance it even goes over the net! And even if I do somehow make it over the net, it'll either miss the service box or go out of bounds entirely! I can't do anything about it!" This was disrespectful. This was embarrassing. Ohtori didn't care. He was screaming, screaming at Atobe, but also screaming at himself. "The Scud Serve is all I have! If it doesn't work, I'm just…I'm a waste of a regulars position!"
And there it was. He felt so guilty wearing the regulars jersey. The jersey that any one of Hyotei's 200 other members deserved more than he did.
Silence pervaded the music room in the wake of Ohtori's rant. Atobe's face was passive and unreadable, but Ohtori had to assume that he was just masking his rage. He's never heard of anyone ever yelling at Atobe, and he's certainly never thought of doing it himself. He was still shaking, feeling pitiful and uncertain. It's true, that's why he's not arguing. Somehow it hurt even more now. He had been thinking this way for a while now, and it was painful for his suspicions to be confirmed by his captain.
"Atobe-san", Ohtori's voice was quiet now; raw, from the shouting and from the emotion. He couldn't stop his lower lip from quivering. He couldn't stop the tears from gathering in his eyes, threatening to spill. "Atobe-san, say something. Tell me what to do. What should I do?"
Atobe said nothing, instead choosing to turn back to the piano. His thin fingers started to pick out the duet, beginning at where he was before Ohtori's interruption. I should go. After what he just did, of course Atobe wouldn't see him as worthy of any amount of attention, even in the form of a dismissal from the captain's presence. So it took him by surprise, again, when Atobe spoke:
"Ore-sama already did say something, or were you not listening to your captain's words? Ore-sama said it was fine." The third-year's voice was stern.
"But how can that be?" Ohtori insisted, "If it's like this…if I'm like this-"
"Play your part" Atobe commanded.
"Wh-What?"
The statement confused Ohtori. But, when Atobe gestured wordlessly to the seat on his left, Ohtori returned to the bench and sat next his captain. They continued with the song, this time at a slower pace, as if the outburst had never happened, and Ohtori conceded that perhaps his captain truly was an enigma without a solution.
"Choutarou"
The use of his given name caused Ohtori to turn towards him, fingers slipping from the correct keys. Atobe gave no indication that he noticed, though he must have. He just stared straight ahead, focusing on nothing. Or, maybe, focusing on something that Ohtori just could not see.
"Concentrate on your own part, and stop worrying about anything else. If you do that, Ore-sama will undoubtedly lead you to victory."
With that, timed so his words were spoken just as the final notes of the song reverberated around the room's two occupants, Atobe stood gracefully and strolled out wide doors that were already being pulled open by the ever-present Kabaji. Leaving Ohtori as he left most of his audiences; staring after him in awe.