Yo.

I think maybe it's because I don't see characters exactly the way everyone else sees them but I tend to write those character's differently. I do think Atobe has issues but at the same time he's human. Let him have his fun.

Pairings: Royal. Hello.

Warnings: Language. But Ore-sama doesn't lower himself to swear like us commoners. xD

Note: I don't always write Atobe with his habit of talking about himself in third person. I only do it when it feels right.

It was raining.

Atobe Keigo was not pleased.

It wouldn't have even been a problem if he hadn't been subjected to it for an hour because his driver (who was going to be his ex-driver very soon if he had anything to say about it) had gotten stuck in traffic. Which was the most idiotic excuse he'd ever heard. And he was captain of Hyotei's tennis team. He'd heard a lot of idiotic excuses.

So now he was lying on his bed wrapped in beautifully warm Persian covers his mother coveted especially for days like this. His laptop was on top of his stomach and he felt a surge of something-that-must-not-be-named when he saw Ryoma was online. He opened up the chat box and typed.

KingOfTennis: Ore-sama's dying.

CatPrince: I'll try to make it to your funeral.

Atobe huffed. Insolent little brat.

KingOfTennis: Will you, really? Ore-sama figured you'd be too busy dallying with your psycho boyfriend.

The next response took awhile and he was almost convinced Ryoma had left to go do just that when the laptop made a pinging noise.

CatPrince: We broke up.

He resisted the urge to jump up from his bed and kick the air like a ninja warrior. Because that was foolish. And Atobe's were not foolish. But he might have mouthed yes to himself before turning back to his laptop. He tried for sympathetic.

KingOfTennis: Ore-sama's sorry. Did something happen?

This one was quick. CatPrince: Monkey King, we both know very well that you're not sorry. You hate Fuji.

And, CatPrince: Nothing happened. Which I guess was the problem.

KingOfTennis: Ore-sama would never lower himself to hate someone so clearly beneath him. And what do you mean, nothing?

CatPrince: I mean just that. Nothing. Look, I gotta go. I'll talk to you later.

With that Ryoma left the chat and Atobe sneezed. He groaned and cursed the wretched rain.

When Atobe woke up he was warm. Almost too warm. His opened his eyes with difficulty, releasing a sigh then a grunt when he sneezed. Again. And again. And again. Then looked up when a ball of tissues were shoved in his hand.

"You look terrible, Monkey King."

Ryoma was crouched beside the bed glancing up at him with eyes exactly as fierce as they had been when he'd saw him last. Was it possible to miss not just a person, but their components? The things they were so impossibly made up of? Those eyes, that smirk. Even the blasted nick name started an avalanche inside of him. He could feel things shifting, sliding father and father.

Fuck. Now he was sick and in love? Really. Hated. Rain.

His voice was rough and phlegm filled when he spoke. "Not that it isn't a pleasure, which it isn't, but why are you at Ore-sama's house and not in America?"

Ryoma lifted an eyebrow. "I don't believe that's any of your business. I'm here and your sick, Monkey King. Have you taken any medicine?"

He shook his head. How did one even get the energy to get up, never mind take medicine? Ryoma rose up from his stance, the sound of his leather jacket rustling through his room, and headed toward the bathroom. He heard the opening of cabinets, the shaking of pill bottles and the popping of a cap. Hopefully, the brat had gotten the right kind.

When Ryoma came back he had a pill in his right hand and glass of water in his left. Atobe took the medicine first the downed the water. It didn't take long for him to feel the overwhelming sensation of sleepiness. He closed his eyes.

The hand that smoothed down his hair was gentle. "If you want, I'll be here when you wake up."

"Don't leave." He mumbled because he could always blame it on the pills later. Though he'd never meant anything as much as his request for Ryoma to stay. His bed shifted and he was being enveloped with the just the right amount of cold. The chill was greeted and welcomed.

Ryoma was gone when he woke up. Atobe, once again, was not pleased.

It took a few days for him to recover from being sick but then he was back with a vengeance. Jiro told him upon his return that he looked even scarier then usual which he decided to take as a compliment.

Then he was knocking on Ryoma's door and the brat was there. Looking like he never should have tumbled out of bed in the first place. Atobe didn't say anything, just grabbed the brat's hand and led him upstairs and into his messy bed.

"Did you take any medicine?" He got a shake of the head. Atobe repeated the treatment that had been granted upon him and watched as Ryoma's head lulled back unto his pillow. His cheeks were stained with blood.

Atobe sat on the edge of the bed. Watched. "You left."

"I can't."

He tensed and asked even though he already knew, "What are you talking about?"

"This." Ryoma waved a languid hand between them. His eyes were wide open and painfully gold. "I can't. At least, not yet."

He could understand that. Because it was a difficult thing, what they had. He and Ryoma had been dancing over this for all of the years they'd known each other. No matter who they dated it was never enough. Never the real thing.

Atobe's stomach clenched then untied itself. It wasn't like he could ever stop waiting even if he wanted to.

So he smiled a little. "Want me to stay?"

Ryoma's lips turned up and his eyelashes slid to his cheeks. "As long as you never leave."

So maybe Atobe didn't hate the rain as much as he'd thought.

We needed the fluff. Now I need to go bleach my fingers out with some angst.