The first time Atobe Keigo meets one Tezuka Kunimitsu, tennis prodigy, he isn't sure what to expect.
In Europe, the so-called tennis prodigies are boisterous and proud about it. Tezuka is quiet, bookish, and withdrawn at best, with glasses delicately perched on his nose to complete the image. Normally, Atobe wouldn't send him a passing glance, though those are some incredible cheekbones. It's just because Oshitari points him out to him at a weekend tournament that he looks at all, and Atobe is rather glad that he did.
There's an odd, precise elegance to the way that Tezuka plays. The match is nothing for him, and he wins handily, without showing much, and for that, Atobe is depressed.
"What school does he play for?" Atobe idly asks Oshitari.
"Seigaku."
They'll just have to run into one another in the future, then.
Among sportsmen, Tezuka Kunimitsu is very much a gentleman.
He plays Singles 3 in the prefectuals, wins his match, and watches quietly as his upperclassmen lose their own. Atobe supposes not all schools are like Hyoutei, or that Tezuka isn't especially motivated to become the captain of his team as a freshman. That's disheartening.
At the Kantou, Hyoutei loses spectacularly to Rikkaidai Fuzoku, and, well-at least there is a trio of freshmen there that are highly motivated to win.
It isn't until their third and final year in middle school that they really and actually get a chance to talk.
Atobe is curious. It's impossible not to be, because Tezuka has been oddly absent from a great number of the local tournaments. The trio of Rikkai demons have been destroying them in his stead, and Atobe stays away to focus on his own team rather than his singular glory (though it is great, he can assure everyone).
"Is it your arm?" Atobe forwardly asks as he watches one of Tezuka's lone practice sessions at a public court. The annoyance in Tezuka's gaze is entirely palpable, and he grins, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. "Well, Tezuka? Come on, it's just us, captain to captain."
"There are enough rumors floating around by now, surely," Tezuka tiredly answers, and walks over to crank up the setting on the automated ball machine.
Even if it is his arm that is giving him trouble, it doesn't seem to slow him down much, if at all. He doesn't miss a ball, doesn't hesitate a second, and Atobe shuts his mouth in favor of watching.
Atobe really wishes that Tezuka's easy dismissal of him didn't make him go home and jerk off immediately.
A piss-poor performance in the prefecturals means nothing, because he didn't play. That doesn't mean the Kantou will be any easier for it, however, and Atobe doesn't notice the time he spends throwing himself into practice until Oshitari specifically points it out to him.
"Do you have someone to impress?" he dryly asks, and Atobe scowls.
He finds out that Tezuka, too, is a Libra, and born only three days after him. That's kind of nice. They could have joint birthday parties at this rate.
But they won't, ever, because Tezuka is as anti-social as Atobe has ever seen a man, and has a team of protective watchdogs on top of that.
If his vice-captain Oishi is a yapping, protective puppy, then Fuji is a slinking cat, waiting to tear out his throat. Atobe doesn't like him at all. What sort of idiotic plebs think he'd do anything actually harmful to Tezuka, anyway? There's nothing wrong with wanting to take him out for coffee, or to a proper court on the Atobe estates-
It's far more difficult to make that happen than he'd like, because Tezuka is avoidant, and quiet, and less anti-social than actually shy, as Atobe quickly finds out, and it begs the question of how his team functions and worships him so when he is the most soft-spoken captain that Atobe's ever seen.
"The drawing for the Kantou is in two weeks," Atobe boasts, practicing the lines in question to his mirror. "Perhaps after that, we should have a private meeting to discuss our strategies?"
The practiced lines don't work at the actual meet-up, because Tezuka arrives and he's pretty and has lovely, soft hair that Atobe can imagine the texture of even when he isn't touching, and those cheekbones are things of legend-
No one notices his fumbles, thank god, because the buzz is all about where Rikkai's captain is, not how nervous Hyoutei's captain is, and afterwards all he can blurt out is: "Do you want to go have coffee?"
God, he's an idiot. But Tezuka blinks at him all the same, Oishi's feathers ruffle like a goddamn mother hen, and Tezuka finally nods.
"All right."
Idiot or not, that's success.
Tezuka isn't shy about the disclosure of his injuries. Atobe thinks that might not be the wisest thing, but he's right; rumor mills happen, so there's no hiding it eventually.
"But you're healed now," Atobe mildly presses over his steaming expresso. Thankfully, Oishi didn't come. It's just Tezuka and himself, and that's good. "We'll be able to have a proper match. How exciting; I've been wanting one since I saw you thoroughly trounce Sanada Genichirou."
Tezuka's head tilts. "If that were the case, we could have arranged a practice match between our schools."
Tezuka is a little dense. It's intensely charming. "Mmm, forgive me, but I don't care much for the rest of your team."
Tezuka pauses, and Atobe hopes to whatever god there is that he hasn't offended him. "They are," he eventually says, "extremely…annoying, at times."
Oh, thank god.
Texting is the easiest way to get in touch with Tezuka. He doesn't like answering his phone, or talking on it at all, actually.
Ready for the Kantou?
I've been ready for three years.
That's all kinds of unfairly erotic.
Tezuka is a lot of things. One of those is actually extremely tolerant.
Many of his opponents are fed up with him before the match even starts, what with all of his theatrics. Tezuka stands there, waiting patiently, and even asks, "Are you satisfied?" once it's all over.
Atobe kind of wants to kiss him.
"Yeah. I'm good."
Tezuka is also a liar. There's no way he's healed entirely, not everywhere, and there's a tiny flicker of fury that twists in Atobe's belly as their match goes on, because who would want to ruin their career over a match, who?
He's not going to lose, he's not.
He wants to cry by the end of it, probably does, can't tell through the sweat, and when Tezuka stubbornly refuses to be taken to the hospital, Atobe wants to throw his racket at the idiot's head.
The problem is that he gets it now. Watching Tezuka do everything he possibly can in order to bring his team to the Nationals-Atobe gets it now, when that possibility is snatched away from him courtesy of one Echizen Ryouma, little shit extraordinaire.
He's wary about sending a text afterwards, but Tezuka responds to his probing how are yous quickly enough. He's going to Kyushu for treatment next week, apparently. The Kantou is postponed courtesy of the rain, but it isn't like he can play in it, anyway.
Coffee?
Pass.
Atobe screams uncouthly into a pillow that night.
Seigaku wins the Kantou without Tezuka's presence, go figure.
Atobe still uses Rikkai as a model for success all the same. There's no reason not to believe it wasn't all a fluke, considering the general shakiness of the team with their captain away. It's why he challenges Sanada to a match, why he loves the thrill of victory so very, very within reach by the end of it-
"That's enough!"
For a waif, Yukimura Seiichi's got a voice that carries, sharp and clear, and Atobe wipes sweat from his brow, his chest heaving. He doesn't care much for the marital spat that ensues, only cares that his new techniques are working, only cares that it might do them some good at the Nationals (hosting the event has its enormous perks).
"Spoken to Tezuka lately, Sanada?" he sweetly inquires, and the glare that Sanada lands upon him is nothing sort of acidic.
"Maybe you both can have a chance to crush him in the Nationals," Yukimura mildly puts in. "Or give him to me for a change; we've never had a chance to play."
Atobe wonders about the odd, protective (possessive?) twitch that he feels after hearing those words.
He calls Tezuka again that night, gets nothing, tries again in the morning, gets nothing again. He mopes about it late into the afternoon before his phone offers one single, solitary buzz.
Coffee?
He's never left the manor faster.
Tezuka looks good, but when doesn't he? He might look a little tired and wan if Atobe squints, but that must just be the stress of a hurried rehabilitation. "How was Kyushu?" he asks, awkwardly, no matter how he tries to sit up straight and not fidget and not look too long at the long, pale column of Tezuka's neck.
"As good as it could be."
Atobe hates this. He hates not being able to carry on a conversation, he hates not being able to impress someone, and he hates feeling as though he's the reason for a rift between them all the more. "About the match," he finally manages. "I-"
"It wasn't your fault."
Tezuka sets his coffee down, as calm and poised as Atobe has ever seen him, and continues levelly: "You pushed me to the limit, and I never expected anything less. It was my own fault that I was injured." He hesitates, and for a moment, bites into his lower lip before he glances away. "At least in this way…I can say that I did everything I could to get my team to the Nationals."
Something unclenches in Atobe's chest, and he sags back into his seat, heart thudding. "Yeah-I mean. Yes. Of course. Exactly that."
I still hope you'll be okay.
They walk out of the shop together, to the train, too, and Atobe can feel his fingers tremble with the anxiety of should I, shouldn't I, what if he hates me if I do, we'll still have to see one another at the Nationals and jesus christ his grandfather is the police commissioner-
He's Atobe Keigo. He's above the law-right? Right.
That's what he tells himself, at any rate, when they round a corner, no one is there, and he grabs hold of Tezuka's arm to pull him close.
It's annoying that Tezuka is so tall, that his glasses are in the way, but he's Atobe Keigo and he can do this, gracefully, elegantly, perfectly-
It's actually not a very good kiss, as it's hasty and fumbling and not up to his standards at all, but he can feel the sharpness of Tezuka's breath, the taste of coffee and mints and the subtlety of his cologne and damn, but it's hard not to grab him and haul him down and kiss him again properly.
"I'll see you at the Nationals," Atobe rasps, drawing back, and Tezuka, flushed, swaying a little, simply nods, his breath escaping hot and fast.
Gracefully and elegantly done it was not, but perfectly is up for debate.
Tezuka doesn't really look at him throughout the tournament, but that's fine. Atobe considers that a success, too, because when Tezuka isn't looking at him, his skin still has a noticeable color to it.
Best 8 isn't bad, not when Seigaku wins. Tezuka doesn't have the worst run of it, either, though Atobe is sure Sanada would be gloating a hell of a lot more if he weren't busy holding his captain's hair back. He narrowly cuts off Oshitari's pregnancy quip; bad taste, very bad taste.
"So," Atobe archly poses after the ceremonies have died down, "when are you leaving?" Because he knows Tezuka is, knows he's wanted to for awhile now, and what else would he do but go pro at this point?
Tezuka looks at him-really looks at him-for the first time since the Nationals began. "Not until next spring."
God, that bodes well. "And the rest of summer vacation?" he presses.
Tezuka hesitates, looks back at his team that already is heading towards their bus, and then back to Atobe. "Negotiable."
Don't bounce, Keigo, that's too weird. "I'll call you next week."
"Just text."
He doesn't bounce. Somehow.
Tezuka is, ultimately, just terribly shy.
Get him alone in a room, Atobe finds, and he's an entirely different person. He's even nervous at the poolside, far more prone to wrap himself around a book than actually swim or socialize. That's fine. It's an excuse to retire to his bedroom away from everyone else, and only then does Tezuka relax (marginally).
That being said, Atobe is the nervous one, then, thinking of the easiest way to sidle up to him and kiss him or impress him and-god, Tezuka is hard to impress, and that's kind of nice, because everyone else he's ever brought over has stared wide-eyed at the estate and Tezuka just doesn't care-
That's when he ultimately decides Tezuka's lap is a good enough choice (his hips are bony, and poke him at odd angles) and his glasses are fun to tug off (Tezuka hisses a protest at that). Both of those things make it easier to kiss him, and it's much better than last time, even if they're both shaking like leaves and ah, damn it all, he's supposed to be the one that doesn't get worried about these kinds of things.
"You do know," Tezuka quietly manages, not quite looking at Atobe, "that I won't be here in a few months."
Atobe grins and sits back onto Tezuka's thighs. "Then you'll be dating the one man that can travel wherever he wants, whenever he wants," he proudly announces, and then falters worriedly. "I mean. Assuming you want to-" Only Tezuka makes him doubt himself like this.
"…So long as there aren't any announcements of it," Tezuka softly warns, his cheeks flushing hot, and Atobe makes a mental note to hurriedly cancel all plans of skywriters, because of course he understands that the budding career of a tennis professional need not be marred by any questionable relationships.
He gets back to kissing Tezuka instead, which is much better than worrying.
Tezuka shouldn't have been born a Libra. He's nothing of the sort, a dozen times more an Aquarius or some other water sign, what with how he slips in and out of reality and can't socialize with anyone to save his life.
It comes to mind the first time that they have sex, and it isn't distance that Atobe sees, but a sort of shy awkwardness that has a charisma entirely different from his own. God, he wants to devour all of it. He wants Tezuka splayed across his bed like this a dozen times over, with his collar undone and those long, pretty fingers hesitantly, nervously curling into Atobe's belt. He wants the worried, stressed look on Tezuka's face a dozen times over when his glasses are gone, when Atobe guides his hand lower and presses it to his cock, and he wants the way that Tezuka's breath hitches and the way that his legs splay wider without even thinking.
It all goes a lot faster than Atobe would have liked, and that's weird, because he prides himself on his stamina. Tezuka's just too much, though, and way too good at taking his cock for someone that's never done this before, way too good at clinging to him and panting in his ear and letting Atobe drag him down and bite and squeeze him until he bruises and god, Tezuka shudders at every word that leaves his mouth which is good because Atobe isn't good at shutting up in bed-
"Is it going to be like that every time?" Tezuka weakly asks afterwards, flopped out into a tangled, messy pile of limbs, and Atobe lies next to him, panting up at the ceiling, a little dazed.
No, it's never been like that, jesus christ I'm going to die. "Y-yeah. That's a thing. With me, I mean." No one else, no one else better ever touch you.
The week that Tezuka finally leaves for Germany, Atobe is sick as a dog and hates himself for it.
He's still hacking up a lung (disgusting, this kind of sickness is meant for the lower class) when he arrives at the airport to see Tezuka off, and he glares no matter the face mask that he keeps in place while being firmly swaddled up in about four layers of warm clothing.
"You didn't have to come," Tezuka says at the gate, obviously a little exasperated as he looks at Atobe. "You're sick. You should be in bed."
"Nonsense. What sort of man would I be if I didn't see you off?" He gallantly refuses to start coughing. "When I'm well, I'll go and visit you in Germany properly."
Tezuka looks at him, looks around the airport, and in one, quick motion, pulls down the mask from Atobe's face. He kisses him quickly enough that it might as well have been nothing, but Atobe is left slack-jawed for a moment all the same. "…You're going to get yourself sick," he manages, and Tezuka, flushed and nervous, shrugs.
"If I do, then I've brought something of yours to Germany with me, no matter how…nocuous."
Atobe does a very good job, he thinks, of not melting to the airport floor in a puddle.
While he's still sick, he picks up knitting (poorly), and thinks this scarf is a far better thing to perhaps deliver into Tezuka's hands than the flu.
(Honestly, it's a surprise that he ends up here with Tezuka, because Atobe had always expected it would be someone different, but he's here all the same and here is a pretty good place to be, if he's asked outright.)