A/N:

Sequel to Cross the Ocean and I'll Build the Bridge, but can be read as a stand-alone. Just know that in this world Ryoma is playing professional tennis, Keigo is running his empire, and they fought about that and compromised. Or, you could read the fic and see for yourself :D

Ryou's voice is an epic fail here.

Warning: I fail at anything that's not Atoryo (and even that's not going perky). Sooo, if you're looking for Silver Pair, you will be very disappointed. Not about them. I'm sorry Ryou, you refuse to be manipulated by me and I gave you a crappy voice in turn, love. Doesn't mean I wish you all the best with Choutaro.

/

/

Technically, Ryou would like to say that not everything Choutaro is his fault. Well, Atobe would desist to that, but Atobe isn't here, so Ryou stands by his case (mostly). He's not even going to be citing Chotaro's random insecure moments during high school, and he's not going to start on his own bouts of uncertainties. Especially not concerning Choutaro's violin.

Oh yeah. Not the violin.

Which is why, after one of those spats, as Atobe would lovingly call it (more like him ranting off whatever bullshit comes to his mind and Choutaro looking hurt and mournful and not speaking—god, it's not really hard to tell him outright that he's an asshole now, is it? Atobe's done it a couple hundred times), Ryou is stomping out of his (their, but not really, not yet anyways) and to the streets of Ginza and looking resentfully at passengers walking by, arm in arm. He hates clichés, and now is the fucking fucked cliché of all times, Atobe and Gakuto would just be rolling their heads off at this one. It's snowing too, for any good that does him. He wishes he brought out a coat.

"Lame," he spits out quietly, but a couple nearby heard him, and they make weird faces of resentment at him until he glares at them. They'll probably be thinking that he's a loner and a scourge, wasting this eventual day alone because he's a doushbag and an asshole. Well, they might have that part right. Ryou sighs and rakes a hand over his hair, rummaging his pockets for his iPhone and locating Atobe's posh flat via Google. Just because Atobe throws unnecessary long parties at his flat in Tokyo doesn't mean he knows it by the routes of a subway system. He needs to start rehearsing the speech he's going to be making to Atobe. Or more likely, standing and glaring at his friend (hopefully) and staying docile while Atobe goes Sherlock Holmes on him with his Insight. He always did have a sixth sense when it came to their relationship (although he doesn't know why—he's only dated 'the brat' to his knowledge, and Ryou really can't see Atobe searching up relationship tips from the Internet. Choutaro and he can't be that easy to read).

He just hopes that Echizen is in London or Paris, wherever the hell he would be with his career tonight.

/

/

It's only when he enters the lobby of Atobe's flat (flat? penthouse? hotel-slash-office-penthouse? What the hell, trust Atobe to owe the entire building in the center of Tokyo while real-estates are at an all-time high) that Ryou remembers that it's December and tennis courts tend to get frozen in the winter. Not really his finest moment, but he could still wager that Echizen is off to Europe or America having a fan-tour or something. Whatever top tennis players do in their free time. He just hopes (crosses his fingers) that Echizen is gone and away. He doesn't even feel like dealing with Atobe alone with his relationship problems, imagining his problems while Echizen was there is to say the least…awkward.

"Shishido-san," the doorman says smoothly, "Atobe-san will see you now." Ryou nods jerkily and takes the elevator to the top floor, where Atobe resides in a two-floor penthouse, above his regular office. Ryou wonders what it feels like to live and work in a single building twenty-four seven. Not that he'll be asking about it tonight, he just needs a place to stay.

The elevator ride gives him a chance to mull over what went wrong. Or more likely, what made him tick off and rant like a madman before running out the streets and go to Atobe of all people. He could have gone to Gakuto, he supposed, but Oshitari would be there and most likely, Echizen wasn't. That was the difference when it all came down to it.

"It's the Albert Hall, Shishido-san," Choutaro had said, with sickeningly puppy eyes, "The Royal Albert Hall. These things don't…just drop off every day. I thought you'd understand."

And the truth is, he does understand. He understands that Choutaro loves the fucking violin and he sacrificed his tennis (but not him, for whatever reasons he doesn't know) for the instrument he played ever since he was a kid and that it was his dream come true, because this was like the Grand Slam in tennis. Ryou is happy for him, fuck he's elated, he's proud.

But he's also a child, and Atobe would be sure to tell him that in a hundred million ways. He groans and rubs his eyes.

Ginza lights were too blazing, even when he's fucking eighty stories up.

/

/

The elevator slides open, revealing a huge room. Atobe didn't care for the door or even hallways, preferring guards and high-techs to keep him away from robberies. Ryou steps tentatively on the marble white floors—the living room is dark, save for the lights from outside, reflecting from the walled-window across from him. He wonders if Atobe is even awake, even though it would have been Atobe who let him in a moment ago.

"Oi," he calls, hesitantly, "Oi. Atobe."

Footsteps are heard, and a light is turned on. A person with dark hair and hazel eyes greet him. "Shishido-san."

Behind Echizen follows Atobe, his eyes hard and irritated. Ryou knows that look. He gulps inwardly.

Atobe also has a look that tennis captains have, although he hardly ever uses it. It's a look before Atobe gives out laps that would make Tezuka weep.

/

/

"Dear Ryou," Atobe says sweetly, his hardness not gone from his eyes (Ryou cringes, this is bad, very bad, Atobe is calling him by his first name), "Do you have any idea what day and month and, more importantly, time it is?" He whips out his phone with a flourish and flashes the screen at him. It blinks.

December 24.

"Oh," Ryou says stupidly, and then mentally hits himself, great, and now he feels like the intended asshole he was all along. "Oh." He knew it was Christmas Eve, but he forgot that it was a special day…for different reasons entirely. His inner Choutaro rebukes him, which he waves off with a flash.

Atobe's face doesn't change. "Yes, oh," he says coolly. Yeah, Atobe had a bit of a good right to sound like that; other times Ryou would mock about what a prick Atobe was but this was….well. Barging in on someone's birthday wasn't the epitome of the good etiquette Atobe was always haggling him about.

"It doesn't matter," Echizen cuts in, and when Ryou chances a look at the younger man he doesn't look annoyed, just faintly amused. "Really, it doesn't."

"It doesn't to you, obviously," Atobe says, the cool voice he used with Ryou gone but the annoyance remains, "It's not you who booked and planned the bloody night." Ryou notices how Atobe still switches to English when he's feeling stressed or annoyed or both. Yes, Ryou completely fucked this one up.

Echizen only laughs a little, ignoring Atobe's scathing glare and rolling his eyes at Ryou. "Bloody indeed, going all English on me again," he says, his own smooth New York accent rolling off his tongue. Ryou wishes that they would at least appreciate that English was a foreign language to some people in Japan. "Would you like some wine, Shishido-san?" he directs the question to Ryou, who blinks and nods dumbly. Wine? Oh yeah, Echizen's twenty now, legal.

"Look at you, playing the perfect gentleman when it isn't really necessary," Atobe snipes, but the earlier coolness is gone, and Ryou relaxes slightly, "I really messed up on your education in mannerism, haven't I."

Echizen shares another eye-roll with Ryou, as if they were sharing some kind of a secret joke. "You succeeded marvelously, dearest," he drawls out in English, and he does it in such a perfect British accent that Ryou has to choke back a laugh. Echizen strolls to the kitchen and retrieves the wine.

Ryou glances over at Atobe and looks away almost immediately. "Yeah, sorry about this," he mumbles, "I…I er, forgot. Sorry."

Atobe raises an eyebrow but Ryou can see his lips twitch. "Yes, well," he says lazily, offering his friend a lazy smirk, "I should have seen this coming when I played matchmaker with tennis, hmm?"

He leaves, leaving Ryou sputtering in his wake.

/

/

This is awkward.

Ryou doesn't exactly feel like the third wheel, mostly because…well, mostly because Atobe and Echizen aren't the most lovely-dopey couple you'd meet. They aren't anything like Oshitari and Gakuto, with red, bruising lips and smooching despite whatever company they might have (Ryou cringes at that) nor are they like himself and Choutaro, communicating through eye-signals and eye-fuck (as Gakuto elegantly phrased it, earning a smack from Ryou). Atobe carelessly drains his wine while Echizen plays with the cup, and both of them sit a good foot apart. Ryou feels like it's not for the sake of him, they completely ignore each other except for barbs.

Awkward. He drains his wine, earning a twitch of lips from Echizen.

"I can see the friendship resemblance," he remarks, nodding towards the empty glasses, "More wine?"

Ryou shrugs, muttering, "Thanks," when Echizen pours him some more. Atobe looks in their direction once and looks away. His eyes are distant.

/

/

Atobe retires himself early, and Ryou is left with a more or less sober Echizen.

"He's tired," Echizen says, when Ryou gaps at Atobe leaving without so much as a wave ("You know where the guest bedroom is? Good night."), "Christmas, and all that."

"Erm. Yeah." Ryou says, and quickly adds, "Yeah. Sorry. About that. I didn't really check the date, for. You know." Besides, that means Choutaro skipped mass on Christmas Eve. For him? For Royal fucking Albert Hall (Ryou hits himself for that one)?

Echizen gives him a small smirk. "It doesn't matter," he says, shrugging, "Keigo was going to go to some ridiculously fancy restaurant anyways. Too lazy to dress up."

Ryou offers a weak laugh. "Yeah. He does tend to do that." He gulps down more wine, hoping that a numbed wine would make conversation with Echizen easier.

Echizen. Jesus, Echizen Ryoma was an enigma that Ryou succeeded in staying away from for five years, and now here he was on the brat's (old habit from Gakuto, should revise the name, Echizen, yeah, better) birthday, drinking wine with him while the connection that would link them together has gone off to bed. "I should, you know. Head off to bed."

Echizen gives out another little smile. "Good night, Shishido-san," he says, and he's not really like the kid that smirked at every shitty tennis player. Ryou blinks, wondering if Atobe trained Echizen well after all. "Er, yeah. Night."

/

/

He can't sleep. He tosses and turns, but all he can think of is Choutaro, sweet docile Choutaro, except when he wants something, and Ryou curses, mentally. It shouldn't be this hard, and Ryou always prided himself on not being this childish, but it doesn't help that their whole fucking relationship was built on tennis.

Like Atobe and Echizen.

Doubles was different though. He's seen how those two acted, all barbs and wit, two stuck-up children (so said Oshitari one time, wagging a finger) in the same pod, destroying the courts and demolishing the game with every point. They read each other so they could destroy, win, conquer—Atobe had once set up a grim regiment in high school to crush Echizen, and that was when they were dating. Tennis for those two was pure self-satisfaction. With those two, tennis had been a war (this quote from Atobe, in his younger, more dramatic years, his eyes crazed and smiling. Oshitari had sighed and said there were better courtship rituals than a ball and a net).

But Choutaro? With a flick of his wrists, eye moves, Choutaro had read them, nodded, smiled. They could outdo their enemies and by the end of their high school tennis, won the Doubles one title for Nationals. Unbeatable, and they had gotten some offers from professional circuits, but Choutaro had turned them all down, sheepish and all apologies. Ryou was perfectly fine with that, understood even. He didn't feel like playing more himself—he would prefer to teach and guide than smashing his life through courts with another stranger. He would rather inspire some bullshit into whiny kids than fall into professional tennis.

But this future of theirs. It's gotten so grand.

Ryou wonders if that's how Atobe felt when he got his first taste of his empire.

He tosses and turns, (sleeping was fruitless) and stands up to get himself a cup of water a moment later.

He remembers Choutaro's face when he had told Ryou about his dreams and aspirations, a small stutter, "I really want this, Shishido-san." And had looked determined, steeling himself for a fight. And even if part of him was still hurt at how Choutaro would think him that selfish, Ryou had grinned back, punching the other boy lightly in the shoulder, "Don't think you can get rid of me that easily."

Smile, nod, eyes.

But Choutaro had gone to Hyotei, and no matter how sweet he was, he always aimed for the best and that best was something Ryou couldn't face.

How did Atobe let go then?

He remembers a younger Atobe, and he consciously thinks back to his memories when Atobe was together with Echizen, their respective silhouettes in the court. The hoarse crowd and their lean bodies blocked by the sun, cool gazes between the respective teams. When the news leaked out that Atobe was dating a boy, and the boy was Echizen at that, it was Hiyoshi who had first spoken up, after a stunned silence: "The match with Seigaku is only a week away. Is this going to affect us?"

Atobe had looked disgusted, even amused, as he rolled his eyes and surveyed his team. "Really," he drawled, "What in the world do you take me for? Whatever happens between my private life is none of your concern, and I reciprocate in kind."

"You haven't answered the question, Atobe," Gakuto had chimed in sharply. "You're in Singles One and so is that brat."

"Tennis is tennis," Atobe said, more sharply, "If I hadn't made that clear, then there's no point in me leading a group of morons who can't see the difference. Isn't that right, Kabaji?"

"Yes," Kabaji had rumbled, and that was that.

Atobe had never let go, he realizes now.

"Oi."

Ryou starts; he almost drops his glass of water.

Atobe stands in the kitchen entrance, his robe disheveled and hair mussed. His face is covered in half shadows, but Ryou could make out a smirk.

"Shit, Atobe," he snaps quietly, "You could have warned me."

Atobe chuckles, his feet padding softly against the floor until he is closer to Ryou. He tilts his head and shrugs, obviously having just woken up himself. "I heard a noise, thought it was Ryoma," he says.

Ryoma. That was a foreign name. Ryou gulps and looks away. "Yeah, well, just me," he says, "You can go back to sleep now. Isn't he in your bed?" And that wasn't something he wanted to imagine; the words just came out, and a moment later, he looks away.

Atobe's voice sounds amused. "Aren't you going to tell me why you came?"

"I—" and the fact was, Ryou was never close to Atobe. He respected his former captain, he liked him, sometimes, he could admit, but most of the stories about Atobe he gleaned from the news or Oshitari. He was there in Hyotei only to listen to Atobe's advice and discard it when they sounded stupid. But Atobe had never been wrong about Choutaro. This is why he blurts out, "I—Choutaro's going to London. He was invited to play in Albert Hall."

There is a pause. Atobe says softly, "Well. That's not surprising."

"But I don't—"

"You don't want him to play." Atobe's shadow is huge, looming across the floorboards against the dim light that is coming from the living room. Ryou suddenly wonders if both of them had been up, Echizen and Atobe and Ryou had just intruded upon them, yet again. But Atobe doesn't seem annoyed. "And he'll listen to you if you tell him so. You know that, don't you?"

"That's not the point," Ryou snaps, almost petulant and angry.

Atobe smirks at him. It's not condescending. "Of course it isn't," he replies, "The point is to make him happy, no?"

Ryou looks down at the floor. He feels miserable. "I'm going back to bed," he mumbles after awhile. "Night."

He walks away before Atobe can return his goodbye.

/

/

The next morning, he wakes up in a better condition than before, and walks the same familiar route to the kitchen.

Echizen is there, scrambling eggs.

Ryou blinks, and lifts a hand awkwardly when he meets Echizen's eyes. "Er. Morning."

Echizen smirks at him, a ghost smirk of what Atobe had thrown at him from last night. "Eggs?"

"Yeah, thanks. Scramble's fine," he adds, as Echizen holds up a whole egg in question. "Where's Atobe?"

"Still snoozing," came the dry reply, "He's really not good with wine. I don't know why he thinks otherwise."

"He got drunk silly out senior year," Ryou says before he can stop himself. "Like, one bottle and he was singing all the Christmas carols at the top of his lungs. It was super lame." He shudders before he thinks, before he realizes the audience he is addressing. He waves his insulted memory with a cough. "Not—not that he would do that anymore. I don't think."

"I think he moved on from carols to Hamlet last night," Echizen says dryly. "He's going soft."

Ryou groans. "That was his favorite Shakespeare play. I think it still is."

"He doesn't have an evil uncle to depose of, does he?" Echizen delivers his barbed insults with all a flat monotone, but as he sets down the well-made eggs, Ryou can detect a glitter of mirth in those hazel eyes. "I have no idea what he's so morbid about."

"Not that I know of, no," Ryou says with a laugh, "Like I said. Lame."

Echizen smirks at him, and Ryou again thinks, god he looks so much like Atobe sometimes. He quickly looks down at his eggs. "Well, yeah. Anyways. Thanks for the eggs."

"It might have burned a bit," Echizen observes.

"Still. Better than what Atobe'll cook any day. Were you—" Ryou coughs slightly, stabbing his fork into the soft mush of yellow yolk. "Were you—er-awake? When I was in the kitchen last night. I think I saw the lights on."

"Oh," Echizen says, "That was when Keigo was on his second bottle of wine. I guess I was."

"Ah." Ryou hopes he's not blushing. "So—um. You heard, then."

"I didn't mean to," Echizen says, somewhat sensibly and politely, "If that makes it better."

"Naw. It doesn't matter. I owe you, anyways. It's a bit rude, even for me, to er, just barge in. It was—I was having a crisis." Ryou hopes his mouth would stop moving, He lifts his fork and shoves a forkful of eggs. It's soft and runny. Warm. He swallows. "It's good," he mumbles.

"There's eggs," Echizen says, "I think only Keigo is capable of burning them."

Their eyes meet, and Ryou grins through his mouthful. "Yeah," he says, "Shittest cook I've met. At least he has a gourmet cook to make up for it."

Echizen mirrors his grin. "It's the only reason I'm living here," he says.

Ryou laughs, and shakes his head. "This isn't really how I envisioned my visit to go." He didn't expect the eggs, or this little conversation with Echizen. Or anything else really. He should update Gakuto on Echizen's sociability.

Echizen's lips quirk. "Hm," he agrees, picking at his eggs absentmindedly. "For what it's worth, Shishido-san," he says lightly, "If you want…if you want to hear my side of it. If Ootori-san wants your approval on his life, that's offering a lot." Ryou doesn't miss the small bitterness that settles in the other boy's eyes. Ryou quickly looks away.

"Yeah," he says quietly, "Yeah, you're right." He coughs a bit to hide his embarrassment. "I forget, that, you know. This is kind of you and Atobe. I mean," He tries to amend quickly, when he sees Echizen's raises an eyebrow, "With your tennis, and him. His company, empire, whatever." He gives out a weak laugh. "So, you should be the expert here on Choutaro's view."

Echizen doesn't say anything for a minute. "No," he finally says, and he's looking at his plate, "No, not really." When he does meet Ryou's eyes they're strangely sad. "I didn't give Keigo the choice back then," he says.

Ryou blinks. "Huh?"

Echizen seems to want to say something else, but thinks twice of it. He shrugs and looks away. "Just because he chose his violin, doesn't mean he can't have you either." He shoots Ryou a small smirk. "I think Keigo would be the better expert on Ootori-san's view."

Ah, yes. Atobe had chosen his empire but he didn't give up on his infatuation of Echizen Ryoma.

Which reminded him (something that he would rather very much to forget). He coughs and rubs the back of his neck. "Oh, and um. Congratulations on. You know."

Ryoma frowns at him. Ryou could tell he was trying to be polite (Bra-vo, Atobe). "Sorry, what?" Ryoma inquires mildly.

"Marriage," Ryou blurts out, and reddens a second later. "I mean, not legal in Japan, yeah, but when you're living in London. Atobe said he brought a flat somewhere in Kensington. Oshitari told me."

"Oh." For the first time Ryoma looks disgusted, and then faintly annoyed. "It's not a marriage. It's….a civil partnership. Marriages aren't legal yet."

"Yeah, erm. Right." Ryou shrugs, more embarrassed now, looking away. "Wait, forget I mentioned that, it just sounds lame."

Ryoma shrugs, smirking. "Typical Keigo."

Ryou catches the other boy's eyes and can't help but crack a grin. "Yeah, typical bat-shit crazy Atobe."

"And I could hear you," Atobe drawls, sauntering over to frown at the pair of them, "It's a shame you're getting along. I expected more drama."

"I have enough in my life with you," Echizen snipes, taking a gulp of his juice, "So no. Glad to know that you were the outlier in the crazy Hyotei population."

"Oi!" Ryou sputters.

Echizen offers him a small smirk. "Still enemies," he drawls, "School pride and all that."

"What utter childishness," Atobe sniffs. He drapes his robe around him and crosses his arms. "We should have let Michael prepare us our meal. It's Christmas."

"Wow, Keigo," Ryoma says, with wide eyes and feigned hurt, "Did you just insult my perfectly cooked eggs?"

"They're good," Ryou says, holding up his empty plate. Atobe narrows his eyes.

"Anyone can cook eggs—" he starts, and rolls his eyes at Echizen's raised eyebrow. "Or, fine, yes. I'll have some. We're going to have a proper lunch after, though. Are you staying?" The last question is directed at Ryou. Ryou looks at the two of them, for a moment contemplating the small niche they have carved up to themselves. He wonders if that is how he is seen to other people, his little niche and world with Choutaro. He shakes his head with a grin.

"Naw," he says, "I'll leave you two up to it."

He has an apology to make.