Disclaimer: Not Mine. EVAR.
Untitled, Open for Suggestions
The Atobe servants knew it was going to be a bad day as soon as they heard the shriek.
Footsteps pounded up the stairs as Michael began shouting questions. "Keigo-bocchama, is something the matter? Keigo-bocchama?"
"NO! DON'T COME IN! DON'T LOOK AT ME! IT'S HIDEOUS! ORE-SAMAIS HIDEOUS!" The piercing shriek made all the servants wince, but they continued to stand outside the double doors to their young master's bedroom. Michael tentatively opened the door, only to shut it again as a pillow came flying at him.
"Keigo-bocchama...?" Minutes later, the aged butler tried again to open the door, this time succeeding in entering the room. "Is there something that you require?"
"Make-up. Lots of it." The voice had a strained tone in it, although it was much calmer than a few minutes earlier. "Actually, scratch that. I'm skipping school today." The unmistakable sound of hyperventilation was coming from the bathroom, even as Atobe came out wearing one of his many identical bathrobes(in royal purple) and a paper bag over his face.
"Obocchama, please let us see if we can help." He knew that all it took was some gentle wheedling to get him to reveal his problems.
"You can't fix this..." Came the muffled groan. He had buried his face in a pillow, from the sound of it. "Do you think it will scar? Oh, no, it can't scar. Michael, go order most expensive scar cream you can find. And face wash. Lots of face wash too." Atobe was rambling to himself as his butler nodded at one of the maids hovering by the door.
"Please, let us help." With some grumbling, Atobe rolled over, and, as if to get it over with quickly, ripped off the paper bag.
"This. You can't fix this." Michael almost considered laughing out loud. The "problem" Atobe had been talking about was, in all actuality, a teeny, tiny, eensy, weensy, small, red pimple.
Later at Hyotei tennis practice...
"Shishido-senpai, have you seen Atobe-buchou today?" Hiyoshi was wondering where the diva king was so he could finally Gekokujyou him and become number one.
"Actually, Wakashi, I heard he was sick." The disinterested reply came back almost immediately.
"OH. MY. GAWD. Atobe's sick? WE NEED TO VISIT HIM! WHY ISN'T KABAJI PANICKING?" Jirou jumped up from his nap on the bleachers, screaming and waving his arms like a madman. Everyone looked at each other and shrugged, not minding getting out of practice.
Time passes
"Oy, Atobe!" Shishido barged in through the front doors noisily, with the rest of Hyotei in tow. The servants had to wrestle the door shut before the screaming hordes of Atobe's fangirls could come charing in demanding to know how their "beloved Atobe-sama" could be allowed to get sick.
"Shishido, what the hell are you doing here? Everyone inside my house, 500 laps around the grounds!" The team groaned, not noticing that their captain hadn't actually showed up to issue the command.
"Good. They should be distracted enough now to not notice ore-sama leaving. Alright, you can take off now." Atobe smirked(no one could see, of course, he's still wearing a paper bag), watching his team run laps around his house as the helicopter left the landing pad on the roof. He still wore the same bathrobe and a new paper bag had replaced the old one. He checked his pockets again to make sure he hadn't forgotten the scar cream or face wash, before nodding to himself and turning back to sit in his throne, er, chair, in the helicopter.
AN: This is kind of an early birthday story for myself. I would post it tomorrow, but I'll probably be too busy working on Shiraishi's(3) birthday fic. So it's going up today. Enjoy! *mumble* Happy Birthday to me... Happy Birthday to me...