Title: Fragments

By: ExquisitelyInked

Summary: What is left? Shards and pieces of an unrequited love that once bounded to the stars, and now Keigo wants the remnants of his heart back from under Tezuka's feet. "Call – Part Two."

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I don't own Prince of Tennis.

Author's Note: Dark angel. She wanted a PoT fic. So I gave her one. It had been lying in my documents for a while. This is the continuation of Call. Just review and make me really happy, why don't you? You didn't review for Unreal. It's okay… well, not really.

Oh, and it's not a happy ending. Reminds one of the ending of part one.

Guilty because I swear I'm not lying to you FFn user, okay!

I forgot you.

I let go of you.

I abandoned my heart for you so I could just leave you and be miserable, and you refuse to let me slip away.

But you don't even love me.

Is it not sadism?

Keigo awoke to a new day, and a slight smile graced his features. He got out of bed and went into the shower, taking a long, hot fifteen minutes to freshen up.

He promised himself, as he looked into the mirror and took a comb into his hand, that he would not think of him that day. The whole day he would be distracted.

He blinked once, and smiled, just to see how he looked, pulling on his shirt and other clothes.

The bathroom door opened, and Ryoma stepped in. 'How long will you take?' He was in his school uniform already. So was Atobe.

'How long does it take you to come from your house to my manor?'

'Manor,' Ryoma scoffed. 'Well, around fifteen minutes.'

'I used that time in the shower, so just be awed by the greatness you see in front of you and don't comment on my punctuality. You go to Seigaku anyway, why are you here?'

'Seigaku's on the way to Hyotei, and, well, I was bored, walking alone to school everyday.'

'Of course. You're such a philanthropist. I forgot.'

'You never forget, Keigo. And shut up. You're not cut out for sarcasm. Narcissism suits you fine, though.'

'Of course, but I must bring myself down to your level, too, ne?' Atobe smirked. He finished styling his hair into his everyday fashion, and turned to go out of the bathroom behind Ryoma.

He went for his bag, lying on the sofa beside the massive bed, and saw Ryoma's was beside it. He grabbed it, too. 'Here's your bag.'

'Thanks, Monkey King.'

Atobe scowled. He was refusing to let go of the nickname. It was getting really annoying, and he had no retaliation for it.

He wondered whether Ryoma had a special reason for coming over in the morning. He never usually did that; it was normally in the afternoons that Ryoma made Atobe's house his home. He might have some bombshell to drop; Ryoma had that look on his face when there was something he wanted to tell Atobe but was thinking against it. He was also dropping him furtive looks as Atobe immaculately finished his breakfast and got up to leave.

'Just tell me already, brat,' Atobe sighed once they had crossed the threshold of the Atobe Manor gates, crossing over to the walkway and beginning their stroll to school. Atobe wasn't taking the limo. He preferred walking nowadays; he could keep himself preoccupied with his surroundings, but he would see nothing from the tinted windows of a limousine. Ryoma regularly ribbed him about it, but they both knew Atobe needed it.

'Tell you what?'

'Tell me what you came over to tell me. In the morning. You never show up in the morning.'

Ryoma closed his eyes. He didn't want to tell this to Atobe. Not after his breakdown a month ago.

'I don't really want to tell you, Atobe.'

'You don't really have a choice, Echizen.'

'Atobe, please.'

'Tell me, or else.'

'Or else what?' Ryoma challenged.

'Or else I shall spread word about a certain young Fila-cap sporting tennis prodigy and a girl with red-brown pigtails being found inside the tennis locker room of a certain prestigious school after hours.'

Ryoma didn't follow most of it, but he cottoned on quickly: Atobe was threatening to be a fucking gossip and tell everyone he and Sakuno were… he shook his head, regretting taking this route to school. Going to Atobe's house.

'You'll be the worse off for it, Keigo,' Ryoma warned.

Atobe casually shrugged. He knew that. But he also loved running toward things that destroyed him.

'Keigo…' Ryoma stopped and turned to face Atobe who apprehensively looked back at him. What was it? What could disturb cold, aloof, detached Ryoma so much?

'Buchou's coming back from Germany permanently,' Ryoma whispered.

And suddenly Atobe was struggling to fight against the simultaneous onslaught of tears and suffocation and vertigo that swept over him like a tidal wave at Tezuka's mention. Ryoma grasped him in a steadying embrace and Atobe held on for dear life.

Ryoma pressed his face into Atobe's blazer and inhaled, trying to keep Atobe on his feet, trying to commit the smell to his memory, trying to burn the way Atobe was clinging to him into his heart. It hurt, of course. His Keigo in love with Buchou. But that's the way the world went round.

'Why?' Atobe asked brokenly.

Ryoma's eyes filled over. He refused to raise his face, hurriedly wiping away any stray tears that fell down his face before they soaked into the blazer.

Atobe slowly regained his composure and let go of Ryoma.

'I told you,' Ryoma said hoarsely. He cleared his throat. 'You knew this would be the outcome of listening to what I had to say.'

'I did.' Atobe's voice was nonchalant and his expression was carefully blank. Ryoma saw through him like he was glass.

'Well, he is returning.'

'When?' Atobe asked. Looking at him, a passerby wouldn't have thought that he had a breakdown of sorts just moments ago. Or that the breakdown was inwardly continuing, wrenching his self into tight knots that would take eons to loosen.

Ryoma shook his head, and resumed walking. Atobe caught up, and grasped Ryoma's elbow. 'Tell me when, please.'

Ryoma hated himself. He really hated himself.

'He landed in Japan the day before yesterday. He's rejoining Seigaku, tennis practice, from today.'

This time Atobe didn't say anything, but his hand on Ryoma's arm tightened. He was trembling visibly, and Ryoma wanted to drag a knife across his wrists and remove himself from Atobe's life.

'Today?' Atobe whispered. He wasn't looking at Ryoma. Ryoma thought, look at me. Look at me. I'm better than him. I'm so much better than him. Please.

Ryoma slowly nodded. 'I wanted to come tell you beforehand so you wouldn't die in case you bumped into him somewhere around town.'

Atobe said, 'Thank you for telling me.'

They continued the walk in silence, breaking the quiet—there was no peace in the turmoil that was churning between them—only when Ryoma went into Seigaku's grounds.

'I'll see you after school, okay, Ryoma,' Keigo said. Ryoma nodded. Keigo was still standing there, looking at Ryoma, when Ryoma took a few steps inside, so Ryoma gave him a bright—fake—smirk and raised a hand. 'Mada mada dane, Monkey King!' His voice broke on the King.

Atobe shot him a quick smile and an arrogant look and called, 'See you around, brat.'

Ryoma wanted to kiss him as he walked away.

Atobe spent his day in school in a sort of stupor. Numb to the teacher, to his classmates. He just took notes and stared out of the window alternately. After school, he went to the tennis courts, heading to the locker room to change first. Jirou and Oshitari were in there, along with the rest of his teammates, chatting unconcernedly about something. He joined in, discarding his shirt and trousers and pulling on the purple-and-white Hyotei T-shirt and shorts. He took his racquet from the bag that always was found in the room, and came out with the others.

Coach Sakaki beckoned to him as they walked by. 'Atobe-kun.'

Atobe glanced at Sakaki and stopped. 'Yes, Coach?'

'Can you just gather your teammates, please, the bus is here.'

Atobe blankly looked at Sakaki. 'The bus?'

'Didn't I tell you before?'

Atobe shook his head. The others clustered around him.

'We're going to Seigaku to welcome Tezuka-kun. He's back from Germany. We'll also play a few matches with them.'

'Going to Seigaku?' Atobe asked, stunned. Sakaki nodded matter-of-factly. 'Yes. We will be the first school. Tomorrow it'll be Fudomine. The day after that is Ginka, and so on.'

'Come on, then, peasants,' Atobe indicated toward the school gates, trying to retain his self-possession.

Ryoma waited with his teammates at the gates for the bus carrying the Hyotei team to arrive. He had known about this. This was one thing that in any circumstances he would have stubbornly kept hidden from Atobe.

Tezuka-buchou was calmly standing ahead of the others, with Coach Ryuzaki, quietly talking to her about something. Ryoma didn't look away from him.

The sounds of the bus could be heard. Momoshiro nudged Ryoma and smiled. Ryoma forced a smile onto his face and saw the bus stop outside the gates. The door opened. Coach Sakaki was the first one out. He warmly smiled at Ryuzaki and Tezuka-buchou and spoke a few things.

Ryoma's head craned over the others, anxiously looking for Atobe.

Keigo descended from the bus in regal style. He bowed respectfully to Ryuzaki and curtly extended a hand to Tezuka. 'Welcome back to Japan, Tezuka,' he said, and his voice betrayed no agony.

Ryoma had no wish of seeing this. He slipped away from the crowd as soon as the other Hyotei team members alighted. Momoshiro noticed, but didn't say anything.

Tezuka firmly grasped Atobe's hand, steadily gazing into his eyes. 'Thank you, Atobe-san.'

Atobe subtly wrenched his hand from Tezuka's.

He stood aside, with Sakaki, and watched.

Everyone was playing a match with someone. Ryoma, who had returned, was paired up with Gakuto and was furiously playing. Atobe sat on Gakuto's side of the court and looked on. He tried to ignore the fact that on the court behind him Tezuka was playing, swan-like, against Oshitari.

He immersed himself completely in the match and was surprised when a hand touched his shoulder. 'Atobe-san?'

He looked up, startled. 'Tezuka.' From the corner of his eyes he saw Gakuto go over to Oshitari's court. Ryoma just stood there.

'May I sit beside you?'

'By all accounts, please do.' Or go away.

Tezuka took a place beside Atobe.

Atobe was silent. Tezuka was also silent. But then he broke the stillness.

'I wanted to talk to you about a certain phone call that you made to me approximately a month back.'

'I want to do no such thing.' Atobe squeezed his eyes closed.

'I just want to clear things, Atobe.'

Atobe was suffocating. His hands clenched into fists.

'I understand that I was very rude when I replaced the receiver, in a manner of speaking, as actually I pressed a button on my cell phone, without giving you my answer or with any seeming explanation. I regretted it immediately, and I wanted to call you back, but you switched off your phone.'

Atobe didn't recall that. Then he realized Ryoma must have done it for him when he was crying into Ryoma's shoulder.

'Yes.'

'Well, I want to properly reject you.'

Atobe's eyes widened, and he froze. Please. Please, no. Not here. Don't do this. Not here, do it somewhere people can't see me. God. Oh, God. Oh, God, spare me, spare me.

'I am sorry but there is no plausible way in which I can return your affections so I will have to tell you to forget about me and forget any semblance of romantic feelings that you might have held for me. I apologize for hurting you, and will strive not to do so again. I will also not talk to you until absolutely necessary. Goodbye.'

Tezuka got up and left without a single look at Atobe.

Atobe was bitterly reminded of the abrupt end of the phone call. This was the same.

'Keigo—' a voice choked out, and Atobe looked up to see Ryoma standing in front of him, looking at him, Atobe's agony reflected in his eyes. He smiled. 'He wanted to properly refuse me,' he said.

Because hanging up without a word on a phone call was too subtle.

Ryoma's look of shocked, pained disbelief finally shattered Atobe. Tears flowed from his eyes and he covered his face with his hands and openly wept for his fragmented love, for his crushed heart and for his absurd stupidity in falling in love in the first place.

Ryoma waved off Gakuto and came to embrace Atobe again… just like last time. Exactly like last time. He stroked Atobe's hair softly.

Don't tell me thousands of times that you don't love me

Don't talk to me about this

This is a knife in my heart and you twist it with every word of rejection

If you decline me and repeatedly torment me like this,

Is it not sadism?