A/N: Hi guys. Yeah. I've finally gone insane. A one-shot. Not just any one-shot. An Atobe/Jiroh one-shot. Someone shoot me. ;A; -Flails- But I'm kind of excited, so bear with me, yeah? TELL ME IF IT'S HORRIBLE. Tell me if it's not, too. D:
Disclaimer : I do not own PoT.
Akutagawa Jiroh is an easily excited person; at least, in the moments he's actually awake, that is.
Truth is, he doesn't really know what's wrong with himself. He's pretty sure he doesn't have something like chronic fatigue or narcolepsy or anything, nor anything seriously wrong. Jiroh doesn't like to think that he has some kind of disorder, like those people in the psychiatric ward, and stuff.
Jiroh just likes to think of himself as an avid dreamer. Someone who likes dreaming a lot.
Still, he thinks. He wishes there was something that could actually keep him awake. His moments of consciousness are short and random, and it's not just a time or two he wakes up in the wrong place at the wrong time.
It gets tiring, waking up in the tennis court benches hours after the gates are locked, and having to climb laboriously over the fences to get home. Usually, he falls asleep before he gets home, again.
So, Jiroh thinks. It would be nice to meet something that keeps him awake. Like, coffee, or an alarm clock. Or, he thinks with a goofy smile, the sun. The sun's brilliant rays wakes him up every morning, surprisingly enough.
Was there such a thing as a twenty-four hour, portable sun?
Jiroh sighs.
The first time Jiroh saw his sun, it was in his third week of his first year at Hyotei Gakuen, the grand school of wealth and splendor.
He'd been walking around campus, musing on whether or not he should join a club; he wanted to join something, but he really wanted to concentrate on grades and stuff since he was in middle school, and all, and he wasn't sure if there was something that he would want to do more than sleep. Sleep was very important to one's nutrition, forget the fact that sleep was unavoidable to someone like Jiroh.
Jiroh had stopped at the tennis courts, to stare wide-eyed and innocently at the athletes practicing their swings. Forehead pressed lazily against the diamond-patterned fence, eyes bulging as his cheeks dug into the metal of the obstruction.
Jiroh had considered joining tennis the first week, but had decided against it. Sure, he was an okay player, but he hadn't found any reason to really join. It was fun when he had time, but there was nothing to make him really want to stay.
But it was still fun, Jiroh mused, to watch them play. His eyes were immediately drawn to the thin figure standing atop the bleachers with a jersey floating lightly on his shoulders, silvery blue hair shining in the sunlight. Like a king.
And just like that, standing against the courts' fences, Jiroh fell asleep. Again.
Jiroh only awoke two hours later, diamond-shaped prints engraved painfully in his forehead and cheeks, with icy blue eyes bearing down on him in mild amusement.
The second time Jiroh saw his sun, it was up close and embarrassing, because he was raising a brow at Jiroh, lips curved into a laughing, mocking smirk. "…And who are you?" he'd asked, in a sultry, deep voice, and Jiroh flushed a bright, bright red and yelped and stumbled backwards.
The boy laughed at him from the other side of the fence, and Jiroh's eyes widened.
Jiroh decided to join the tennis club not long after, releasing a sleepy yawn as he changed into his tennis clothes languidly inside the locker rooms. He didn't know why he joined. Maybe it was because of that boy.
He'd have to get tested, the club coach had said, to check which tier he belonged in.
No one actually expected anything of him, the boy who was famous for having fallen asleep against the fences in a standing position. The little first-year boy who could barely keep his eyelids open.
But all the then-regulars were there when he played against a rather skilled player of the team, just for laughs-sake, because the day was hot and long and they were sweating heavily, and would rather judge a newbie than run some more laps for training.
Jiroh hadn't really cared, until he saw that boy's face raising his brows in amusement from the regulars' ranks, arms crossed and nose up high.
And then, Jiroh had snapped wide awake, blood thrumming into activity through his veins and pulse.
Jiroh had defeated his opponent 5 games to 1, without breaking a sweat.
He was duly rewarded with the name of that boy. "Not bad. Atobe Keigo. Oresama No Bigi Ni Yoi Na."
Jiroh had been in the tennis club for about two months, when Atobe Keigo took over the club by brutally defeating its current captain and all of its regulars in astounding tennis matches. He'd been there, watching, open-mouthed and starry-eyed, as something invaded his line of sight, and shook him firmly awake.
His sun.
And then, Atobe had stepped towards him, and with a sort of careless grace and arrogance, named him a regular of 'his' team.
And that was how they had begun.
From then on, it was all about Atobe, Atobe, Atobe.
Jiroh discovered that Atobe was just as he was on the inside, as he was on the outside. He was arrogant and mighty and simply cool, all too aware of his own identity and how it was superior to most others'. He knew exactly which lines to say and when, when to pick up his racket and when to walk away in an air of superiority.
He didn't make fun of how much Jiroh slept, only shrugging it off with an easy, amused smile and a murmured order of: "Kabaji."
With Atobe, Jiroh wasn't left behind; if Kabaji wasn't there to help carry Jiroh around, Atobe was there to wake Jiroh up.
Jiroh didn't know why, but whenever he opened his eyes, Atobe was there, waiting for him to wake up, so he figured; Atobe must have magical powers to wake him up. After all, Jiroh always felt a pleasant tingle when he awoke next to Atobe.
The 128th time Jiroh saw Atobe, it was not while Atobe was dominating the courts, nor while some poor girl confessed to Atobe yet again, only to be rejected outright. No, it was on the bleachers, strangely too common a setting for someone like Atobe, while Atobe was asleep. Jiroh awoke an hour after practice had finished, all the other regulars gone, including Kabaji.
But Atobe had been there, sprawled in a careless elegance across the seat, just beside Jiroh's curled form.
And Jiroh had blinked rapidly surprise, tracing his chocolate eyes across the canvas of the other boy's perfectly chiseled face.
And without realizing what he'd done, Jiroh had leaned forward to press his lips softly against Atobe's, eyes fluttering closed.
He drew away a second later, horrified and embarrassed and aghast, and ran away.
Jiroh never looked back.
Jiroh did not properly see his sun for the next 15 days, out of sheer willpower and desperation.
Atobe still approached him normally on the courts, and Jiroh ran. After the first day of practice, with Atobe shooting confused looks at the Jiroh who hid behind an exasperated Gakuto, Jiroh skipped practice for the rest of the week. And the week after.
He'd been ditching his 15th day, as well, trying so hard to fall asleep on the rooftop at school. It was strange, how after that incident, Jiroh did not sleep, whether it be day or not, at school or at home.
Dark bags lined his eyes and his face grew an unhealthy pallor, and as much as Jiroh wanted to sleep, he simply couldn't, for whatever reason.
Jiroh saw Atobe for the 129th time that day, when the boy burst through the door of the roof, sweat coating his skin and a furious expression on his face.
Jiroh stood glumly at practice, Atobe's words of "Be there at practice, else Ore-sama will consider that your letter of resignation."
Tennis wasn't fun anymore, not when he felt so deeply uncomfortable and ashamed, standing in front of Atobe. Sleeping had lost all its appeal, and even Gakuto's repeated attempts of cheering him up with moonsaults didn't work at all.
What made it worse was the fact that Atobe had a girlfriend now, who came to visit him with cute little lunches and pretty smiles and laughter.
It hurt his head, and Jiroh didn't know why. He just wanted to sleep everything away.
The 145th time Jiroh 'awoke,' he hadn't been sleeping at all.
He'd been lounging on the tennis locker room's bench, staring dully at the floor, waiting for his ride because it was raining outside. Everyone else had gone home earlier, and his ride was late in picking him up.
Then he heard footsteps outside, and just from the confident taps, knew it belonged to Atobe.
Jiroh closed his eyes in a hurry, panic flashing over his entire body at the prospect of being alone with Atobe.
There was silence for a moment, as Atobe probably found the boy 'sleeping' on the bench.
It was hard to keep his lashes shut and his body from jolting when he felt soft lips pressed against his own, the feel all so familiar. After all, they were the same pair of lips that had haunted his dreams since the 128th time Jiroh saw his sun.
Atobe was kissing him.
Jiroh did not do anything or say anything about the incident for the remainder of the year, and slowly, he and Atobe went back to a comfortable companionship.
There was something painful about the way Atobe always stared at him, a dare dancing in his eyes as he gazed at Jiroh with such intensity. As if he was saying, "Aren't you going to do anything?"
But Jiroh didn't.
And Atobe continued to see that girl.
So that was how their first year came to an end.
In their second year, the pang has lessened whenever Jiroh sees Atobe with that girl, holding hands and him caressing the girl's hair softly. They've lasted longer than anyone expected, and Jiroh has kind of relinquished his hold on Atobe. After all, Jiroh thinks, he cannot cling on to Atobe forever.
So now when Jiroh fell asleep, he crawled over to the gentle first-year Choutarou, or the always-silent Kabaji, and curled up and closed his eyes.
Whenever he awoke, Atobe was nearby, but never beside him.
As what was right, Jiroh would think.
Jiroh has long forgotten the 145th encounter by the time a similar event happens; he is on the bleachers, having awoken just over three hours after practice has ended. He lays still for a moment, unwilling to move from his perch just yet, when he hears footsteps coming towards him. And again, he knows it's Atobe, so he shuts his eyes closed and hopes the boy walks by.
Because as much as Jiroh feels as though they've gone back to the way they were before the 145th encounter, before the 129th, it's hard not to stare at Atobe's lips when they're alone. And that will give him away.
And just as Jiroh thinks Atobe has left, he feels a pair of lips ghost over his own, and then he feels the carefully constructed net below him tear and leave him in a tumbling free-fall.
Down, down, down, he falls, and Jiroh feels as though his heart is ready to leap out of his chest.
Thankfully, though, he manages to keep his form still and his eyes shut.
Jiroh acts a little frigid around Atobe, if only because he doesn't know how to act without lashing out in embarrassment. He clings a little more to Shishido, a little more to Oshitari, laughs a little louder with Gakuto and Hiyoshi.
Never with Atobe.
And Atobe flashes him one look, that burns with disappointment, and then he is off, walking away towards his girlfriend waiting for him by the fence.
And it is like this their second year draws to a close, and Jiroh is feeling a little empty inside.
It is their 429th meeting on a rainy night when Jiroh sees it.
Atobe leans forward and captures the girl's lips in a quiet embrace, and Jiroh stands, facing Atobe and the back of that despicable girl. For some reason he feels his heart break into a million little pieces on the floor, and he feels something well up in his eyes and brim over. He doesn't even realize he's crying until the cold, salty drops drip down his chin and hit his collarbone.
And Atobe opens his eyes and sees him, and cobalt blue eyes widen into broken chocolate ones.
Before either of them could react, Jiroh runs, far far away and hopefully never to come back.
Jiroh has never experienced heartbreak before, he muses, safely under the covers in his soft, comfortable bed. He's running a high fever and a runny nose from having run home in the rain, and his mother is bewildered at what could have made Jiroh done such a thing.
Jiroh's happy that he's sick, because it means he doesn't have to go to school, where Atobe is.
The clock hits 3:45 PM when the doorbell rings downstairs.
Jiroh sinks further into his bed, hoping that whoever came (probably a friend of his mom's) will leave soon.
But what's weird is that there are familiar footsteps coming up the stairs, and before he knows it, his bedroom door opens and blue eyes are staring into his.
Jiroh thinks that maybe he's hallucinating as he watches Atobe sit down on his bed beside him, reaching over to place a cool, comforting hand over his burning forehead. Jiroh wishes it wasn't, not when Atobe smiles a wry smile at him and brushes a stray lock of hair out of his eyes and tucks it gently behind his ear.
Jiroh croaks out a "Go away," feeble and embarrassing, despite the fact that his heart is so foolishly happy when he sees Atobe.
He doesn't want to see Atobe. He doesn't want Atobe to see him.
But Atobe does not leave, only sits there stubbornly, arrogantly, looking down at Jiroh through unreadable eyes.
And then Jiroh is crying again, because he hates it when Atobe has that mask over his expression. Because he hates it when he can't understand what Atobe is thinking, especially while he looks at him, and because it hurts looking at Atobe's lips now, because those were the lips that had last kissed that girl's.
Atobe looks almost panicked for a moment when tears spring from Jiroh's eyes, rushing for his handkerchief and helplessly patting the moisture away from Jiroh's face.
"I hate you," Jiroh cries. "Go away and kiss that girl some more."
And that time, Atobe really leaves, and Jiroh cries even harder.
Jiroh comes back to school and sees Atobe for the 431st time, waiting for Jiroh by the school gates. Jiroh has ditched practice again, because he cannot bear to see Atobe.
He tries to walk coolly, calmly by Atobe, when he's grabbed and pulled into the small space between buildings just beside the gates.
Jiroh's heart beats frantically and painfully as he tries to breathe in little gasps, because Atobe is so, so close, and his head feels slightly dizzy pressed against the brick of the building. Jiroh wonders if he's claustrophobic in the back of his head, and he decides, yes, he is, when he's sharing such a small space with Atobe Keigo.
"I broke up with her," Atobe murmurs.
Jiroh's eyes widen in surprise and his heart pumps even faster in delight, but he doesn't say anything. Then: "And? What do you want me to do about it?"
Atobe's brows furrow in what seems to be frustration, before the blank mask slips over his face again. "Fine," he mutters, and walks away, leaving Jiroh confused and hurting because he can't understand what's happening.
Things go back to normal; at least, as normal as they can, because Jiroh still avoids Atobe's gaze, and Atobe still continues to treat him with an icy shoulder.
It is on their 456th meeting, alone in the locker rooms after practice, that Jiroh breaks down crying in front of Atobe, who is helpless at the sight of Jiroh's tears.
"What? What's wrong? Does something hurt?" Atobe asks, crashing to his knees in front of the bawling, curled up Jiroh, who tries to make himself look smaller, pressed against the lockers.
Jiroh shakes his head no, because Atobe can't possibly understand, how much it hurts him when Atobe gives him the cold shoulder for over 20 days, for nearly a month. Jiroh wraps his arms around his knees and starts to shiver because he's cold, and the tears won't freaking stop no matter what he does.
Atobe finally wraps his own arms around Jiroh and presses Jiroh's small face into his chest, and Jiroh stops crying a few minutes later, lost in the lovely scent of Atobe's cologne.
"It hurts," Jiroh finally whispers, looking straight at Atobe. "Right here."
And Jiroh points at his chest, before tears start to drip down his cheeks again.
Atobe looks almost delighted, as if Christmas came early to a child, as he asks, "Why? Why does it hurt?"
And Jiroh shakes his head, because he's still confused and his head hurts.
"You know why. Tell me," Atobe coaxes.
Jiroh caves. "Because you won't look at me, or even talk to me."
Atobe's eyes sparkle with elation. "And why does that hurt, Jiroh?" His voice is calming and deep and velvety as he talks, and Jiroh loves the way Atobe's voice rumbles his name.
"I don't know," Jiroh insists stubbornly, pouting, eyes puffy and nose red.
Atobe leans in closer. "Yes you do. Tell me."
And Jiroh feels the wind being knocked out of him as cobalt blue eyes stare directly into his, and he bites his lip. "Because," he finally cries. "Because I love you."
Atobe smiles and closes the distance between them, kissing Jiroh softly.
This time, both of them are fully aware of how conscious and awake the other is.
On their 457th meeting, Jiroh doesn't shy away from Atobe, nor is he hurt or crying. No, Jiroh shy succumbs to Atobe's embrace, nuzzling happily into his chest and laughing a bubbly, cheery laugh.
When Atobe says "You took longer than I expected," Jiroh only pouts and beams back.
Because Jiroh's found his natural, twenty-four hour sun, that he won't let go of, ever.
A/N: SO? Good? Bad? UGLY? 8'D Tell me in a reviewww? 3 I've never written an Atobe/Jiroh, much less a ONE-SHOT...please go easy on me. ;A;