"Jirou, wake up."
All you received in response were mumbled words too jumbled together to discern.
"Jirou."
A slow yawn punctuated the otherwise silent tennis courts.
"Mou, I must have fallen asleep during practice again. You could've woke me up earlier you know."
You raised an eyebrow elegantly and chose not to comment on how that would have been nearly impossible. Nearly, because you could do anything if you really desired.
Like getting Jirou to dammit stop looking at me like that.
"Ore-sama will ask the chauffeur to drop you off at your house," you said abruptly, trying to ease the distinct sense of uncomfortableness his gaze gave you.
"But it's warm here, Kei-chan," he pouted, which really did not influence your resolve at all.
"It is less than fifty degrees, Jirou. It is certainly not warm."
"Well," he said with a smile as the first drops of rain began to fall from above, "the rain makes me warm."
You watched his golden lashes flutter as he closed his eyes and tilted his head towards the sky. He threw out his arms then – as if to welcome the downpour – and began to twirl whimsically to the music in his mind. His laughter rang out over the empty courts as he continued to twirl, opening his mouth to catch raindrops on his tongue.
"Dance with me."
You stared at him incredulously.
"Ore-sama does not engage in such plebeian activities."
"Don't worry, Kei-chan," he said with a gleam of child-like innocence in his eyes, "it's fun."
You snorted – you could hear your mother's voice in the back of your mind scolding you on inappropriate behavior of the Atobe heir.
"Ore-sama does not think that increasing your chances of becoming sick is fun."
He stared at you in that distinctly uncomfortable fashion that only he could manage to do.
"C'mon," he said, his lips quirking up slightly, "so that you'll have no regrets."
No regrets.
So you pressed your lips to his.
When you felt the inexplicable warmth in your chest, you realized that maybe the rain could make you warm.
