Chapter 2

Keigo Atobe was, by all means, a selfish person. There was never a time in his life when he didn't know this. There was never a time in his life when he tried to deny it. Everyday of his life had been spent pursuing selfish goals to become better, to glorify himself, to achieve things that he wanted to achieve. But now as he stood, staring down at the sleeping person in his bed, he couldn't think about anything else.

He ran a hand through his still wet hair and sighed deeply. He shook his head. Jirou Akutagawa had lost his entire family in five minutes, and now he was living in his house, sleeping in his bed. His face was still stained with the countless tears that he'd cried earlier, and he debated with himself whether to wake him up to take a shower or just let him sleep. He took a step forward, then stopped. Tomorrow was Saturday. They had the weekend ahead of them, but after that, what would Jirou do? Would he quit the tennis team? Would he drop out of school? What would everyone be like once he was gone? Certainly they couldn't just go on without Jirou Akutagawa. Keigo knew that he certainly couldn't go on without him.

He pressed his slightly curled fingers to his lips thoughtfully. It sounded quite like something he would say about himself, actually… Maybe he wasn't the most important person. But he didn't feel like thinking about that at the moment. He was very tired, and there was already someone in his bed. Sure, it was gigantic, but was he about to share it with Jirou? Keigo silently turned off the light and slid into bed next to him. He positioned himself about a foot away from him and rolled over onto his side.

Jirou was snoring lightly, a sign that he honestly was asleep and had been for a while, and Keigo reached up his hand and brushed aside the messy orange curls that had infringed menacingly on his innocent, sleeping face. He stared at Jirou, a few errant tears slipping down his face as he considered what had happened.

He hadn't placed himself in Jirou's position—to him, family was just a prestigious name and a large fortune. His maids were closer to him than his parents had ever been. The reason he was crying was Jirou. It seemed that someone who was so perfectly happy and oblivious shouldn't have to go through something like this. If Jirou was to experience pain, why couldn't his puppy have just gotten run over or something? Why this?

He inwardly shook his head, unable to understand as he watched the redhead sleep in the barely there moonlight. He dropped his arm and placed his hand over Jirou's, lining his fingers up with his. Then he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Keigo awoke from nightmares the next morning. He sat up in his bed, coated with sweat, finding that he had somehow disposed of his shirt over the course of the night. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced cautiously at the clock. It was eleven, but sleeping in didn't seem to be much of a problem that day. He lay back down and stared over at Jirou, who wasn't there. He sighed loudly and closed his eyes again, trying to block the blinding sunlight… Hold on a second…

He sprang back up and nearly fell out of bed. Where had Jirou gone? "Jirou," he called, glancing around his room. "Jirou?" He checked the bathroom and the closet first, then stumbled out of his bedroom before collecting himself. No. He wasn't going to stumble. But he was going to fast walk down the hallway, shouting as loudly as he could, just this once. "Jirou! Jirou!"

He huffed, stopping at the top of the staircase to think for a moment. If he was Jirou, where would he be? The first thing that came to mind was in bed. That, of course, didn't work, unless Jirou had found somewhere else to sleep. He thought again, then remembered that he had often seen Jirou reading manga when he wasn't sleeping or running around with Mukahi, being an idiot. There was no manga in the library at his house, but the library would certainly be a good place to look for it.

Keigo hurried down the steps and to the library. "Jirou!" he shouted. No response. Just to be sure, he weaved through the rows of bookshelves and checked on the couches and under the tables. There was no sign of him. He walked out of the library and grabbed the first maid he saw. She seemed slightly surprised to see him still in his pajamas but refrained from saying anything. "Have you seen Ore-sama's friend? The one Ore-sama brought home yesterday?"

"Hai, Atobe-sama, he's in the laundry room…"

Keigo raised an eyebrow. "He's in the laundry room?" he asked skeptically. The maid nodded, and Keigo shrugged. He hurried off to follow her directions, and sure enough, he found Jirou in the laundry room.

"Jirou," he said, grabbing his shoulder. Jirou didn't move. "Ore-sama has been looking everywhere for you. What are you doing?"

"Washing your clothes," replied Jirou, as if this was something very normal.

Keigo felt heat rise to his cheeks, trying to stop himself from blushing. The thought of Jirou touching his dirty clothes embarrassed him—he didn't want anyone to know that he got dirty, especially Jirou! "Why?" he demanded. Jirou simply shrugged as a response, and Keigo sighed loudly. "Ore-sama has someone for that already. It is not you and will never be you. So come on. Ore-sama wants to eat breakfast."

"I'm not hungry…" muttered Jirou as Keigo yanked him away from the washing machine.

"Well, Ore-sama is. And Ore-sama insists that you eat something, at least. You didn't eat yesterday either. Ore-sama understands that this is difficult for you, but—"

Keigo cut himself off when he glanced down at Jirou's despairing face, regretting that he had said anything. He led him through the halls silently, wishing he could think of something reassuring to tell him, but how reassuring could you be to someone who had just lost their entire family? Not very, he guessed. "Jirou, Ore-sama is sorry," he said honestly, but really, don't make Ore-sama worry so much about you…"

Jirou stared up at him suddenly, his brown eyes flashing in surprise. "You're worried about me?"

"Yes, Ore-sama is very concerned. I… Ore-sama cares very deeply for you… Jirou…"

"…You do?"

Keigo felt his insides freeze. "Why, yes," he replied, forcing his words to be calm. How could Jirou not have known that? Was he really so self-absorbed that he hadn't realized that he was giving Jirou the impression that he didn't care about him? …Well, of course he was… "If Ore-sama didn't care for you, then why would Ore-sama have taken you in?"

Jirou shrugged, and Keigo sighed deeply. This was great—Jirou just thought he was an insensitive, self-centered jerk! …Wait… Keigo wanted to scream. All this self-criticism was driving him insane! He had never questioned his personality before, so why was he now? He was obviously coming down with some terrible disease or something.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Keigo stared warily at Jirou from across the table, who was poking at his cold food with a fork, which he was having some trouble holding properly. He had hoped that he'd be full of questions about western food, or spoons and forks, or… or… anything, but he hadn't uttered one word over the entire course of breakfast. He hadn't even eaten anything, or endeavored virtuously to hold the eating utensils. No, he had simply sat still the whole time, watching Keigo eat. "Drink your milk," said the taller of the two mildly, reaching his hand across the table and pushing his glass at him. "Seventy-two hours without liquids and you're dead."

Jirou's eyes stared blankly at the white liquid, as if contemplating at that moment if dying would actually be such a bad thing. Keigo didn't blame him, but still, he was worried about his well being. "Please," Keigo added, more petulantly than imploringly, and Jirou finally obliged. He stared at him quietly until a maid interrupted them.

"You have guests, Atobe-sama," she said evenly, stealing a curious glance at Jirou.

"Send them in," replied Keigo in a blasé tone, and Jirou choked slightly, possibly surprised at the way things were done at his house.

Mukahi walked in, followed by Oshitari. "Hi Atobe," said Mukahi in a mellow tone. Oshitari peered interestedly at Jirou, and Keigo felt slightly defensive. The last thing he needed was Oshitari making Jirou feel like a godforsaken freak-show. "We came to see Jirou."

"Is that okay?" asked Oshitari in a low voice, staring innocently enough from Atobe to Jirou.

Jirou's face was blank, and Keigo took that as a yeah it's fine. "Yes," replied Keigo, and Mukahi glared at him.

"I think he was asking Jirou," he interjected haughtily, and Oshitari's eyes widened slightly as he glanced to Keigo surreptitiously and shrugged to indicate that he was neutral.

Jirou glanced at Keigo and grimaced, seeming slightly horrified at the aspect that Mukahi was acting so hostilely towards him. Keigo met his gaze reassuringly. He had no intentions of getting into a fight with Mukahi, despite his resentment towards him for sleeping with Oshitari—he saw easily what was going on. Oshitari was in love with him, and he just wanted someone to screw around with. Keigo didn't like the idea of someone using his friend like that, even if it was just Mukahi.

"I-it's fine," said Jirou quietly, glancing to Oshitari instead of Mukahi, who Keigo refused to look at despite the fact he was glaring daggers at him.

Oshitari smiled appreciatively. "Cool," he responded, taking a seat next to Jirou. Mukahi sat down on the opposite side of him.

Admittedly, Keigo watched those two like a hawk. This probably wasn't necessary, since they were Jirou's friends and obviously weren't trying to make him feel any worse, but Keigo certainly hadn't been trying to hurt him earlier that morning. They didn't stay for long, saying that they wanted to practice tennis, but he knew that they just didn't want to wear Jirou out. He was, after all, exhausted and traumatized.

Jirou said goodbye to them, seeming slightly relieved that they had gone, but Mukahi had seemed to cheer him up, even if only slightly. "What would you like to do now, Jirou?"

"I want to…" began Jirou thoughtfully, looking slightly more lively than he had before. Keigo was praying that he would say take a nap, but he knew it was pretty much inevitable. "Hm, well, what is there to do around here?" he asked, surprising Keigo. He was so glad that he had asked.

"Would you like to visit the garden?"

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Keigo sat in the grass with his legs folded, surrounded by a panorama of colorful flowers and a sweet, therapeutic aroma. The sun warmed his face and arms as he enjoyed the pleasant pressure of Jirou's back against his. He shorter teen was sitting behind him, hugging his knees and rocking back and forth slightly. It turned out that bringing him out here had turned out to be a pretty good idea—he had even gotten a few half-hearted 'sugoi's out of him.

"Kei-chan," he said, his voice seeming to lilt softly on the light breeze.

Keigo closed his eyes, enjoying the sound of it. "Yes, Jirou?"

"Why do you always have to be Ore-sama?" he asked quietly. His voice was distant and dreamy, and Keigo found that he rather liked Jirou's tone.

"Ore-sama just does," he replied evenly. He didn't think much of the question.

"Oh." There was a long silence between them, and Keigo found himself wondering what his friend was thinking about. "Kei-chan?"

"Yes, Jirou?"

"…Have you ever been drunk before?"

Keigo's eyes snapped open. "Ore-sama? Drunk? Never!" he spat, being slightly melodramatic, but most of it was genuine surprise. Of course he had never been drunk. What kind of question was that on Jirou's part?

Jirou giggled a little. "Don't have a kitten, Kei-chan…" His voice sounded mischievous, dark, even, and it scared Keigo more than it should have. He had never seen that side of him before. Jirou wasn't saying anything, so Keigo resituated himself and closed his eyes again. Another long silence. Then Jirou spoke again. "Kei-chan?"

Back to his sugary sweet tone. "Yes, Jirou?"

"Today's my birthday. I'm seventeen."

Keigo opened his eyes as he remembered the date. "Yes," he began thoughtfully. "You're right… Happy birthday, Jirou. What do you want?"

"Huh?" Jirou sounded genuinely confused.

"What do you want? Ask for anything, and Ore-sama will give it to you."

"Anything? Sugee… um…" Jirou hesitated for a long time before speaking, and Keigo could practically hear his smile. "Oh! I know!"

Keigo could feel Jirou shifting behind him, and soon, his grinning face appeared before him. He was so relieved to see him smiling like that. "Anything ever in the world that I want?" he asked, and Keigo nodded at him, unable to keep a straight face. Jirou was… adorable like this. "No matter what it is?"

Despite his growing suspicion, Keigo knew that he would be able to say no, no matter what Jirou asked him for. "No matter what," he said, taking an oath that he wouldn't be able to back down on.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Jirou grinned triumphantly. "I want Kei-chan to get drunk with me."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Keigo stared at the ominous bottle of liquor on the table in front of him. Jirou was sitting on the twin black, leather couch on the other side of the table, gazing at Keigo amusedly. It was ten thirty, and Keigo had easily managed to sneak the alcohol into the game room, unnoticed by any of the maids—they had all gone to bed.

"Have you ever… done this before?" he asked him quietly. He felt like he was talking to a prostitute or something.

"Once," he said thoughtfully, "with Gakuto last Christmas."

Keigo chuckled nervously in disbelief, shaking his head. "You… I… Did you throw up?"

Jirou laughed at him, obviously sensing his nervousness. "Kei-chan, if you're really too scared to do this, you don't have to…"

"Ore-sama is not scared. Tch." He narrowed his eyes to stare condescendingly at Jirou, who was just smiling a bit stupidly.

"You sound scared…"

"Well, Ore-sama is not." He reached forward and grabbed the bottle by the neck, taking a gulp of it obstinately. It burned a little, but it was nothing terrible. He savored the taste before setting the bottle down on the table. "Ha ha," he said instead of laughed. "Now you drink."

Jirou rolled his eyes, picking up the bottle, and Keigo smirked at seeing that he was just as nervous as he'd been. "You're acting pretty immature about this, Keigo…"

"You're just scared to drink," he quipped, leaning back on the cold, black leather.

Jirou laughed a little and smiled sweetly, shyly. Keigo loved that smile. "Bottoms up," he joked. The two of them took turns passing the bottle back and forth, and when Keigo was feeling thoroughly buzzed, Jirou smiled and came up with a proposition. "Let's a play a game," he suggested, and by the look in his eyes and his flushed face, he was just as drunk as Keigo.

"What game?" asked Keigo, smiling softly, finding that he was enjoying himself more than he had expected to.

"It's called… answer this." His speech was slurring ever so slightly, and Keigo raised an eyebrow. "I'll ask you a question… any question I want… and you can either answer it… truthfully…" Jirou held his hand out at Keigo, holding up his finger to emphasize his point, "or… you can drink." He giggled, and Keigo nodded.

"Sounds like fun," he muttered reflectively. "Ore-sama would like to play."

"Sugee! First question…" Jirou paused, and Keigo considered that he was probably more drunk than he was, judging by the way he was acting. "Hmm… let's see… Oh, I got it!" Jirou snorted in amusement and poked his finger towards Keigo's face. "Is that real?"

"Ore-sama's beauty mark?" asked Keigo, pointed to the feature in question. Jirou excitedly nodded his approval. "Yes, it's real. There. Ore-sama has answered the question."

Jirou folded his arms over his chest and nodded vigorously. "Okay, yes, you answered the question. Now it's your turn."

"All right," said Keigo, smirking at Jirou's cute behavior. "How much do you weigh?"

"Lame question!" shouted Jirou incredulously, and Keigo shushed him. "I'm not answering that!" Jirou swigged from the bottle and laughed hysterically. "Me again! Ready?"

"Ore-sama is ready," replied Keigo, laughing a little as the alcohol warmed up his body.

"Okay… Who… is your celeb crush?" Jirou's brown eyes glittered with excitement.

"…Hm… Ore-sama doesn't have one," Keigo replied, and Jirou laughed for no reason. Keigo laughed with him.

"If you don't have one, then you can't answer. Drink."

"What? That doesn't make any sense, Jirou…"

"Ah ah ah, no buts! You couldn't answer the question, so you have to drink…"

Strangely enough, drunk Jirou had a point. Keigo drank. He put down the bottle, laughing hysterically for reasons that, even at that time, he couldn't fathom. "Okay, Jirou… You sleep all the time so… What was your last wet dream about?" Keigo really hoped he would answer. He didn't know why.

Jirou stole a furtive glance at the pool table, his smile disappearing. He seemed to be considering telling Keigo, but instead, he reached forward and drank. Keigo felt disappointed, but it didn't ruin his happy. Jirou was smiling again. "I gotta good one," he said, setting the bottle down. "Are you gay?"

"Yes," replied Keigo almost immediately. Jirou seemed slightly impressed. "Are you?" asked the taller boy without even thinking.

Jirou nodded. "Yep. My turn again." Keigo hadn't even realized that he had taken his turn already. Jirou grinned deviously. "…Does body worship turn you on?"

Keigo felt his face flush, or maybe he just noticed that it was already flushing. He picked up the bottle and drank, causing Jirou to laugh hysterically. He thought for a moment, before asking with a smirk, "Does it turn you on?"

Jirou's mouth hung open for a second, and then he smiled. He drank, and Keigo felt his pants tighten slightly. "Quit stealing my questions! Now it's my turn…" He paused and shifted in his seat. "Are you hitting on me?"

Keigo widened his eyes slightly. The question seemed to have come out of nowhere, but he realized that he must've been being obvious. He was drunk, but not nearly as far gone as Jirou was. He picked up the bottle, smirking, and drank slowly, amused that Jirou's eyes were still locked on him. He slowly set the bottle down on the table, watching Jirou's every movement. "It's my turn," he growled in a low, seductive voice. "…Will you kiss me?"

Jirou stopped smiling and stared at Keigo, looking completely infatuated. He picked up the liquor and drank, emptying the last of the glass bottle's contents. He dropped it onto to floor, his eyes still glued to Keigo's.

A/N: Cliffhanger! Ooh, I'm evil… Thank you everyone for your reviews and subscriptions! I love those and would always appreciate more feedback. Check out my profile for updates. I hope to get the next chapter up soon!

Love, Heaven

Disclaimer: I don't own Prince of Tennis or any of its characters.