AN: Thank you for waiting so long, but here's the continuation to chapter one. Especially to Charmine-san, thank you very much for reading.

A hard wind pressed against his cold cheeks as he adjusted the scarf tighter around his neck and pulled it up to cover his mouth. Ever since morning, Jirou hadn't spoken a word whether it was to his roommate or to anyone else. They believed he was still drowsy, as he always was, and unable to explain as he yawned to deceive them into their suspicions. Yet, it wasn't the case at all. He had hardly slept; that much was true, but he wouldn't have been able to even now. He ruffled his messy blonde hair as snow built upon it, hiding his face further into the massive curls. How could he face Atobe now? The silver haired male walked a few feet ahead on the trail, looking straight ahead in a rather stiff manner. They were descending the road that lead them to the ocean, at least a half a mile long. While they were able to observe the unnerving waves from beyond the rails, Jirou understood the beauty the other found in it.

Stepping over the dark dirt filled mounds of ice, they found a small clearing on the center of the stone steps as they were not able to get any closer to the fierce waves. The bed of sand looked glazed as if ice spun over them, but it was only a moment before the large waves clashed upon them that they realized it was only smooth because the receding water made them so. It was that moment that Jirou realized how sand could ever turn into glass. What was more astonishing was the snow, falling from the billowing cotton candy clouds, attacking the sea with little force as they fall, engulfed into the mouths of the hungry ripples. The sight was so melancholy that an urge sprung inside the boy to go and capture the falling crystals in his hands, but he didn't dare do so. Instead, he watched, as they fearlessly descended, adding to the great waves.

"Jirou," the voice roused him from his daydreams, and he met Atobe's eyes after what seemed like forever, then he looked back at the wave quickly trying not to seem rude and pretended he was enjoying the scene with enthusiasm.

"Wah, don't you think this is a great place? It's really awesome! I would swim if I could, but I'd probably freeze if I did that. Hey-" he grinned the best he could. "Are we going to draw this?"

The heavy gaze of his partner's dark blue eyes wavered over not the scene, but at Jirou, and the blonde shuddered involuntarily, letting his fake smile fall into a rather blank look. He felt like Atobe was looking right through him, and could tell. He spoke with authority in his voice as if he demanded to know, but not too unkindly, "What's the problem?"

Jirou was quickly backed into a corner. He could not deny it, for it was plain as day, and even if he had tried to, it wouldn't resolve the other's curiosity. The blonde didn't like to make the other upset, although the other way around, he wasn't too sure. He only knew it wasn't intentional. He sighed, wrapping his arm around his thickly bundled self, and letting his gaze wander from the waves to the sand and then to the hand rails. Anything…anything for an answer.

"There's a lot," he answered, trying to be truthful as possible without giving any implications about who he was talking about…or exactly what, "that is bothering me."

Atobe nodded for him to continue, and Jirou sighed once more.

"Well, I've fallen in love with a good friend, someone who is barely within my reach. What's worse is that I've done something to offend this person without them knowing. That friend is also…um," he cast his eyes to the side blushing lightly, hoping Atobe didn't notice. If he had, he didn't show any sign that he did. "Is a male. And I just don't know what to do anymore."

It wasn't natural. To like someone who was the same gender? Before Atobe, he would never have thought about it. He could have kept it to himself if none of his feelings were going to be returned. He knew that yet, he found himself being able to easily confide in the person who had the right to hate him if he had known the truth. The captain watched over him with a steady gaze, arms folded tightly as if thinking things over. He didn't seem surprised, though, he could easily hide what he felt with his calm demeanor. The blonde only watched wearily, hoping that the other didn't figure him out. Not yet. He took a deep breath, and tried to hold the gaze Atobe gave him to no avail. Not only had he violated the other's space, he had no clue. He watched the ground somberly wondering if he would ever be forgiven, and if he was, would he be able to forgive himself?

It was a long minute, that felt like hours, before the silver haired male spoke, and he did it so casually as if he was tackling on a problem in math, "Just tell him. Nothing will start if you keep it to yourself. It doesn't matter what gender, since you like that person for who they are. If you have done something, apologize. If they back away, it means they didn't understand you to begin with. Perhaps it's because I prefer someone who is strong willed, but I don't like to see my teammates dallying in something like this."

Jirou only stared and tilted his head. There goes Atobe, straight to the point. He didn't blame him, but he also wondered. That expression as he stated it, had he faced that kind of problem before? He was uncertain and thinking about it made him uneasy. He sighed inwardly and tried to smile. "Thanks Atobe, do you still like me?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Easy for him to say. Jirou only grinned lightly.

-

The painting that the one who was called King of Hyoutei truly let the artist live up to his name. The still painting cast an illusion of the raging waves, swallowing the flakes of the snow like nothing, only growing stronger and livelier as it crashed against the bed of rocks and swirled the sand before retreating to duplicate its act. The hall of clouds created a crack between each other to let the light of Gods pass to the realm of mortals creating an amazing glow in the world of gray-blue. It diminished the other student's paintings greatly, and Atobe chuckled when Gakuto grunted about hating art.

Jirou hadn't shown anyone his sketch. He had been mindlessly reenacting the scene from his dreams onto the white canvas creating the pure lake from only his memory. Something always seemed to be missing as he dragged his eraser many times over on the worn surface. Finally satisfied, he started to add color, but to his dismay, none of the blue would match the lake. He smudged white over after it dried once and painted violet, then black. A deep, dark violet-black stretched across, engulfing the canvas. It was beautiful, but something wasn't right.

The blonde was reluctant to turn in his artwork, but he did so like everyone else to their designated art teachers who had done nothing but tell them of angles and places to draw. He felt a sense of loss when the uneven paper slipped out of his hands into the basket and watched blankly out the window after he was able to sit down. He fell asleep mid class.

It wasn't the bell at the end of class, but the teacher's exasperated voice that woke him up. Jirou grinned up charmingly from his arms. "Hey, sensei. Is class over?" He yawned much to the teacher's disapproval.

"Akutagawa-kun!" The older lady sounded surprised. She was a young teacher with chestnut hair in a bun and looked rather nice despite her pointed red lens. "I hoped you would pay attention today… uh, but I don't have time to scold you right now. You should leave when you're packed up."

The blonde only nodded as he stretched his arms in his seat while she left the room. The art basket caught his attention. He frowned mildly and walked over racking through the canvases. The art he departed with easily found his hands as he pulled it back out. Looking at both sides, he returned to his desk to examine it. It was incomplete, he grimaced, and he understood what was missing. Slipping his artwork into his backpack, he turned to leave…

"Akutagawa-sempai."

The narcoleptic's heart almost froze as he spun around to face a familiar second year. Bowl cut chestnut colored hair fell over his eyes, and narrow, knowing eyes bore through him like an arrow. He gulped. "Hiyoshi?"

"Coach told me to go look for you," he quickly entered the room and leaned against the window. "Please don't take too long. I have a few people to Gekokujou."

"Ah…of course," Jirou laughed nervously, wondering how Hiyoshi could stay so calm all the time. He tried to hide the canvas in his bag, but it was too bulky. The two stared at it for a minute. "This is…um…"

"It's none of my business," The mushroom haired youth left the window and began to walk across the room as if waiting for the other to hurry up. Jirou gazed at him in wonder. Was he actually helping him? Or did he really not care. Either way, it didn't seem like Hiyoshi didn't plan on using this to threaten him or anything like that. He smiled inwardly. The second year was actually a nice guy.

Daring to speak again, the boy used a cheerier voice then he first intended. "What are we doing today?"

"How would I know, if Atobe-san would do his job properly and go fetch you himself…" he mumbled with obvious distaste. "I'm going to gekokujou him soon so something like this wouldn't happen…"

"Oh good! Let's go ask him together then."

"No- what, why…"

The younger boy was dragged down the hallway and its stairs all the way to the other side of the school where the clubroom stood, shining, proud, and tall. Already, the other members were practicing in and around the courts, hitting targets or rallying. Anyone could seek out the captain with a swift look around the field and it was apparent he was nowhere in sight. "That's funny, I wonder where he is," he said to an annoyed Hiyoshi before they filed into the locker room to change. They exchanged a dull conversation, the chestnut haired youth sounding annoyed and only replying to Jirou's enthusiastic voice in one or two words.

They stopped mid sentence when someone suddenly burst through the door, and seeing it as their captain, Jirou instinctively hid, and pulled Hiyoshi with him in the process. The younger was about to protest, but he held his finger to his lips, eyes wide and afraid, and it silenced the other male though hesitantly. He looked at his blonde sempai with questioning eyes, lacing his shoes behind the locker as quietly as possible.

"Are you well?" Jirou leaned against the locker only enough so it wouldn't creak. Atobe seemed to be talking on the phone, and it seemed like to someone important. He never heard the silver haired male sound so concerned. "When is that? …Ah I see."

Fear seemed to creep into the curly haired blonde's heart, worming its way around the surface and digging deep to the core. He realized that tone for what it was, because he often had experience using it. It was one of longing and adoration. Something those who didn't know it couldn't recognize. Who was Atobe talking to?

"What?" a flustered voice resounded the locker room, and the silver haired male drew in breath before answering with a hint of embarrassment. "Wh-whatever. Take care of your shoulder." And the conversation ended.

Tezuka… Jirou shivered. He was talking to Tezuka.

The frustrated look on the blonde's face surprised Hiyoshi into complete silence as he started to understand the situation. Then he frowned too, and stood up almost about to comfort the other when Jirou sank back too deep and the locker's awful screech filled the room for one long second.

"Who's there?" Atobe's footsteps crept closer.