wingless crimson presents
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Title: Fallen
Category: Prince of Tennis/Tennis no Oujisama (belongs to Konomi)
Type: Alternative Universe
Genres: Romance/Drama
Rating: T
Summary: When a disgraced, naïve angel is rescued by an arrogant, worldly vampire, an unlikely road to redemption begins.
N.O.T.E.S.
I'm sorry this chapter took such a long time, I had writer's block and wasn't sure if this would get finished at all, but it did, so I'm SO happy right now you don't even know. So please enjoy while I go prance around weirdly...or something. I'll just shut up now.
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IV
Name of Wonders
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"…We're currently serving a full house, right now, sir." The girl at the counter apologized with a deep bow, "And the waiting list is very long, if you come back after an hour or so perhaps there will be space available for you and your friend."
Fuji shifted from one foot to the other and stared at the patterned tiles, "Atobe, maybe we should just…um, leave."
"…Well, maybe we should." Atobe shrugged airily with an ever knowing smirk, "…If they want to miss out serving Atobe Keigo…it's their problem. You want to go, Fuji?"
The girl's eyes popped, "…Wait—wait…you're Atobe Keigo? Are you really?"
"The one and only." Atobe nodded as the female half the population in the restaurant turned to stare. "…Do you think you can manage to get us a table now, miss?"
"Oh my gosh, you are!" The girl clasped a hand to her mouth, "You are Atobe Keigo! I can't believe I didn't recognize you!"
"…Atobe-sama!" A random someone waved her hand, "You and your friend and can join my table! We can all just squeeze over to make room!"
"No, no! I sit closer, Atobe-sama, over here! See, there's plenty of room over here!" Another thrill voice called out.
"Oh, and miss." Atobe stopped the counter girl, who was obviously about to bolt into the kitchen and announce that the great Atobe Keigo had walked into their humble little restaurant.
"…Yes, Atobe-sama?" The girl stopped obediently in mid-pivot. "You can call me Yuki-chan."
"Well then, Yuki-chan." Atobe indulged her just because, "…Please make sure the table is as private as you can possibly manage. My friend hates publicity."
"Oh, of course, anything that Atobe-sama wishes. I'll be right back, please excuse me." Yuki ran off, positively giddy. She shot straight for the kitchen door, clumsily dodging tables in her path, "—Guys! Guess who's here! You'll never guess--"
Fuji glanced up at Atobe, amused as ever. "…How do you know I don't like publicity, Atobe?"
"…You like publicity, then?" Atobe looked mildly surprised, "If that's the case, you want to join one of the random tables over there?"
"…No, thank you, I'll pass." Fuji looked most faintly nauseated at the suggestion.
"That's what I thought."
Yuki returned with a stack of menus and a blazing red face, "…I think a table in the back has just cleared, Atobe-sama. If you can just follow me…"
"Come on, Fuji, enough gawking." Atobe took his arm again and led him to the back, where a small table for two had miraculously sprung out of nowhere.
"I wasn't gawking." Fuji shook Atobe's hand off roughly. He slumped down on one of the chairs.
"Sure you're not." Atobe scanned the menu, "…I'll have white wine to drink. Fuji, what do you want?"
"I don't know." Fuji suddenly looked stricken, "…I'll—I'll just have the same thing you're having. White wine. Is it good?"
"…It's just to drink; it's not something we eat. Haven't you ever been inside a restaurant?"
"Not for a long time. I forgot." Fuji said, staring at the tablecloth, "…I'm sorry."
That was the strangest answer he had ever heard to any question, "Whatever, don't worry, a bottle of white wine then and two glasses, obviously, Yuki-chan." Atobe turned back to the menu, "I'll call you back when we're ready. You may leave now."
"Whatever Atobe-sama wishes!" Yuki nodded eagerly and disappeared.
"…Are you famous, Atobe?" Fuji said, watching her go, with a rather bemused expression now etched upon his delicate features. "…Why does everyone know you?"
Atobe glanced up from the menu to the expectant cerulean eyes, watching him intently, "…You could say that. Or you could just make it simple and say that my name does wonders."
"There are not many names that do that." Tezuka's name is one of them, but of course, Fuji doesn't say, "You are very blessed, Atobe." He paused to flick a stray strand of hair that covered his eyes. "I'm sure you know it though."
"…Thanks, I think." Atobe replied after an awkward beat. He changed the subject, gesturing down at the menu, "Have you figured out what you're going to eat yet?"
Fuji shook his head, "…I told you, I—I have no money, and I'm not that hungry. I'll just eat whatever you have left over, that's fine, if it's all right with you." He wasn't even sure that he was that human enough to stomach anything.
What was it with Fuji? Atobe asked himself for the umpteenth time, not even his more rabid fans would request so kindly to eat his leftovers. "…Well, how about I order a large serving, and we can both eat? Is that okay?" This was extremely awkward, even for a host as seasoned as Atobe.
"…That's fine." Fuji nodded, "Thank you."
So Atobe waved to Yuki, who was loitering at a nearby table and ordered a large bowl of shrimp yakisoba.
It was a pleasant meal; all in all, Fuji was surprised to find how ravished he was. The only complaint he had was that it wasn't peaceful. Every once in a while, someone would approach Atobe and beg for an autograph.
When Atobe had finished signing his umpteenth autograph on a napkin, Fuji asked, "…What's so special about a piece of paper with your name on it?"
Atobe had been picking at the remains of noodles in the bowl, "…Beats me, but it's good manners to abide by your fans every once in a while."
Fuji smiled and set down his chopsticks delicately, and reached for his napkin, "Amusing as ever, humans are."
Humans were amusing, he was inclined to agree, Fuji had a beautiful smile, Atobe noticed. "…I suppose they are." He attempted to smile back, though it was more of a smirk than anything, "So much for 'I'm not hungry'."
"…So I was, I'm sorry."
"Quit apologizing." Atobe got to his feet, "It gets old."
Fuji stood up too and followed Atobe to the counter where the other handed the starry-eyed cashier a bunch of bills. "Keep the change." Atobe said.
"…You're generous." Fuji remarked, as they left.
"I can afford to be." Atobe returned, "…Are you coming home with me or not?"
Fuji shouldn't. He knew, he knew that Yukimura wanted to break him on the streets and watch him suffer; the other was probably seething right now. "…I shouldn't."
"…But you are?"
"I want to." Fuji hung his head. He felt miserable all of the sudden, all of the good spirits from moments before, were completely gone. "But I shouldn't. I really shouldn't be doing this, Atobe." He balled his hands into fists. "…I…"
"If it makes you feel any better, I do things I'm shouldn't be doing everyday." Atobe looked at him, "Get in the car and stop babbling, you're not making any sense."
Fuji smiled again, "You're the nicest stranger I've ever met. Thank you."
"…Why are you always calling him? Atobe's a big boy, Yuushi." Gakuto thumped the mattress to show his disgust, his voice had a tight edge to it, "…Why the hell can't we ever spend a single day with stupid Atobe interrupting us?"
Oshitari looked from tapping figures into his cell phone to the slight redhead, who was naked save for a flimsy shirt that left little to imagination. He chuckled quietly, "…You're the one to talk, Gakuto." He gestured to the various magazines strewn all over the bed, they had little in common, except that they all profiled the topic of discussion (Atobe) on some page or another. "All we did all morning was make out and look at magazines about Atobe. You're becoming quite the rabid fanboy."
"I'm not a rabid fanboy!" Gakuto's face immediately glowed a bright shade of crimson. "…Yeah, okay, I might do that…but I don't call him every five minutes!" He set his chin stubbornly and glowered in Oshitari's direction.
"What's the matter, you jealous?" Oshitari shot back, though he was only teasing. "…How do you know I'm not jealous of all the magazines and who knows what else you keep around, Gakuto?"
"Who knows what else?" Gakuto slapped him good and hard on the shoulder, "Yuushi, you live with him, damn it! That's worth a thousand magazines right there!" And then he grew quiet, "…Yuushi, why won't you move in with me? Am I really that bad of a boyfriend?"
Oshitari kissed him, a long, slow unhurried kiss. He pulled away, "…It isn't like that. We've talked about this." He reached down and let his hand rest between Gakuto's legs, whose body at once went taut.
"…You never answer why." Gakuto bit his lower lip, "You—you do love me, right, Yuushi?"
"I love you." Oshitari affirmed calmly and touched his slicked fingers to his lover's mouth.
Gakuto kissed the wet tips of his fingers and made a face, "…I don't like the way I taste."
"I think you taste lovely." Oshitari kissed him again, "…If you disagree with me again, I'll have to punish you."
There was a heated glint in Gakuto's eyes, he crossed his arms childishly, "…I don't like the way I taste. I taste absolutely nasty."
"…I'll punish you—after I call Atobe." Giving him one last linger peck, Oshitari tapped the remaining numbers in his cell phone and waited, determined to focus on anywhere but Gakuto.
"Atobe? It's me." He said, tone suddenly businesslike, "…I froze the stuff in the refrige—what the hell do you mean why? I left you a note, didn't you read it?" He heaved a sigh, "Do you always have to act like some spoiled brat?"
Gakuto was glaring at him, Oshitari could feel it. He sighed yet again and shifted the phone to his other ear, "…I worry about you, that's all, Atobe. Not a crime, is it?"
Oshitari hung up without saying goodbye.
"You worry about him?" The redhead spat out, lying flat on the bed, arms stretched out before him, "Why the hell do you worry about him? Isn't Atobe a big boy?"
"Yes, but Atobe is also a big brat who needs to be looked after." Oshitari returned calmly, stretching out beside him. "Where were we?"
"You were about to punish me, and then you decided to call Atobe instead." Gakuto snorted, "…Some lover you are."
"I'm sorry." No snide remark came this time, and those that could have come were smothered by Gakuto's seeking tongue.
"I'm not going to lose you, Yuushi." Gakuto had quite a thing for talking coherently when literally tongue-tied, "…Especially not to Atobe."
"Don't be ridiculous, you'll never lose me." The words came out slurred. "…Atobe and I are just…"
Just what?
Atobe's mouth twisted into a savage smirk, "You're just an unfortunate boy, Oshitari."
Oshitari nodded, eyes closed, willing the throbbing pain to go away, "If I'm already that piteous…what the hell are you?"
"Just damned." Atobe returned, wiping his mouth clean. "It's a hard thing to swallow, sometimes."
The unfortunate and the damned.
"—Atobe and I are nothing, Gakuto."
"He worried about me. Damn bastard." Atobe cursed, yanking the keys out of the lock and pushing the door open with a flamboyant bang. "Goddamn bastard."
Fuji closed the door quietly behind him and watched as the Atobe stalked towards the kitchen in a rage. He had received a call from someone, during that last stretch home and he had been ticked ever since.
He followed Atobe into the kitchen, "…Atobe." He perched carefully on one of the stools were placed by the counter.
Atobe jerked open the refrigerator door and took out a single glass, filled with the brim with something red. Fuji wondered what it was. "What?" Atobe snapped.
Fuji winced, "…Could you um, not use that word, please?"
"What word?"
Fuji swallowed, "…That word that you said before—bastard." Saying that was challenging enough. He didn't even want to attempt the other word.
Atobe set the glass down, "…Goddamn?" He asked.
"Yes…that, could you please not say that, anymore?"
Atobe glared at the glass, only a supreme idiot like Oshitari Yuushi would even think to freeze-- he sighed. "I don't mean anything by it. But whatever."
"Then you won't say it anymore?" Fuji asked hopefully.
"If it makes you uncomfortable, I won't." Atobe shook his head, though he turned just so that the other couldn't see him laugh.
"Thank you." Fuji lit up again, he walked over to where Atobe stood, "…What's this?" he picked up the glass and studied it for a minute, intently.
"It's…well…medicine." Atobe said, perhaps a beat too late. "Put it down." He waited for more questions. "It's hard to clean up if spilt."
"I'm sorry." Fuji obeyed and set the glass down carefully. "…Are you sick?" He wanted to know, looking at him. Now that he thought about it, Atobe's complexion did appear to be somewhat wan.
The eyes weren't of this world; they were too beautiful to belong. Atobe looked from the glass to Fuji again, "…You could say that." He admitted quietly, "I have been for a while." A very long while, but of course, he couldn't say that.
Fuji touched a timid hand to his shoulder, "…I'm sorry." He dropped his hand, though his eyes never left Atobe, "I hope you…get better…soon."
Get better? He almost laughed.
Atobe lied easily, because Fuji was still such a child, "I will." His hand came up to clasp the other on the shoulder, but in the end, he couldn't quite manage, something—someone this beautiful, this innocent...touching him seemed a sin, with these hands. "Don't worry."
