Epilogue:
"My son will NOT come to such plebeian places like the park and mingle with the commoners!" Atobe burst out angrily, his eyes flaring in agitation.
"He needs friends," came the stubborn reply.
"Munehiro already has friends! I have personally hand-picked companions for him in every stage of his mental and physical development until he's seventeen!" Atobe glared down at Tezuka.
"If he had real friends, he wouldn't be walking up and talking to strangers in the park like he did to me." Tezuka looked back coldly, his eyebrows knitting together.
Their gazes locked in a silent battle of wills, neither willing to give way. They remained like that for a minute or longer.
A single leaf drifted down between them.
And suddenly, the absurdity of the situation struck them. The glare on Atobe's face softened. "Are we really fighting about whether Munehiro's childhood development would be affected if he came to the park to play?" He asked somewhat plaintively.
"Hn," replied Tezuka, his brow smoothing back out, a slight ease of posture that hinted at relaxation of previously tense muscles.
Atobe sighed. "It's hard being a widower-father."
Tezuka looked up and quietly shifted slightly over on the bench, a silent invitation. Atobe took two steps closer and sat next to Tezuka, his leg crossed loosely at his knee. They sat like that, close, but not quite touching each other for a long moment. Atobe fought down the impulse to shift closer along the bench and leveled a single sidelong look at Tezuka. "You look good," he commented.
And it was true. The years have been more than kind to Tezuka. The same spare bone structure that made him look older than his years when he was just a teenager were now refined and burnished with experience. He looked capable, with a quiet assurance about him. A man to be admired, a man to be looked up to. A beautiful man, his heart added silently.
There was another long period of silence. Atobe twitched a little. "That was your cue to tell me how good I looked too, by the way," he said, with just a touch of frost in his voice.
"Really?" Tezuka looked back at him, his eyebrows lifting in surprise.
Atobe narrowed his eyes. "Tezuka Kunimitsu..." He stopped at the faint smile that was slowly curling his lover's mouth. A sweet smile, with so much affection in it that it almost stopped his heart.
Emotion swelled, filled his throat. He lowered his head, his perfectly coiffed hair -- with hardly a trace of silver in it -- fell obliging over his eyes, hiding his face from anyone who might see. "--missed you," he said very softly into ground, because Atobes never let anyone see weakness or vulnerability in public, never showed anything less than their best in front of people.
A hand moved and covered the top of his hand firmly. "Hn," said Tezuka, looking very straight ahead. His hand tightened slightly over his, a silent promise to never let go.
They sat there, two men on a park bench, not touching, except for a single hand resting on top of another.
(and because i couldn't let well enough alone, an epilogue to the epilogue)
They sat like that for an eternity, until a little boy about six ran up and tugged at Atobe's pants. "They have ice cream, papa," he announced with all the solemnness that a six-year-old could muster. "Chocolate ice cream."
"Really?" asked Atobe with mock surprise.
"Uh-huh," nodded the boy. Dark eyes like his father's, darted from his papa to the tall quiet uncle next to him, and back again. "Maybe Uncle Tezuka likes chocolate ice cream too," he said, hopefully.
Both Atobe and Tezuka fought back smiles. Tezuka smiled. "Definitely your son," he murmured to Atobe.
"You had doubts?" Atobe murmured back as he arched an single elegant eyebrow. He turned back to his anxiously waiting son. "So where are they selling this chocolate ice cream?" he smiled at his son.
A great beam lit up the boy's face. He pulled at his father's and Tezuka's linked hands, almost falling over backwards in his anxiety to hurry them up. "It's over there! Hurry, papa! Hurry!" The instant the adults got off the bench, the little boy was off and running, whooping as he went.
They walked in the late summer afternoon's sun, two men, and a boy running before them, towards the soft tinkle of the ice cream truck.