Chapter 4!

To be honest this was.. hard to write to say the least. I have all the ideas but I just can't seem to be able to put them down in a logical fashion. In the end I stuck all of my Tenimyu songs on repeat and forced myself to type it all out. I gave myself a couple of days to edit but I cannot seem to make it any less terrible than it is now and for that I apologise.

It may seem like I'm throwing in characters randomly (which I sort of am, in a way) but they are actually important to the overall story line.

Also, this is a fairly boring chapter. I promise that things will start to pick up soon, this is a drama story after all, so I hope you don't all lose faith in me.

The first thing that Ryoma did as soon as he managed to leave Atobe's, ignoring the offer of a lift, was flag down a taxi (he had been drinking after all) and empty all the money he was carrying with him into the bemused driver's hand.

If his parents were surprised at seeing their son on the doorstep out of breath, the money he had was fine for getting him to his apartment but was not quite enough to get him all the way to his parents', in the middle of the night they certainly did not show it.

Rather his mother almost at once dragged him into a hug, in which Ryoma was secretly relieved but put up a struggle simply because that was what he was expected to do, and pulled him inside the house.

"Oh Ryoma, you'll never guess what happened."

No, probably not, but he was pretty sure he would be able to make a good guess. Even after what had happened to them Ryoma couldn't help but notice that they were indeed uninjured, not even a bruise or a scratch (which really didn't seem fair considering the crack to the head Ryoma had taken), just like the captors had said.

"Apparently we were being targeted and that whole fiasco the other night was a means of protection," His mother was looking far too relaxed than would be considered normal after what Ryoma had imagined had happened to them, "They said they needed to make things dramatic so that it would seem like someone else got to us first and get them off our trail."

"...what?" It occurred to him that his parents hadn't actually known he was there with them. They had been unconscious and so hadn't seen the rough treatment of him being taken away for the meeting.

"I know, shocking isn't it?" His father nodded gravely, "But I suppose that's to be expected with our line of work. Not to worry, they've promised to keep an eye on us so that nothing happens."

It was just then that Ryoma realised just how clever those captors had been, far smarter than he had given them credit for. This was a warning, his parents were not quite off the hook yet and there was no way he could go to the police when his parents believed that it had been for their protection.

It was a way of making sure Ryoma had no choice but to go along with things. If he did anything suspicious then they would be all over them before he even realised it.

"You must have been worried!" His mother ran her hands through Ryoma's hair a couple of times in what was supposed to be a soothing manner, "Don't worry, you can sleep here tonight, you have work in the morning don't you?"

Ryoma nodded, deciding it was futile to try and explain anything, and allowed himself to be fussed over as he was led to his old room for the night.

As he lay in bed, hands tucked behind his head as he stared at the ceiling, he could only curse the fact that he was playing directly into their hands and there was nothing he could do about it.

--

"Your returns are slower than usual, giving up?"

Almost as soon as these words had escaped his mouth Ryoma had to pivot quickly to the side, trainers squeaking on the floor, as he lunged after the small yellow tennis ball which was suddenly moving so much faster than before.

Managing to get his racquet under the ball he smirked as he sent it soaring back over the net, only to scowl when his saw that his opponent was in position for a smash. Even as he threw himself back towards the centre of the court he was not fast enough to catch up to the ball as it whizzed past him.

"You set that up," Ryoma adjusted the brim of his cap, glaring across the court to the brunette on the other side of the net who, except for a faint twitch which might have constituted a smile, remained expressionless.

"You let your guard down," Was the reply as his opponent started to walk towards the side of the court, tennis racquet held loosely in his left hand, "Two games to one, I believe."

Ryoma sighed and nodded, heading for the side as well where his water bottle was. While he was used to all sorts of skill levels coming to this academy, from those who barely knew which end of the racquet to hold to those who could hold their own against Ryoma reasonably well, but this particular person was in a league of their own.

Tezuka was well known for his skills and nine times out ten was able to wipe the floor with Ryoma, he suspected that other one time was out of pity, but he still came like clockwork once a week to have their usual clash, and had been doing so for as long as Ryoma could remember. Ever since recently though Tezuka had been coming more and more often and so it was no surprise to have matches with him several times a week.

He was dragged out of his thoughts by his water bottle being waved in front of his face, nodding his thanks to Tezuka as he took hold of it. Their fingers brushed during the exchange but Ryoma barely paid any attention to it, even when the older man kept his fingers there a little longer than would be necessary.

They kept silent during the short break, talking was not really a huge part of their personality for either male, before returning to the court where Tezuka served and another rally started up.

They had changed court during the break and Ryoma now had a view of the door leading out of the indoor court where they were playing. It was normal, and expected, for people to be crowding around the door to get a look at the matches going on inside and so it was no real surprise for someone to be there but rather it was who was standing there with their arms crossed that had Ryoma swinging too early and missing a relatively easy ball.

Even Tezuka seemed surprised by this and sent a questioning look over in Ryoma's direction but which was unseen since the younger boy was still looking over to the person by the door.

"What are you doing here?" He finally managed to bluntly ask.

"Nice to see you as well, brat," Came Atobe's surly reply, "Did you forget you were supposed to be with me today?"

While Ryoma made a habit of tuning out things he didn't want to listen to he highly doubted he would be able to forget about the imminent torture he was going to have to endure that day.

"How did you know how to find me?" Ryoma was fairly sure he hadn't mentioned to Atobe what he did, let alone given him full details about where to find him.

"Kirihara told me, it seems he is useful for one thing at least."

A polite cough brought them back into awareness of their surroundings and had both turning to face Tezuka who, seemingly guessing that the match was adjourned for the moment, had left his racquet and was now coming up to the two.

"Oh, Tezuka," Atobe greeted civilly, though his stance suggested it was a little forced.

"Atobe." Tezuka nodded his head by way of greeting, leaving Ryoma looking between the two completely bewildered as to how they seemed to know each other.

"How are things?" Atobe asked pleasantly, even though he was edging closer and closer to the door.

"They could be better," Tezuka replied in the same tone of forced joviality, "Ever since that suicide people have been rather wary of signing me up for competitions, you can almost see them mentally wondering how long it will take me to go the same way."

"Pity.." Atobe trailed off, not looking at all sympathetic, and then turned to face Ryoma, "Come on, I'm not waiting all day."

"I have work," Ryoma told him bluntly, hence his racquet and sports clothes, a little annoyed about his match being interrupted for such a, in his opinion, stupid reason.

"I spoke to the owner," There was a tone of finality in Atobe's voice that told Ryoma he was not going to be taking no for an answer. He had no doubt that it had been money doing the talking, rather than Atobe himself.

Ryoma looked over to Tezuka, as though hoping that maybe he would say something that would mean he didn't have to go but the other man stayed silent, leaving Ryoma with no choice in the matter.

--

After showering and changing into a different set of clothes, Atobe had wrinkled his nose and told him he wasn't allowing a sweaty waif anywhere near his house, Ryoma found himself trailing after Atobe as they made their way out to a car which had been no doubt waiting for them.

They were met by the driver who bowed and opened the door for the both of them. Ryoma, not used to such treatment, had to be given a shove courtesy of Atobe before he stopped staring and actually got inside.

Once they were seated and the car was pulling away Ryoma leaned back, head tilted to the side as he decided to ask the question that had been bothering him for a while now.

"You know Tezuka?"

"A little," Atobe's attempt at keeping coy about answering was unsuccessful for Ryoma, who found the answer most unsatisfactory, scowled until finally Atobe relented and added, "My company sponsors him in his tennis."

"And you don't like him," It wasn't a question, more of a flat statement.

"I... tolerate him," Atobe reiterated. With this said he shifted around so that he was no longer facing Ryoma, making it clear that he wasn't going to be answering any other questions.

With a huff Ryoma turned to face the window, arms crossed. Atobe was just getting more and more confusing the more he learnt about him.

--

With the rest of the journey passing in silence they eventually pulled up in front of the same house that Ryoma had been at for the party, though this time all of the garden lights had been taken away so even though it was still ridiculously large at least it no longer brought too much attention.

They were greeted at the door by a servant, who bowed and offered to take their coats. Atobe handed his over straight away but Ryoma clung stubbornly to his, not liking people fussing over him, until Atobe told him to stop being such a child.

"And your hat?" The servant held his hand out pointedly for the white cap still on Ryoma's head. Scowling Ryoma pulled on the brim, refusing to hand it over.

"Brat, you're not wearing that common piece of junk in my house, hand it over," Atobe informed him.

"No."

The servant sighed, obviously not used to this kind of behaviour. Eventually Atobe managed to snatch the offending article from Ryoma's head and give it to the servant who bowed and left to go and put them away.

He returned a few moments later, when Atobe and Ryoma had taken off their outdoor shoes.

"Will you be eating here, Master Atobe?"

Atobe glanced over to Ryoma, whose stomach chose that exact moment to start rumbling. Well, playing tennis did make him work up an appetite.

"Yes, it looks like we will."

"Very well, follow me," This was no doubt for Ryoma's benefit, it seemed they pegged him as the kind of person who would get lost if allowed to roam freely. This wouldn't be Ryoma's fault, in his opinion nobody needed a house this big. It was pointless.

They were led to the dining room, a completely separate room in it's own right rather than sharing it with the kitchen or lounge like in Ryoma's home.

"Take a seat, lunch will be out shortly."

The servant bowed again, what an amazingly flexible back these people must have, leaving Ryoma gaping around in bewilderment. The table was situated in the centre of the room, covered in a fancy white cloth which Ryoma knew would not be staying that colour for long, but was so long that it seemed to be able to fit the whole of Japan quite easily.

"How many people are you expecting?" Ryoma turned to face Atobe, who looked vaguely surprised by the question.

"Just us, now sit," He pulled out a chair at the end of the table, which had Ryoma wondering whether Atobe did actually have manners until he realised that Atobe was pulling the chair out for himself and not for Ryoma. With a huff he pulled out his own chair and sat down as well.

The first thing he noticed was that the table was already set but rather than the chopsticks he had been expecting he was greeted by several different sets of cutlery, each varying in length or sharpness, all of which Ryoma had no clue as to what they were for. There was even three different spoons!

"What happened to just chopsticks?" He mumbled, picking up one of the forks and examining it carefully.

Atobe looked incredulously at Ryoma, as though he had just asked the stupidest question ever, before snatching the fork from his hand and placing it back down on the table.

"This is just the basics, we are only having lunch after all," He informed the younger man, who merely stared back at him blankly. Atobe sighed and shook his head, "It seems you have more to learn than I originally thought."

Ryoma was saved from having to answer by the appearance of several more servants, each one carrying a plate covered with a lid which they placed in front of the two seated at the table.

As they lifted off the lid from the first dish Ryoma, who with the amount of cooks Atobe seemed to have had been expecting something spectacular, came face to face with a lump of glistening black.. slime that was not unlike something his cat had once coughed up.

Picking up one of the forks Ryoma gave it an experimental poke, cringing a little as it wobbled and then slid further across his plate. He'd had caviar before on sushi when he'd gone out with his family but not on it's own and in such a large amount.

"Don't use that," Once again he found the fork snatched from his hand, courtesy of Atobe. "That's for your main meal, not your hors d'oeuvres."

After numerous times of picking up the wrong cutlery, 'that's for fish Ryoma, fish!', Atobe was finally able to get Ryoma to take a mouthful.

As the black haired man's nose wrinkled in disgust Atobe was left wondering whether he had actually made the right decision in choosing this boy.

That was... so not worth the wait I gave you all.