Atobe dabbed at his bruising cheek with his handkerchief, wondering if he should be grateful that Ryoma spared his eyes and nose.

Beside him on the bench, Ryoma had returned to sitting, poking at the strings of his racquet. He wouldn't look at Atobe, but the tenseness of his shoulders and back was evidence that he was thinking about the conversation. They had said nothing after the punch. Ryoma hadn't apologized, and neither had Atobe.

Sitting on the bench like nothing had happened was an option both favored.

Atobe winced. His cheek hurt. Ryoma was officially deadly. Whipping out his carry-along mirror, Atobe observed his face. Damn it. How was he supposed to show this magnificent self in public with this on his precious skin? It was a good thing school had let out. Maybe he would hide out in his room while his servants prepared a face cream to heal the bruising.

He glanced over at Ryoma who was still prodding at the strings of his racquet. Atobe glared at his head. Did he even care that he had ruined Atobe's face? The insolent brat was not looking the slightest bit guilty of his act of violence.

But then Atobe's eyes softened. His gaze rode over Ryoma's small frame and soft head of hair. He still couldn't believe Ryoma was a victim of sex slavery.

Atobe thought that only happened in third-world countries. It seemed more likely that it could happen in Japan than in America. Then again, being the son of a businessman, he knew that a lot of things often weren't shed light on in first-world countries. It was easy to assume sex slavery only happened in poor places because it was constantly being broadcasted on the news.

Atobe wondered how Ryoma lived with himself after experiencing something so horrific.

"Don't pity me."

Atobe lifted his head. "Ahn?"

"Don't pity me." Ryoma's eyes were like burning amber. "You don't have to feel bad. We're not even close."

Atobe licked his lips. "Who said I was pitying you?"

"Your stupid Monkey face gave it away."

"You punched me," Atobe pointed out.

Ryoma looked pleased. "A very good punch too."

Atobe scowled, but it didn't stay long on his face. He looked over to where the sun was blending with the crown of trees behind the court. Anger slashed through Atobe like a knife. He wanted to kill Kon Nikolaj. He wanted to choke him to death, until his gleaming eyes and putrid smirk went empty and cold.

His own thoughts terrified him. He closed his eyes, and took a breath. What happened to Ryoma wasn't his business.

Except now it was. He was supposed to protect a kid who punched him in the face.

He snuck a glance at Ryoma. "Ore-sama has to protect you."

Ryoma looked at him, and glared hard. He was clearly still mad. "You don't have to do anything."

"I unfortunately do. My father is making me protect you during the training camp."

Ryoma snorted. "I don't need protection."

"Well, you clearly did a couple years ago."

"Fuck you."

"I'm not like your customers. I'm not interested in fucking, as you put it."

Ryoma was trembling again. Atobe wondered why he kept being so insensitive. He just didn't know how else to touch on the subject, and his mouth kept moving on its own accord. Swallowing hard, he reached for the skin between Ryoma's neck and shoulder, and squeezed in a gesture of comfort. Ryoma breath hitched. Atobe's face burned.

They sat there awkwardly. After a few long, humiliating seconds, Atobe removed his hand.

Silence.

Then Ryoma said: "You suck at comforting people."

Atobe unwillingly flushed. "It was an intimate shoulder squeeze. I thought I performed the gesture perfectly."

Ryoma snickered. "Did you read a book on this?"

Atobe flushed harder. He knew he should have never tried being nice to the brat. "I was trying to relieve you of your tension."

"You should be a therapist," Ryoma remarked. "My old therapist was just like you. She tried to awkwardly comfort me all the time. I just glared at her."

Atobe sniffed. "I would obviously be good at anything, but a therapist hardly gets paid the amount I deserve."

Ryoma looked slightly amazed. "And I thought I was cocky."

"You're still an amateur. I'm the king."

Ryoma snickered again. Atobe wondered if that was his way of laughing without really laughing. A silence once again spread over them, but it was comfortable. Ryoma had stopped prodding with his racquet, and instead was leaning back against the bench, staring at the sky. His eyes were bright and gold and Atobe suddenly felt this gnawing in his stomach. This gnawing that made him look away and shake his head.

He liked sitting with Ryoma quietly. It relaxed him from his hectic schedule. But he also knew that they weren't friends, but rivals. He needed to keep it that way.

"You know," Atobe said suddenly. "He's our new coach."

Ryoma shot up. "He is?"

Atobe frowned. "Our student council had a vote. The paperwork will take a while to be sorted, but he's going to be our coach in a few months."

Ryoma clenched his racquet, shaking his head. "I told you not to."

"I didn't have a choice," Atobe snapped. "It was a vote, and since you refused to tell me what Kon was capable of, I didn't put up much of a fight."

Ryoma jerked his head to him. His eyes were on fire. "Would you want to tell someone this?" His mouth quivered. "It makes me sick to just think about you knowing."

"Other people are in danger now because you didn't tell me.

"It wasn't my fault!" Ryoma sounded unsure of himself. Shaky and unsure. "I just didn't want anyone to know."

Atobe felt guilty again. "Okay."

"Okay?" Ryoma's small form shook. "It's not okay. Get rid of him."

"I can't!"

"I thought you ruled the school. You always bragged about that."

Atobe pressed his fingers against his nose. "I do rule the school. But this isn't something I'm in control of."

"What about your father?" Ryoma spat. "Can't you get him to do something?"

"I can't," Atobe said.

"Why not?" Ryoma challenged.

"Because he's an asshole," Atobe blurted out.

Ryoma blinked, his argument dying on his tongue. He turned back away from Atobe. "Oh," he said.

Atobe ran a frustrated hand through his fair. "I'll figure something out."

Ryoma nodded curtly. "You better."

Atobe would have snorted if it wasn't such a disgraceful thing to do. He closed his eyes tiredly. Sometimes it felt like everything in the world was on his shoulders. He had to be tennis captain. He was on student council. He was academic royalty. He was expected to learn the ways of his father's business. Now he had to take care of Ryoma, and stop Kon Nikolaj from infiltrating their tennis team.

It still amazed him that he got his beauty sleep.

A small hand squeezed his shoulder, sending a pleasant tremor through his body. Atobe opened his eyes to see Ryoma's face. His mouth felt dry, and he just stared at Ryoma unblinkingly, drowning in pools of gold. The gnawing in his stomach grew.

Ryoma smirked, removing his hand. "I do the intimate shoulder squeeze better than you."

Atobe swallowed, unable to think of a witty retort. His brain felt like fuzz. He didn't think Ryoma had ever touched him before. It felt sensual even if it wasn't supposed to, and Atobe reminded himself that he liked cute girls like An.

"How did you know?" Atobe finally settled for. "That I needed comfort?"

"Your Monkey face gave it away."

Atobe twitched. "My face is royalty."

Ryoma nodded. "It is royalty. That's why you're a Monkey King."

Atobe was about to retort, but Ryoma stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "I'm leaving. See you later, Monkey King." He turned the other way. Atobe felt this hammering in his heart that spread over his whole body. It wasn't dark yet, but the sky was a deep orange, indicating the transition to nightfall.

He stood up. "Wait!"

"What is it?" Ryoma looked over his shoulder in irritation.

"Ore-sama will walk you home."

"I said I didn't want pity."

"It's not pity." Atobe fell into step beside him. "I just feel like it."

Ryoma eyed him carefully, studying his intentions. Atobe knew he was going to refuse the offer.

But then Ryoma shrugged, and said, "Fine," and Atobe felt his heart swell in a way that scared him right down to his core.


It was dark by the time they reached Ryoma's house, and Atobe was glad he had offered to walk Ryoma home. He knew Ryoma didn't want pity, but Atobe didn't consider this pity. He considered it rational. With Kon Nikolaj on the loose, Ryoma didn't need to be wandering around in the dark alone. He may have been able to punch the living daylights out of Atobe, but he was still barely five feet. Kon Nikolaj was huge.

"Ore-sama has escorted you."

Ryoma yawned. "Whatever."

"You don't know how lucky you are."

"I'm not lucky," Ryoma said.

Atobe looked away. He supposed Ryoma wasn't lucky. But Ryoma didn't seem mad about the statement – just sleepy. He shot Atobe a tired look before heading up his front porch. Atobe watched him, and the lamppost from across the street shot a halo of light over Ryoma's small frame, lighting him up like fire.

Ryoma was always on fire, Atobe thought. A flame of burning light that could never die out.

Atobe shook his head at his silly thoughts, and stepped the other way.

"Ne, Monkey King?"

Atobe looked back. Ryoma stood in his doorway, smirking. He was leaning against the wide doorframe. "What about my kiss goodnight?"

Heat spread over the bridge of Atobe's nose, but darkness hid it. He couldn't get words out of his mouth.

"I didn't know Monkey's could turn pink," was all Ryoma said, before closing the door behind him.

Atobe cursed the lampposts.

He ignored the gnawing in his stomach; ignored the way the words kiss send warmth in his belly; ignored the heat in his face and the sweat on his palms.

It was just the humidity of the summer night. Nothing else.

It had nothing to do with Ryoma's full mouth and bright eyes and endearing tone.

Atobe swallowed and called a limo.

Nothing to do with that at all.