A/N: Alright, you all! Here's the next story – I'll be replying to the reviews you sent me soon, so check your inboxes, and thank you all for reviewing, again. Please tell me what you think of this chapter, too!

And please read the little footnote at the end of the story, too. 8D

Nanao wasn't quite sure how she'd ended up in this mess.

She tried to trace it back to when it all began, but it was hard – all she could think of, was how she'd ended up here, covered in flour from head to toe, wearing a ridiculous red satin ball gown, black lines scrawled haphazardly about her face and skin powdered until she looked like the flour covering her person, presently.

The only explanation she could come up with, after three minutes of silent thinking, was thus: Atobe bleeding Keigo.

TWO WEEKS AGO.

"Chin up. Up."

Nanao lifted her chin, curious eyes flitting to Atobe and back straight forward hurriedly when he narrowed his eyes at her.

"Steady- commoner, I said steady. Were you raised by animals?"

Nanao's brows furrowed.

As she did so, the slight movement caused the two textbooks resting precariously atop her head to tremble.

"Those books are turn of the century antiques – drop them, and I will have you exterminated."

Nanao wanted to ask why on earth he'd use such valuable artifacts for this kind of thing, in the first place. Nevertheless, her heart's pace quickened in nervousness.

"Now. Take the step forward."

Carefully, slowly, Nanao slid one step forward.

"What are you, a cow in interpretive dance? Why are you walking so slow? He's going to think you're a handicap if you walk like that."

Nanao's brow twitched.

"Well if I didn't have turn of the century antiques sitting on my head, I'd walk faster," she mumbled, only to snap her lips shut at the unsavory gleam in Atobe's eyes.

"Sorry," she said instead.

"Now. One more step." Slap. Atobe brought the thin, slender stick down to slap against his palm almost threateningly.

Nanao obeyed-

Well. She'd taken the step…she'd just also happened to drop the two books from her head, as well as the trays she'd been balancing in each hand – each of which had been balancing five glass cups full of water in them.

The large, dusty book volumes were strewn haphazardly along the carpeted floor, having fallen open to random, bent pages. The water cups, needless to say, had all spilled into enormous puddles in the carpet – thankfully, however, the soft flooring hadn't shattered the cups.

Atobe did not share her relief that the cups were not broken.

He was far too busy staring at her with a mixture of disdain, contempt, and exasperation.

"Really, Nanao, you've the grace of a waddling duckling."

Nanao stared at him through reproachful, pouting eyes, lips jutting out in dismay. Atobe sighed dramatically – as if he'd just been told that the weight of the entire galaxy rested upon his divine greatness. "Even I cannot perform miracles – as surprising as that may be."

Nanao resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Clean this up. We will start walking lessons anew in an hour, once I've refreshed and regained my energy."

Why, Nanao wanted to ask, did he have to 'regain his energy,' when all he'd done for the past hour was poke and prod at her posture with a flimsy little stick? And why was she being forced to clean this up when he had a full staff household on call?

Atobe delivered one last poignant glance to her, and with a sigh, Nanao knelt to pick up the books.

TWO WEEKS AND THREE DAYS AGO

Nanao wasn't sure how she'd come to like Oshitari Yuushi, to begin with. But then, thinking back on the fact that he already had legions of fangirls at school, she supposed that it wasn't a surprise that she, too, had come to like him – he was always gentle, always kind, and so very eloquent and charming that it was hard not to like him.

Still.

That didn't very well explain the fact how she'd come to turn to Atobe Keigo, her current fake boyfriend, for help.

This situation and that sentence alone had so many things wrong with it that it was hard to even begin.

But then, as outrageous as it was to ask Atobe for help, Nanao knew that receiving his help was still hundreds of times better than nothing at all.

"Ore-sama shall teach you the ways into Yuushi's heart," Atobe declared now, dressed in one of his ostentatious silken purple shirts and black slacks. In the back of her mind, Nanao wondered why he insisted upon dressing himself so uncomfortably even within his own home.

"You are aware, Nanao, that as of now, you are severely lacking in the areas that Yuushi finds attractive."

Nanao blanched. She hadn't, but now she did.

"You need poise. Elegance. Eloquence." Atobe paused. "Ore-sama, of course, is a master in all these categories."

"…Are you going to seduce Oshitari-kun, too?" Nanao couldn't help but to ask, and bit her lower lip to hide a smile when Atobe spluttered.

"Lessons begin on Wednesday," he snapped, and Nanao laughed.

If he were to be perfectly honest, Atobe supposed that he could acquiesce: yes, he did take Nanao under his wing out of a factor of sheer boredom. When one was as devastatingly handsome as he was – endlessly popular, fabulously wealthy – the drab world tended to turn mundane every once in a while. The fact that Nanao had a crush on Oshitari was a newfound, ridiculously humorous idea to him.

And he supposed that Nanao wouldn't be such a bad girlfriend for Oshitari.

Believe it or not, Atobe did think that she was quite a decent specimen.

She wasn't anything special, per say, however he looked at it. Her excellent grades were solely a product of her strenuous effort, and she was about as pretty as every other girl; her redeeming quality, instead, was that she was genuine. Everything about her was so boldly honest, that Atobe often found himself chagrined in her presence.

She didn't have an ounce of pretense on her body, nor did she ever waste her time with airs or images. No – as rare as it was for someone of their social standing, Nanao was always, always straightforward, and honest, and real.

He appreciated it.

It had been a while since he'd met someone so wholeheartedly honest at all; the world that Atobe had grown up in, was used to, was far more concerned with keeping up appearances to hardly ever be honest about even the smallest of things. It was for this reason precisely that despite his outrageous popularity, he'd only ever considered a small handful of his peers his actual friends.

And though he hadn't told her (perhaps he never would), it had meant a lot to him; the things she'd said, that day, in the library. Because those words had been genuine, he knew. Nobody had been around to hear her say such things about Atobe, and because it was so, she'd had nothing to gain from speaking up on his behalf. She'd had a lot to lose, certainly.

She'd said it, and done those things, for him.

So Atobe supposed that he ought to help her out, now that she'd found someone to like.

ONE WEEK AGO.

"Your fashion sense is dismal. You'll never seduce Yuushi with these." Presently, Atobe tugged lightly at a yellow cardigan sleeve, drawing it out and making a disgusted expression at the article. Nanao stood against the open door of her closet, once again, frowning in a dismayed pout.

Atobe was the one wearing a peacock-printed button up while standing in the middle of her closet; in her opinion, his fashion statement was far more outrageous than anything she owned. He was still wearing his sunglasses, for the love of-

"And Nanao. What are you wearing?"

Nanao flushed.

It was a Sunday morning – and Nanao had taken the rare opportunity to sleep in. She hadn't expected Atobe would drop by, unannounced, at ten in the morning; nor had she expected the maid to just let him in, 'because he was the miss's boyfriend.' And how on earth her maid had heard about their relationship (albeit, fake), was beyond her, either.

So Nanao had woken up that day, still dressed in her cotton, sheep-printed pajamas, to Atobe's high-browed, highly amused expression. She'd almost screamed. Almost.

"They're my pajamas," she protested – she was allowed to wear whatever she wanted to to sleep without being judged for it, wasn't she?

"Figures. You'd wear something dismal even to sleep."

Nanao's frown deepened.

"Come, Nanao. We shall revamp and renew your wardrobe." Atobe was already halfway out the door, when Nanao managed to stop him.

"What on earth is it now? You're wasting precious time." He tapped his feet impatiently upon the floor.

"…I'm still wearing my pajamas."

Atobe sighed loudly. "Well go on then, change. I just assumed you'd be alright with walking out like that, seeing as how the things in your closet aren't much better."

Nanao's frown had grown so large, her face ached. Nevertheless, she shuffled meekly into her closet anyway, and carefully avoided the yellow cardigan that Atobe had balked at. Five minutes later, she emerged in a clean-cut black dress and green cardigan.

Atobe balked anyway.

"…Keigo."

"Ah – much better. Classy."

"…I really don't think this is-"

"Are you questioning my flawless knowledge, Nanao?"

"No, but I mean-"

"Good."

"But- I just-"

"Do be quiet. It's ruining the lovely dress."

"But I don't think this is really-"

"Terrible at following directions, you are."

Nanao fell silent, though with a stubborn edge to her lips, doubt flickering in her eyes. She glanced at herself in the boutique's mirror once more, and grimaced. A dress – at least, she thought it was a dress – hung on her figure, then, and she stood awkwardly with her arms held out at her sides to better inspect the piece of clothing.

It was velvet – scratchy, uncomfortable velvet. A velvet, Victorian era-styled dress, with a suffocating corset body, a frilled, widely-fanning skirt, and a multitude of laces and ribbons and frills that Nanao was sure that the dress could have done well without.

…Was this even something that people still manufactured?

"Yuushi likes the classical girl, Nanao. Not to worry – this will be perfect," Atobe murmured, with all the egoism and confidence in his voice, as normal.

Unfortunately, it did nothing to quell her worries.

But Atobe proceeded to place an order of ten of similar dresses, and Nanao had to bite her tongue to avoid squeaking.

FIVE DAYS AGO

"…Keigo, are you quite sure about this-"

"Shush, Nanao. Allow me to paint the masterpiece."

"…But you've never even used makeup before-"

"Ore-sama can do anything."

"But I don't think-"

"Shh."

"…That's eyeliner, Keigo."

"…And?"

"…Why are you using it on my lips-"

"One must line the lips, no?"

"…Not with black eyeliner-"

"Shh."

TWO HOURS AGO

"Today marks the end of your two week lessons."

Nanao felt a sense of overwhelming gratification, and relief, that she'd been beginning to suspect would never come. It was almost pathetic, how relieved she was that this was all over; the past two weeks had been a nightmare of aching limbs and lugging around cleaning supplies and spending her allowance on things that she doubted were manufactured in any realm within Japan.

Keigo was ridiculous. His lifestyle was ridiculous. His way of thinking was ridiculous. In fact, Nanao hardly understood anything he said, half the time – and she didn't understand how on earth dressing in this outrageous dress and learning to walk with her head straight was going to impress Oshitari-kun.

"A good lady also knows how to cook."

…What?

Nanao turned horrified, wide eyes upon Atobe, expression aghast. His smirk widened. That bastard.

"I'm feeling a craving for something sweet – cake, perhaps?"

Nanao tried to find her voice.

"All the ingredients needed are here in this kitchen." Atobe snapped his fingers.

Nanao fumbled with her fingers. "But- but you have a five star chef-"

"My five star chef does not aim to seduce Yuushi, Nanao. You do."

"But I can't-"

"Cook? Better start learning now, then."

And that brought her full circle to today, right now.

She'd utterly failed in her attempt to cook a cake. Instead, whilst trying to retrieve the bag of flour from the top cupboard, she'd allowed it to slip through her fingers. It then fell flat on her head, exploded, and doused her in flour.

Thanks to Atobe's insistence that she continue to wear her dress while cooking (proper ladies could cook no matter what the dress, he said), she felt the flour beginning to seep in through odd curves of her outfit.

He'd also taken care to complete her 'makeup' once more today, so she could have the 'full look.'

So.

Atobe sat presently at the kitchen counter (one of the five kitchens in the Atobe estate), lips twitching and eyes practically sparkling with hilarity and amusement. Nanao gave him a helpless, floundering expression, and within seconds, his shoulders were practically trembling with his silent laughter.

If anyone would have bothered to ask her, Nanao would have said that this all felt brutally unfair – he'd been the one to dress her like this, and to paint her face to look like a creepy china doll that belonged in a horror movie, and told her to bake a bleeding cake. Why was he laughing at her?

And just then, the doors to the small kitchen opened to reveal: Oshitari Yuushi, holding a book in his hand, lips already parted to speak to Atobe.

But then, he caught a glimpse of her, and an amused gleam entered his expression, too.

"…What on earth are you wearing, Suzuki-san – and is that…horror cosplay?"

Nanao felt her life crumbling away before her eyes.

Nanao had never been so mortified in her life.

Briefly, she decided that perhaps it was her fault – after all, one would blame the twenty-five year old adult for listening to the psychotic ideas of the five year old, and not pin the blame on the harmless five year old who had simply offered up a piece of his every-day, crazy mind. What on earth had compelled her to listen to Keigo, anyway?

Oh, right.

Desperation.

"Oh, it wasn't that bad."

With a long-suffering sigh, Nanao raised her gaze to peer at Atobe – who sat at the small tea table in her room, a cup of Earl Grey in his hand, as though everything were perfect with the world. Which is probably was, in his version.

And again – Nanao still didn't understand why, even when she'd told the maids not to, they continued to allow Atobe to cruise on into their house, and into Nanao's room. It wasn't even fair, anymore, how the world would bend itself to his wishes all the time.

Atobe caught the appalled gaze Nanao was giving him, and sniffed. "Well, I thought it was flawless couture. Yuushi simply didn't have the refined taste needed to appreciate it."

Nanao maintained her baleful glare from where she was sprawled across her bed, safely dressed in her perfectly normal pajamas. "He called it horror cosplay," she finally spoke, a wailing moan tinged with her words. "Horror. Cosplay."

At that point, Atobe couldn't help the cross between a snort and a laugh that flew up his throat.

Nanao shot him another look, and he gathered his expression solemnly – though not without the twitch to his lips that he couldn't contain.

Despite Nanao's apparent humiliation, Atobe found himself unable to forget the expression on Oshitari's face when he'd first seen her – horror cosplay, he called it, and Atobe felt a fresh wave of laughs threatening to spill from his lips. He pressed them together into a thin line; his gaze flickered to Nanao and back to his tea. If he laughed now, she'd surely pitch herself into an entirely new level of anger.

He allowed himself another glance at Nanao.

At the expression of genuine mortification still scrawled on her features, a flicker of remorse swept through his emotions. Well, to be perfectly honest, he had only intended for the best – but seeing as how things had turned out, he supposed he'd have to right things, again. With a sigh, he crossed the room in quick, long strides, and seated himself with comfortable familiarity beside her.

Nanao peered at him sullenly through a curtain of her own hair. Atobe laughed, and tucked strands of wavy hair behind her ear, before rapping his knuckles lightly upon her forehead. Nanao's frown deepened.

"There's a party this weekend."

Well. There was a party every weekend, given the financial state of affairs of Hyotei students – horribly rich teenagers, who lived in gargantuan mansions with minimal parent supervision: not exactly the most perfect conditions to raise well-behaved, prim members of society. Then again, Atobe supposed, it was what they were superbly talented with as a birthright – working hard, playing harder, all the while maintaining the guise of flawless class and perfection.

Nanao paused. "I know."

Atobe's brow curved.

Nanao sighed; sitting up, she tucked another loose strand of her hair behind a pale ear. "I do get invited to the parties too, you know."

Nanao wasn't the most 'popular' girl at Hyotei – but she was certainly well-known, in her own right, after having spent both junior high and subsequent high school years with the same peers, as well as maintaining student council positions throughout most of said years. So she did tend to get included on the guest list for most of the parties that the frivolous students of Hyotei threw; she just didn't attend them, given her penchant for sticking to the rules a little more than normal.

Atobe's lips curved into a smirk, then, a knowing gleam in his eyes. Nanao flushed.

"I just- I don't go, a lot."

Atobe leered at her just so, and Nanao crumbled. "Okay. So I don't go, ever."

Atobe broke out in laughs. Nanao smiled wryly. "I just don't really like parties."

"Neither do I."

Nanao turned surprised eyes on him, and he sniffed. "I grace the parties with my fabulous presence every once in a while, just to remind the commoners how brilliant I am."

After all, it was only good form to show one's self at least occasionally, to always keep one's presence in the minds of others.

Nanao's lips quirked into a smile for the first time in the past hour, and Atobe's lips twitched in response. "Yuushi will be attending with me. You should go, too."

Nanao paused, lips parted as she mulled over the idea.

Before she could reach a decision, though, Atobe had already swept himself forward to the doorway. He paused only momentarily to send her a look – the one that she received quite often, the one that spoke volumes of just listen to me, or else.

Nanao sighed.

By the time Saturday evening rolled around, Nanao had, quite honestly, forgotten all about the party in its entirety. After all, the same week had delivered with it an ample amount of tests and small project deadlines, and Nanao had buried herself in planning calendars and outlines and reports and notes. Atobe, she noted – torn between exasperation and resignation – hardly lifted a finger that entire week.

He still scored higher than herself on most of the assignments.

Damn him and his 'natural prowess.' There was something highly wrong with a world that granted one person so much natural advantage, in Nanao's opinion, and she'd said so, once – Oshitari and Atobe had laughed at her, and she'd frowned deeply.

But what else was new?

She spent the days scrambling for tests, desperately asking Atobe for help, and more often than not, receiving it from Oshitari instead – a situation created by Atobe's seemingly endless list of crafty lies. "Ore-sama desires authentic Greek yogurt, and he is off to hire a native chef – Yuushi, help this child so that she doesn't fail more than absolutely necessary," or "Ore-sama has plans to oversee construction – I've been repainting the bathroom walls in solid gold. Yuushi, look over her math."

In between studying and flushing in happiness whenever Oshitari-kun helped her, Nanao was busy being Atobe's errand girl, as usual. These days, Atobe had developed a new fondness for kingly dialect – such as referring to himself in the plural form of 'we,' in addition to his usual 'medieval' vocabulary. Nanao adapted to it smoothly, and the two preferred to ignore the twitching brow of Oshitari as he attempted to come to terms with Atobe's growing narcissistic speech.

Nanao didn't mind, not really. Atobe would be Atobe, and she'd simply follow along, as usual.

So when Nanao returned home from school on Saturday, and saw a slim, white box with a satin blue bow on her bed, she'd absolutely no idea how it'd gotten there, to begin with. But then, a passing maid noticed her and the box, and gave Nanao the most excruciatingly painful smile, full of nudges and winks and giggles.

Nanao frowned.

And then, she noticed the small card attached – outlined in glittering gold lines, with elegant cursive written in the center: Atobe's telltale handwriting.

I've gone to the liberty of selecting a dress for you to wear today; I dare not leave you to your own judgment to wear something of your horrendous taste.

PS. Don't worry. This time, I assure you that this dress will stun Oshitari.

PPS. Of course, I've had to downplay my knowledge of haute couture, seeing as how neither you nor Oshitari have the refined taste necessary to appreciate Ore-sama's fashion in all its beauty.

Nanao's lips fluttered into a smile of its own accord, amusement already worming its way into her entertainment. Atobe always had a strange way of making her laugh, whether or not he'd intended it.

Tentatively, Nanao tugged on the ribbon; it loosened and unraveled in one fell movement. For a moment, Nanao considered not wearing the dress – or even not attending the party at all. But then, she realized that if she didn't show up, Keigo would be most displeased at her 'disobedience' – and if she did show up, but not in the clothes he'd picked, he'd commit bloody murder, flourished with indignant squawks and huffs.

The image of the Victorian dress flickered through her mind, and Nanao's stomach twisted uncomfortably.

Carefully, she opened the box, lower lip bitten-

-the lid fell from her hands in surprise.

Quietly, she grasped the fabric gently, and held it up at arm's length. She gazed at the dress through wide, flickering eyes, lips slightly parted to reveal her tongue, lightly tracing her upper lip in contemplation.

Ah.

Well.

It was a long-sleeved, form-fitting black dress, that would, Nanao noted, end at a length of mid-thigh. Certainly, rather short in comparison to her usual style – but then, Keigo had mercilessly beaten down upon what she usually wore, so…

While the neckline was high, the entire back of the dress dipped low; the shoulders, and subsequent backing, was glittering with pearls and small, glittering stones, in a tasteful splatter of elegant charm. (1)

Nanao stared for a moment longer.

The parties that Hyotei students threw were a strange mixture of glamour, class, and a gritty nightclub vibe – it was an effortless mesh of features that normally would have stood upon opposite ends of the spectrum, but easily brought together to create an atmosphere far surpassing that of normal high school raves and parties. And though Nanao had only been to, at most, three parties in all her years with Hyotei peers, she'd still known that the dress code was akin to that of a club.

She hadn't known, however, that it was possible for a cocktail dress to appear so elegant and classy all at once.

Apparently, it was – and Atobe Keigo knew it, too.

…It would seem that she couldn't skip out on the party, now.

Nanao was the kind of girl who, in her previous experiences at Hyotei parties, had gone relatively unnoticed. The few people who weren't either too hammered or too busy having fun to notice her gave her fleeting, smiling greetings, and moved on with whatever next caught their interest at the party. She'd then proceed to find her friends – or acquaintances – at the party, and spend her time with them, rather than to go amok being a 'social butterfly.'

Apparently, being Atobe Keigo's girlfriend meant that going 'unnoticed' was subject to the same likelihood of being able to pass through airport security armed with rifles and shotguns.

It just didn't happen.

The party – this time, set up at a recluse 'guest house' in a third year's sprawling 'back yard' (and guest house was more like miniature mansion, and back yard was more like miniature golf course) – had already been in full swing for a good hour or two by the time Nanao had arrived. Even while walking up to the doorway, she could hear the telltale deep bass and pounding beats of whatever house music played inside; from the windows, she could catch a glimpse of pulsating, flickering lights of bright, changing colors, and a sprinkle of white fairy lights strung on the walls.

Outside the house, couples and friends loitered all around, usually holding a cigarette, or a red plastic cup – no doubt holding alcohol in its contents.

Everyone paused when she stepped inside, and for a small, delirious moment, Nanao could swear that the raucous noise had fluttered quiet. Subconsciously, her hand inched down to pull her skirt down a little lower. Not that it helped, much.

Several seconds later, everyone seemed to resume their former activity – just in time for a boy to bounce up to her, a welcoming smile on his lips, eyes wide and glittering. "Hello, Suzuki-san! Glad you could make it," he chirped, and Nanao offered the best smile she could muster.

"Atobe-sama arrived a little while ago – here, I'll bring you to him."

And before she could say anything, her arm was already being tugged forward, through the crowd.

All the while, she could see blurs of faces whisking past her, many of which sent her greetings and flutters of giggles.

"You look bored."

Atobe spared Oshitari a passing glance through flat eyes, and wrinkled his nose upon finding the other boy in possession of one of the uniform red plastic cups that most people held in the house. He and Oshitari were currently seated in a corner of the house, upon a plush, red velvet couch; a small group of their peers fluttered around, occasionally working up enough courage to speak to them.

Once in a while, Atobe would humor them, and girls would burst into delighted laughs and the boys would nod along vigorously.

Oshitari watched it all with amusement in his eyes and laughter along his silent, curved lips.

Considering that the people who dared to approach Atobe at all were the most popular students at Hyotei, Atobe's ability to reduce them into a mass of nervous, over-eager to please idiots was still impressive, after all these years.

Then again – it was Atobe.

"Ore-sama is rather unamused – and Yuushi, those things are unsanitary. And the quality of alcohol here is terrible."

Just then, the huddle of people surrounding the sofa parted slightly – revealing a boy, pulling along a girl, who clattered on awkwardly upon her heels.

Atobe dragged a flickered glance-

-and paused.

He spent several seconds flicking his eyes up and down, tracing the curve of her figure, and following the beads of her dress. Nanao stood in front of him presently, fingers still pulling slightly at the hem of her dress, a small smile attempted on her lips; and this time, makeup had been done correctly on her features, highlighting shimmering eyelids and rosy cheeks and lips.

Atobe's lips quirked into a smirk.

"Not bad," he drawled – and when Nanao's wide eyes rose to meet his, he nudged surreptitiously at her dress, and winked.

Nanao's lips broke out into a genuine smile, then.

Atobe tilted his head slightly to his side – in between himself and Oshitari – and Nanao moved obediently forward, and sat herself down.

Atobe leaned in to whisper conspiratorially in her ear: "See? That dress is simply stunning – Ore-sama has outdone himself this time, hasn't he?"

Nanao laughed.

Atobe leaned in again: "I think Yuushi's quite noticed you this time, Nanao."

At that, Nanao flushed slightly red, and though she tried to purse her lips, Atobe could still see the telltale delight in her expression. His smirk broadened, and he rapped his forehead against hers, lightly. "You're stupid," he rolled his eyes, and Nanao's smile didn't diminish even in the slightest.

And all around them, none the wiser, their peers glanced longingly at the way Atobe showered his 'affection' upon Nanao.

The seniors, juniors and – a few freshmen – who'd been present at the party would later comment on Suzuki Nanao's appearance, citing it as the most interesting thing that night, given the usually uniform state of affairs at their parties.

Girls would then believe that dating Atobe Keigo had the magical properties of making a girl prettier – because most could agree that that night, Suzuki Nanao's dress had been a piece to speak of for days to come. Likewise, the girl who was usually seen without makeup, and decently pretty without it, had shown up with glitter on her eyes and pink on her lips, looking polished and actually attractive.

Suzuki Nanao, people would say, was a rather plain girl, relative to the rest of Hyotei's unnaturally beautiful student body. However, that night, when she sat beside Atobe Keigo, laughter spilling from her lips and shimmering from her eyes, many people found, to their surprise, that she was actually pretty.

On her own, she wasn't very much more than a part of the wallpaper and a fleeting bit of the crowd; but when she was with Atobe, she seemed to shine a little brighter, look a little prettier, laugh a little louder and speak with a little more vivacity in her words.

It was nice.

Twenty minutes after her arrival, Atobe had 'excused' himself, declaring that he was off to spread the wonder that was his glorious self to the rest of the party – effectively leaving Oshitari and Nanao, alone. The last time he'd caught a glance of the two (which was well over an hour ago), Atobe had been pleased to note that they were sharing what seemed to be a pleasant conversation.

Now, he wore a grin like a cat that had caught a canary – smug, and terribly self-pleased. There was nothing he couldn't do – even matchmaking.

Atobe stood against the bar (2), one arm draped with a flourish over the marble surface; two girls, and one zealous boy, stood in front of him, chatting animatedly and enthralled to have captured the attention of Atobe Keigo, even momentarily.

The smirk on his lips dropped, however, when he noticed another figure in the crowd.

Without further ado, and without warning, Atobe brushed past the three in front of him, and walked on over to the boy sitting awfully close to a girl, several chairs down at the bar.

"…Yuushi."

At that, the blue-haired boy looked up, and Atobe noticed that he'd been smiling broadly just before his arrival – a smile which was slowly slipping from his lips. Beside him, the girl he'd been speaking to looked up, too: smooth, polished hair in perfect waves, held in place with a jeweled clip, high cheekbones and cat-like eyes.

Shigohara Minako. (3)

"Hello, Atobe-kun. It's been a while, hasn't it?" she flashed him a smile, and Atobe was displeased to note that she was still pretty, after all these years.

"Yes, Keigo?" Oshitari replied, voice as smooth as ever – though Atobe knew him far too well to be fooled; he could hear the irritation in his friend's voice, at the interruption.

"I thought I'd left Nanao with you."

At that, Oshitari sighed. He flashed an apologetic smile and a "Excuse me for a moment, please," at the girl, and pulled Atobe a few paces away.

"Keigo. It's Minako."

"Yes," Atobe snapped in reply, "I'm well aware."

Shigohara Minako – what had been, in Atobe's opinion, a fucking disaster that was better left in all their pasts.

She'd been the daughter of a prominent corporation's owner; during junior high, she and Oshitari had been placed, briefly, into an arranged marriage – one that Oshitari, like Atobe, had accepted with an easy breeze of his hands. Oshitari had honored it by going along with pretenses and courting the girl, all the way until due to conflicting interests of their parents' companies, the engagement had been called off.

But for several years after, Oshitari never quite forgot about the girl, much to Atobe's chagrin. The other boy claimed he only flirted with her 'for fun,' but Atobe was neither naïve nor dull, and he'd caught that unfamiliar glimmer in Oshitari's eyes whenever he saw her.

And this was not okay – not when he needed to play bleeding Cupid for Nanao, who's current object of interest was Oshitari. And Atobe would much prefer Nanao dating his best friend, than that girl, Minako.

Minako was a talented tennis player, and certifiably cut from the same mold he and Oshitari had come from: flawlessly poised, poignant, with all the grace and charm of one who was well-versed in the nuances of high society. She was also, Atobe felt with mild disdain, someone who had no qualms about replying to Oshitari's advances with amused laughter and silken wit, but one who would never quite give in, not really.

The idiot was being played. And he knew it, Atobe supposed, and he just didn't care.

Damn him.

"Did you just leave Nanao alone, then?"

Oshitari shot Atobe a dry look. "Keigo. She's seventeen, not seven. And there seemed to be quite enough people eager to speak to her when I left- Keigo, it's Minako."

Atobe pursed his lips. "You. Shut up."

Oshitari gave him a brilliant, winning smile, before rushing back to entertain more conversation with Minako. Atobe gave him, and Minako, a frigid glare, to which they both responded with charming, lovely smiles.

He felt an involuntary shiver up his spine.

Those two, together, unsettled him. One conniving, sneaky bastard genius was enough – he didn't need a pair of them, running around.

He then slipped into the party, in search of one painfully troublesome girl.

LINE BREAK

Atobe found her at last, half an hour later – holed up inside the small bathroom to the side of the main room. Outside, a few people had noticed him walking through the crowd, and had ushered him forward, telling him that his girlfriend was currently emptying the contents of her stomach inside.

Atobe slipped carefully into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Just a few feet from his self, Nanao was currently sprawled haphazardly on the floor, knees bent at an awkward angle as she held onto the pristine rim of the toilet with whitened knuckles.

Atobe bit back a gag.

This seriously was not happening to him right now.

Nevertheless, he stepped forward with a long-suffering sigh, and bent gracefully until he was squatting beside her – none of his body save his shoes touching the floor, thank you very much. Clean bathroom or no, he did not touch the surface of any floor with his self.

"You idiot," he murmured, and leaned his head against an elegant hand.

Only a moan responded.

"Why would you drink so much?"

At that point, Nanao finally pulled away from the toilet to look at him – and Atobe blanched. Tentatively, he reached forward to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, and Nanao's grimace remained stubbornly on her lips. "People just kept giving me cups, and I didn't want to talk to them, so I just kept busying my mouth by sipping at the cup, and they wouldn't stop giving me the cups, and-"

Nanao stopped her rambling abruptly by covering her mouth, and Atobe could swear he heard something unsavory from the back of her throat.

Nanao leaned forward over the toilet again, only to groan when vomit still failed to come out.

"I feel like I'm going to throw up. But I'm not. I just want to throw up."

Atobe laughed, and Nanao gave him a dark look.

"I feel sick."

"No, really?"

With another wail, Nanao finally leaned back away from the toilet, slumped pathetically on the floor. "I hate my life."

Atobe nudged at her forehead with his finger. "You hate your life? I'm the one squatting on the bathroom floor most unceremoniously with you, even when I'm not the one who breathed in cheap beer like there was no tomorrow."

Nanao's answering frown was so miserable that Atobe laughed again.

"He left. Like, ten minutes after you left. He said he saw an old friend – and he just… I don't know, ran off." Nanao murmured, plucking at the edge of her dress. "Maybe I'm just really boring," she sighed, and pursed the edge of her lips.

Atobe sobered. "Yuushi's terribly oblivious, sometimes."

Nanao offered a rueful smile. "Yeah, maybe."

And at that moment, his friend looked so overwhelmingly pathetic, and pitiful, and sad, that Atobe made a decision. "Fuck me," he breathed, quietly, before actually sitting down on the floor with a cringe as his bottom met the cool surface of the marble below.

He leaned forward and with an outstretched arm, draped it comfortingly over Nanao's shoulder. "It's okay," he murmured, and felt Nanao sigh.

"I really don't want people to see me like this," she groaned, and Atobe laughed.

"You're stupid."

"I know."

And just then, the bathroom door burst open – revealing a small crowd of people behind it, cluttered around, in an attempt to peek inside. The formerly dulled thump of the bass-heavy music now blast in at high volume, and they could hear snippets of conversation outside, with the underlying hum of the entire party behind it.

"Hey, it's Atobe-sama-"

"Look, they're hugging-"

"Atobe-sama! Where were you?"

"Atobe-sama and his girlfriend are here!"

"Hey, move, I want to see Atobe-sama-"

At that moment, Nanao had never been more sure of her desire to die – seriously? They were so desperate to see him, that they followed him into the bleeding bathroom? What the hell was it with Atobe-

With another pained sigh, and the fleeting thought that he most certainly would have to burn this shirt afterwards, Atobe pulled in until Nanao's face was buried in his chest – and safely hidden from the rest of the world, seemingly pushing at itself to get a glimpse into the bathroom.

"Ore-sama would like the door closed. Now."

In seconds, the door had pulled closed.

And though nobody else was around to see Nanao's current features – smudged makeup and unflattering skin and reddened eyes and nose – the two stayed like that for a while longer, with Atobe's hand raking gently through her hair. Nanao sniffled against his shirt.

"This sucks," she said, muffled by his shirt.

"Mm."

"And why are you so stupidly popular?"

Atobe laughed.

"…Thanks, Keigo."

Atobe rapped his knuckles against her skull.

"…Ow."

And then, they both laughed.

A/N:

(1) Here's a picture of Nanao's dress, if you wanted to see:

weheartit.c o m (FORWARD SLASH) entry (FORWARD SLASH) 70183494#

Get rid of all the spaces, and replace the words in parentheses with what's inside. 8D

(2) Shigohara Minako is an OC made by the lovely fyerigurl, in her brilliant girls-tennis team fic, To Catch a Falling Star – please go check it out! 8D 8D She's seriously a fantastic writer, guys, and you won't regret reading her story.

(3) For those of you who are confused, a lot of houses do have bars in them – I remember a lot of parties I went to were in these nice houses with like a bar area built in.