Hey everyone. Sorry, long time, no update... Again. However, due to the fact that I tore a ligament in my knee playing soccer, I've suddenly ample time to lie around and do nothing. So with homework out of the way, I finally have time to update. This chapter... I'm not sure about it. Hopefully you all enjoy. :) Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, I'm so sorry I still haven't gotten to some of your replies. I'll do my best to catch up tonight.
"He's not coming, is he?"
Oshitari glanced up into Mukahi's scowling face and sighed.
"I don't know," he said.
"It's already intermission," Mukahi cried, throwing his hands into the air. "This is ridiculous. Give me your cell phone. Do you have his number?"
Oshitari shook his head. "This is Sanada's decision. We can't interfere."
"Well he's making the wrong one!"
"Who's making the wrong what?"
Mukahi whirled around and stuck his tongue out at Shishido. "None of your business."
"Is now," Shishido countered, running a hand through his hair. "Tell me."
"No."
"Yes."
"Stop it," Oshitari snapped, rubbing his temples. "You two aren't making this any easier." He rose and stalked away, muttering something unintelligible.
"Geez, what's eating him?" Shishido asked.
"He's stressed, obviously," Mukahi replied, rolling his eyes. "God, I didn't know you were that stupid."
"Shut up," Shishido said. "Besides, since when does that guy stress out? What's going on?"
"Fine, but if I tell you, you can't say anything to anyone else."
"Okay, whatever," Shishido said, shaking his head slightly.
"Oshitari saw Sanada today," Mukahi whispered.
"What?" Shishido spluttered. "When? How? Why?"
"To see if he was suffering just as much as Atobe is, I guess," Mukahi said, shrugging.
"And?"
"And he gave him a ticket to this concert and told him to come if he wanted to sort things out with Atobe."
"Well why the hell isn't he here yet?" Shishido growled.
"That's what I'm asking!"
"Hey, you two." The pair spun around. Hiyoshi stared back at them. "We're back on in five minutes. Atobe wants everyone onstage. Now." With that, he turned and walked away, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.
"Suck up," Mukahi hissed. Shishido snorted.
"Yeah right. He wants to go solo and we all know it."
"Yeah, but he plays bass," Mukahi said, starting toward the stage.
"That's why he's still here," Shishido replied, ducking under a wire and picking up his guitar. "If Sanada's not in the audience when the curtains go up, I'm going to walk out and hunt him down."
"I'll be right behind you," Mukahi chimed.
"It's rare for you two to agree on something," Oshitari said, smirking as he appeared from behind a mass of equipment. "Now get onstage before I fire the both of you."
"Oh Yuushi, you wouldn't," Mukahi purred.
Oshitari simply chuckled and gave Mukahi a soft push in the direction of the stage.
--
Sanada pushed his way past a group of young girls and spotted his empty seat. Breathing a sigh of relief, he sank into it, letting his eyes close as he did his best to dull the noise of the surrounding people.
He was here. In the front row. Facing the stage on which Atobe Keigo would doubtless be standing in a matter of minutes. For the first time in years, he would lay eyes on the man that had changed his life.
His shirt was still wet and he was aware that he probably looked quite disheveled, but he was not here to make a good impression. He was here because he needed to see his hurt reflected in Atobe's eyes.
The girls next to him began to scream and Sanada opened his eyes and realized that the lights had dimmed. His heart began to pound and he gripped the arms of his chair tightly.
Atobe.
Suddenly, red light filled the stadium and the sound of a guitar echoed through the stadium. A thin beam of white light illuminated Shishido, who was standing on the left side of the stage, his fingers flying over the fretboard of his guitar. Mukahi appeared next, followed by Hiyoshi and Jiroh. Finally, a low, rich voice filled Sanada's ears, and Atobe Keigo appeared directly in front of him.
Time seemed to stop for Sanada. All he could hear was Atobe's voice, all he could see was the man's strange, blue eyes, his pale skin, his silvery hair, which hung loosely around his face. His long, slender fingers gripped the microphone tightly, as if he never wanted to let go.
And his voice.
There was something in his voice that had not been there all those years ago. Something cold, broken, and despairing. It was as if all of Atobe had been turned to stone, and only his heart, small and weak and pitiful, was still beating feebly in his chest.
Sanada felt his chest tighten and he balled his hands into fists. He slowly rose to his feet, and felt a pair of eyes settle on him.
Shishido.
The guitarist was staring at him, his brown eyes full of fury. He took a step toward Sanada, and mouthed something.
"It's about time, you asshole."
Sanada grimaced.
Shishido sauntered over to Mukahi and whispered something to him. The redhead shot a glance Sanada's way and then turned back to Shishido, who began making his way back over toward Sanada.
"When the show ends," he mouthed, "don't even think about moving."
Sanada looked away.
--
"I'm exhausted," Atobe huffed, sinking into a chair and watching disapprovingly as a stagehand fumbled with his guitar. "Someone bring me some water," he demanded, extending his hand.
"Aw, shuddup," Shishido grumbled, pulling his hat over his tumble of dark hair. He tossed a half-empty bottle of water in Atobe's direction and headed for the door. Oshitari watched out of the corner of his eye.
The hallway was dark, and Shishido tripped over several wires before finally pushing aside a dark curtain and stepping out onto the stage. The bright, hot stage lights had been replaced by the soft, flickering glow of halogen lamps. Shishido glanced out into the stands.
They were empty.
"Fuck," he muttered, kicking a loose bolt across the stage. "Fucking ass."
"I couldn't have just sat there. People would have eventually questioned me."
Shishido whirled around. "Where the hell are you? The second I lay my eyes on you, I'm going to beat the living shit out of you!" he shouted.
The shadows flickered and Sanada suddenly appeared on the far side of the stage. Balling his hands into fists, Shishido strode purposefully toward the other man, biting his lip in anticipation. The moment he reached Sanada, he grabbed a fistful of the taller man's shirt and jerked him forward. Sanada stumbled slightly. Shishido drew his hand back. Sanada simply stared at him with tired eyes.
Shishido frowned. Sanada looked different. Older. Worn. He was slumped slightly, and his lips, which were chapped and bitten bloody, were not set in his usual stern expression. Instead, they were twisted into a strange grimace, that was not quite a smile, but not quite a scowl.
"You look like shit," Shishido growled. Sanada heaved a long sigh. Shishido punched him square in the eye.
--
"I think I deserved that," Sanada said.
He and Shishido were sitting on the edge of the stage, their legs dangling over the side. The area around Sanada's eye was already beginning to bruise.
"You did," Shishido assured him. "You're a fuckin' asshole."
"Am I?" Sanada muttered, gently pressing a finger to his left eyelid. His eye was swollen shut, and the area was starting to turn a dark, ugly purple.
"Yeah. Atobe's a mess. And it's your fault."
"I didn't ask him to fall in love with me," Sanada said.
"You knew you were in love with him, though, but you still snuffed him for whatever his name was.. Yuhimuta or something."
"Yukimura," Sanada said softly.
"Yeah, whatever. Are the two of you still together?" Shishido demanded.
Sanada shook his head.
"Idiot." Shishido kicked his foot against the stage. "You could have called or written or something."
"No." Sanada leaned forward. "I couldn't have. I put Atobe and Yukimura and everything that came with them behind me when I left for England. I knew I couldn't live properly with their faces haunting me."
"You can't just lock something like love up, throw away the key, and hope for the best," Shishido said. "You've just gotta deal with it."
"Easier said than done," Sanada muttered.
Shishido sighed. "You think I don't know that?"
Sanada shrugged.
"Listen," Shishido said, pulling his legs up and rising to his feet. "Stay here. I'm going to send someone to talk to you. I don't know who it'll be. If you run, I'll hunt you down and kill you."
With that, he turned and disappeared behind the long, dark curtain that cloaked the backstage area. Sanada sighed and turned his gaze out to the thousands of empty seats staring devotedly at the stage. He thought back to less than an hour ago, when Atobe Keigo had stood, not far from where he was sitting right now, surrounded by thousands upon thousands of adoring fans. Girls and boys alike, shouting his name, waving signs declaring their love in brightly colored letters. People that had devoted themselves to an entirely foreign language all because Atobe Keigo had been able to worm himself into their hearts and stay there, content in the warmth and the consistency of the strong beat.
Atobe had also done his best to worm his way into Sanada's heart, but what he had found there had not been what he was looking for. There was no strong, consistent beat. There was no comforting warmth. There was simply the irregular pounding of an overworked muscle that had been abused for all the wrong reasons.
Sanada sighed and rested his head in his hands. He could hear footsteps approaching. Who would be shouting at him next? Oshitari? Mukahi?
"Get up."
Sanada's eyes snapped open.
"Did you not hear me? I said, get up."
Sanada slowly raised his head and placed his hands on the smooth, cool stage. He carefully pushed himself up.
"Turn around."
Sucking in a deep breath, Sanada took a small step backward before turning with an awkward shuffle of his feet.
"Look at me."
Slowly, Sanada raised his eyes.
Atobe Keigo sighed.
"So it is you," he said, shaking his head slightly. "And Shishido wasn't lying." He glanced at Sanada's eye. As he took a step forward, Sanada felt his heartbeat quicken. "What do you want?" Atobe's question was spoken softly, as if he didn't really want to hear the answer.
"I don't know," Sanada mumbled. "I.."
"Why did you come?" Atobe asked. Sanada glanced at the other man's face. His grey-blue eyes were staring over Sanada's shoulder, and his mouth was set in a thin line.
"I.."
"Tell me the truth, Sanada."
"I.." Sanada bit his lip until he tasted blood. He could feel Atobe's cold gaze on him. "I.."
"Spit it out, Sanada."
"I wanted to see... you."
"No you didn't," Atobe scoffed. "Don't lie to me."
"No.. I did. I wanted to see you," Sanada said. "I wanted to see what had happened to you. I wanted to see if you were suffering."
"And your verdict?" Atobe stared solemnly into Sanada's eyes.
"You are," Sanada said quietly.
"You're right. I am. I'm suffering, Sanada Genichiroh." He paused and licked his thin lips. "Now get out."
--
It was still raining when Sanada pushed through the glass door of the stadium. His shirt, which had just begun to dry, was soaked almost immediately. He took several steps away from the stadium.
And then he stopped.
It wasn't by choice, he realized. The Sanada Genichiroh he was supposed to be wanted to keep going, to walk away and never look back like he had promised to do three years ago. But the other Sanada Genichiroh, the one that had never quite allowed itself to fade away, the one that was in love with Atobe Keigo, refused to take another step. This Sanada Genichiroh was pleading with him, telling him to turn around, go back, beg for Atobe's forgiveness.
"I don't need to be pardoned," Sanada muttered. But something inside him said that it didn't matter. He could be wrong this time, if it meant getting Atobe back.
Sanada took a step backward.
No. He didn't need Atobe anymore. Look at where he was now. Playing professional tennis. This was his dream. He didn't need Atobe to complete it.
No.. That was a lie. Atobe's face was always somewhere, floating in the back of his mind. And as much as Sanada hated to admit it, he wanted Atobe there. He was afraid of what he would become without the thought that maybe, one day, everything would work itself out.
Sanada turned around. The glass doors shimmered in the rain. Sanada closed his eyes and reached for the handle.
--
Atobe walked back to the dressing room with his hands in his pockets. Almost all of the equipment had already been loaded into the vans, and the hallway was strangely empty. About a hundred feet away, he could see a sliver of light escaping from the dressing room. He paused.
"Now get out."
Sanada looked at him for a moment. His eyes scanned Atobe's face, but it wasn't obvious what they were looking for. Atobe stared into Sanada's eyes, careful not to look too hard. He didn't want to know what had happened to Sanada Genichiroh.
After what felt like an eternity, Sanada lowered his gaze to the floor. His mouth moved slightly, but Atobe ignored it. Another minute passed, and then Sanada began to move. He walked over to the edge of the stage and stared down at the floor below for a while. When he jumped, Atobe didn't hear him land. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Sanada's figure disappeared up the aisleway. Only when he heard a door open and close did he himself move.
That had been their closing.
Atobe took another step toward the dressing room.
Suddenly, he heard a door slam in the distance. Someone was shouting his name.
"Atobe!"
The sound of footsteps grew louder and Atobe felt his heartbeat quicken.
"Atobe!"
He heard the rustling of fabric and the slap of shoes against cement. He closed his eyes.
"Atobe!"
The voice was close now. He could hear the person's breaths. They were short and ragged.
The arms that encircled him were wet, and he shivered slightly. Warm air tickled his ear as Sanada exhaled.
"Atobe."
The arms tightened and Atobe felt hot tears begin to well.
"Let go of me," he whispered.
"No," Sanada murmured.
"Please," Atobe said, doing his best to pull away. "Please, Sanada, let go!"
"No," Sanada repeated, pulling Atobe closer. "No, Atobe."
"I don't want this!" Atobe cried. A tear slid into his mouth. "I don't want this, Sanada. I've had enough."
"We've both had enough," Sanada said softly. "That's why it's time to stop."
"Let me go," Atobe choked.
"I did," Sanada said. "I let you go three years ago. I let you go five minutes ago. I can't let go anymore. I love you."
Atobe drew in a shaky breath.
"I love you," Sanada repeated. "I've loved you since the day we met. I'll love you forever. I've tried to stop. I can't. It was love at first sight, Atobe."
"Please let me go," Atobe said quietly, and this time, something in his voice made Sanada draw back. Atobe took a step away. "Leave, Sanada."
"Atobe-"
"Sanada, leave!" Atobe shouted.
"Atobe, why are you doing this?" Sanada demanded.
"Leave!" Atobe screamed.
"I can't." Sanada dug his nails into his palms. "I can't leave, Atobe!"
"I hate you, Sanada Genichiroh! I hate you! I hate you! Get away from me!"
"Why?"
"Get out!" Atobe screeched. He turned to face Sanada. His cheeks were streaked with tears. "Get out!"
Sanada stared at him. Atobe watched his knuckles turn white.
"Fine," Sanada said finally. He turned and began to walk away. Atobe felt his breathing quicken and he took a step forward. Sanada was growing smaller. Atobe felt his chest tighten and his vision began to blur and spin.
"Sanada," he croaked. He couldn't tell whether or not the taller man had stopped. "Sanada."
Why did all of this feel so familiar?
This, you, are impossible...
The hallway was growing impossibly dark, and Sanada was no longer visible. Atobe felt himself begin to fall. Impulsively, he reached out with his hands. He felt someone grab his wrist and pull him against them. Their chest was wet and cold.
"Sanada," he whispered.
A cool hand touched his forehead. "It's okay, Atobe. Relax."
Atobe closed his eyes tightly and took a deep breath. When he reopened them, his vision had cleared somewhat. Sanada was staring down at him, his lips parted slightly, his hair shadowing his eyes.
"Sanada," Atobe mumbled, reaching up with a shaking hand to touch the other man's cheek. Sanada smiled and covered Atobe's hand with his own.
"I think causing two panic attacks might require some sort of compensation," he said. Atobe laughed softly.
"Mmm.. And you owe me dinner, remember?"
Sanada laughed. "How could I forget?"
But I won't give up.
Hopefully you all enjoyed. :) I think my knee would really appreciate some Tango oneshots from you all, too. Seriously, I've heard there's a new medical study beginning to circulate that says reading Tango Pair fluff does wonders for injuries. Anyone got anything for me? ;)