Disclaimer: Tennis no Ohjisama is the property of Konomi Takeshi.
Author's Notes: I didn't know exactly what I wanted to happen with this story. I just wrote, and out it came. The ending may seem a bit cut off, but I think its effect goes well with the rest of the story.
Pairings: Atobe/Tezuka
Inside by CalicoKitten
He saw him the other day.
It was at the corner of the intersection that held a nice little tennis shop he'd only frequented occasionally. The store held a respectable amount of equipment and accessories, but he'd never actually bought anything from it.
He supposed it was because of the wealth of his family.
Most things were.
As it was, he had watched the other boy exit through the clear glass door and wondered if he was back for good. He hadn't seen him since their electrifying match, and he hadn't even known the brown-haired boy left for Germany to treat his arm. Nobody bothered to tell him, either; he acquired the information freely from a disoriented Jirou after a particularly long nap of his. As for where Jirou got the information from, he didn't know.
It shouldn't have mattered.
Yet it did. He didn't know if it was because he was the one who aggrieved the injury of Seigaku's captain, or if the truth was really that he was glad to be rid of the tennis player, and that handing the boy his first defeat made it his major accomplishment and something else to brag about.
He didn't feel like bragging.
What was there to brag about, anyway? The way he mercilessly targeted his opponent's weak point, as if he didn't believe in his own exceptional abilities? The way that he watched the other player clutching his left arm in obvious pain, knowing that he caused it? Or was it the way that he saw that last deciding ball fly into the net, knowing that if his adversary wasn't wounded, he might have won a long time ago?
He boasted about a lot of things. But there was nothing to boast about when a player as injured as the one he fought had almost won against him, who was at the peak of his health.
However, although there was 'nothing to boast about', he still did.
And it was because he still did that he watched Seigaku's captain leave the store, making no effort to catch up to him. In fact, he slowed his steps down purposely to avoid him.
He found it very ironic.
In perhaps another time and another place, he would have delighted in coming up to the nationally famed player. He could clearly see himself displaying his renowned narcissism towards his supposed rival and delighting in attempting to rile the stoicism always surrounding him.
But that was before their match.
Nevertheless, a part of him still would have liked to tease the other about gaining his first defeat from the hands of Hyotei's best player, the top out of the two hundred from its tennis club. He teased Gakuto about it constantly, for Gakuto considered Seigaku's own Kikumaru Eiji to be his own personal rival as well and had been soundly defeated by him.
He liked to think that he no longer talked about it anymore.
He still did.
It was that way before, and it hadn't changed.
He thought that he might have changed.
But he couldn't say he had as he watched the familiar figure grow smaller in the distance.
***
The next day he let the tennis club out early. Relieved that their twenty laps were cancelled, nobody questioned him about it, though Oshitari threw curious glances at him while packing up.
Answering the looks with a smile, he asked calmly, "Why do you keep staring at me today? I know it's not just my roguish good looks, or you'd have jumped me years ago."
Oshitari gave up the pretense of eyeing him indirectly and instead turned to face him. The taller boy pushed his glasses higher upon his nose with one hand.
"You don't seem like yourself today."
He smirked, used to Oshitari's wonderful tact as he wiped the handle of his tennis racket with a white towel. Usually he didn't care so much about his tennis equipment; he could always buy several more if one racket broke. However, this one was special.
It always reminded him of the other.
He didn't like it because of that, but he knew he could never dispose of it. Running the cloth one last time over the polished material, he opened his tennis bag and deposited it carefully within. He closed it.
"Don't be ridiculous. After all, who else could I be besides me? I certainly wouldn't want to be anyone else."
"Aa," came the reply, and he, due to years of tennis practice with Oshitari, could see the slight pursing of the other's lips when bothered.
Not one to pass up a chance at anything, he teased, "Shouldn't you go find Gakuto now? I'm sure he's waiting for you, and it's very rude to keep people waiting. Especially your doubles partner."
He nodded wisely as Oshitari looked at him with an expression bordering on irritation at the suggestion in his tone. Patting his hair consciously, he grinned as he gestured past him.
"See? What did I say? Your buchou is never wrong, you know."
Delighting in his newfound foresight, he smirked as he watched Gakuto come up and berate Oshitari about leaving him in the front of the school. Oshitari, in the meantime, simply glanced once at his captain before letting the lithe boy drag him away by the arm.
It was almost comical really.
The tall, quiet boy being led off by his shorter doubles partner, that is. They reminded him painfully of Seigaku's Golden Pair, in which one half of the team had played against the two in doubles and had won. If both members had played then, he didn't doubt that Oshitari and Gakuto would have lost by more. The Golden Pair, different in personalities than his own doubles team, played as if they were one unit instead of two.
It made him think.
The Oishi-Kikumaru combination, that is.
He wondered how he could be certain that they would have won.
It itched at his mind as he packed the rest of his gear up, heading to the locker room to throw it in. As he was rich, he never needed to bring his equipment home, and he even had his own tennis court.
He wouldn't want to bring that racket home anyway.
Stopping in front of a mirror on his way out to fix his hair and adjust his jacket, he studied himself in it.
He was certainly handsome, there was no doubt in that. Fanmail was not an unusual occurrence for him, and he did captain Hyotei's primary sports club.
Flashing his irresistible smile at the reflective surface, he couldn't help but think of the other.
It was always the other.
Walking home, he stopped by that little tennis store again but didn't go in.
***
It soon became a regular habit each week to visit the area, and Atobe resented the fact that he might be developing an obsession. Of what, he wasn't quite sure.
And it was because he wasn't sure that he had been prone to irritation lately.
He didn't like not knowing things, especially things he really should know. It just went against his whole character.
So he sat there on the bench outside, not wanting to go in. And he also wasn't certain why he didn't go in. It was just a normal, below par store. He knew better.
He knew a lot better.
Frowning at a small boy who was screaming his lungs off, Atobe found himself standing up to walk away. He didn't notice the door behind him open until he turned and came face to face with the object of his troubles.
It was a rare feat to be able to bring speechlessness, even for a moment, to Atobe Keigo.
The other boy, for his part, expressed little emotion at instilling this in him, and the only indication of his surprise at seeing his former opponent was the slight widening of eyes. Regarding him momentarily, Tezuka nodded briefly towards him, stepped aside, and began to head off.
Atobe grew irritated. Nobody brushed him off without even speaking to him.
He followed the bespectacled player for a while, not caring if he was seen or not. Minutes flew by as Tezuka wandered around, followed closely by Atobe. Half an hour flew by, and Tezuka showed no signs of stopping in any other stores or staying in one place.
Atobe frowned, eyebrows creasing. He just knew that Seigaku's captain saw that he was being stalked.
Two long strides took him up to his rival, and with a sharp jerk on the arm, he turned Tezuka around to face him.
Tezuka just looked at him.
Slight anger flared in Atobe, but he attempted to clench it down. After all, he couldn't alienate the other boy when he didn't yet know what he wanted from him. Instead, he settled for mildly offensive remark.
"Tezuka, you need to work on your people skills."
Dislodging the hand from his arm calmly, Tezuka greeted quietly, "Atobe."
He inclined his head slightly again, and when he turned around to continue walking, Atobe joined him.
The brown haired boy made no attempt at casual conversation, so he took it upon himself to speak first.
"So you went to Germany, hmm? I went to Germany once, too – a couple years ago. Of course, I knew a bit of the language there, so it was probably easier for me than it was for you to be there."
He chuckled lightly. "You must be glad to be back."
"Aa."
Tezuka didn't ask him how he knew that the injured player had traveled west, and it bothered Atobe for some indistinct reason. Not used to having to be the one to start the conversation, as his many fans were glad to do, he tried again.
"Your arm's better now, isn't it? We should have another match; you can try to make up for your performance from before."
The other nationally ranked player simply looked at him coolly, and Atobe realized that it probably wasn't the best topic to speak about.
He watched as Tezuka turned his head back to face forward, and he frowned, irritated.
"The polite thing to do when someone's speaking to you is to engage them in conversation, you know."
Tezuka blinked.
"I'm not doing that?"
Studying the expression on Tezuka's face, he grew even more irate as he realized that he couldn't tell if the bespectacled boy was being serious or not. He frowned.
"I know we've had past…differences, Tezuka. But I'd hoped that we had gotten over them."
In response, Tezuka pushed his glasses up on his nose before regarding him silently.
"Who knows if we have?" he asked quietly.
And Atobe felt as if a knife already lodged in his stomach suddenly twisted violently. Immediately, his temper flared, and he instantly became resentful.
The secluded walkway to their right gave him plenty of space to grab the other boy's shoulders once more, roughly shoving him against the wall. Atobe grew even more angry as he saw that the act of violence affected Tezuka only slightly – the only indications of the brief pain the other must have suffered from the impact was a narrowing of eyes and a slight curve to the mouth.
I want to destroy your arm completely!
"Get off your high horse! You think you wouldn't do the same if you were in my position?" he snarled, hands gripping into Tezuka so hard he was sure there would be bruises later.
Tezuka didn't waste a moment in answering.
"No."
The glasses obscuring his eyes didn't prevent Atobe from looking him in the eyes, and he hissed, grabbing Tezuka's wrist with one hand when the other had moved to dislodge his hold. He noticed that Tezuka made no attempt to lash out at him in retaliation, and he gripped it even more tightly.
"Liar."
Tezuka regarded him coolly and said, "I would play, but I wouldn't deliberately try to injure a person beyond repair."
And Atobe felt as though he had been slapped.
…oh, Tezuka-kun? …went to Germany…therapy for arm…didn't know, buchou?
He stepped back slightly as he realized how close he had been to his rival, though not letting go. Bending his head down so Tezuka couldn't see him, he silently berated himself. Nothing got through his beguiling exterior, and for Tezuka to do so was unsettling.
Yet it was Tezuka's voice that brought him back from his Atobe-musings.
"I don't blame you."
He looked up, into blue-green eyes.
"You just said you did."
It seemed as though the corner of Tezuka's mouth twitched slightly before he answered, "It was a game of tennis. I don't."
The tone of his voice was firm, and Atobe suddenly realized.
He realized a lot in that moment, from the deciding match to the current events unfolding now. Even about himself, though he was always adamant about anything that concerned his truly.
But most of all, in the shortest of moments, he understood.
Understood more about life and of the two currently located in an isolated area of the shops.
"I see."
He bent down, determined to give Tezuka something back for his sudden enlightenment. Atobe Keigo always got the last word in, of course.
Placing his lips on the other, he met with the soft lips of Seigaku's on-leave captain. The chestnut haired boy was unresponsive to the coaxing of Atobe's tongue, yet he was unresisting as well. Making sure that he had given Tezuka an impressive display of his true abilities, he pulled back, releasing the hand on his shoulder as he did so.
He kept the other on the boy's wrist, asking, "How long are you here for?"
Tezuka regarded him as if Atobe hadn't plundered his mouth a moment before.
"Perhaps two or three more days."
Two or three weeks ago…
"Aa. That'll give us plenty of time."
He squeezed the pale wrist gently before letting it go, as if making up for earlier. Turning around, he started to walk off.
"I think I'm starting to understand you, Tezuka."
And both he and Tezuka knew that wasn't what he meant.