Monday, August 3

Step one.

There were multitudes of things Atobe knew. Among these was the certainty of fire - he wasn't made for jealousy. It was an emotion that should have just passed him by, for he had the things he wanted. Concerning people, perhaps it should be different, but he felt like the world would crumble at his feet if he asked. So Jirou, only a boy, must be a lesser task.

He made no concrete plans, for Atobe had a swift mind, and words formed on his lips like reflexes. All through tennis practice, nonetheless, the near future loomed anticipatory.

"Are you all right, buchou?" Ootori asked him, off to the side. "I apologize for prying, but you seem to have something on your mind." That boy - Atobe sometimes wondered how Ootori had ended up successful at Hyoutei. The fact that he had made Atobe actually rather fond of him.

"It's of no concern. The matter will be soon resolved," Atobe explained, and Ootori didn't bring it up again. Atobe strategically kept everyone else too busy to observe the undercurrents of his face.

Playing and watching others play was a good dose of competitive medicine. These prolonged bouts of emotion couldn't be healthy. Kicking hell out of an opponent, on the other hand, calmed Atobe, though several other club members might not have felt the same way.

So as a result, it was easy to collect himself. Faced Jirou at the end of practice, and inspiration struck. "Let's go look for that fox. Remember? You missed it when you were asleep." He kept his voice strategically low. Personal.

Something flickered in Jirou's eyes when he gazed into Atobe's face. Atobe got the feeling that somehow Jirou knew exactly what Atobe was doing; that was a somewhat uncomfortable thought. Irresistably, Jirou quirked his lips into a grin. "Sounds good. But isn't it going to rain?"

Indeed, the weathermen looked about to be proven correct, the sky steeped in grey and humidity. Atobe shrugged. "I brought an umbrella." All set.

"Just you and me, Atobe?" That was an innocent question, right?

"If you like." And if Jirou asked to bring Fuji Shuusuke, Atobe might just kill him.

Fortunately, Jirou said nothing of the sort. Atobe probably didn't give Jirou enough credit for perception, since as much as Atobe knew it, it took time to adjust to the changing of things. Quite cheerfully, Jirou said, "All right. Let's go, a little rain doesn't bother me! Where will we look? Down by the river?"

This was definitely one of the stranger things Atobe had ever done. For once, the excitement of the unknown, and going out to look for it, attracted him. He reasoned that he was fifteen, so why shouldn't he like an adventure?

"We'll have to start at the river, at least," he agreed. As if he knew what he were doing.

It was a walk of ten minutes down foggy streets to get to their destination. The mist cooled down the air, so a good number of people populated the sidewalks. They stuffed umbrellas in their bags and went unafraid in the face of nature.

Atobe felt superior enough not to have to constantly explain why to his teammates. Besides, Jirou didn't look at him curiously, and neither did the faceless passerbys they crossed paths with. It was good to leave some things unsaid, as long as someone seemed to understand.

Slashing through the quiet residential neighborhood was the river, sided by concrete bricks and then overgrown with weeds. On both edges it was lined with a narrow corridor of patchy grass, interspersed with trees and benches. This was as much park as one got, here.

They stopped at the edge. Abruptly Jirou crouched down, and Atobe followed out of curiosity. Already Jirou was inspecting the grassy cover around them and on the far bank. Skulking in reeds, twitching at any movements, were actions slightly beneath Atobe's dignity. Ridiculously, it was enjoyable. Bizarre.

At the same time, ludicrous. "We aren't going to find anything," he cautioned. Animals were unpredictable, not to be depended on.

"Oh, don't be a pessimist," Jirou replied disarmingly. The boy scarcely blinked, he was searching so hard. Jirou really wanted this.

Perversely, Atobe found himself arguing against what he'd suggested in the first place. "What fox would come out in this weather during the day? They're not absolutely stupid."

Jirou shot him a brief, wounded glance. "Atobe, I know that," he whined, drawing the name out into its component syllables in that annoying way he had. "This was your idea."

"Well," Atobe huffed, faintly offended because it was true and he knew it. He let the farce go on for another two minutes, then stood up decisively. "We can look for the fox while walking, at least." A cramp was beginning to form, crouching like that.

Amiably, Jirou accomodated. They made their way along the water's edge, following the current downstream. Slight breezes ruffled grass, causing subtle movements that tugged at the corner of Atobe's eyes. Despite what he told himself about foxes, he wanted to find it again, too. It would be pathetic to come all the way, neglecting homework to crawl in the grass, only to be defeated by an animal.

"Oh," said Jirou, pausing in his step and turning his face to the white sky. "I think the rain has started. Did you feel it?"

In a moment Atobe felt it, a fat drop splat on his forehead. "Yes, I believe I did. Inevitable," he sighed, and shook out his umbrella. This was why he ought to always have a plan, and watch the weather channel.

It all broke apart overhead with astonishing rapidity. Water came down in a mad spill. It dispersed the humidity to some degree, and the wind was almost chill. Despite the umbrella he and Jirou were both getting rather wet. Atobe shuddered at the vision of himself, bedraggled and rain wet. Ugh. These sacrifices he made for friendship- so why didn't he regret it?

The rain forced them into adherence and accidental touches, crowded under the umbrella, a weak curtain of dryness. It provided body heat. Atobe handily won a brief squabble over who was to hold the umbrella, since he was taller. He led the way back to the streets that he recognized well, and they ducked under a shop awning.

For a few moments they stood there, gathering their breath around them as a barrier to the wet. The rain set up quite a cacaphony, driving people back to their refuges. "I suppose we ought to go home," Atobe said. Jirou didn't reply. Jirou stared down the rain-spattered road intently, as if the force of his stare could cajole passing foxes into crossing the street. Nor did Atobe reach for his cell phone to call his chauffeur.

"Just wait," Jirou said, half to himself. His body was held tense and still.

"What?" Atobe said, wanting clarification. He was ignored, so he trained his own glare at the other boy. At least it allowed him to observe the fact of dampness clinging to the skin of Jirou's face and darkening his hair. Atobe had sufficient candor with himself to admit it gave him pleasure to look. He might as well admit it now. "You-" he began, then found no words coming through.

Jirou moved suddenly. His eyes flashed wide open in half an instant.

"I saw it," he declared. All laws of coincidence and probability discarded in three syllables.

Atobe turned and stared down the direction of the road Jirou had looked. All he saw were the facades of houses, and some glimpses of gardens. This was not to be his day. A car sped by, its wheels flinging water up close to their feet.

"I saw a fox," Jirou repeated, adamantly. "It was running. It went into that backyard." He pointed, though it meant nothing now.

Impossible though it was, there was the force of conviction in Jirou's voice. Atobe observed Jirou's shining expression with interest. "How can you be sure it's not entirely from your imagination?" he asked, for this was a question of utmost importance.

"I know it with every part of me," said Jirou without hesitation. It was fascinating how entirely emotional he could be. Jirou bounced closer, light in his eye saying that he knew exactly what both of their statements meant.

A shocking charge skittered over Atobe's skin when Jirou reached up and put his hand on the back of Atobe's neck, palm flat and damp where it wrapped around his spine. Not as foreseen, but still unexpectedly good. So was the kiss, as real as any Gakuto could ask for; so was the colorless sky.

In a fit of inexplicable (perhaps) madness, Atobe went along when Jirou pulled him into the rain, splashing into all the puddles. Atobe hoped neither of them would get sick. Even as he thought it, that last protest of logic, he pretended to forget about his umbrella - regardless of his excellent short-term memory. No one was looking, so he stuffed the wet umbrella in his bag.

They ran home soaked in water and electrons, moving particles of change.

- - -

STILL EXTREMELY TBC!