author's note:

i got sucked into the tezuka x atobe craziness. hahahaha. it's all because i stumbled on a rec site that spawned this obsession, which has no sign of letting up anytime soon. i made the fic so that it could stand as a oneshot, but may also be continued (if i get enough nice comments? XD) Title : The Edge Of Ones Peripheral Vision

Author : fatalisstille on ff.net; fatalluster on lj

Pairing : Tezube (weeeeeeh!!!!)

Rating : PG for now. May or may not change

Summary : It was unlikely that Atobe would ever see Tezuka ever again, and what were the chances it would be when he wasn't his usual diva self? Zilch really, but Fate has a way of stabbing you in the back when you least expected it to.

Warnings : Slash (duh) and the first PoT fic for this certain fangirl. Be nice, ne? Comments are much appreciated!

THWACK!

The ball hit the center of his racket with enough force to create a physical injury, the sheer force of the impact sending flares of pain up and down his arm in dyslexic currents that left him reeling. His jaw clenched and unclenched as unwanted stars began blooming in the corner of his vision, but that didn't stop him from continuing to smash the small ball with more force than necessary.

If pain was needed to forget, so be it. But as fate would have it, what he was doing only seemed to sharpen all the details of the event he was trying to forget.

You're twenty-one for heaven's sakes! It's time you thought about marrying somebody, not going around the country entering competitions for a worthless sport! The cold biting voice of his father echoed in his ear, relentless and unforgiving.

He remembered how that voice drove him up the wall as it ordered him to do what he did not wish.

THWACK!

Nobody made Atobe Keigo do what he had no desire of doing!

The ball sped towards the wall in an almost untraceable blur, bouncing and then returning back again to him only to be hit once more.

I don't wish to be married!

How dare you talk back to me, you insolent boy! I am your father!

I don't care!


Sweat trickled down the side of his face, dripped from his unkempt hair, and soaked the expensive Parisian dress shirt he'd been wearing since he stormed out of the house, but oh god, he didn't care. He didn't care if the sky fell down, if the apocalypse finally happened, or if it started to snow in the middle of godforsaken June.

He wouldn't care if all the mentioned three happened simultaneously. He'd probably even dare the gods to give him all that they've got, and give them the finger while he was at it.

Because at the moment, Atobe Keigo cared less than he ever cared in his whole life.

THWACK!


Fatigue made his aim falter a little bit; made him feel the reverberation of the racket throughout his entire body, made the topspin of the tennis ball veer a little to the right and deviate from the course he'd intended it to take. It hit the wall with a loud 'thud', and bounced off the court and knocked down a lot of things as it made its way.

It came to a rolling stop at the feet of one who had not been there when he came in.

Panting heavily from where he was, he looked up at storm gray eyes which were appraising him quietly in the semi-darkness of the half-lit court. So familiar, those masked orbs. He used to have dreams filled constantly with them, dreams when they were not as shuttered, when they were not as emotionless, and when they had been filled with a pain that he had not mean to cause but had.

Marble gray eyes he had not seen for what seemed like centuries did not leave his as the owner bent down to pick up the tennis ball in his fingers and walked towards him in a gait as easy and as light as spring rain.

"Tezuka." He graciously accepted the yellow object as it was held in his direction, the smirk clicking in place and spreading like silk over his features. Something felt utterly wrong with it somehow tonight though, but he refused to take it off and let his rival see something he did not wish anybody at all to see.

Atobe Keigo did not break in public.

The other stepped back, almost courteously, as he threw the ball up into the air and smashed the face of his racket into its already abused form. Seigaku's captain said nothing as the ball whistled with deadly speed over the court, only watched as he let his volatile rage control him once more and flow through his blood like an unrestrained flood that had been kept at bay for too long.

The smirk faltered little by little each time his racket connected with the ball, shaking his smile from its place like an earthquake would shake a high metal tower. Every 'thwack' caused his grin to come undone, his usually ironbound control loosening and giving way to something raw and painfully honest that it hurt to look at him steadily.

Won't be long 'til something falls now.

Inevitably, the ball rolled once more out of the court, ignoring his command for it to roll somewhere where he wouldn't have to walk too far and let his lungs be reminded of the strain he was causing them.

Tche. The ball was going to suffer for its disobedience.

With that thought in mind, he went to pick it up and resume his game. He did not expect Tezuka to be holding a racket and meticulously folding his jacket on one of the nearby benches when he returned.

"Who ever said you could play with me?" His eyes were narrowed into deadly slits that said he was very annoyed, and his mouth now had no intention of putting back on his trademark smirk. It was too tired for high-class courtesies, too strained from weeks of bickering with his father.

A monosyllabic grunt was offered in his direction, and his rival took his position on the opposite side of the fence.

"I don't want to spend the rest of the evening just watching you murder your ball."

His mouth didn't know whether it should twitch and turn into a smile or deepen his scowl. Tezuka had a way with him that he couldn't shove aside, like he did with so many.

There was just something about him that begged to be noticed, even though he tried so desperately to blend in with the crowd and stay anonymous. It was a force which drew so many people to him, something that Atobe found in great heaps within himself too, but wasn't immune to, which annoyed and fascinated him at the same time. "Fine. Have it your way."

He took a step forward, and seconds later, the ball was once more arching in the air, beginning a game of tennis which both players had not expected to take place.

The pace they had set was nothing short of explosive. He would have had it no other way, even if his body was protesting and was on the verge of collapse.

Playing with Tezuka was nothing like playing with the wall.

But no matter how much Atobe wished it would last forever, how much he hoped that the resounding echo of the ball throughout the court would stretch out to the farthest reaches of infinity and carry him along with it, his body had other things planned.

It had already been subjected to three hours of grueling torture, and one hour of playing with one of Japan's finest players was not what it needed right now.

So his eyes began playing tricks on him, his muscles lagging when they should have been snapping with energy, his thought process working at a speed a tad slower than normal, his returns a little too sloppy for his taste. He should have expected the end to be close at hand by then.

But it still came as quite a surprise when his rival's backhand sent the ball zooming towards him at an alarming speed, and his hand was not doing anything to deflect it from hitting his body. It collided with his side and knocked the wind out of him, and he fell to the ground clutching gasping for breath.

Reality had finally decided to bite, and it had taken a huge chunk out of him as she went by laughing hysterically.

A shadow loomed over him for a second, and he found worn tennis shoes staring up at him from the ground. They were a dirty white color, with blue stripes running up the front and across the sides. Absolutely nothing compared with his custom made ones, but he found that he was staring at them like they were the most fascinating things he'd ever seen in his entire life.

Something struck him as he tried to get his breathing back in control. Call it an epiphany of sorts brought on by the lack of oxygen his brain was currently receiving.

"You planned this from the beginning of the game, didn't you?"

Unnaturally cool hands helped him up and clung themselves around his waist, supporting his lax frame and half-carried him towards the exit. Nobody was supposed to have fingers like these after playing tennis; it was abnormal.

But then again, Tezuka was Seigaku's ice bitch wasn't he?

"And what if I did?"

A cross between a snort and a laugh escaped his lips in a short burst, like a firecracker which had gone off before it was supposed to.

"Bastard."

"Hmph."

And weariness washed over him like a rising tide, brushing over him and taking away all other thoughts but those concerning emotionless eyes made of gray silk and of the comforting pressure of the body that was carrying him to god-knows-where.

want more? reviews would help me get this thing going along! hahahahaha!

fatalisstille