Title: Always too late
Challenge: all these years I walked alone/behind the faces I'd assumed/powerless to clear your minds of what you'd suffered
Word count: 430
Rating: G
Fandom : Prince of Tennis
Genre : Angst
Nowadays he can only smirk when he wants to smile, and the reflection in the mirror shows cold, hard eyes that have forgotten how to be otherwise.
He thinks he can remember a time when it was not so, when he dared let slip from his fingers the leash of his emotions. He catches himself –even then, it was naught but a clever trap wrought to give him the illusion of freedom.
His education extended beyond school, into what he once called his home. Manners, discipline, grace, poise, and a natural talent to shine, to draw others to him. A sun so blinding no one could guess at the cracks lurking underneath.
Free will was never part of the equation. Reaching the top, on the other hand, was a clearly defined goal, so encompassing one could drown in it, forgetting the rest of the picture. People became stepping stones, victories details on a greater path. Or so he thought.
For the price was high, and few were willing to give up as much. Friendship, loyalty, the ability to be true to oneself. Compromise seemed like a viable option at first; giving a little more ground every time until there was nothing left.
Pretense and pride and dazzling charm, wits and sparkling eyes, a haughty twist of the lips, fall apart. The shell is hollow inside, but it still comes as a surprise. Years of pretending have caught him at his own game. Checkmate.
With the last remains of his once-famed Insight, Atobe Keigo recalls with perfect clarity the moment the path forked for the last time. The memory burns a path through his brain, his veins, his very soul, yet he brings it forth because he thinks it the only precious thing he has left, and thus he treasures it, even if it rips him apart from the inside.
Jirou looked so tired then, bereft of but the smallest spark of life as he waited underneath the pouring rain for Atobe to come out of the university building he attended his last afternoon class in. How he discovered that, Atobe didn't care to know, but perhaps that's where the problem lay. He replayed the scene over and over in his mind.
If he had spotted Jirou sooner.
If he didn't have to go to a fancy cocktail party in the evening.
If he hadn't climbed in the black limo waiting for him, spotless and cold.
If he didn't have to live up to his family name and reputation.
If he could only have said "no" before it was too late.