Jirou watched Atobe through half-closed eyes, hovering on the ledge between sleep and wakefulness, never unconscious as many supposed.
Atobe was alone again, the others having left some time before. He always stayed behind, and so Jirou did as well.
He watched for awhile, reclined and comfortable on the bench. He observed the twist and frown of his captains mouth as he muttered over the papers before him. Not homework then. Probably a matter of student council or the rankings for an upcoming tournament.
Atobe always took everything seriously, tennis, school, money. To not take it seriously was against his very nature.
Atobe never went against his nature, and neither would Jirou.
To fight his own nature would be like sleeping through life. And while some might have laughed at the potential hypocrisy, Jirou knew better than most the difference between sleeping and wakefulness.
He'd once been asleep. Life a hazy passage of time thoughtlessly wished away. Moments frittering past, as he'd filled them with meaningless pursuits.
Until the day he wrapped his hand around the grip of a tennis racquet and he finally knew what it meant to be awake.
To pursue something with the entirety of your being. To know boundless joy at the opportunity to live.
He'd found his second awakening at Hyoutei.
The scratch of Atobe's pencil stopped. 'I know you're awake, Jirou.'
'Hai, Atobe-buchou. I'm awake,' Jirou grinned at his captain. 'Didn't get enough sleep in chemistry, Mukahi-kun kept bugging me.'
'As Student Body President, I'm going to pretend I didn't hear you say that.' Atobe smiled widely… one of the many reasons to stay after practice. 'Soon you're going to have to leave that job. You can't take entrance exams and continue to stock shelves into the early morning.'
'I know,' Jirou replied with a stretch. 'Play tennis now?' he asked.
With a nod Atobe stood gracefully to his feet and offered his hand to him.
Clasping the outstretched hand, he heard the call of his nature. Soon, he promised.
They walked onto the courts together. Jirou's right hand closed loosely around the grip of his racquet, his left intertwined with Atobe's.
He let go at centre court and jumped a few times to get the blood flowing, allowing the excitement to build slowly until he let out a whoop that made Atobe laugh.
'Let's play!' he yelled out across the court.
Atobe snorted derisively and pointed the tennis racquet toward him. 'Prepare to lose, Akutagawa Jirou.'
He's prepared.
All around him the people are asleep.
Atobe is asleep.
One by one they are waking.
When Atobe wakes up, he will be there.