'There's no one Yuushi likes to be with more than me.' He had bragged… he had believed it too.
Believed with all his heart that Yuushi preferred him to every other person he had ever met. Because everyone knew that Gakuto preferred Yuushi… he'd never tried to hide it.
Yuushi understood him, listened to him, and liked him in spite of his selfishness. He tolerated his nastiness and was generally bemused by his outspoken personality. When Gakuto had been friendless, Yuushi had picked him. Picked him out of two-hundred other tennis players trying to catch his eye for long enough to be chosen as his doubles partner.
But it had been him who was chosen. Him, because he was better than the others. Better for Yuushi. Best for Yuushi.
And Yuushi was best for him. Not just the best, the only.
When Yuushi had touched him he had confessed. 'You're the only one, Yuushi,' he had panted into his ear. Wet and slick with sweat as Yuushi had given him sensations he'd never experienced before.
Yuushi had smiled and pressed his lips to his neck. 'I know, Gakuto. I'm the only one for you.' His heart had hammered wildly in his chest. Not just because Yuushi's hands were teaching him everything anew, but because they felt the same way.
Except that he didn't. Didn't say that Gakuto was the only one for him.
The thing about playing doubles was that you became hyper-sensitive to everything about your partner. Some days he could tell what mood Yuushi would be in before they even met up. He was proud of his achievement, because reading Yuushi was hard. He thought he knew.
The thing about playing doubles is you can recognize their voice from anywhere. From three meters away, from behind the lockers… from the pant of passion and tone of urgency.
Gakuto knew a lot about Yuushi. The subtle inflections of his Kansai accent, the lilt of his dry humor. He knew the curve of his hip, the indent of his lips and the planes of his back.
Atobe also knew the planes of his back.
His elegant long fingered hand pressed against the small of Yuushi's back. Not hesitant and light, as Gakuto's would lay upon his skin, but strong and confident as was everything about their leader. Yes, Atobe knew the planes of his back.
He also knew the curve of Yuushi's hip. He knew it better than Gakuto. Fingers traveling confidently over the rise and sliding down under the waistline. Last time Yuushi had gasped it had been for him. His short intake of breath exhaling in a throaty groan against his shoulder as Gakuto had nervously stroked his hardness feeling embarrassed and awkward, yet gratified at his every expression of pleasure.
It was different with Atobe. He leant back from the other boy holding him away so he could gaze hotly at Atobe's performance. Stroke his defined shoulders and admire the ripple and shift of Atobe's stomach.
The can of axel grease that he'd used on Shishido's racquet, fell from his listless fingers, the noise camouflaged as Yuushi's head fell back with a cry and Atobe's mouth twisted with a satisfied smirk.
He could hear the bark of Atobe's laughter as Yuushi whispered something to him, perhaps something sweet like he had whispered to Gakuto, all hot and thickly accented. Except Atobe had the sense to laugh at the joke.
Completely guileless. He'd believed. As the shuffle and scrape of their clothes being arranged took over from the intimacy of their whispering, Gakuto pressed himself to the wall to avoid a discovery he couldn't accept.
The lights flickered off, leaving him in semi-darkness. The door latched shut behind them. With each second the clubhouse clock ticked, the vice squeezing his chest ratcheted tighter. Breath passed rapidly through his nose, as he felt that the very life might be squeezed out of him too.
Atobe was best. Beautiful, confident Atobe.
Gakuto looked at his half lit reflection in the mirrors along the wall. His sharp angled face bisected by the light from the courts, his arms and legs white and skinny, his chest rippled only by the outline of his own ribs.
The joke had been on him.