O-KAY! Don't kill me guys!

Here, I bring scraps of inspiration with this one-shot. I AM writing my other stories, I am, I am. But I've been wtaching "Tennis no Ouji-sama" lately so...

Anyways, enjoy this one, even though it its short (And radom and pointless!) and don't forget to review!

YI

Cross With You

...Don't kid yourself, well not today...

Twirl. Slice. Side step. Backward step. Thrust. Block. Twirl. Slice.

She moved, with all the grace of a seasoned warrior. Her arms, lithe but strong raised over her head, down in a diagonal line, twisted the sword forward in a complicated thrust, then she repeated the elaborate steps again. Her midnight black hair was tied in a high ponytail, a strand of face dancing freely next to each cheek.

The grayish-blue and black hakama moved with her legs, floating around them and slightly kissing the wooden floor at her feet. Her white tabi-socks slid, moved and stomped gracefully as she went on with the difficult kata. The traditional kosode hugged her lithe frame gently from her waist up.

Her face was determined, and focused on the task at hand. The sweat on her skin made the naturally honeyed tone seem to glow in the late evening light. Her dark violet eyed acquired a reddish tint to them, making them more deep, more mysterious than they really were.

Sakurai Ayame, a girl of many talents. Of witty remarks, and loud antics. Temperamental and hot headed, reckless with herself, but not with others.

A girl that gained the chance to study in Hyoutei thanks to her high grades and the support of her family. At school, she worked hard, completed all assignments, helped some of her classmates along, and got excellent grades. After school, in the early and late evenings, she no longer was a dedicated student, she was a devoted buchou, respected by her peers.

But there was a side of her no one but he had seen; Ayame as his childhood friend.

But sometimes, the simple friendship they shared didn't seem to be enough to him. The girl he wanted at his side was not an elegant rich lady, one who ahd silky hands and wore her hair in stylish ways.

He wanted the normal, middle-class girl in front of him. With the scarred knuckles and sarcastic comments. The girl who had seen through the façade of his arrogance into the hurting child he had been, once, when he thought his parents didn't love him as much as the other kid's did.

He wanted that normal, outgoing girl, that rarely did anything else to her hair, other than tying it in a high ponytail.

But his fear of destroying what he already had held him back.

He continued to watch her mesmerizing dance in silence. It seemed more of a dance than an actual sword fight. With her body gracefully moving at the compass of some unheard song. Small beads of sweat slid from her skin to the vacant air, shinning golden-red in the last rays of the sun.

Atobe Keigo smirked from his leaning place next to the door of the gym were she had been practicing. Her kata had ended in a move as impressive as the ones before it, and just as graceful. "Time to go home, you know?"

She turned, startled, only to be hit in the face by a towel. She took the towel with a hand, and moved the fluffy object from her face to the top of her head, and shot him a smile caught between a sneer and a grin. Only she could do that, he was sure.

His eyes strayed from her face to her bandaged hands. They had stayed that way very long now. And occasionally he saw her blood sweep through the bandages when her wounds reopened, or the fresh ones were still open.

Sometimes, he wondered, if she ever stopped to think of the hands other females possessed. Soft and free of scars, while hers were rough and marked by the scars her hard practices gave her.

"Keigo?" Her quiet voice brought him out of his mussing. "Weren't you supposed to go out with the team?"

"I was." He nodded. "But I am here, aren't I?"

Ayame laughed, and he was reminded of how much he liked the sound of that sound. "They should just ignore you for a while, you know, to bring that ego of yours down," She commented slightly as she packed her stuff. Atobe just stood next to her, looking at his friend from the corner of one blue eye.

"Ore-sama is too important to be ignored."

"Riiight."

Atobe chuckled and took her bang, slung it over one shoulder. "Besides, what would the lot of you do without Ore-sama's incredible skills in everything?"

Ayame snorted and nudged Atobe playfully with her elbow. "Be better, perhaps?"

Atobe turned to her, and tried to glare as she dissolved into a fit of giggles. Ayame knew him too well to be annoyed or give any importance to his arrogant tirades or self-proclaimed titles.

Side to side, they laughed together as they walked towards the sunset, Hyoutei looming at their backs.

"Ne, the day after tomorrow is the match against the American Team, will you be there?"

"Sure! I'll be with the others!"

... Don't pause too Long...

Atobe's eyes searched for a certain black haired girl. Ayame was nowhere to be found. She was not sitting with the others as she had promised.

His heart dropped to the floor, then shook his head and stared at the court. Time to get his act together...

With his usual arrogant elegance, Atobe walked towards the court, walking side by side casually with the stoic fukubuchou of Rikkai Dai, but he couldn't help but let his eyes wander once more over the Hyoutei students.

But he didn't find her.

She ran.

Ran as fast as her sandaled feet could take her. Her legs aching from the match she had before, and from the continuous running. But she didn't stop, even when her legs screamed at her for a rest, on the contrary, she only sped up more when the stadium came into view.

Sakaki-sensei met her in the entrance, and led her to where the team was watching the game. She only stared in confusion at him as he pushed her towards the end of the long tunnel.

Oshitari noticed her presence almost instantly, but there was no smirk in the tensai's face, only a serious frown. "Sakurai-han." His voice carried to her, she smiled weakly, still panting as she moved to stand next to him. The rest of the team greeted her with a silent weak smile. "He's losing," He whispered in her ear.

Her eyes moved instantly to the court. Atobe didn't seem to be in great shape, neither did his team mate. The violet of her eyes darkened in worry, and her hands clenched into fists, so hard her knuckles turned white and the barely healed wounds opened once more, thin trails of blood running down her fingers to shatter in the floor beneath her feet.

"Keigo."

Her eyes never strayed from his form, and she knew he was exhausted. It was his time to serve, and her eyes widened at the strange stance he acquired. "No! I told him not to do that serve!" She hissed through clenched teeth, white fury kindled in her eyes. "Is he stupid?"

"Probably," Oshitari mumbled, but shut up when Ayame glared at him. Oshitari couldn't help but wonder how the petite girl could look so frightening with that glare in her face. Perhaps because she reminded him of a samurai dressed in the hakama and kosode she was currently wearing. "You had a match?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't tell Atobe?"

"It was not important."

Oshitari shook his head and grabbed the hand closest to him, looking at her torn knuckles. "But the contrincant was skilled enough to injure you." He said, tracing the injuries that hid beneath the sleeve.

"I was careless. I am easily distracted."

"Iie," Oshitari's voice held a kind of seriousness she hadn't heard before. "You are in love." He said, loud enough so no one but she could hear.

"What!" She whispered, her cheeks tinted red. "Am not!"

Oshitari did not answer, just stared at the match.

She watched Atobe with no more interruptions from the kansai boy. Her heart on edge each time they failed to hit a ball back, each time the other team returned a ball of their own, each time he did that damned serve again.

But suddenly, they way they were playing changed, and she could finally breath again. They started to dance in the court to some unheard tune.

Tango, she thought in amusement.

The match finally ended, the Atobe-Sanada pair as the winners. Oshitari nudged her in the ribs, and gestured for her to wait on the other side of the tunnel as the players shook hands. She nodded, looked at Atobe meaningfully before walking back the way she had come.

Atobe approached him, looking tired and pale, but otherwise fine. But sadness danced behind his eyes. "Hurt that you girlfriend didn't show up?" He taunted.

"Ayame is not my girlfriend," He said, but didn't react to Oshitari's taunts as he normally would.

"Go get a drink, looks like you need it."

"Yeah," Atone nodded. "That I'll do." What he wanted was not a drink, but solitude to gather his scattered wits.

He walked in silence towards the vending machines. "Oi," Came a voice to his right, and he turned, just in time to catch bottle of water. His eyes raised to violet ones, that held carefully contained anger. "You promised not to use that serve."

"Just as you promised to be here during my match." He had the sudden urge hurt her, just as he had been hurt. But she didn't flinch, or even blink. She just stared at him with those violet eyes. Silent and calm, two things she never was.

She moved towards him, grabbed his arm and dragged him to one bench, and both sat down. She took a bag of ice, and placed it on his wrist. "Fool."

"Don't call me that," Atobe hissed. "You have no right, liar."

"I never lied to you." Her vice was controlled as she held his hand in her own, moving the ice in the plastic bag gently over the injured area.

"You did."

She sighed, but shook her head. She raised a hand to her mouth, and carefully undid the bandages covering her hand. "It's dirty, but it will do."

"Why?"

She turned to him, eyes unreadable and impassive. "Why what?"

"Why didn't you come?"

"I did."

Atobe tore his hand from her own and stood up angrily. He failed to see Ayame's flinch when her tender knuckles scrapped on the rough material of her hakama, but thankfully, they didn't bleed again. "Don't lie! You weren't there!" He was turned sharply around by Ayame, and he was suddenly reminded of the strength she possessed. While less than his, it was certainly enough to shock him speechless again.

"Shut it!" She growled, looking angrily into his eyes. "Just remain quiet will you? I'm angry enough as it is!" She snapped, wrapping the bandage around his wrist with practiced ease. How many times had she done the same thing to her own hands?

"I'm the one who should be angry! Not you!"

"I didn't break my promise, idiot! I did watch the match! I'm not you!"

Silence.

Atobe's mouth hung open. His eyes open wide in shock. "Ayame...?"

"Look, just-" She began, stopped and shook her head. "Just let me finish."

"I should have gone to your matches."

Ayame sighed. "I never asked you to be there."

"I should have, anyway."

"Kei," She whispered, closing her eyes, her hands tightening their grip on his wrist. "Don't use that serve again, losing is better than a life lived without tennis, remember?"

"Aa."

"Good." She rested her head on his shoulder. "Say, the tune in your mind and Sanada-san's, it was tango, wasn't it?"

He chuckled. She knew him too well. "It was."

She smiled, then separated to him. "We should get back."

He looked at his wrist, then at her retreating back. With two long strides, he had caught up to her, he grabbed her hand, jerked her to face him again. "Eh! Keigo! What are- hmph!" Her shocked tirade was stopped by the sudden weight in her lips. She blinked, she blushed, she yielded as Atobe let his lips close over hers in a passionate kiss. His hands moved to her back, and hers entwined around his neck.

"I had to thank you," Atobe said, retreating slightly from her lips. "And to tell you it took me a while, but that I finally gathered the courage to tell you that I want to be something more than friends, if you let me."

She chuckled. "As if you'd give me any other option. Ass."

...Never miss opportunity...

"I love you."

"I love you too, adorable arrogant ass."

With matching smiles, they walked back together.

Atobe looked back, and smiled at the water bottle sitting quietly on the bench.

His past.

Then he wrapped an arm around the girl at his side, and turned to the other side of the tunnel.

His future.

...It's waiting just for you...