A/N: Okay. Okay. Oh my gosh I always feel terrible- I'm so sorry about the lack of updates. It's just, college, and this quarter's been downright awful. I'm going to try to update more often, so please, don't give up on me yet – sob sob. I love all my readers, and as soon as I find the time, I swear I'm going to sit down and reply to each review personally!

(Also. Pssst. As you can probably tell – Atobe and Nanao will work their stuff out pretty soon in the upcoming chapter or so. Huhu~)

Disclaimer: I do not own PoT.

Atobe thinks that Oshitari is ridiculous,

to find Shigohara Minako more attractive than Suzuki Nanao.

So, alright – perhaps Shigohara was prettier than Nanao, but- Did Oshitari really want someone who looked like a model, all willowy figure and almost too-tall height? Shigohara didn't even look real, sometimes, and it was the kind of beauty that Atobe found hard to like, because it was- it was just like them, the unbelievable beauty with a smile so frigid it might as well have been frozen on her lips. Nanao wasn't gorgeous, but she was pretty in a way that one didn't notice right away, until one stared at her smooth skin and dainty features for a second too long – the kind of prettiness that seeped in gradually, over time, until it became hard to look at her without thinking that she was remarkably attractive.

Nanao and Shigohara were different kinds of pretty – Nanao was the kind who hardly wore makeup and looked like the girl next door, who, when she actually did try, was prettier than one would ever expect. Shigohara was- perfect. A manufactured, factory-brand, picture-perfect model, who reminded Atobe too much of the dazzling, perfect world they came from.

And so what if Shigohara was a fellow tennis player? Tennis players weren't all that great; they were all certifiably insane, if the players in their usual circle were any indication. Atobe much preferred the docile nature of Nanao, whose quiet book preference was a nice change of pace. As much as Atobe loved tennis, he didn't want a girlfriend who played the sport, too.

Shigohara was- too perfect.

That phrase may be a bit of an anomaly in itself, but she was too well-crafted, too artfully poised in a way that suffocated him, because he was so tired of the dazzling smiles of their world that were empty. He liked Nanao more – Nanao, who frowned when she wanted to and smiled when she meant it.

Shigohara was too much like them.

So Atobe didn't know why Oshitari would ever choose Shigohara over Nanao, because Nanao-

Nanao was perhaps the most genuine person he's ever met.

Atobe looks up from his book to peer at Oshitari over the edge, and Oshitari, that sharp fucker, quirks an eye without moving his gaze from his own book. "You're an idiot," Atobe declares, loudly, huffily, and Oshitari's other brow rises to join his other.

"If this is about Minako again, Keigo, really, one would think you're some jealous fish wife-"

Oshitari dodges the book that was subsequently flung his way.

Atobe meets with Nanao the next day, and they spend it at Spain Slope.

Spain Slope is one of Nanao's favorite places in Tokyo, because the vibe of the small, 100 meter strip is unlike anything of Japan; it's modeled after what its moniker would imply, Spain, and it's full of beautifully crafted windows and cobblestone steps, lined on either side with an eclectic variety of shops and boutiques and cafes.

Nanao insists that she's okay, that she's fine, that it was just a crush, really- just a crush, but- Atobe insists. He shows up at her door that Sunday with a bouquet of fresh daisies – Nanao likes that they're daisies, not roses, for some reason – and drops them in her arms with a raised brow at her pajamas. Nanao's defensive, but she can't help but to beam at the flowers, can't help the way the tension eases out of her shoulders.

As much as she'd love to mean it when she says that she's okay, she's- she's not. It's ridiculous, she knows, because what had she ever known about Oshitari-kun? But he'd been like a prince charming, and the fact that her crush had so woefully quickly come to a close made her a bit sorrowful, if nothing else.

Still.

When Atobe's here, with that ineffable attitude, it's hard to be down for long.

He drags her out, and before she realizes it, they're at Spain Slope, and at that point, she can't help the delight that springs on her features.

And Atobe is happy, because when Nanao is happy, she shows it on every corner of her face – her shimmering eyes, her bitten lip, the delight pouring out from every feature. It's genuine and refreshing, and she doesn't bother trying to hide how happy she is, and it's something that sweeps Atobe in a cool breeze.

Nanao nudges him roughly with a shoulder on his own, peering up at him with a goofy smile. "Thanks."

Atobe rolls his eyes, pushes her head with a finger. "Stupid."

Nanao laughs, wraps him up in a hug – and he likes her hugs, because they're too rough, too tight, haphazard and arms thrown around his figure, and it feels as though she means it when she hugs him, not the prim, neat hugs he's always received, even from his parents – and pulls him to the florist vendor right beside them. There, she plucks a daisy – bright yellow – pays for it, and presents it to him with another laugh, warm and loud.

Atobe's thrown.

"…You're not supposed to give the guy flowers – it's the other way around, idiot," is all he can say, because honestly, he's not proud to say it, but Atobe Keigo is caught off guard.

Nanao only laughs again in that way of hers, head thrown back and eyes closed, before moving forward and tucking it in the pocket of his shirt.

He blinks, bewildered, and by then, she's already traipsed forward to look at the other shops.

With a roll of his eyes, he catches up to her and slips the flower behind her ear. "Now you can look mentally deranged."

When Nanao returns home, it's with no less than twelve shopping bags strung up and down her arm, each bearing a prominent designer label. She'd feel a bit odd, a bit frivolous – because despite her hefty allowance, she'd never been one to spend it like this – but then, she remembers that Atobe has twenty four such bags of his own, and she feels a bit better. Nanao's always liked shopping (because she was a girl, and girls liked shopping on a biological level), but she doesn't think she's ever had this much fun while doing it.

Perhaps it's the sharp, sardonic jabs Atobe makes at her fashion sense, that shouldn't be as funny as they are; or maybe it's the odd way Atobe can make one feel awfully accomplished when he gives one that little approving smirk, when she finally tries on something he finds acceptable. And to be honest, Nanao kind of likes sitting in the fitting room, waiting for Atobe to twirl out in something magnificent, watching the sales girls practically swoon whenever he steps out in a new outfit.

And while Nanao had never been one to expect, or even feel all that comfortable, with gifts, Atobe- Atobe was the kind of person who hardly went a day without buying something for someone. Many people saw Atobe, the spoiled brat to the Atobe fortune – but they didn't realize that he spent most of his money on other people, that he couldn't pass a book store without picking up something for Oshitari, that he couldn't help buying that sleek, expensive trampoline for Gakuto when he saw it up for sale that one day. He doesn't even realize he's doing it, Nanao realizes, doesn't even realize that he's buying something for someone, doesn't even notice the price tag.

Because this is all too natural for Atobe, to constantly have his friends on his mind, that he picks up little things and odds and ends here and there, just because he thinks that they might like it.

Similarly, Atobe picks up a jeweled hair piece for Nanao while she's distracted in a café, because he noticed it was a complementary color to a dress she'd bought a while ago. He buys her an extremely expensive doll, because the last time he was in her room, he saw that she had a whole collection of the line going. He hands her a brand new phone case, an offhanded, distracted "Your current one is scuffed" falling from his lips, as he's already surveying the next store.

He doesn't even realize-

And Nanao can't help the fondness spreading until all of a sudden, she's struck by the urge to string her arm through his, because he's this awfully endearing boy that one can't help but to adore. He already has a horde of fangirls who are obsessed with him on his surface-level persona alone, and Nanao thinks that if they knew the rest of him – the parts that are the real him – he'd never be left alone.

So later, when Nanao's pulling out her purchases from their bags, she realizes that a good chunk of it was bought with Atobe's money. She hadn't even noticed it in the moment, because he'd done it all with such an offhand manner, in a way that said he didn't even realize what a big gesture this all was.

She's still sitting there, clutching a pretty sundress Atobe had purchased for her while she was in the fitting room – because it matched a hat she'd purchased earlier – when Megumi peers into her room. "Did something good happen today?" her older sister asks her, and Nanao's blinking, wide-eyed.

"What? Not particularly- why?"

Megumi gives her an odd look. "I don't know. You just seem- happy."

Nanao frowns, and Megumi laughs. "I don't know. You just seem very- very cheerful. I like it. It's nice."

Atobe, in his own room, dons a similar expression as he peers at his purchases for the evening. While his maids often took care of most things, Atobe had always liked organizing his own clothes when he first buys them – he likes looking them over one more time, going over exactly what he's bought that day. But today-

-today, he finds that a lot of the things he's brought home, weren't purchased by himself.

This shirt, for example-

"What is this?" Atobe held up a pale grey article of clothing, something he liked more than he'd like to admit.

Nanao was there, perusing belts beside him. Without even a glance, she waived him away dismissively; "I thought it'd look nice on you," she murmured, then resumed thumbing through the rack of belts. Atobe's eyes widened in faint surprise, at the way she'd so casually bought him something, for no reason at all.

"I like this belt. Do you?" Nanao asked, then, turning around to hold up a remarkably hideous belt, effectively cutting off Atobe's previous words of thanks, still lingering on his tongue. Those, however, were forgotten in favor of wrinkling his nose at the piece she held up.

"Are you blind?" and Nanao frowned, because she'd genuinely thought it was a nice belt-

New message from: Suzuki Nanao at: 8:26 PM

Keigo- Keigo, Keigo! Oshitari-kun invited me to the movies next weekend!

New message from: Atobe Keigo at: 8:32 PM

Calm down. We have much work to do before then. More specifically, your horrendous taste in outfits.

Over the next week, Nanao spent most of her time with Atobe, whether they went shopping for a new dress (Nanao had protested, saying that she had plenty of new clothes from their shopping trip from before, but Atobe had insisted), or Atobe rattled off things about Oshitari that he thought might help.

In the course of five days, Nanao learned that: Atobe had better taste in clothes than most girls did, Oshitari-kun had a very big thing for legs, Atobe had a very large affinity for purple silk, and that one simply did not question said affinity for purple – unless one wanted a three hour monologue on the divinity and royal quality of said color.

It was a bit of a whirlwind of a week, but on the subsequent Friday night, Nanao stood in her bedroom, a pretty red dress fluttering from her figure. Atobe had been the one to choose it for her, had had it delivered in a similar white box as the black dress from months ago. He arrived a few hours after the dress did, with a demand to see it.

He gave an approving little nod – the one that had her heart leaping up into her throat with giddiness – and tugged experimentally on the edge of the dress. "Ore-sama's taste is exquisite," he murmured, and Nanao couldn't help the nervous laugh that bubbled up.

"Is it okay? I mean, I just-"

She was supposed to be over him. She was, she thought she was, but- but when he messaged her, asking her if she wanted to see a movie he thought she'd like, she couldn't help the way the hope had flared like a little traitor. And here she was, all sorts of desperate and sad and pathetic, asking if she looked alright the night before, when it wasn't even a date-

But Atobe only rolled his eyes and tugged her by the arm, until she was sitting beside him on the bed, and he could rest a heavy arm around her shoulders. "You look fine," he drawled. "Don't worry, alright? Yuushi will think you're lovely – because you are, no matter what the idiot thinks."

And it's weird, the way Nanao suddenly felt okay, as though it really didn't matter what Oshitari-kun would think. Which was silly, because of course it did, because she was here, doing all these things so that he'd think she was pretty, wasn't she? But the way Atobe said it, made her think that it didn't really matter, after all, what he thought.

Atobe must have taken her silence for sadness, though, because he sighed and ruffled her hair. "Stop being so glum; it'll be fine," he emphasized, before producing a slender, black velvet box. "Cheer up."

Nanao took it, surprise in her eyes; she wasn't an idiot. It was a jewelry box.

Atobe rolled his eyes at her expression and plucked it from her grasp. "It's for your date tomorrow; it matched the dress." He opened the box in a single, fluid movement, revealing a glittering bow pendant, hanging from a red ribbon – the same shade as the dress he'd acquired for her. Nanao could only continue to stare, eyes growing wider, heart practically fluttering out of her ribcage. Atobe rolled his eyes again.

"If Yuushi rejects you tomorrow, it's because you keep doing a strange fish impersonation; close your mouth, that's unattractive, Nanao."

The next day, Nanao awoke at precisely 8 A.M., nerves already aflutter. This was silly, she knew; she ought to go back to sleep, perhaps until ten, or eleven, when it was a normal time to wake up. The movie date – plan, she corrected herself, because it wasn't a date, no matter how much she wanted it to be – was scheduled for five. She had so much time-

-and yet, she couldn't bring herself to fall asleep. There was too much anticipation, all balled up in a knot in her stomach. So instead, Nanao allowed herself to lay awake in her bed, and reached for her phone.

Several minutes after she sent a message, she received a reply: "Nanao, go back to sleep. Ore-sama does not appreciate being woken up before ten on a weekend."

Nanao replied. And then: "Nanao. Go. Back. To sleep. There is a reason Ore-sama's skin is so much smoother than yours. It's called beauty sleep."

With a smothered groan, Nanao flung herself face-down on her pillow. She was up again in ten minutes, though, puttering around her room without much purpose. She cleaned her desk, organized her closet, nibbled on fruits for breakfast, even though she was too excited to really eat. When eleven o'clock rolled around, she finally texted Atobe, because now he was a wake and wouldn't yell at her for talking to him.

He was still grumpy, though, but Nanao didn't really care. They spent the next several hours bickering and firing off insults at one another via text message, though neither really meant the teasing jilts they aimed at one another.

It was only 4:30 when Nanao arrived at the theater, cheeks flushed and nerves still jittery. It was nice to be a little early – it was punctual, forget Atobe's muttering about being 'fashionably late' – but this was a bit too early, even for herself, she had to admit. Still, she couldn't keep pacing her bedroom, so she figured she might as well come early.

She leaned against a pillar, eyes glancing up into the crowd for any sign of a blue-haired, tall boy.

When it turned five, Nanao peeked up on her tip-toes, hopefully scanning the crowd.

At 5:15, she gave herself a little, anxious smile, and assured herself that he was just running a little late.

At 5:24, she contemplated messaging Atobe, but- she was always messaging him, bothering him, and she figured, she could just wait.

It was 6:00 PM when Atobe casually messaged Oshitari, to ask if they'd started the movie yet. When he received a frantic reply at 6:10 – Oh- I'd completely forgotten- I feel awful. It's just, Minako twisted her ankle while dancing, and we needed to get her to the hospital; my plans with Suzuki-san had completely slipped my mind. I'll have to formally apologize; she's probably at home by now, though – Atobe, with a curse, thundered out of his room, grasping a jacket on the way out.

When Atobe arrived at the theater at 6:32, eyes frantically searching the area for a small girl wearing a red dress, he almost sagged in relief when he didn't find her. So she'd gone home, after all; good-

-and then, he saw her, huddled near the floor, back against a pillar. For a few moments, Atobe watched her, eyes wide and apprehensive, as she sighed, checked the time on her phone, and drew idle circles on the floor with her finger. And then, despite himself, he was suddenly furious, filled with so much frustration and anger and-

Before he knew it, he was crossing the distance between them, until Nanao was staring at his shoes. "Are you a fucking idiot?" flew past his lips, and he couldn't help it, this frustration welling in his chest until he couldn't breathe-

He watched Nanao as her eyes fluttered up in surprise, as she lifted her gaze from the ground to trail disbelievingly up to his own gaze. She bit her lip when she saw Atobe, a helpless, almost rueful curve coming onto her lips. "I guess I am," she murmured, shrugging weakly. "He's not- he's not coming, is he?"

With an exasperated sigh, Atobe bent down to yank Nanao to her feet, whereupon she stumbled slightly on heels and tense legs, from crouching on the floor for so long. Atobe noticed, and he felt his chest twisting sharply all over again. "You're such a moron," he muttered, reaching out to steady her, and Nanao bit her lip again.

"It's fine- he messaged me a few minutes ago that Shigohara-san hurt her ankle. It's not his fault, I- I would have forgotten, too. I was going to leave in a bit, I just- I just wanted some time to clear my head, and-"

"Shut up," Atobe hissed, voice weary and furious all at once, and Nanao recoiled – because she'd never heard him so angry, so awfully tired. "Grow a fucking backbone for once, won't you?"

Nanao pursed her lips and drew in on herself. "I just-"

"No." Atobe's voice clipped her off, didn't leave room for any more arguments. "This is- this is fucking ridiculous, Nanao. You can't just- you can't just let him do these things to you, and be alright with it, like you're some fucking second-rate backup choice. You can't just- god, you always just take it, and it's pathetic, and you never stand up for yourself-"

Atobe stopped abruptly, then, and pinched the bridge of his nose with his hand. Perhaps this is how Tezuka felt, all the time, with that boisterous team of his; migraines weren't anything to laugh at. "I'm not dealing with this anymore," Atobe muttered, and turned to leave.

With a quiet curse and a muffled sigh, he turned back around, grudgingly, to roughly wrap his jacket around her bare shoulders. "Fucking idiot," he breathed, and promptly turned around to storm away once more.

Nanao clutched weakly at the jacket, eyes wide and frozen where she stood.

New message from: Suzuki Nanao at: 7:22 PM

Hey.

New message from: Suzuki Nanao at: 7:29 PM

I'm sorry

New message from: Suzuki Nanao at: 7:44 PM

Thank you for the jacket.

New message from: Suzuki Nanao at: 7:48 PM

Are you very upset with me?

New message from: Suzuki Nanao at: 7:53 PM

I'm really sorry

When it turned 8:30 PM, and Atobe had still yet to reply – he was never one to reply late, barring a major preoccupation – Nanao finally burst into tears, quiet little sobs and hiccups of disappointment and regret and anxiety. She didn't even know the exact reason why, she just- felt awful. She'd felt horribly disappointed when Oshitari-kun had stood her up, but-

-Keigo had shown up, and he'd been so furious at her that she hadn't known what to do. The next thing she knew, he'd stormed off; and even that, he had to twist her insides just a bit more, by throwing his jacket at her so she wouldn't be cold. The thought had a half-hysterical laugh bubbling up from her lips, because who even did that? Who took care of their friend even when they were mad at her? Who did that?

Atobe Keigo did, and it made her feel awful and wretched.

Nanao didn't even know why he was so angry, didn't really care, just knew that she didn't want him to be so upset with her anymore. She'd apologized – blindly – and he didn't reply, and Nanao wasn't quite sure what to do anymore. She'd never been so terrified of someone's anger, had never felt so awful when someone was displeased with her – nor was she used to having someone so- so disappointed in her.

It was a wretched feeling, she decided.

He didn't know why he was as angry as he was. He was- he was a lot of things. He was furious with Yuushi, because – standing up a girl was an awful thing to do, no matter who it was. But then, he'd stood up Nanao for Shigohara Minako, and while in the back of his head, he knew that it wasn't that bad, considering that Shigohara had twisted her ankle – the irrational part of his head insisted that it still wasn't okay, because this was Shigohara fucking Minako, and she was so goddamned perfect that she could probably wave her hand over her ankle and fix it with her magical perfection, anyway. And this was Nanao – little stumbling Nanao, who was so achingly sincere, that it wasn't fair to stand her up in any scenario.

He was frustrated with Nanao, because she was such a pushover that it was threatening to choke him. She wasn't someone who ought to be so easy to set aside, because believe or not, she was an amazing person, who was sincere and honest and truthful, something he'd so scarcely encountered in his life. She wasn't dazzling like the rest of them were, but- that was why she was so special, and it wasn't alright for her to go around smiling when she'd stood here, waiting for two hours for someone who hadn't even thought of her.

It was exhausting, standing up for someone who didn't even care about themselves, trying to defend someone who didn't even recognize their own value.

Atobe was just- exhausted.

He glanced at the messages on his phone, and knew that he really ought to reply, but- he didn't feel up to it, not just yet.

When Atobe awoke the next day, it was far later than he normally did – at half past eleven. He followed through his usual morning routines (and no, despite what Gakuto said, it was not a preening ritual), and by the time he was impeccably dressed and armed to face the world, it was noon. He opened the door-

-and very nearly tripped over the small human being, who sat right in front of his entrance, tinkering on a phone game.

"What the-" Atobe exclaimed (and despite what Nanao may later say, he did not splutter, because Atobes didn't splutter). Nanao looked up, her expression practically screaming deer-in-headlights, and fumbled with her phone so that she didn't drop it. She scrambled to get up, then, and dusted off her skirt.

"Hi. Um, I just- well, they told me you were still sleeping, and I didn't want to wake you up, so I said it'd be fine to wait, so I was just kind of waiting here, sorry I surprised you, I didn't mean to, I just- I came to- to give you this-" at this point in time, Nanao presented a very large, ostentatious bouquet of hyacinths – fucking hyacinths, what the hell Nanao? – which very nearly hit his face when she did so. "They- the florist told me they meant sorry, and I am, that's, that's why I came by, because I'm sorry about yesterday, and I know I'm kind of frustrating to deal with, so I promise I'll grow a backbone, so you don't have to look after me all the time, it's just, I've never been very aggressive, you know? But I'll work on it, and I'm sorry, so-"

Nanao was abruptly cut short when Atobe burst into laughter, then, so strong that his shoulders shook and he had to cover his mouth with his hand. He leaned against the doorway, practically chortling and losing breath fast. All Nanao could do was stand there, bewildered and confused, still holding the bouquet of purple flowers.

And Atobe couldn't do anything but keep laughing, because who even did that? Who brought a boy flowers for apologies; who brought them hyacinths? Nobody ever really cared about the meaning of flowers, just about how pretty the flowers were – and that was the reason nobody ever, ever, received a goddamn bouquet of-

Hyacinths.

Another look at the flowers had Atobe laughing all over again, until Nanao's frown grew into a pout, and he couldn't help but to reach forward to ruffle her hair and sling an arm around her shoulders. "Forget the fucking flowers," he managed out between laughs. "Just buy me brunch, and we'll call it even."

Nanao wanted to protest, because she'd taken a while to acquire these hyacinths, and she liked them, damnit, but Atobe recognized the stubborn expression on her face before she could say anything, and promptly shut her up with a look.

Well, Nanao decided. It was alright, since he'd forgiven her.

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