A/N: We've reached the ends, folks, and here it is - the final chapter of part 1 of It's All Greek. I just want to thank everyone so so much for taking this journey with me, and bearing with me as I go through shitty phases of slow writing and cliche plots, haha! But don't worry, this is not the end - part two is coming very soon!
As far as my tumblr goes - I love that you guys have all been so supportive and giving me beautiful little comments and asks, but a lot of them have been more like reviews, than any questions that need to be answered. If this is the case, I ask that you just leave your comment in a review on this story, instead of as an ask on tumblr, because it kind of mixes things up for me.
Again, thank you, thank you, and please review and let me know what you think! (More reviews means that pt. 2 comes faster, hahahaha).
Disclaimer: I do not own PoT.
Dedication: I dedicate this final chapter of pt. 1 to the lovely fyerigurl!
Keigo doesn't speak to her after this.
He doesn't answer her calls or her messages, politely ignores her in the hallways when she tries to catch his eye; when she sends him bouquets of hyacinths, she never even gets a sign that he's gotten them at all. It's- And she doesn't know what to do, doesn't even quite understand why he's so upset, or if he's even really upset at all.
Because for all the ways she understands him, there's still so much she doesn't, and she can't get that glimmer of betrayal that had been swimming in his eyes when she'd told him she wanted to go to Barcelona. It almost makes her regret the decision, but-
-but this is something she'd been thinking of for ages, that had taken her months of deliberating and agonizing. There's this small moment where she almost wants to take it back, decide not to go after all, but- she doesn't. She takes deep breaths, and tells herself that she's going to do this. She is.
But she's just lost her best friend, and she feels a little bit sad.
"Nanao asked about you. Again."
There's a clear note of diapproval and a not-so-subtle implication in the way Oshitari talks as he takes a graceful seat on the couch across from him. Atobe hardly spares him a glance in favor of flitting his eyes through the fiscal report in his hands. Oshitari exhales a long-suffering sigh, too dramatic and exaggerated for it to be real.
"You are being so stubborn-"
"Don't."
It's the hard edge to his voice that makes Oshitari pause. He shifts on his seat and lets his gaze flicker to the bookcase behind Atobe's shoulder, and for a few moments, the two friends lapse into a mildly tense silence. "Keigo, it's been almost two weeks - we're graduating this week. I think-"
"No."
"What is this even-"
"Drop it."
"What is it that you're even angry about? That she's leaving?"
It finally makes Atobe put down the papers in his hands onto the coffee table in front of him. He snorts, rolling his eyes and leaning back into the couch, his face shifting so that it faced away from Oshitari and towards the door. "Don't be daft," he snaps. "She could be planning on moving to a fucking undiscovered region of Mars, for all I care. It's not that she's going somewhere, it's that-"
"That?"
Atobe can't find the precise words for a while. He doesn't know how to explain the way he'd felt so utterly disappointed by her for the first time, the way that he'd looked at her helpless expression and felt a pricking sensation deep in his chest - the way scenes flickered in his head, of every time they'd talked about Tokyo U, of every time he'd talked about the college and she'd murmured something in response. The way she hadn't said a word about any of those things, architecture or studying abroad, the way she'd deceived him for who knew how many months?
And it was- she wasn't just his girlfriend, he wasn't just her boyfriend, because those terms were immature and shallow and attached with silly connotations. They were- they were friends, were these two people whose imperfect edges aligned in a way where they could coexist and where her kindness made him happy and where his boldness made her eyes blink wide.
She hadn't said a word to him.
While she knew about the way he liked to submerge his head underwater in the pool when he was feeling overwhelmed, that he read German literature when he wanted to displace himself from the world, even knew about the little things he let on about his less than perfect relationship with his father, she hadn't told him a thing about the most important matters in her life. He'd thought that he knew her, but if he didn't even know what it was she wanted to study, then how could he really know her?
It's an unsavory, almost bitter swirl of unpleasant emotions that swirls in his stomach whenever he thinks about her. About how she'd talked about dorms in Tokyo U while booking a flight to Spain, the way she'd nodded along to his class plans only to go home and fill in her preferences for electives over in an architecture program.
"How am I supposed to feel when someone who knows such invasive things about me doesn't tell me that she's planned the direction of her future until they're all in motion, all the while lulling me into some idea that she's going to Tokyo U, instead?"
If they'd just been a girlfriend and a boyfriend, this wouldn't have hit as deep, he thinks. If he'd just dated her for a constant partner to all the parties, for a pretty face and shallow fun, he couldn't have cared less.
But they were more than that, had been more than that, and now-
Well.
"Maybe I've just been wrong about her all along." Because the Nanao he'd thought he'd known would have consulted him on it, because she'd have wanted his opinion. She'd have told him, because she literally told him everything from the color she painted her nails to what she had as a midnight snack; she'd have told him, because he was important to her, because they were important to each other, and it's just what friends did.
Oshitari doesn't really have anything to say to that.
"I really think you should call her back. She's really upset, Keigo, and she doesn't even really know what she's done wrong, I think."
"Isn't that the problem, then?"
"Keigo-"
"Yuushi."
And when Atobe Keigo uses that tone, well, there's really not much left to be done.
"I just. I just want to speak to him, and he won't return any of my calls," Nanao breathes, looking very much close to tears. And Oshitari's torn, he really is, because Suzuki Nanao has a startling ability to look like the spitting image of a kicked puppy, and who'd be inhumane enough to ignore that? "Does he- do you think he dislikes me now terribly?"
And as much as he'd like to assure her that he doesn't, that Keigo's just feeling a bit displaced and betrayed, he'd never quite reveal his best friend's confidence like that. So instead, all he can do is offer Nanao a gentle, calming smile. "Just give him some time," he says. "To be mad."
"So he is mad," Nanao whispers.
Yuushi doesn't reply.
She stares at the program brochure for a little while, tracing the curves of lovely landmarks across the glossy cover. She thinks of how she'd been excited and apprehensive to tell Keigo, of how she'd thought that he'd help her buy some new clothes for the trip, of how she'd looked forward to peering at pictures of Barcelona with him. She'd even thought that, perhaps, maybe, she could show him some of her work, but now-
She tucks her sketchbook back into the drawer of her desk, neatly pushed against the far, dark corner.
Nanao reaches for her phone with a hesitant hand. Her finger hovers over the buttons for a moment, playing out the familiar sequence of numbers in her head, but at the last moment, she decides against it and puts her phone back down.
Give him some time to be mad.
She bites her lip and tries not to curl in on herself.
Graduation descends more quickly than any of them had anticipated. It's not a particularly large event, but it's certainly eye-opening in that it's a gathering of the wealthiest members of Japan's high society, flocking together for a rather low-profile event. It's perhaps the only time that such a thing happens, once a year, and it's a little strange, watching elegant women and dashing men in multi-thousand dollar outfits, sitting in the same auditorium seats as the rest of the school.
The valedictorian is, obviously, Atobe Keigo.
Oshitari Yuushi is salutatorian, and Shigohara Minako weighs in at fifth place by the end of the school year; Suzuki Nanao is sixth - she'd be higher, perhaps, if it wasn't for her Greek grade (over all three years) woefully dragging down her GPA. Shishido Ryou is the unexpected third place: unexpected, only because he'd never been the type to make much a fuss about grades. But then, Keigo had anticipated it, just because he knew how hard the other boy studied, even without a word.
Ryou studied like he played tennis - harder and more vigorously than anyone else.
When Atobe takes the center podium for his speech, there's a small moment where his gaze locks, briefly, with a pair of earnest hazel eyes. Her eyes flicker with a hesitant smile, and even with all the doubt riddling her expression, she tries to give a silent encouragement.
The prickling sensation is back.
He sweeps his gaze away coolly, turns to face the sea of students he's called his peers for the past six years, and thinks of how they'll be the adults at these society functions in just a few decades.
His speech is beautiful. It's eloquent and witty and riddled with subtle historical references and philosophical mannerisms, an elegant drawl in his voice and an overwhelming charisma in the way he holds himself. His father looks satisfied, from his seat in the front row, and his peers are suitably in awe.
(Later, Gakuto will admit that he'd half-expected Keigo to simply snap his fingers and say 'Ore-sama no bigi ni yoi na.')
His parents don't stay for the rest of the ceremony. They've attended for long enough for the photographers to get a gorgeous picture of the gorgeous Atobe family and their gorgeous son at his gorgeous graduation.
He receives a bouquet from them - extravagant and luxurious and bright - and receives nearly thirty more from some of his peers. Keigo has hardly a moment to breathe between all the people wanting to take one last photo with him before they leave, wanting to get in one more word. Towards the end, though, he has a brief reprieve when he heads to go get a drink from the buffet table.
That's when he bumps into someone as he turns to reach for a cup. "My apologies-" he begins to say, but the words die in his throat when the stranger turns around to look at him.
"Oh," she murmurs.
A pause.
She quirks her lips into a small smile. "Hi."
It'd be so easy, so painfully easy, to take a step closer and slip into her space, the familiar close proximity they'd used to share. He could do it, could tuck the misplaced lock of hair neatly behind her ear, and she makes it almost hysterically easy for him to want to talk to her about the little trivial thoughts he'd had while giving his speech.
But then he looks into her face and all he can think of is how she'd been planning her entire life away without a word to him, all the while accepting the little snippets of his innermost thoughts as though it were nothing at all.
His response is cordial. "Hello," before he picks up the cup he'd been about to since a few minutes ago.
"Your speech- it was really nice."
He pours the drink into the cup.
"Keigo, I-"
He raises the now-full cup to his lips, drinks, then turns to give her a pleasant smile. "I'm sorry, I've promised someone to take a picture with them - if you'll excuse me."
Her shoulders droop a little, and the prickling is getting worse, until he feels like his chest is heating up. "Oh," she whispers, then smiles again, even when she can't fake an expression for her life. "Okay. I'll just-"
He leaves.
The post-graduation party - hosted by the Kurosawas, real estate moguls - this year is a masquerade ball. It's not meant to be a graduation party, but the timing coincides the two, so many of the seniors view it as such, anyways.
It takes place in a breathtaking manor in the countryside, built in the 18th century and complete with ornate mouldings and gold-gilded walls and panels, just a few days following their graduation ceremony. It's one of the bigger events of the year, complete with carriages and a fully decked backyard (more field than yard), and Nanao would have sighed that it looked like a scene from The Great Gatsby, with the way the mansion glowed with all the bright lights from the inside.
This thought jarrs him and he schools his expression into indifference once more. He's not accompanying Nanao tonight.
She's left him twelve text messages, eleven missed calls, four bouquets of hyacinths and- most recently, a voice mail. He hasn't looked at any of those things, hasn't cared to, because he knows that it'd be much easier to ignore her sad mewling if he didn't look at it.
He exits the limousine after his parents, adjusts his tuxedo jacket with a sharp flick of his wrist. In one hand, he has a papery thin, understatedly elegant black mask; it won't do much to hide his identity, what with his signature colored hair and impossible to mistake chiseled features (Gakuto would choke, here), but then, with their society, they held masquerade balls for the glitz and the opportunity to dress up, not to really 'hide themselves.'
He slips on the mask and steps inside into the blinding light of the crystal chandeliers.
The party is gorgeous, and even he is suitably impressed. The Kurosawas must have gone all out, he notes, watching the impossibly high ceilings - because there, he finds multiple acrobats dressed in sparkling suits strewn with crystals, spinning down, down, secured only by red silk ties. Aerial dancers.
The lights are almost blinding, and the music floats over from a live orchestra on one side of the ballroom. All of society's privileged darlings are here tonight, from the blue blooded Fujioka heir to his father's jewel business, to the admittedly less-glamorous Nakano heiress of the cleaning supplies manufacturer. But everyone here is wealthy, sinfully so, and those with too much money and time on their hands had always been known to indulge themselves.
Hence, the towering fountain of bubbling champagne.
"When are you gonna stop with the 'fashionably late' shit," he hears, and when he turns his head he has a smirk ready for Gakuto, who rolls his eyes and downs the rest of his drink. Gakuto's wearing a sharp, dark maroon suit that's a few shades darker than his hair, and his faintly shimmering mask is a little skewed.
"He probably even came out of his mother's womb a few minutes late, for the extra flair," Shishido mutters from beside him. Shishido's mask is completely off, hanging by the ribbon from around his neck.
This time it's Atobe who rolls his eyes, but it's fond, the way the light shimmers from his eyes when he gazes at them. He's glad that they'll all be going to college together. But then again, Hyotei students had always been known for their lasting connections - the world of the rich is a very small sort of place, after all, and the connections forged at Hyotei are not easily forgotten (and nor should they be).
"Where's-"
"Yuushi?" Gakuto anticipates. "Where do you think?"
"In some unsavory closet with an equally unsavory girl," Atobe murmurs. A waiter waltzes by and offers him a savory treat from the tray he's carrying, but he instead takes the thin flute of champagne on another waitress's plate.
Shishido snorts. "I feel like we should be different. Like, more excited."
Gakuto wrinkles his nose. "About what?"
"I'unno. I mean. We just graduated high school - shouldn't we be like, partying, or summat?"
"In case it's escaped your notice, Ryou, that's what we're doing right now," Atobe says lightly. He takes a delicate sip of his drink.
"You know what I mean," Shishido huffs. "I just feel like maybe we should be more excited about graduating."
"Why? We've had three years of expecting it." Gakuto shrugs, unperturbed. His hand finds purchase on a new glass of champagne from another passing waiter (there are very many, Keigo notes, all carrying some sort of food morsel or alcoholic beverage as they weave through the crowd). Gakuto downs it in one go, head thrown back and red hair fanning out. "I mean, either way. I'm getting drunk. So."
"Same," Shishido agrees. "Let's go to the bar and get some actual drinks."
"Thank god," Gakuto crows. "I just didn't want to be the first fuck to cave and head over to the bar. Was trying to wait until it gets to an 'acceptable' hour to get drunk."
"Keigo- you coming?"
And Atobe ponders it, for about a second, before deciding against getting massively wasted at the same party his parents are attending. The adults in their society aren't naive or daft, know that when they provide their children with limitless resources, it probably means that they're getting into things that aren't very legal. But they don't mind, and in fact, encourage it if it means that they're socializing with the appropriate peers.
But being drunk, in front of his parents and their peers, is just on this side of unacceptable in his father's eyes. So he declines, and he shifts, because he's just caught a glimpse of Yuushi somewhere in the distance.
"Suit yourself - movie night at Choutarou's next week, remember!" Gakuto calls after him as he and Shishido make their way to the bar.
Oshitari's seen Atobe, too, for he's currently making his way over. So Atobe waits calmly, sipping at his dwindling glass of champagne and watching the milling crowd around him; when the other boy finally arrives, Atobe quirks a sharp brow. "No she-wolf with you tonight?"
Oshitari looks far too gleeful when he says "Oh no, she is," he assures. "She just had to kip to the parlor room for a bit."
Atobe rolls his eyes.
"So speaking of dates-"
Atobe levels him a sharp glance. "Please don't."
"Keigo," Oshitari sighs. "It's been long enough. You need to at least talk to her."
"I really don't have anything-"
"Even if it's to tell her that you want nothing to do with her ever again, you need to say something."
That makes Atobe pause. And the words- nothing to do with her makes something curl in his stomach, and it's suspiciously close to aversion. That was the whole problem, wasn't it? That they were far too close, that the idea of going forever without speaking to one another is something that makes him stand a little straighter with rigid shoulders and an uncomfortable air.
Because they'd been so close, and she hadn't said a word at all. And what did that make him, then?
"Perhaps," Atobe allows, because he can't quite make any promises. He doesn't want to tell her he'll never speak to her again, but at the same time, he can't really bring himself to want to talk to her, and he doesn't know when he'll want to. Perhaps soon, perhaps never, and he feels a budding ache in his head.
"Do you even know when she's leaving?"
No.
Atobe doesn't respond, but the thin stretch of his lips must tip Oshitari off, for he sighs again. "I still think you should hear her out." Atobe looks like he's about to protest, so Oshitari hurries with his next words: "I know you're upset, and I know why you are, but- I think you and I both know that Nanao would never intentionally hurt anyone, much less you. At least give her a chance to explain."
Despite his exterior of cool smiles and an unruffled mannerism at all times, Oshitari Yuushi is fiercely protective of Atobe Keigo - which is hilarious, because Atobe Keigo doesn't need protection at all (but then, he actually does). He'd be the first to cut off all contact with someone who was foolish enough to upset his friend, would be the first in line to give them a cutting remark sharp enough to make them bleed.
But this is Suzuki Nanao, and he's seen the way she clutches feebly at her binder when she glances at Keigo only to find him resolutely not looking at her, the way shadows seem to be lingering under her eyes. And it's saddening, because he knows that she's sorry, that she's torn up about it all, and because he really does think that the last thing she'd ever want to do is hurt Keigo in any way.
She may have hurt Keigo, but with her, it wouldn't be too far fetched to say that it upsets her ten times as much at the mere idea of upsetting Keigo, so he can't quite bring himself to be as harsh with her as he ought to be.
Oshitari leans in to press a comforting hand against his shoulder. "She'd rather walk across a board of nails than ever hurt you - you know that."
He does.
And that's why it hurts even more.
Atobe doesn't particularly enjoy this conversation, however, so he briefly squeezes Oshitari's wrist just to show him a thanks for his concern, but he brushes past his friend's shoulder and disappears into the crowd.
He drowns himself in social politics for a while, smiling charmingly and making all the right remarks to the right people. Even when it gets tiring, even when it reaches the point where he'd have typically taken a break- would have typically sought out Nanao's grounding presence, pressed his nose into her hair and breathed deeply just to center himself before he has to shake hands with another CEO or politician -he doesn't, and just keeps forging on, drowning himself in fake smiles and sharp comments.
It's been a while since he's had to go an entire party without taking a break from society. It's strange, because he'd been doing it well enough for seventeen flawless years and never breaking a sweat, never even noticing how exhausting it was - until Nanao had stumbled in, until she'd hesitantly grasped his hand and let him breathe and shut out their pretty, pretty world for a few minutes at a time.
He realizes it now - how it drains him whenever he's at one of these functions - that he doesn't have her guileless person at his side, that he doesn't have her to whisper inconsequential secrets to. He remembers the way the two would be too wrapped up in private conversations whenever the chance arose to really even pay attention to the silly goings on around them, and it makes his head ache a little more.
And his headache reminds him of how she'd always offered him an honest smile with no implications whatsoever as she slid over to give him more room on the couch, let him rest there with no questions asked whenever he had his mild migraines.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
And he finds himself inexplicably angry, that she's made herself a goddamn permanent residence in his day-to-day routine, right before making him disappointed in her. If she'd been disappointing from the start, at least, he wouldn't be this upset now.
He sees one of his father's business executives heading towards him and he suddenly can't take it anymore, feels the walls closing in on him and cutting off his air when he doesn't even have his supply beside him anymore. So he turns his head, pretends not to see the man approaching him, and he briskly makes his way through the crowd and towards the first empty balcony he sees.
He closes the glass doors behind him and thanks god that they're swathed in thick, velvet curtains, so that no prying eyes can find the Atobe heir alone and approach him. He pulls out his cell phone from his pocket to mindlessly scroll through his emails, as he's wont to do when he's feeling a bit- frazzled. It's calming.
But then he sees the notification reminding him that he has one unheard voicemail sitting in his box, waiting, draping a stifling weight on his shoulders.
He's not going to listen to it.
He's not.
But he's read through all his emails, his text messages, and the only thing left to do is go back inside - which he really, really can't do right now. And-
"I still think you should hear her out. I know you're upset, and I know why you are, but- I think you and I both know that Nanao would never intentionally hurt anyone, much less you. At least give her a chance to explain."
Atobe curses silently under his breath. Fucking Yuushi.
With a deep sigh, he presses on the notification and pulls his phone up to his ear.
"Keigo, I'm- I won't call anymore, because I don't think I ought to, not after so many times; instead I'll just leave you this message. I just- I'm so sorry. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you, and I'm sorry that I kept so many things from you, and I'm just- I'm just sorry. And I miss you, and it's a bit of an awful mess that I've made, isn't it? I hope you'll call me back, because there's so many things I want to tell you, to explain, and I hope you'll understand that I really need to do this. But I don't think I can go without this knotting in my stomach if you stay upset with me, because you're so, so important to me, I swear, and I-"
The voicemail reaches its limit and cuts her off, but he can still taste the frantic note of her voice in the back of his throat. It's sour.
What upsets him most of all is that she's managed to pinpoint exactly why he's upset - that she hadn't told him, not that she's going, like Oshitari seems to think. That she knows him well enough to realize what the things that matter are, and that even without speaking to him, she's saying these things- you're so, so important to me -that are hitting the nail on the head, so to speak.
He resents her for it, just a little bit.
Atobe lowers the phone wordlessly, lips pressed into a hard line, and he stares out at the rolling hills for a few minutes.
He really does need to talk to her.
He's still angry, and disappointed, but he needs to talk to her, needs to-
Atobe stiffens when he hears the balcony doors opening and shutting. It makes him want to laugh, just a little bit, at himself, for being able to recognize who it was just by the shuffle of their feet along the floor, the little, too-careful and quiet clicks of heels along the stone. God, this is awful.
She doesn't say anything, though, let's him take the initiative to turn around when he wants to - which is after he breathes and closes his eyes for a few more minutes, to collect his thoughts. (She's always been so terribly patient, all the time, about everything, and he hates how she makes it so easy).
He pauses for a second when he finally does.
He refrains from blinking and widening his eyes the way he might have if he had less control over his features, but he's an Atobe, so he doesn't. Instead, he glances her up and down - and for a second, he's a bit surprised that he hadn't noticed her in the crowd until now. He'd always managed to spot her in a crowd, even before, just because her features were so committed to his memory and so familiar that it was easy to.
Today, though, he thinks that she might catch others' eyes just as easily.
It's the first party in a while that he hasn't selected her dress for her, and he hadn't even really thought about it, but if he does, he'd have thought that what she wore wouldn't be very impressive.
But it is.
She's wearing this admittedly stunning ball gown, a dark nude pink and sparkling with jewels sewn delicately across the fabric - there's a gorgeous, ornate pattern in glittering beads and glimmering crystals, and it manages to be delicately light nonetheless. The back of her dress parts to reveal layers upon layers of chiffon, and it creates this fanned out figure in her skirt, and her hair is held up to reveal her thin shoulders and delicate collarbones.*
He thinks she looks sort of wonderful, and it makes the resentment in his chest burn a bit brighter, just a little.
There's an achingly unsure expression flickering in her eyes.
And for all of her pretty makeup - the glitter on her eyes and the flush on her cheeks - she looks half-exhausted, expression riddled with anxiety when she peers up at him through fluttering lashes. "Keigo," she starts, fingers fumbling with the front of her dress.
"Don't do that," he murmurs almost absentmindedly. "You'll ruin the beading."
She drops the fabric immediately. She quirks her lips into a small, almost helpless smile. "Oh. Right."
A few moments pass in silence.
"Can I- Are you-"
He decides to save her the agony. "Talk."
Nanao visibly sags in what seems to be relief. "I- I'm so sorry," she breathes, hands clutching at one another. "I just- I don't really know where to start. It- I never meant to hide it from you. It's just that...I felt like this was something I needed to do on my own, that this was something taht should be entirely mine, you know?"
Keigo had his tennis. Perhaps he didn't know, but Nanao saw, the way he lit up from the inside out when he played, the way that he commanded the courts was reminiscent of a king settling into his throne. It was breathtaking and awe-inspiring, and the sheer ecstasy brimming from his figure as he played was something that she'd always, always envied. She hadn't known what it was, until Megumi had put a label on it: passion.
And where was hers, she'd wondered. She didn't have one, but she desperately wanted it, craved it in a way a man who'd gone a thousand days without water would crave an oasis. She'd resigned herself to attending Tokyo U and perhaps studying business, because then she could apply it to a wide variety of ways after graduation - or literature.
But then she'd met Keigo, and-
"I'd always been content not to have a thing. Like- Like Gakuto-kun's thing is acrobatics, and Yuushi-kun is a 'genius,' and you're- you're you, and tennis makes you so happy that it almost makes me like it even though I don't know a thing about it. And I'd been okay, with not having something like that, until I met you."
Atobe stirs a little.
"It's just- I met you, and I've seen the way you look when you play, and I just- I just began coveting it a lot, that way your eyes shine when you step on the courts. I wanted it, and I- I couldn't tell you, because this had to be mine, see? If someone else found something for me to try liking, it wouldn't be the same, so I- I didn't tell anyone, and I began reading all these books and going everywhere and seeing what excited me and then...I found architecture."
She takes a deep breath.
"And it kind of all barreled forward from there and I never even really had time to think about it. I just started- just started drawing buildings in my art class and the teacher picked them up and then tossed this brochure at me and told me to apply and I did and suddenly I was accepted when I'd never dreamed of it, and suddenly everything was so real and it was happening and I...I wasn't going to go."
And Atobe frowns sharply. What did this idiot mean, she wasn't going to go? Angry or not, it was obviously clear to him that she had to, that he'd drag her to the airport by her hair and kick her off to Barcelona if that's what it took - god, she was so fucking hopeless-
"It's just- it's just so much larger than anything I'd ever dreamt I'd be a part of. And. And I had plans, and you know how it's hard for me to do anything else than what I'd meticulously planned for years, and Tokyo U was the plan, but-"
She peers up at him through these helpless eyes and it makes his resolve waver, just a bit. "Keigo. Keigo. I don't- I don't really understand it myself, but there's this weird thing flickering in my chest that makes me feel like I can't breathe if I think about not going, and it's- I want to do it, I want to go so bad, and it, it makes me happy and I don't even really understand what's happening-"
"Passion." It's a soft, quiet murmur, but Nanao's keen ears catch it and her eyes snap up from where they'd been staring at the floor to meet Atobe's eyes.
"...yeah," she half-breathes, half-sighs. "And I- there's nothing I wouldn't tell you, I swear, and I wanted to, but...you and Yuushi-kun and Minako are all terribly clever and know what you want to do, but I'd always been drifting, and I- I really wanted to figure this out myself. And I...I know Barcelona is far, but. I. I think I need to do this. For me."
Because Nanao so rarely indulged herself, rarely did things for herself rather than to make someone else happy. Everything she did - studying, picking up belts, choosing food - revolved around what others might want, around this almost compulsive consideration for others that Atobe had never really liked all that much.
This was her chance. To do something, just for her, even if it might make others unhappy - especially if it made others unhappy, because hadn't Keigo taught her to do the things that made her happy, even if it may not be what others expected from her?
She takes a tentative step forward, then another, then another, until they're almost, almost in the same close proximity they're used to. She stops there though, and doesn't take the final step forward. "Please let me go," she whispers.
It's not that she's asking him for permission to go, because she's already made her decision, because it's not really something he has to give. But she's- She so desperately hopes that he'll approve, that he'll send her off with a smile and his support, because this is all so terrifying: suddenly swerving into an entirely different route than she'd previously planned, and she doesn't know if she can do it, not without the familiar comforting weight of Keigo's arm draped around her shoulder.
She can, she corrects herself, but it's-
She wants him there anyway.
He knows what she's asking in a heartbeat, because they've always understood one another in this way.
He understands, and for a moment, he pauses, tries to really let her rambled words settle in. And they do. Settle in: they fall slowly, press against his skin with soft touches and a gentle weight, until they fully make themselves at home and press themselves along his shoulders and his arms. Her words gradually cement themselves into his mind, and he's.
He's not so upset anymore.
He still is, just a bit, but he gets it, he understands, and for now, that's all that matters.
He sighs.
Nanao freezes.
And then: "You're such an idiot." But it's said in that fond, warm tone he's always used when he says that to her, and it's an affectionate sort of drawl. Nanao half-collapses in relief when she hears it, pitches herself forward and wraps her arms tightly around his torso because she's missed him, missed her friend and confidante and her relief is so large it's palpable.
"Thank you," she murmurs into his shirt. "And I'm- I'm sorry."
He doesn't say anything for a little while, just lets Nanao clutch at his shirt like a lifeline, before letting out a long-suffering sigh. "And there is no way in hell you're not going to Barcelona, so don't try to taint Ore-sama's lovely atmosphere with any more talk of that."
This is how she knows that he's not mad anymore - a little miffed and still a little sore, but not upset.
He drapes an easy arm around her shoulder and pulls her in even though there's no more space between them, just crushes her a little to his chest and she doesn't mind, just crushes him right back.
This is how she knows they'll be alright.
And if they spend the rest of the night tightly wound together, then, well.
Atobe still has his social duties, of course, but he hurries through them a little more than usual, takes less time making cordial goodbyes and cuts down the list of people to talk to to the bare minimum necessary. His charm is back tenfold, and it takes him half the time than usual to have the politicians and businessmen laughing and growing enamored with him; he enraptures people like a factory-line: quickly, efficiently, methodically and without a glitch in the system.
As soon as he's done he glides smoothly back to Nanao's side, wherever she may be (though half the time, she's quite near, as though she's been hovering close by, too - and it momentarily makes him wonder if this is a bit odd, the way that they sometimes gravitate around one another even in a ballroom as big as this). This time, she's watching one of the main aerial dancers swing wide across the ceiling, eyes glittering with fascination and her little fan concealing the smile she's no doubt wearing. It's the first time tonight she hasn't noticed him approaching, so he does so easily, leans against her from behind and loosely circles her waist with his arms until he can lean his cheek against her head.
She startles just a bit, but manages to keep her fan upright.
He takes the small privacy the fan offers to press an affectionate kiss to her cheek, then to the corner of her lips, things he'd never quite do in the open (because their society may know that they're in a relationship, may splash them affectionately across the pages of a newspaper, but kissing in public, Atobe-san, is much too common a thing to do).
Nanao gives him a small, happy smile, and he kind of likes that the fan hides it from the rest of the room, too.
They don't venture far from each other for the rest of the party, and for no reason at all Nanao sometimes shuffles forward to slip her hand into his, quietly. He'll squeeze her fingers briefly, and she'll give him a tiny, private smile in response, and she'll catch the way one eye closes playfully, just for her. They're sort of- fascinated with each other, re-memorizing the lines of each other's features and re-familiarizing themselves with the slopes and dips of the other, sharing all the jokes and comments they'd built up in their heads in the time they're apart.
Because-
When they're apart, Nanao finds that she has no one tell about the beautiful lines she reads in some of the books she's found, that she doesn't quite have anybody who'll be as interested in the gorgeous blue velvet jacket that nobody would ever have anywhere to wear it to, that nobody is quite as genuinely interested when she wants to babble about the fact that she's considering taking a cooking class.
And when Nanao isn't there, Atobe finds himself turning to whisper something secret to the shadow of a girl who he's forgotten isn't with him, finds himself parting his lips to express his sudden desire to try grilled cheese sandwiches, the ones he'd never gotten to as a child, but then realizes there's nobody around that he can admit this to (because the only person he can isn't there, is somewhere else, and not within arm's reach).
They have all these things, all these inconsequential but deathly important little things that they've bitten their tongue on saying in each other's absence, things that built up until they each have so many secrets to whisper to each other now that they're speaking again.
So now, it's rather impossible to get in a word edgewise, to get Atobe's attention or to draw Nanao's conversation to anything or anyone else, not when they're standing in a room full of people but looking as if though they're the only two in the world, heads bowed and eyes glimmering with a private amusement.
Oshitari doesn't mind, though, only smiles and tightens his grip on Minako's hand, just a little bit, fondness overflowing in his gaze.
Minako doesn't have any such fondness- she doesn't, she swears, she really doesn't.
Atobe's parents are on a private jet to Paris for another gala just an hour before the masquerade is set to end - all without having said a single word of congratulations or acknowledgement, not about his graduation nor his honors. And perhaps before, he'd have been upset, both with his parents and himself for even allowing himself to be affected by it; perhaps he'd have spent the night the way he did his junior high graduation, alternating between charming the fucking hell out of anyone who dared to look at him and taking sips of vodka. Because- the more you fail to recognize me, the bigger, more important I'll become, until your very sight is eclipsed by my presence, until you'll be left with not even room to turn your head without looking at me-
Not unlike a petulant child whinging for his parents' attention, just in a very intense, very calculated, Atobe-esque sort of way, as Yuushi had once put it.
But tonight, he almost doesn't even notice his parents leaving the ballroom, his mother collecting her lush fur coat from the coat check, his father just barely giving him a small nod of goodbye over the heads of the party attendants. He's got Nanao by the hand, twirling her around in the way that delights her, and for tonight, he's alright with not having received his father's nonexistent validation, simply because-
She kind of looks at him with these eyes that are adoring and admiring and affectionate and she knows him, knows his little moods and triumphs and downfalls and she still looks at him like there's something special about him and-
It's not his parents' approval, but it's enough.
He still feels this small sting in his stomach, but he just pulls Nanao in (instead of the twirl he was supposed to send her out in), tucks her against his chest and she folds compliantly, fits along his edges in a well-practiced sort of way. And she must think it odd, that he'd pull her in in the middle of a dance for seemingly no reason at all, but- but she's Nanao, so she gets it, even if she doesn't understand, and all she does is press a warm hand to his cheek and hum a little tune in his ear.
And he's alright again, for a little while.
He even pauses and hands Nanao off to Oshitari's politely outstretched hand- May I have this dance, miss? -to take a hold of Shigohara Minako's. He almost doesn't want to, but then that'd seem like he was running away, and damn it, he'd out-tango her if it was the last thing he ever did. They tango, then, and he's brilliant but he'd never admit that she's quite good, too. He catches Nanao watching with bemusement in her eyes, and dips Minako a little lower just for show; Nanao laughs, bright and open.
His parents are home and Nanao's are on their way to the Hanazono's countryside villa for an adults' bridge game, so Atobe sweeps Nanao into his limousine with practiced ease. For a brief moment, he considers bringing Oshitari and Minako, too, but he catches the way they're already trailing their hands over one another, and decides against it.
They arrive at his home. She's a bit drowsy, if her slow, lethargic movements are anything to go by, but he easily tugs her along by their joined hands, holding her heels in the other hand; she pads along, bare-footed on the cold marble floor. She's long since memorized the pathway to his room, so she does so with half-closed eyes and her forehead occasionally brushing against the back of Atobe's shoulder, more content to be led than to do anything else.
When they're finally behind closed doors - finally, after hours of being under the scrutiny of the cameras and the calculating stares - she watches how Atobe's shoulders droop just a little, how his face relaxes into soft lines and open expressions, and she kind of likes how he's willing to do so when she's around. His fingers are nimbly undoing his tie, but it gets caught on a particular knot.
Nanao steps forward, gently grasps the tie and pulls it free from his neck, glances up at where his hair is no longer styled and is half-messy from where he's run his hands through it in the car. "There," she murmurs, a small smile curving her lips. "Better- I like you better like this." A pause, then a soft, genuine laugh. "Imperfect."
That kind of ruins him, just a little bit.
He stares at her with an unreadable expression for a few moments, where Nanao fidgets and peers up at him through an increasingly worried expression. "What?" she whispers.
He doesn't really answer.
Instead, he ducks forward and presses a hard, almost brutal kiss on her lips, brings his hands forward to clasp at the curve of her cheeks and traces the line of her cheekbones with his thumbs. She half-gasps, half-breathes into it, and he can feel the small puffs of air inside his mouth; he only pulls her closer, one hand pressing against the small of her back so that they're pressed together, and she wraps her own arms around his shoulders.
He has a thousand things he wants to say- I'm quite enchanted by you or you're a far more stunning creature than people realize or thank you or Barcelona, but he's never been one to express the most important things in words. So instead, he traces his affection in the little patterns he draws on her skin, the way he trails his finger down the side of her face and smiles a little crookedly at her wide eyes and earnest expression. When he pushes her gently against the wall behind her, slides his lips along the bridge of her nose while deftly pulling out the pins holding her hair up in place, it's his manner of saying I'll miss you.
He watches her hair come tumbling down to frame her face.
He leans in to kiss her again, gentler, softer this time, but his weight cradles her against the wall until there's no space in between them, and it's comforting. His hands, at her waist, slide down before suddenly tugging and lifting upwards- and he holds her up by her thighs, the folds of her lovely, lovely dress soft against his hands and crinkled in a disarray. Her back rests against the wall and her legs are around his waist, and she's taller than him for the first time, has to peer down at him instead of the other way around.
She's pliant and soft, all flesh and delicate limbs, and it's easy to maneuver her because they move in accordance with one another, the way they always have. He likes to trail his lips along her neck, her collarbone, her weight a familiar presence in his arms.
Their kissing isn't as harsh or as fervent anymore, they're-
They're small, just little pecks where their lips meet for brief seconds before tugging away, and he kind of likes the way that there's space in between their kisses for him to see the way she smiles down at him with all this aching affection, the way she brushes away a stray lock of hair and draws little swirls on his cheek.
"Hey," he murmurs.
Nanao's smile is sheepish, almost embarrassed. "Hi," she breathes back, and kisses his cheek.
He smiles softly, and it's crooked, and it makes her inordinately happy.
In the morning, he wakes up shortly after ten, loose-limbed and hair free. His muscles are relaxed and his expression is open and not poised at all, but he doesn't really mind; he peers beside him and she's still asleep, cheek pressed haphazardly to the pillow and one hand half-curled beside her lips. He rather likes it, and he thinks that perhaps he understands why Yuushi is so eager to take Shigohara to bed every night - not for the night, but perhaps for the morning after.
(Then he thinks again, and decides that no, those two idiots definitely enjoy the night much more than is normal).
He lifts his tablet from the nightstand and takes his time to scroll through the latest headlines, the stocks and his emails.
Nanao wakes up when it's nearly eleven. He's always liked the way she wakes up - slowly at first, with drowsy eyes and a painfully open expression, then all at once, eyes blinking into clarity and focus. She does so now, and he can tell when she's completely awake, because her cheeks flush a faint red and she recedes back into the covers, just a little bit.
He rolls his eyes and nudges her feet with his own.
Her blush grows a little redder, but he finds it endearing all the same. He laughs and shifts so that he's only holding the tablet with one hand, and kind of half-outstretches his other arm. Nanao pauses, and despite the now-fading blush on her cheeks, she shifts in until her head is pressed against the side of his ribcage anyway, under his arm. If she's really quiet, she thinks she can pretend that she can hear the quiet thuds of his beating heart; his skin is warm against hers and she likes him like this, comfortable and lax and not perfect at all, lines askew and limbs haphazard and loose.
She parts her lips to say I'll miss you then stops, and is suddenly overcome with hesitation, because- because they'd never discussed this, never even discussed what'd happen to them when they went to college. Because as much as Keigo twirls her around the ballroom, he's still- he's still set to be engaged to someone in the future, at an indefinite time. He's mentioned that he thinks his father will do it as he approaches his college graduation, but he's not quite sure; and now, now that she's leaving for a full year-
What does this mean about them?
Are they-
She's frozen at this sudden thought, too-still and much-too quiet, and Atobe notices. He nudges her slightly, brow furrowed and his eyes easily reading her expression. He seems as if he's about to say something but his phone rings, and he slides out of bed to answer it.
From the corner of his eye, he peers at her: looking rather small in the center of the bed, clutching the comforter to her chest with her bare arms, collarbones jutting outwards from the way she's hunched. He murmurs something about changes in the stocks and projection models, but closes one eye half-playfully towards Nanao, who offers a soft laugh.
It's a week until she leaves. Her plane ticket is booked - first class - and her bags are packed, for the most part, boxes of her things (funny, isn't it, how you can pack up your life into just a few boxes after eighteen years) shipped off to her Barcelona address already. She's already been making her farewells to her closest friends, had already exchanged contact information with those she hopes to stay in touch with; Oshitari has her new number and address, and they'd promised to send each other packages (he'd send her tea and she'd send him whatever trinkets she found in Barcelona).
By the time it's the week of her departure, there's really only one loose end she's yet to tie up.
Said loose end is currently elegantly sprawled across her bed, one hand on the remote as he flips through the various news channels and clucking his tongue with disapproval at whatever political mess is going on. It's been a week and a half since the masquerade, and in that time, he hasn't said a word about the state of their relationship for when she leaves for a year. They've talked about-
-everything but the burning question in Nanao's head, actually.
They've spent the time wrapped up in one another. Their world had always been a bit exclusive and private, had always felt like something too intimate for anyone to ever intrude, but it doubled in the week following the party. They spent all their hours (free with no school) together, feet touching and heads bent towards one another, sometimes talking and at other times, doing nothing but breathing in one another's presence.
He liked to watch the news with his head pillowed on her stomach and she liked to read through brochures of Spain while tucked underneath his arm.
They still have to make appearances at the various parties their peers have taken to throwing every day or so, but they do it with an air of nonchalance, wander in an hour after they've started and stick to themselves and their small circle. When nobody's looking, he'll kiss her, smile smugly when she half-giggles into his mouth, pull her body against his until they're pressed flush against one another.
It's after one of these parties that she takes a stumbled step backwards, into a wall, a breathless laugh slipping from her lips. They're in an empty hallway, just the two of them, and she's got her hand on his collar and he's got his on her waist. "Hey," she murmurs. He catches the small somber tone slipping through her words and pauses.
"Mm?"
They've got a bit of alcohol buzzing in their veins, and perhaps it's what's given her the final push to muster up the words- "What's going to happen?"
A pause.
"To us. I mean. When- when I go to Spain."
He straightens up. Fixes his shirt, dusts off his sleeve, looks down the hall with so much careless nonchalance it aches. He looks back at her, quirks his head to the side. "I don't know."
She deflates a bit.
"You figure it out," are his next words, and her eyes snap up to face him, wide.
What?
"I'm tired of always doing the thinking." He reaches out to flick off a bit of dust that's landed on her shoulder, a picture of casual calm. "Get back to me on it."
Needless to say, Nanao spends the next couple of days in unprecedented anguish. Because what did Keigo mean, 'figure it out,' that he's 'tired of always doing the thinking'-? This wasn't- This wasn't the way they worked.
He led, she followed.
That was them. That was what they did, that was what she did - she's not very afraid to admit it herself, that she's never quite been a natural born leader, not the way Keigo was, not the way her older siblings were. And that was never a big deal to her. Perhaps, had she been the only child of the Suzuki's, it would have been a bigger matter. But as it were, she was the youngest, and it was a natural part of the world: there were leaders, and then there were followers.
She had always been quite content in being the latter. It was almost comforting, really, to simply have tasks delegated to her to follow, because if nothing Suzuki Nanao was competent. Perhaps not the most decisive, but she always followed rules to a tee, always delivered with perfect handiwork.
Beyond that, there was nothing to 'figure out.' Because between the two of them, this thing that they have - how could she ever come to the conclusion that she wanted anything but for it to not end? She's had thoughts, before, that perhaps it'd be okay; that as long as she got to have Keigo as a friend, in any way possible, it'd be alright. But then she thinks that it'd take a very, very long while for her to stop being sad, that it'd take a lot of heartache and tears, too.
It wasn't her place, though.
She wasn't the one with the impending arranged marriage, and she had never been the one to call the shots in their relationship - not in the way it started, not in the way continued, and certainly not whether it ended or not. It wasn't her place to ask, it wasn't her place to demand it, either; so she'd been waiting for Keigo to say something, to give her a decision, but then he-
He doesn't even act as though anything has changed, though, as though he hasn't sent her into a tailspin of fretting and panic. He sips his tea and reads over the morning paper, nudges his foot against hers underneath the table like he always does.
She manages to give him a strained smile.
Nanao almost even goes to Minako for advice. Shigohara Minako, who's contemplating forgoing college altogether for a completely different career choice - one that's unexpected and at the same time so obvious that it makes Nanao wonder how she's never seen it before. Nonetheless, she admires Minako for doing so; but then, she'd always been the type to charge, undaunted, towards anything she wants.
She even makes it as far as to say "I don't really know what'll happen to us. When I leave."
But Minako gives her a cool stare over her designer shades and takes a sip of her mimosa. "Well if you want my opinion, darling, you're better off dropping him and finding a lovely boy overseas - don't you know that Spain exports the best hunks in the world?"
When Nanao frowns, Minako laughs.
"I'm kidding," she says, but the expression on her face says I'm really not. She leans back in her chair and crosses her mile-long legs. "Well, what do you want to happen?"
Nanao freezes.
Minako rolls her eyes.
"You need to keep shying away from voicing what you want. It's strange."
How was Nanao to say what she wanted, when she wasn't sure if she was allowed to ask for it in the first place-? She watches Minako take another sip of her drink. "You need to start acting more- entitled. We have a right to everything we want - and even if we don't, there's nothing we can't buy, anyway."
It's the day before her flight.
She spends it with Keigo, drinking tea and eating biscuits in his lovely garden, exchanging quiet words in a muted atmosphere. She thinks that one might normally expect Atobe to do something large and over-the-top for her last day - that they'd do something crazy and exciting and perhaps even go to a party. But they don't.
Instead, they spend the day as they would any other day, and she thinks that if this is the last thing she'd remember doing with Keigo, she'd prefer it to be this - their usual routine, with trivial secrets exchanged between them, than the grand lights and fanfares of yacht parties or parasailing. After all, she'd learned to like him when he confessed that he had no earthly idea how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, dressed in a loose shirt and hair undone, not when he was charming his way into politicians' hearts in a sharp designer suit that cost a fortune.
The only thing that puts her on edge is the still undetermined status of their relationship, and how her year abroad would affect it. She wants to keep it, wants it so bad, wants to- please, please let her keep this darling, beautiful boy that she hopelessly adores- but it's not her place to ask.
She couldn't.
Not when she knows how Keigo, despite his arrogance, tries his hardest to give everything his friends have ever wanted, no matter the cost to him. Not when she knows how it'd upset him to know how much she likes him, simply because he'd blame himself for the circumstances, not when he has so much to lose.
So she bundles up her words and her fervent hope that perhaps this thing would last, swallows it down and tries not to choke on it.
Instead, she forces down cake and tea and sweets down her throat, manages to smile brightly at Atobe from across the table.
Nanao says goodbye to her family at home. She asks that they don't take her to the airport, because she knows that Jun has a deadline and Megumi has an exam coming and that her parents both have business to attend to. They try to come anyways, even make it all the way to the door, when Nanao insists they stay behind - it's alright, and she'll be coming home for the holidays and she's certain that they'll visit her lots. It's alright; really.
Instead, it's Keigo who comes to the door to pick her up. Oshitari's with him, and he produces a lovely box of chocolates for her to eat on the plane ride; he offers his apologies that Minako couldn't make it - she has a dance recital. (Minako swears up and down that even if she didn't, she wouldn't have come to see Nanao off, because she has better things to do than to waste her time at an airport; but Oshitari smiles a little, because for someone who had absolutely no thoughts of seeing someone off, she sure has Nanao's flight schedule memorized rather well).
Atobe, for his part, casually helps her into the car, plays with her hair and murmurs things in her ear that makes her laugh. For a second, it's easy to pretend that the three of them are going to school, or to a party, instead of barreling towards a plane that's going to take her far, far away. For a second, it's easy to forget that she still doesn't know what's going to happen to them.
But the thought is still there, clinging to the back of her mind, making her sick and fretful and makes her wrangle her fingers together in nervousness.
They get to the airport and Oshitari excuses himself to look up some flights to Paris or whatever ("You don't even know if Minako's going to make it all the way to Paris," Atobe had huffed, only to get a distinctly unimpressed expression from Oshitari. "Really, Keigo, if any designer takes one look at her legs and doesn't want her walking for them-").
He bids Nanao a farewell with a kiss to her cheek and a promise to write her an email whenever he can.
And then, it's just the two of them.
She fidgets for a little bit, until Atobe rolls his eyes and pulls her in by her arm until she stumbles into him. Her arms come to wrap around his shoulders in one of her too-tight hugs, lacking all the finesse and grace and cordiality that the hugs he'd gotten from his mother had but so much warmer a hold, and he presses his nose to the side of her head. "Please, for the love of god," he whispers.
"What?" she murmurs.
"Take an actual Spanish class once you're there. Please."
Nanao can't help the laugh that bubbles up in her throat, sheepish and delighted all at once. She leans back to nod anyway, eyes bright, then pecks him softly on the cheek once. "I promise."
"And don't go around doing favors for everyone your first week there, or they're all going to realize you're hopeless and keep using you for the rest of the time."
Nanao nods again.
"And never," he emphasizes, a stern gaze in his eyes, "do anyone a favor as crazy as pretending to be their fake girlfriend."
Nanao laughs again. But this time it's a little wet, as tears have started to gather at the corners of her eyes, and her cheeks are flushed and her nose is equally as red. Because she can't help remembering, remembering everything from the moment she'd first seen him during her first year of junior high, to watching him read Greek literature as flawlessly as someone native to Greece, to-
"Ore-sama can do anything," Atobe inserted, placing his teacup down with a gentle thud. "Besides, who would be crazy enough to reject the chance to be the fake girlfriend of Ore-sama?"
Did anyone in this room realize how wrong that statement was, on how many levels, beside herself?
"It would be utmost wise of you to agree, Suzuki-san," Oshitari added with a brilliant smile.
How had she ever thought that he was insane, she wonders, looking up at the way he has a small quirk on his lips.
He leans in now to press his lips against her forehead, and her lashes flutter closed. "Don't cry, you idiot," he murmurs against her skin. It makes her want to cry a little more.
Instead, she clenches her eyes tightly shut, nods vigorously once, twice, until she can let out a little congested laugh and step back. "Thanks," she breathes. "For- for everything." For coming into my life and changing it for the better.
He smirks, at first, but it slowly fades away to be replaced with a small, crooked smile. "You, too." He may have changed her life, but she's done more than she'll ever realize, too.
She beams.
An announcement jars her with the words that her flight is to start boarding, now, and she looks back at Atobe with an almost helpless, panicked expression, because she's scared, is the thing, because how had she ever thought that flying all the way to Spain would be a good idea and she should have just-
He pokes her forehead, hard.
She blinks.
He leans in until his forehead is leaning against hers, until all she can see is him, and it's familiar, the way they drown out everything around them. "Don't be stupid," he murmurs. "Would I ever let you do anything I didn't think you'd do well at?"
Some might find his words condescending and not comforting at all, but- Nanao knows what he means, knows that this is his way of saying that he believes in her and thinks she can do it. And she thinks that Keigo has the power to encourage anyone to do anything.
She breathes deeply.
"Okay," she nods. "Okay."
He lets her go.
"So. I'll- I'm. I'm going to go now." She seems a bit hesitant, but her grip on her bag tightens, and he can't help the little smile on his lips when he catches the fierce determination in her eyes.
He nods.
He watches her give a little half-wave with her fingers, watches her make her way to the terminal gate and stand in line, all the way until she makes it to the security guard checking her ticket and passports. Nanao freezes halfway through handing her passport over, though, and his brow furrows as he watches her entire form stiffen.
Suddenly she's pulling out of line and half-running, half-stumbling back to him, and with a sigh, he prepares to assure her once again that yes, she can do this-
But she doesn't stop.
Instead, she practically barrels into him and if it wasn't for his fast reflexes, they'd have both ended up sprawled on the floor. As it is, he's got his arm wrapped around her waist and his other hand steadying her shoulder, expression bewildered as he narrows his eyes at her. She grips tightly at his jacket. "Um," she huffs, and she's breathless from the run over. Her knees feel weak.
"I-"
Atobe quirks a brow.
"Can we-"
He raises his other brow to join the first one.
"Canyouwaitforme?"
He blinks once, twice, before the words separate themselves in his head. His expression grows smug, arrogant, almost, as he quirks his lips and tilts his head to the side. "What was that?"
She flushes a bright, deep red, and her mouth opens and closes as though she can't get the words out. For a moment, he almost thinks that she won't be able to. And then, she takes a deep breath, fumbles with her fingers a bit. "Would you- could you wait for me? Until- I get back." And she looks as though every word is practically choking her, but she's managed to say them anyway.
He feels like making it a little harder. So he leans coolly back, stares at her through distinctly unimpressed eyes and it makes her fidget a little more.
"A year?" he drawls. "That's- a little long, isn't it? Ore-sama is rather desirable, after all."
Nanao peers up at him through these sad little eyes, and for fuck's sakes, she really needed to stop looking like a kicked puppy.
He rolls his eyes. "It took you long enough."
It's Nanao's turn to look bewildered. Her eyes are wide, half-confused and half-disbelieving as she slowly understands what he's saying, when she looks at him with parted lips. "What?"
He sighs a little then pulls her in again. "I almost thought you'd be too chicken to say anything at all, then find yourself sitting in Barcelona without having said what you needed to say." He rolls his eyes and Nanao flushes red. "Really, Nanao - when we're already at the terminal? You're cutting it way too close."
"Well- I just- I didn't think it was my place to ask-!" she cries.
He pinches her side and she yelps. She's always like this - floundering, desperately wanting things she could never ask for, always holding her tongue when she should be demanding things instead. And he'd wanted her to ask, this time, had wanted her to step forward and ask him for what it was she wanted, instead of him just dictating to her how things would go along.
He wants her to be just a little selfish.
So he leans in, slides his lips along her cheek until it reaches her ear. "A year's a long time, but...perhaps. I'll wait."
When he lets her go to look at her, she's beaming, and the sunlight is practically radiating from her features. It almost makes him want to hug her again. But she's no time, and really, she ought to get going if she doesn't want to miss her flight. He says as much, and realization dawns on her eyes. Nanao nods, grasps her bag and makes to turn towards the terminal again.
At the last minute, though, she rushes back to press a suffocating hug to his stomach. "I'll see you," she whispers, and then she's off.
A year's a rather long time, he thinks, but- then again. He thinks he can wait. He doesn't know about anything beyond the year, but he thinks he can wait twelve months, for the girl who takes aching care to make sure he's happy.
IMPORTANT NOTE. THIS IS NOT THE END OF THE STORY. I will be starting a part two soon! The part two will begin with 'chapter 25,' as I hate dividing stories into two separate fics - so IAG chapters 1 - 24, has been part 1. Part 2 will be coming shortly, so keep your eyes peeled! (I'm hoping within the next week or so!)
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