A/N: SORRY THIS CHAPTER IS SO LATE. College is just a time-sucking demon whore, I swear. I'm so, so sorry – to make up for it I made this chapter extra long. There's a lot off fluff here (it's basically all fluff, actually), but it sets up a few things here and there for the future chapters.
It's going to start getting a little more aggressive starting the next chapter, breaking apart and into the society that they live in, the different kinds of people and hierarchies within the society, etcetera. (Pay a little attention to the random offhand OC names mentioned, because I'm going to start bringing them into the story, holla).
Disclaimer: I do not own PoT. Or Shigohara Minako, who's Fyerigurl's genius brainchild that I just kidnapped and basically never gave back. Oops. (Not as many Minako references as I want in this chapter, but that's because Fyeri's a dick and shipped her off to another continent when I need her in Japan for my own plot devices).
Story Notes: There are a few things I feel like I should address. At some point, I use a lot of specific money amounts (like how much certain things cost) in order to get certain points across (not like random facts "this dress costs $400," but more like "the way these kids spend money like it's water"), and I used yen at first, but I also wanted readers to understand how much it was without having to convert (if you don't know how), so I actually just used dollar signs. Sorry if that bugs you, but just consider it a translation from yen.
Also. School years. Japan's timing is very odd and I did research it, but I also did not want to confuse readers, so I just set it in a typical American school season (with traditional long summer and winter breaks). Sorry again, if that bugs some people. Sorry, sorry. Eek.
check out my tumblr if you want to see the dress Nanao wears!
The next morning, Nanao has to catch the first flight back to Spain. She hadn't exactly been given time off, so her skipping across the country to attend her boyfriend's coronation wasn't very well received by her parents nor her school (with the society pages splashing full color pictures of the two of them reunited after months, there'd been no hiding it, either). Her parents aren't too cross about her doing it for Atobe, though, with the kind of life they live, but they're rather miffed she hadn't seen them before leaving.
In fact, she'd later receive an earful from her mother over the phone: "Honestly, what kind of daughter flies into the country after eight months and doesn't even visit her parents? You can't just skip off because Atobe wants you to and really, Nana, don't you even miss us-"
But that would be something to deal with later.
Atobe drives her to the airport himself, and she holds his free hand as he drives, clasped over the gear stick. Even though they're hurtling towards an impending separation, she still beams, because she'll take even this over the months of missing him – that, and well. She'll see him once summer starts in a bit, anyway.
Atobe's terribly blasé about it all, as though her departure couldn't affect him any less. He's still his typical, insufferable snarky self (not that Nanao would have him any other way), poking jibes at her and rolling his eyes with a smirk tugging at his lips.
When they get to the terminal, though, he still pulls her in and presses her against his collarbone. She leans her ear against his chest, thinks that she can almost hear his heartbeat if she tried, and she clutches him back just as tightly.
He kisses her right before she leaves and she smiles at him as though he's hung the stars.
(She's always done that – looked at him as though he strung the stars in the sky and placed the moon there, too, as if he's something fascinatingly brilliant. It's not that the rest of society doesn't worship him, because it does, but Nanao does it in a way that makes him feel like he's this incredible thing, not an empty smile and perfect lie the way the masses make him feel).
He can still smell her perfume after she's boarded the plane.
There's a lot to deal with before she leaves for good.
Her parents' reaction to her declining the offer to stay another year in Spain is…mixed. Her father's happy that his little girl is returning, undeniably so, but his mother worries that she's doing it for the wrong reasons. Her brother quietly makes the arrangements for her flight home with a smile. Her sister is the one who reaches out to lecture her, stern words and disapproving eyes in a way she'd never quite directed at Nanao before. And it stings, the way Megumi's words from nearly a year before- how Keigo would eventually move on and Nanao wouldn't, heartbroken.
Nanao's not an idiot.
She knows.
She knows everything her parents and her siblings spew at her, knows each fact – that they're going to end, that it had been such a great opportunity, that she could very easily come to regret this decision in the end – even better than they do.
She just.
She's just spent a lifetime of squaring away her feelings and doing what's right, of being the good girl who follows the instruction manual and never takes risks and always, always, does what she's told. She'd thought she'd do the thing that's expected of her: go on to Tokyo U with a business or communications major, in the aims of working at her father's company but then get engaged and married and become a 'homemaker' instead.
But Keigo had been the one to teach her otherwise. That perhaps sometimes, what's 'good' for you and what makes you happier are two entirely different things; that you can do the right thing all the time and never quite feel happy, and that you can do everything wrong and make a mess of things but end up indescribably elated.
To take risks. To live life the way teens their age were supposed to: with reckless abandonment (not too much, though).
And Nanao knows that another year in Spain would have opened even more opportunities, but she's…weighed the pros and cons. She's built enough connections in her first year for her to feel safe and good about returning to Tokyo U; in that year, she's done so much and changed in a million infinitesimal ways that she feels like a new person returning to Japan. She thinks that yes, she'd gain even more by staying another year, but she feels that it's not necessary, that she can do good things in Japan, too.
She can do it, and she wants to be with Keigo for the little amount of time they have.
Nanao figures that she and Keigo are a forever kind of thing – not as a couple or a romantic way, perhaps, but she thinks that what they have, this relationship between them of silent messages and nudges and laughs, is something that she'll treasure for the rest of her life. Even with the knowledge that they'll eventually break up, she has these images of her and Keigo, sixty years old and wrinkling, and him poking fun at her fashion sense even after all those years and her frowning all the same.
She values him, treasures him, adores him in an unconditional kind of way that comes only a few times in a lifetime outside of family.
He's spent almost two years full of Grand Romantic Gestures (G.R.G., practically copyrighted by the Atobe heir), that she supposes it's her turn now.
It's her turn to show him how much he means to her, what she'd do for him even when it's not necessary.
So this time, she lifts her chin and straightens her shoulders and looks Megumi and Jun in the eye, says firmly that she's coming back.
When she's back in Spain, she spends the remaining few months throwing herself into the work with more vigor than ever before. She cements her education abroad, devours lectures and thrives in group projects. She and Keigo speak a little less than before, if only because she's trying to make the most of the time she has left in Spain.
But it's not a sad sort of departure.
It's more of a homecoming, really, and she exchanges contact information with her friends in Spain. She's just ready to come home.
Two and a half months later, she touches down in Japan, and her parents send a car and Keigo sends a bouquet delivery straight to the airport.
It's sweltering July when Nanao returns, laden with souvenirs and new clothes and a fresh breath of air from overseas. Contrary to popular belief, she doesn't immediately spend all her time with Atobe; she spends a little time acclimating to Japan, a week with her parents and then a week with her high school friends, in order to center herself. Keigo had been a large deciding factor in her return, but he wasn't all of it, nor would he be her entire life now that she was back.
She's learning to be her own person.
So Nanao takes two and a half weeks to settle in, to move her things back into her room and to reconnect with the people she'd missed while she was away (even has tea with Shigohara Minako, who's miraculously in town the same time she is).
The separation comes to an end when there's an upcoming charity gala – a pretty affair hosted by the Fujiwaras, a traditional annual event in which most high society families contribute at least a piece or two to the silent auction that takes place. The invitation arrives in the mail on Wednesday on cream parchment; on Friday afternoon, Atobe shows up at the Suzuki residence with a smirk and a nice bottle of champagne.
Nanao practically scrambles down the stairs when the maid arrives to tell her that Atobe's arrived. She very nearly slips and falls down the marble steps, but luckily Atobe's been leaning with a bored lid to his eyes against the railing; he half-catches her as she stumbles, and she grips at his arms a little too tightly. "Hi," she beams, out of breath and flustered.
"Hello."
He can't help the amused quirk of his lips as he sets her upright, and Nanao's hardly even embarrassed anymore, just pleasantly delighted to see him. "You didn't tell me you were coming," she says.
"I have a standing invitation."
She laughs, bright and cheery, and it makes him lean in and drape his arm around her shoulder. "Let's brunch with mimosas."
Sometime while they brunch in the wide backyard of the Suzuki home, sunlight gleaming off of champagne flutes and porcelain teacups, Atobe leans in towards Nanao, who pauses halfway-reaching for a dollop of jam. She stares at him with wide inquisitive eyes.
Casually, he plucks one of the roses on the vase in the center of the table, and holds it out to her. "Be my date for the charity gala."
It's silly, is the thing, because of course they'd go together. That's just what people did when they dated – went to galas together and attended yacht parties as a pair, arrived together and left together and spent a significant amount of time there together. So Atobe hasn't formally asked her to attend a party together since, really, the first time they ever did (and that was in high school, when he had to because they weren't really dating back then), and even though it's a joke-
-it makes her break out in a delighted smile, a breathless laugh on her lips and a sparkle in her eyes as she takes the flower. "Okay. Sure. Yeah. I-"
Atobe rolls his eyes and goes back to sipping his tea as though nothing's happened. "You're still terribly ineloquent, as always," he sighs.
Nanao only beams, swishing the flower back and forth idly.
For the next two weeks, Atobe and Nanao are sickeningly happy.
It's like getting a best friend back after being separated by thousands of miles and too many hours for what felt like an eternity – someone to understand your little quirks and smiles and secret messages conveyed in nothing but quick glances. Sure, he's had Yuushi and Kabaji, but it's not quite the same, because it'd be rather weird to pull Kabaji towards him to press his nose into Kabaji's neck when he's feeling fatigued, wouldn't it?
There's something startlingly reassuring about physical contact, comfort in the warmth of another body and the softness of Nanao's presence.
Oshitari's not the most supportive person, though. It's not that he dislikes her or doesn't encourage their relationship, it's just that he's reached a point where he doesn't completely understand Atobe and Nanao anymore. Because he imagines dating Minako with a ticking time bomb over their heads, and he grows baffled at the idea that anyone can ever enjoy themselves with such a thing looming over them.
But he, like many others, fail to grasp the complete matter that is the relationship of Atobe Keigo and Suzuki Nanao.
There's an undeniably romantic edge to their relationship, of course, but that's never been the center of it. Beneath all the hugs and the kisses and the dancing, they're Keigo and Nanao, two people whose specific and particular mix of characteristics have found something lovely in each other, two people who care about one another as Keigo and Nanao, who'd care for each other regardless of the state of their relationship.
It's not all some enchanting, glittering romantic fairy tale where a nondescript girl waltzes in and manages to magically charm the heart of an ice emperor, because there are some unromantic reasons why they work, too.
Nanao's more subtle personality – content to fade into the background and cheer for others – accommodates Keigo's larger-than-life persona, and her easygoing way of simply accepting everything as it comes is the only kind of personality that can ever really get on with Keigo's sharp and fast-paced life. And yeah, he won't deny it, that Nanao's sheer harmlessness is one of the reasons that he can completely come undone around her the way he can't around others.
Because he trusts Yuushi implicity, would never dream of Munehiro ever doing anything to hurt him, but- they have the ability to, and there's always a shred of self-preservation instilled within him as an Atobe heir with so much to lose, that he can't ever really unwind all the way around them. He can't tell them little whispered secrets, little insecurities, because he adores them and treasures them but he's their infallible captain.
They don't expect him to be flawless, not consciously, but how can they not, deep down, when he's always been the steady figure at the helm, crushing their opponents to victory?
To the team, he's the unwavering captain; to his parents, he's their darling, perfect successor; to the masses, he's the prince charming every girl has been dreaming of since age four.
Nanao's the first person who's ever looked at him with no expectations in her eyes, nothing that she wants from him or needs him to be, and she's almost achingly harmless (which ought to be a sad thing but it lets him feel comfortable around her) to the point where he doesn't feel the need to hide anything at all.
And she cares about him, will care about him regardless of his status as an Atobe or his looks or his ability to buy her thousand dollar bouquets; and he'll care about her regardless of their relationship status or if she'll be beneficial to his public image.
There may be a timer on how long they can be in a romantic relationship, but them, this, KeigoandNanao will continue well beyond their break up. And it might be hard for some people to comprehend that idea, the idea of being able to care about someone and interact with them exactly the same way after a breakup as before, but then, his and her relationship had never been the most orthodox (even the way it started).
So Keigo ignores Yuushi when the latter tries to give him a warning word about the direction their relationship is headed, only holds Nanao's hand a little more tightly, waves off Yuushi with a well-aimed barb at his relationship with a certain leggy model who's adding a whole new definition to the phrase 'long-distance relationship.'
They sit in the corner of one of Atobe manor's sitting rooms, her legs drawn up and feet tucked under his side, his legs elegantly stretched out just beside her, his hand toying with the birthstone ring on her middle finger (something her siblings had gotten her for her birthday two years ago). They laugh over things that aren't very funny in any other context, come up with the most ridiculous things they've seen on auction at the annual charity gala, make plans to go visit the new café Nanao saw opening last week.
There's a small lull when Keigo starts to talk about his aunt, his dad's five year plan for his corporate career, his mother's dimming smile. Nanao's quiet, too, carefully picks up his hand and squeezes it gently, before shifting so that she can lope her arms delicately around his neck until his nose is pressed against her collarbone.
They stay like that for a few minutes until Keigo collects himself back together again.
He nips at her jutting collarbone and she jumps back with a little flinch and a bewildered frown so confused that it has Keigo laughing loudly.
When they show up to the Fujiwaras annual charity gala, the scrutiny is almost unbearable.
The newly-crowned Atobe heir – who now holds the keys to the kingdom in his hand – and his girlfriend, who's just returned from an overseas study program. The vultures are circling, as Atobe Keigo's value has just skyrocketed through the roof, and every family with an eligible daughter is out for blood. The press and society both are carefully cataloging every smile, every word, every step of the couple, questioning if they're what they seem, if they're as serious as they claim.
Before, it had just been one teen socialite dating another. They were expected to break up; young love never lasts, after all.
But now it's the heir apparent still in a relationship with a girl for nearly over two years, and it's serious, and does this make her the future Mrs. Atobe or is the position still taking applications?
Nanao notices and it makes her nervous, because she's never done well with the spotlight to begin with. It almost makes her want to hurl up the hors d'oeuvres she'd had a few minutes ago, and she can't stop her fingers from trembling, ever-so-slightly, when the tenth blinding flash of a camera goes off in the same five minute span.
Keigo notices and he can't really stop it, can't do anything but to smile perfectly for the cameras, but he pulls her a little closer and shields her a little more from the camera the next time it goes off. "Sorry," he murmurs in her ear, never once dropping his smile.
Nanao smiles tightly. "It's okay. It's not your fault."
And Keigo adores her as much as she him, but sometimes he can't help but to wonder how Nanao was still so unused to the scrutiny of the media and society. She's supposed to turn twenty this year, and the Suzuki's are no small family by any measure; it frustrates him, sometimes, her complete naiveté and inability to deal with society, because when he's in a rush and under the spotlight he sometimes can't even spare the energy to care about himself, much less about the comfort of his date in a high-society setting.
It takes him a minute in times like this to remember that of course she's never encountered attention as sharp as the one the media gives him – she's not the heir to anything (she'll live very, very comfortably for the rest of her life, but will not inherit the company nor anything related), not an only child, but the third, as well as the daughter. And the Suzuki's make political and social diplomacy their business, so the media's always been much kinder on their family than most others.
It takes him another minute to remember that he prefers her this way, prefers a terribly genuine girl (even when it makes more of a mess sometimes) who's too earnest for her own good to the impeccable, marble-perfect girls their society generates (read: Shigohara Minako, who's all too terrifying for her own good – two such gargantuan personalities like hers and his could never coexist in peace, after all).
And after all this, if there was ever a doubt left as to why he chose her to begin with, Nanao does something like carefully acquiring him a glass of ice water when she notices his throat growing dry with the constant drive to be Atobe Keigo, society's darling, like gently pressing her fingers along his arm to remind him that she's there and he's alright and that she adores him more with every flaw he has (it's hard, sometimes, when even the smallest of flaws – something as small as the way his lips crook at an unattractive angle occasionally – becomes something that others can use as a barb and a weapon).
In little ways like this, she reminds him of all the ways she's dear to him, and he presses his lips softly to her forehead to remind her of this.
His mother catches the gesture and when she looks at him, there's something akin to pity flickering in his eyes and it makes his stomach curl coldly.
She'd always been a bit soft for his father's tastes (soft for his father's tastes, but ironclad and sharp enough to mutilate anyone else in society). She's also always been soft on her darling son, even if she was not able to sacrifice her other priorities enough to show it, sometimes.
"Hey- are you okay?" Nanao murmurs quietly under her breath, so that only the two of them can hear.
Keigo breaks away from his mother's gaze to glance down at her. "Fine."
The rest of the night passes with relatively nondescript events.
Keigo plays his part and schmoozes with upper echelon society members; Nanao spends a bit of time with her family and entertains warm congratulations from family friends on her academic career thus far. They reconvene later in time for the silent auction to start; neither are really anticipating on purchasing anything (that's typically left up to the adults), but social etiquette demands that everyone watch, anyway.
The Atobe's have submitted a stunning sapphire necklace – valued at $720,000 – to the auction, quickly claimed by the steel magnate Takahara for his lovely wife (and there is, of course, suitable respect paid to the very generous Atobe's who donated it to begin with).
The Suzuki's contributed a lovely vase – appraised at an estimated $430,000 – which is won by the art aficionado Kinoshita.
Estates, artwork and priceless artifacts are auctioned off one by one, and within the first hour, nearly 100 million yen is raised; this year, the cause of the moment happens to be an aim to stop human (child) trafficking. It's all very diplomatic and rather hypocritical, Japan's golden members of society wearing jewels and glittering dresses and drinking thousand dollar champagne in order to help the less fortunate, but then, hypocrisy has always been a major player of the game.
Atobe watches it all with a cynically amused eye, and when he catches Oshitari's similarly morbid smile, they share a moment of dark laughter.
From beside him, Nanao watches with a half-interested eye at the prettier pieces that catch her eye (paintings, some jewelry, antique clothing previously worn by famous members of society), but there's a distinctly dull shine in her gaze, borne from year after year of watching similar events.
There's a moment of interest from both of them when Oshitari raises his paddle to purchase a slinky, gorgeous red gown at $3500 – previously owned by one of Japan's most iconic models and actresses. Atobe barely manages to conceal his snort at the positively predatory gleam in Oshitari's self-satisfied smile; he wonders how long he'll have to wait before he'll catch sight of Shigohara Minako's slender figure wearing the dress.
Nanao looks so charmed by it, thinks it's sweet, coos over the way Oshitari's smile softens when he thinks about Shigohara Minako. It makes Atobe want to vomit.
He has to excuse himself for a moment to take a phone call, and when he's back twenty minutes later, the auction is almost drawing to a close.
"Did I miss anything worth noting?" he murmurs in Nanao's ear.
She gives a delicate shrug of her shoulders. "An opal ring owned by Marilyn Monroe showed up-"
"So nothing interesting," he murmurs, and Nanao laughs a little.
School starts again in September* and this time, Nanao's enrolled in Tokyo U alongside many of her previous peers from Hyotei. She's in primarily architecture and math classes, while Atobe's enrolled in a number of accounting, business and management classes; Oshitari is taking a variety of science courses, considering his projected medical career.
This means that they don't really share any class at all, but they still grab coffee and lunch whenever their schedules coincide, and she sometimes takes the time to watch their tennis practice. Choutarou, Kabaji and Hiyoshi have entered college this year, completing their tennis team and effectively cutting off the chance of others making the regular roster (never let it be said that Atobe Keigo wasted even a second in establishing a new regime wherever he went).
It's fun, and while college provides a distinctly free and mature air that high school never had, it feels almost the same as it did in high school; so many of their high school peers are here, and when Nanao sits on the bleachers reviewing a homework assignment while Atobe destroys a club member in a light match, everything feels achingly nostalgic.
Like this, an idyllic time of schoolwork and extracurriculars and society fanfare resumes.
Of course, it's more intense now, with Atobe's structured five-year succession plan and Nanao's degree coursework and Oshitari's father expecting him to become a highly-praised surgeon in the next decade.
But there's still Sunday morning brunches and tennis practices, and the things that really matter haven't changed.
Now that they're old enough, the team goes to bars in luxurious hotels instead of restaurants to celebrate, yeah, and Gakuto and Shishido often get spectacularly trashed, but it's still the same dynamic of their junior high days. Kabaji's still the one to pick up their bodies and throw them over his shoulder, Jiroh's still the first one to fall asleep, and Yuushi's still the one with a deceptively strong tolerance bemusedly taking on drinking challenges with Hiyoshi.
And instead of visiting cafes and bakeries, Nanao and Atobe might take a trip to wine country for a weekend, but Nanao's still a terrible judge of good and bad wine and he's still as haughty as ever when it comes to fine wine, and together they pick out a nice bottle to bring Kaede sometime.
They're different – older, with different hobbies and different hangout spots, but their banter and their relationships haven't changed at all.
It gives Atobe a small modicum of comfort.
Before they know it, it's that time of the year again.
That time, as in-
"No, Ore-sama wanted champagne, not ivory- champagne is a legitimate color acknowledged by both myself and the national color association-"
Atobe's voice reaches a strained pitch that, if he were not an Atobe, would be described as shrill. It makes Nanao's hair stand on end and Oshitari wince delicately. From their perch on the couch, they watch Atobe pace back and forth, so rapidly that Nanao worries he's going to trip over the track he's worn into the carpet.
He's wearing a most horrified expression on his features as he looks down at the color swatches that were delivered just a few moments ago, at which point he'd dialed the linen provider at once to demand:
"I need them to be champagne-colored – Perrior Jouet Belle Epoque Blanc de Blanc champagne colored, not some liquor store champagne-"
Atobe Keigo's twentieth birthday is rapidly approaching.
That is to say, the grande ball in honor of Atobe Keigo's birth will be held on the fourth, just a week and a half from today. Which would then explain the current state of the lounge: color swatches everywhere, covering both the coffee table, chaise lounge and ottoman; photos of different bouquet arrangements strewn across the floor; half-eaten samples of appetizers and cake left aside for the household staff to whisk away later.
The party seems to only get larger every year, and Nanao wonders if there'll ever be a year where Keigo won't be able to outdo it the next. (He always says "This is the most magnificent party in all of history," only to say it again the next year, so).
Oshitari had arrived that evening with an unimpressed glance towards Atobe's already-in-motion hysterics, had murmured a cool "I'm here to provide medical attention should Keigo rupture into an aneurysm." (That's another thing Oshitari-kun's started saying since college – I'm here to provide medical assistance and I'm a doctor, I should know, and Atobe will pass him a distinct roll of his eyes).
"Really," Atobe snaps as he ends the call, "the incompetence of some people is a tragedy."
"Maybe they've just never met someone who lists off five different shades of champagne based on the most expensive liquor known to man," Oshitari replies blandly. Atobe purses his lips at him dryly.
"And why are you here?"
Oshitari gives him a wounded look. "Well hello there darling, it's a pleasure and a delight to see you, too."
Atobe rolls his eyes and picks up the color swatches again, flicking through them with a sharp gaze. "I'm busy," he huffs. "If you haven't noticed, the party of the year requires planning."
"Really? Of the year? That's quite impressive."
Atobe narrows his eyes. "If you've come here just to drop off your snark-"
"Kidding, my dear."
"I swear, you're a menace when Shigohara is too busy to play with you."
"You mean the way you get when they get the shade of champagne wrong?"
When Atobe looks up to shoot him an icy glance, Oshitari is wearing the most innocent of smiles. "Well. I came to ask how the party planning was going, but…I don't require an answer anymore." Oshitari stands up and dusts off his pants. "Actually, Minako is flying in today, so I'll have to be off, I'm afraid."
He turns to Nanao with a friendly smile. "Do keep Keigo from burning down anyone who stands in his way between him and the right shade of linen, will you, Nanao?"
Nanao looks up with an apologetic smile. "Say hi to Minako-san for me."
Atobe's expression turns positively sour at the mention of Minako, which prompts Oshitari to laugh and pat him a friendly goodbye on the way out the door.
"Nanao," Atobe barks.
Nanao snaps to attention.
"Do fetch me the binder of entrée choices and get ready – we're going to go cake tasting."
"But I thought we already chose one-"
"Nanao, I do not have the time to explain the delicacy of the cake situation to you right now-"
So Nanao doesn't really see Atobe for the next week.
He's a bit stressed, considering how he's taken on the entirety of the planning for this particular affair. It oughtn't be a big deal, but it is, since he's officially been declared as the successor to the corporation – this party won't simply be a birthday party, but another way for shareholders and businessmen and peers to assess just how well the Atobe heir can construct a society event.
It has Atobe positively on edge, and Nanao's tried everything from bringing him tea to placing potpourri around his room (which he removed at once because it didn't fit with the décor). Eventually she came to realize that it'd be best to give him some space, instead, to freak out as much as he wants without someone underfoot when he paces the length of his room.
So she hasn't seen him in a week and hasn't spoken to him for nearly two days, and she's a bit worried, to be honest.
Oshitari had texted her the other day – said that Keigo had called him over to consult on orchestra choices. He'd said that Keigo looked frazzled within an inch of his life (as frazzled as an Atobe could look), but that he was fine. Relatively.
He tells her not to worry and Nanao chews on her lip and says alright.
It's just that in times like these Nanao has to bite her tongue to keep from saying what they're all thinking – that Keigo's father is brutal and harsh and he oughtn't be so affected by what his father thinks. But then, going down that path was never quite advised with Keigo. It didn't matter how close they were, how many secrets he revealed and how many times he smiled at her; because his father was always the unspoken rule, the line that no one – friend, family, loved ones – was allowed to cross.
It makes her upset, though, watching him lose his mind over things like this. It- it's laughable that Nanao would ever protect Keigo instead of the other way around, but she wants to; wants to shield him from the wretched expectations he faces that no one else has to, make it so that he sees that he doesn't have to fulfill them because he's already amazing as he is.
He won't listen, though, so instead all Nanao can do is tap her finger worriedly against her arm.
LINEBREAK
It's the night before Keigo's birthday party, and Nanao still hasn't heard from him.
She hadn't reached out to him first because she hadn't wanted to disturb him or add to his monumental stress. He'd been seeking confidence in Oshitari, she knows, and while she wishes he'd do it with her, too, she understands and gives them the space they need. He needs different people at different times, and it's just that-
-Nanao doesn't really understand this, this whole obsession with making sure everything's perfect, this idea that one wrong detail and society will have his head on a platter. But Oshitari-kun does, understands this side of Keigo that she's never been able to fully grasp.
She wants to, she does, but.
They're just fundamentally different people.
The sole heir to Japan's largest corporation and the third child and daughter to one of the few families known to value family above industry – they were raised differently, conditioned in ways that cannot relate to one another.
So she understands, and tries not to get too worried or too upset about it all.
The family's just finished dinner and Nanao's just returned to her room when she hears a knock at her bedroom door.
When she opens it, Keigo immediately brushes past her into her room, seats himself almost breathlessly on the edge of her bed. He looks a bit disheveled and just a tiny bit wrumpled, and he has a few dark circles under his eyes that's worrying; but his eyes are bright, the same way he gets when he emerges triumphantly over a fiscal report or school project after days of toiling away, and it makes Nanao's shoulders loosen in relief.
He's holding a large, thin black box that he sets beside him.
When he finally looks at her, his lips crook into the smallest of smiles, and Nanao smiles a relieved one back. "Hi," she murmurs. "How are you?"
She steps closer, until she's close enough that his hand reaches out and pulls her elbow in until she's sitting beside him, sides touching and shoulders leaned against one another. "Fine," he replies. "I trust you've been well – though suffering heartbreak from my absence, no doubt."
Any lingering tension dissipates then, when Nanao laughs brightly and Keigo rolls his eyes in turn.
She traces the darkness under his eye with a gentle finger, and the concern in her eyes makes him uncomfortable and pull back slightly. Instead, he pinches the outstretched finger, grasps it and pushes it against Nanao's own nose. "I said I'm fine."
Nanao frowns.
"I'm sorry I've been a bit missing. I didn't mean to worry you. Yuushi- said that you were. Worried."
Nanao's frown lets up and she sighs. "Don't apologize for that," she huffs softly. "You just- make people worry about you, is all. Kabaji-kun was very quiet during practice yesterday because you weren't there. He was worried. Everyone was."
"Munehiro is always quiet, Nanao. He has a twenty word capacity per hour."
Her frown deepens. "No, it was different," she insists. "And Gakuto-kun didn't jump as much, and Choutarou-kun was biting on his fingernails and Jiroh-kun was upset when he woke up and you weren't there-"
Atobe's eyes turn a tad guilty, as it tends to do when he's upset any one of his friends.
"I'm just saying that- we care about you." She squeezes his wrist. "They care about you a lot. So you don't have to- squirrel away. Let them help you. I'd offer to help, if you didn't say I'd mess everything up," she laughs.
Atobe's expression is unreadable for a few moments, and Nanao squeezes his wrist again, gently. "Yeah," he finally says, and his voice is a bit hoarse. "Yeah, I know. Thanks."
Nanao smiles.
After a moment of silence, Atobe reaches for the box and holds it out to her. Nanao takes it with careful hands, finger running along the edge of the glossy box. It looks oddly familiar, with the white satin bow around the center. "Is this-"
Atobe rolls his eyes. "Open it, you silly idiot."
She does.
It's a dress.
She pulls it out with gentle hands, and when the entirety of the gown cascades downwards, her eyes widen and her lips part in quiet surprise. It's- it's stunning, sheer and ethereal and unlike anything she's quite seen before.
It's achingly delicate in every seam, folds of the fabric shimmering as they move, every intricate detail ornately crafted. It looks sheer and transparent but it's not, opaque in every way; when her hands shift, the entire dress ripples as though it's in water.
It's a masterpiece of a dress, and Nanao idly thinks she's seen it in one of the couture magazines while flipping through to look at Minako's photoshoots.
"Oh my goodness-" she whispers. Her heart lodges somewhere in her throat and stays there.
Keigo, for his part, radiates smugness when he takes the dress from her hands and places it back into the box. "Gorgeous, isn't it?"
Nanao turns wide eyes on him. "Keigo, I don't think I can accept this-"
He rolls his eyes. "You've accepted all the other dresses-"
"But this one is too much-" Too lovely, too exquisite. Too delicate.
He rolls his eyes again. Before Nanao can protest, he's leaned in until their foreheads are touching, eyes closed as his nose bumps against hers. It makes her pause. "I want you to wear it. To my party tomorrow, yes?"
Nanao hesitates.
"Consider it a thank you."
"For what?" she whispers.
"For coming back."
Nanao stills entirely.
Keigo doesn't pull back, and when he speaks, his lips brush against hers. "I know." How much of a sacrifice it was for you. "I don't agree with it, I think it's the stupidest thing you've ever done, but- thank you."
Because he needs her around, feels more at ease when she's beside him, can breathe a little more in a room crowded with hypocrisy and expectations. And he's never said thank you for what she did for him, he doesn't think, even when she'd given up Spain for him. (He'd never ask her to give it up, wouldn't have let her make the decision if he'd known – but she gives it anyway, and it makes something dislodge from his chest that someone would do something like that for him).
No one's made such a large sacrifice for him before – nothing so personal, so paramount.
Nanao sniffs, tries her hardest to pretend like her eyes aren't watering when she opens them to peer up at him. "You don't have to thank me, that wasn't- I didn't do anything." Her voice is thick, clogged with emotions that make Keigo laugh at her a little.
She's always been helplessly emotional at the most inappropriate of times.
He presses a kiss against her forehead, her cheek, her lips, before standing up. "I have to go – last minute preparations, still. But I'll see you tomorrow, darling."
He sweeps out the room, and Nanao sniffs again, blinking rapidly because she's not crying, she's not emotional.
The party is stunning.
The largest ballroom of the Park Hyatt Hotel has been cleared out and transformed into a gorgeous hall of taupe and champagne and sparkling roses along the walls. It's a picture of utmost elegance and class, well-lit with crystal chandeliers and flickering candles, decorated with strings of crystal and pearls along every edge. (Later, the after party – the real party for the younger socialites – will be red, dark red, red lights and red wine and red dresses; but for now, the party here is calmer, gentler, classier).
Everyone congratulates the Atobe heir on both his birthday and a job well done on the party, smiles of approval as they taste the carefully selected hors d'oeuvres and delight as they find the gift bags filled with luxury spa passes and expensive champagne. No expense has been spared and the ladies have arrived wearing their finest jewels and the men their finest shoes.
It's the culmination of every excess luxury their society indulges in, and their peers are eating it up.
(There are some trying to crash the party of the rich and beautiful, but they're promptly escorted out via security and invitation checks).
Atobe Keigo is suitably proud.
Even his aunt, Kaede, has flown in with a kiss to his cheek and a birthday present placed on the growing pile of gifts in the reception area.
His teammates are here, as rowdy and silly as ever, and it makes him smile because he's happy to be around them, happy that they came. Their parents have brought him the real, expensive gifts, but they themselves have gotten him a round of gag (and a few serious) gifts, as per tradition.
A gaudy, ostentatious floor-length mirror from a smirking Shishido; a bejeweled dog collar from Gakuto; vitamin supplements from Jiroh and a very, very nice fountain pen from the ever-thoughtful Kabaji. Oshitari had slipped him HD print outs of Shigohara Minako's latest photoshoot (as well as Atobe's favorite bottle of red, hidden away so that he'll only find it after getting suitably upset about the photos); Choutarou had given him a deluxe espresso machine for his room and Hiyoshi, ever the tennis freak (but weren't they all?), had gifted him a new tennis bag.
Nanao arrives with her siblings and squeezes his hand and beams and compliments him on the party.
When he makes the round among the corporation's shareholders, all of them have only the loveliest of words and compliments that, for once, sound a shade more generous than usual.
He's the happiest he's been in a long while – celebrating his birth amidst his closest friends and treasured companions, laughing at Shishido and rolling his eyes at Gakuto's shenanigans, pressing champagne-tinged kisses along Nanao's cheeks.
Their world is a harsh one – littered with beautiful lies and pretty diamonds to cover up the wretched power plays and horrendous affairs (because in this society, propriety is key, and you can sleep with whoever you want and do the most horrible things, so long as nobody knows) – but their world is also a lovely one, at times, depending on who you are.
Certainly, those without funds are left scrambling at the bottom of the barrel.
Those like them, though – the golden offspring of society's most wealthy and privileged – were able to lead lives like this, such pretty things, like champagne fountains and diamond bracelets and Tom Ford suits by the dozens. It's terrible at times (Keigo and Yuushi and Minako can all attest), but it's also unbelievably charmed at others, too: their lives.
They have everything money can buy, everything and anything, have had these things since such a young age that they're so used to it with a sense of aching casuality.
Gakuto pops another hors d'oeuvre in his mouth, grimaces at the taste (he's not fond of certain kinds of cheese) and neatly spits it out onto a napkin. That measly morsel – one that people are devouring all throughout the ballroom – costs $12. Shishido saunters up to the group with two more bottles of champagne tucked under his arm – a startling $720 swung easily in his hands, popped with narry a bat of an eye, poured messily into cups with expensive drops sloshing over the edge. Jiroh's napping in the corner on a $1400 chaise lounge, drooling onto a $120 beaded throw pillow; steel magnate's daughter Takahara Yuuko drunkenly slips her $450 ring (a careless purchase she'd made because it matched the color of her scarf) onto a startled waiter's finger.
Nanao's lovely (she's gotten lovelier over the last year, he thinks – she's gotten happier and livelier and it brings a sparkle in her eye and a vivacity to her charm, and it's not just the longer hair that makes her prettier these days) in the $5000 Paolo Sebastian gown he'd acquired for her. She's whisked away by her sister for a moment, who's wearing another stunning piece and smiles briefly at Atobe before pulling Nanao away.
Even Munehiro stands stone-still in a $2500 suit.
And when Shigohara Minako finally makes her presence known (she's really started to push the limits of how late one can be and still be fashionable, and it makes Atobe purse his lips), she's wearing a daring, familiar red number – valued at $3500, as Yuushi can attest.
They're born into this world with lofty expectations and loftier legacies to shoulder, with adults having planned every last detail of their life by the time they can count to ten. Takahara Yuuko will most likely wed Shino Takeshi for his family's processing plants (a match made in industrial heaven) and Gakuto will end up heading his father's electronics company because the eldest sibling is a girl (theirs is a horribly sexist society too, did you hear?). Even the sleepy Jiroh will take over his father's widespread chain of Laundromats (surprisingly lucrative when one has well over a hundred branches).
And it's a cruel world, judgmental and painfully exclusive – Kinoshita Daiki, second in line to inherit Kinoshita Trading Co. – has made the grave error of bringing a scholarship student to the party tonight. The poor girl (pretty and sweet as she may be) is so far beyond her realm of understanding that it's pitiful; she hardly understands the pitying gazes handed to her, flinches when scrutinizing eyes look her up and down only to blink disinterestedly away upon the realization that her name holds no power nor wealth.
Oshitari sidles up to Atobe while his gaze is locked on the girl Kinoshita has brought to the party. "There is money, and there is power," his voice murmurs lowly in Atobe's ear, and the boy glances to the side to catch Oshitari's small smile. "Some will inherit the former-" children of wealthy parents who will have trust funds and stocks and inheritances "-some will inherit the latter-" children of politicians, of public figures "-and some…will inherit both."
Children like Atobe Keigo, the keys to the kingdom dangling from his fingertips.
"And those who were born into this world without an inheritance at all…" There's an almost venomous pause, but Atobe knows that it's more truth than cruelty when Oshitari speaks. "…sadly, are not welcomed in our world."
Together, they watch a waitress accidentally spill a glass of wine near Kinoshita's date, whose dress is inexplicably stained. The waitress is horrified, but there are sneering titters from around the girl that make her flush a deep red.
Their society is a rather wretched one.
But still, Atobe thinks, gazing at his laughing friends who hold champagne and pearls and hors d'oeuvres, it's in moments like these that he thinks their lives are very charmed ones, nonetheless.
Nanao returns, then, gown rippling gently around her feet and she's- a bit tipsy, Atobe's sure. She has the terrible habit of sipping at her beverage when she's nervous, and she tends to get a bit nervous at the larger gatherings – and someone (he wants to say Shigohara, one half of the menace twins that never fail to give him headaches) has been slipping glasses of champagne into her hand all night long.
Nonetheless, she beams at him and grasps his arm. "Everyone's really impressed," she says, and yes, her voice has taken on that strange drawl it does when the alcohol has entered her bloodstream (he thinks her words slow down so that she can make sure she's saying the right thing). "Megumi was talking about how our parents were very impressed, and how their friends were stunned, and this party is really very lovely so you oughtn't worry it's a smashing hit-"
Atobe's feeling the alcohol a little bit too, he supposes, because he finds her drunken slur amusing and attractive enough to laugh and kiss her to shut her up. (He's also feeling pretty high off of triumph and pride right now, too).
There's a point at which he realizes his father couldn't make it to his party. He'd gotten held up with a business deal in China – a very important one, but that doesn't make it sting any less – and his mother had apologetically broken the news to him around 11, when it was confirmed that he wouldn't be able to catch it at all.
He feels like he's seven years old and insignificant all over again.
Atobe feels tired, of always feeling this way around his own father, of feeling like an adopted child begging for affection from his parents. And it's ridiculous, because his father loves him, of course he does – but it's just different because they're an Atobe, and they're expected to know that certain sacrifices must be made for the greater good.
Things like their child's birthday party; their child's choice of marriage partner; things like family time and support at games and plays and recitals. They have a lot on the line, he understands, so an Atobe receiving bad marks in school is exponentially worse than anyone else doing so.
He understands.
It's just shitty, because understanding doesn't make the sting hurt any less.
"…Keigo, darling? Are you alright?" His mother's worried visage peers at him, and it softens the blow a bit, yes, that his perfect mother has broken her façade in worry over him. So Atobe gives her a dazzling smile (that doesn't fool her at all, but that's alright) and pecks her cheek.
"I'm fine. I hope the deal carries on smoothly for father."
The disappointment must have been visible on his expression, because shortly after his mother leaves to entertain some more guests, he feels a hesitant hand clasp around his own.
"Father couldn't make it."
Nanao shifts a little. "I- heard. I'm sorry. That's-"
"It's fine." He doesn't particularly want to talk about it. Perhaps later, when the stinging fades to aching, and they're allowed more privacy than a small corner in a buzzing ballroom. But not now.
Nanao understands (bless her soul) and instead, she tugs at his arm. "Let's- take a break, yeah? Just for a few minutes."
Atobe blinks down at her once, twice, brow furrowing slightly in confusion. "What do you mean-"
"I want to give you your birthday present. Let's just take a little breather from the party."
Atobe rolls his eyes, grumbles a little because "Ore-sama's party is the place to be tonight, you know," but he follows along when Nanao pulls him towards the back door. No one really notices the man of the hour slipping out, and when he requests one of the party organizers to hand him the key to the hotel room in which all of the guests' gifts have been moved to, no one really questions it.
When they slip into the room (a hotel room rented out specifically to hold the presents while the duration of the party lasts), Atobe's feeling quite drained, to be honest. The pleasant buzz of alcohol has gone and instead left behind a bone-deep weariness in his body.
He doesn't want to take a breather, wants to just socialize and entertain so that the night will pass, wants to wake up in the morning and swallow the disappointment like he's done so many times before.
There's a part of him that's upset for being disappointed at all, after all these years, and he swallows that, too.
He sighs and sits down on the sofa. "Nanao, I think I want to just-"
But she's suddenly there, standing in front of him with a package wrapped in shimmering gold and tied with a black bow. "No, I want you to open it."
He frowns at her. Nonetheless, he takes the present (he was raised with manners) and places it on his lap. He musters up a smile for her despite his tiredness, because his friends are the most important things, and he oughtn't be ungrateful, regardless of the circumstances.
He gently unwraps the object.
It feels as though he's been punched and had the wind knocked clearly out of his lungs.
He thinks his hand might be trembling, and isn't that embarrassing? He stops it immediately and instead blinks a few times, because for a moment, he's not quite sure if he's seeing correctly.
"Is this-"
Perhaps it's not the same one. Perhaps it's another copy.
"It's. The one you had." Nanao bites her lower lip like she's the one who's nervous.
A copy of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe's Faust – first edition, red leather binding and gold details, preserved in flawless condition. A copy that had previously sat on a shelf in the library in the main Atobe estate, which he'd read religiously as a child (his reading level was very, very advanced – but what else is new?). He hadn't understood everything, but he'd understood enough, and it'd been one of the first pieces of German literature he'd picked up. Atobe had cared for the book meticulously, had turned the pages almost reverently, had cherished the item like no other piece from their library even compared to more valuable books.
He'd been devastated when his father had auctioned it off among other books as a part of some light 'spring cleaning' during his first year in junior high.
(His father hadn't known how much his son adored the book – and why would he, when the man was hardly home?). He'd felt silly, too, for being so affected over a book, and his parents would surely have thought he was being ridiculous.
So like all the other disappointments, Atobe had compartmentalized it until it was small enough to brush aside.
It wasn't even a disappointment worth mentioning, was something small and insignificant that he doesn't even recall telling Nanao about. Or maybe he had, in passing, when they were in the Atobe library and she remarked on all the valuable books they had.
It certainly couldn't have been anything that warranted special attention to.
And yet-
"It's just…during the silent auction a few weeks ago, when you were out? They were selling these books that the owner had apparently purchased in order to impress someone or something, I don't know. I doubt they were even opened. And this one- came up, and I remembered you telling me how your father auctioned it off a long time ago and it seemed likely that it'd be the same one, so I- I ended up buying it and I asked around and it turned out to be the same one, so."
She fidgets a little. "I- I don't know, I thought you'd like it, because- maybe I was just being stupid, but you just seemed like you were a little sad when you said your dad had gotten rid of it so I thought maybe-"
She doesn't really get to finish her nervous rambling (a highly unattractive habit that she really ought to fix, Atobe thinks) because he's gently set aside the book in favor of sweeping upwards and pulling her in, pressing a kiss to her lips, her cheeks, cupping her neck and breathing her in.
He doesn't really know how to respond to these kinds of things.
He's always been the one doing the grand gestures for his friends, for his family; he's the one with the flair for things like this, for dismantling people and making tears spring to their eyes with how touched they are by his acts of kindness.
But Nanao steps in, and she manages things like this – they aren't even such grand gestures, but it makes something in his chest seize up anyway.
How could it not, when the book is tangible proof that she pays him more attention than his own father had at some point, when it's a glaring reminder of how much she cares? He almost doesn't want it, this care and affection, because while he's always been the first one to do such things for his friends, he doesn't really know how to handle it when it's given in turn.
The fact that she'd paid attention, that she'd remembered, that she pays enough care and thinks even the smallest of offhand things he says (and he says so much, never shuts up, really) is enough to make his hand tremble, just a bit.
"You-" he can't really find the words – and since when had Atobe Keigo ever been one to be speechless?
Nanao grasps his hand and squeezes it. "Happy Birthday," she murmurs.
It makes him breathe out a little laugh, slump against her and lean his forehead against her shoulder. "Thanks," he replies. It's not enough to encompass the way his chest feels like it'll collapse in on itself, the way the buzzing in his veins is back, the way he feels like the waves of nostalgia- of a young Atobe, hardly tall enough to reach the book but pulling it out anyway and spending afternoons tucked away in his father's study, reading –threaten to pull him under.
But that's alright, because Nanao gets it, he thinks. If not all of it, she gets what's important, and that's all that matters anyway.
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