Hyotei and the Happy Panda


Chapter Eight: In which metaphors and the importance of safety are discussed.

A/N: Almost done. One more chapter and an epilogue! Thanks everyone for sticking with me through this. Work has been nightmarishly busy and thus posting is getting slower. Still, should be done by next week ... I say not for the first time. Microgirl will kick me if I don't finish uplading this soon. She's good at that.

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Gakuto and Taki turned to stare at each other as the ride screeched to a halt.

"Was that you?" Gakuto snickered.

"No! I thought it was you!" Taki snapped

"It wasn't me. It came from the other side!"

"Well you're the only one I know that can hit that note."

A moment passed as the two boys contemplated what this meant. Then, they fumbled with their seatbelts, Gakuto laughing as Taki's refused to disconnect, keeping him three steps behind as they raced over to Atobe's car.

The buchou's complexion was about the same as the tasteless, odorless oatmeal Gakuto's aunt still prepared when his family visited. Atobe's hair wasn't fairing much better. Gakuto and Taki both had to cover their mouths with their hands to hold back their snickers, though Atobe regained lucidity quickly enough to shoot a laser beam glare at Taki, who foolishly pushed in front of the smaller Gakuto. Check. Not laughing.

From the other side of the ride, Shishido came racing over, looking like the devil was at his heels. Confirming Gakuto's suspicions, Ohtori followed at a trot. He was going to kill the second year for this. Kabaji followed accompanied by an offended looking Yuushi. However, Gakuto didn't have time to contemplate his doubles partner at the moment.

Next to Atobe, Jirou's eyes twitched as he tried to stretch, then blinked his eyes in confusion. "Is it over? What was that noise?"

"Kabaji!"

"Uhs."

The hulking second year efficiently unhooked the safety bar over Atobe and Jirou. Atobe managed to get his belt unbuckled and tentatively test his legs while taking very slow breaths and using Kabaji's arm as a bolster. Once he was sure he was not going to completely humiliate himself, he smoothed down his hair.

It was Shishido, of course, who asked the question that was on everyone's mind. "Atobe, was that girly scream you?"

Atobe's eyes seemed to gain a reddish tinge to them. He glared at Shishido, then at Ohtori, and then surprisingly turned to Jirou who had just fumbled out of the seat, and started to babble. "You guys, I missed it! We have to go again! Come on, somebody ride with me!"

Atobe grabbed Jirou's wrist with one hand, raised the other in the air, and announced, "Ore-sama declares this outing over!" He snapped his fingers and dragged a confused Jirou out of the ride's gates.

Ohtori watched them leave with the expression people got when they realized they were pretty much guaranteed being kicked off the regulars. "I'll just... go make sure they get out okay," he mumbled hurriedly, dashing out. Shishido shouted his name and followed.

The four remaining regulars watched the exodus. "Great," Gakuto muttered. "Don't suppose anyone remembers we came in Atobe's car?"

"I give up," Taki sighed, the first sensible thing Gakuto had heard him say in well over a year. "You guys want a ride home? I'm calling my mom."

Yuushi adjusted his glasses. "That would be lovely." Then he looked at Gakuto, an eyebrow raised, "Provided ..."

Gakuto really hated it when Yuushi just expected him to know what his crazy tensai brain was thinking. "Provided what?"

"Provided you ... aren't still ... mad at me?"

Gakuto fumed. "I wasn't mad at you! Jeez, Yuushi, you can't even tell the difference between when I'm pretending to be mad and when I'm really mad?!"

Yuushi backed up a step. "I just wasn't sure..."

"Well, see if you can tell now! Let's go, Taki!" Gakuto grabbed Taki's arm and dragged him off.

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Oshitari shook his head. Gakuto was beyond the analytical abilities of even someone possessing his extraordinary IQ. According to precedent, however, he would have forgotten about this incident by 3:30 tomorrow afternoon. So instead of worrying, Oshitari turned to Kabaji.

"It's still early yet, and I doubt my sister has left for the show. I can call and see if she can pick us up if you'd like to accompany us. I'd be interested in hearing your thoughts on the soloist this evening."

"Uhs."

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Jirou couldn't fathom what had gone wrong. He'd followed the instructions in every shoujo manga he'd ever read. He picked the right setting, made the first move so Atobe didn't have to, allowed him time to think. It should have worked! Maybe it only worked on girls, Jirou thought belatedly. But surely Atobe was enough like a girl for it to work. Or maybe he'd underestimated Atobe's acrophobia. But Jirou'd done his research thoroughly. Atobe shouldn't be angry with him.

Jirou stumbled after the hastily retreating buchou, his wrist still locked in Atobe's grip. He was left apologizing to the throngs of people Atobe disregarded as they flew out the amusement park gates and toward the waiting limousine.

Atobe pointed at the door, ordering Jirou in without a word. Enough of that. Jirou resorted to his usual defense when plans went awry. He started laughing.

"What?" Atobe snapped.

"I'm sorry, Atobe, but I can't take you all angry and serious when your hair looks like that." Jirou clutched at his stomach as Atobe's face flushed with a mixture of anger and embarassment. Jirou watched the two emotions fight it out while he giggled. Eventually, the latter won, and Atobe huffed into the car with an, "Are you coming?"

Jirou wiped tears out of his eyes. "Aren't we gonna wait for everyone else?"
"No."

The volley specialist shrugged, unsure of this development. In a soundproof limousine, Atobe either wanted to scream at him or make out, and Jirou was rapidly losing hope for the latter. Still, he didn't have any other way to get home, and he supposed after everything he put Atobe through today, he probably deserved this. Shoulders slumped, Jirou slid into the seat across from Atobe.

Atobe didn't look at him, not directly anyway. Instead, the buchou spent a good ten minutes staring at the mirrored walls of the limousine, repositioning his hair into its usual style. Jirou considered offering to help, but didn't feel like being yelled at again. He also considered pretending to sleep, but Atobe knew he couldn't actually sleep with this much tension in the air, so he instead opted for surreptitiously observing Atobe by watching the walls.

Once satisfied, Atobe called the driver on the intercom, ordering him to drive to the Atobe estate. Jirou blinked; why weren't they going to Jirou's home first? He didn't have time to analyze this, however, before his captain turned to him.

"Your metaphor is flawed," Atobe began, pointing a finger at Jirou.

"I had a metaphor?"

"Your little heights metaphor. It's flawed."

"Oh, that. That wasn't my metaphor. I borrowed it from Ohtori-kun."

Atobe looked a little confused at this, but shook his head quickly. "Either way, ore-sama will not be participating in such a ridiculous diversion again. There are perfectly sane means of entertainment a person of status can engage in that do not result in severe cases of nauseau. And as for ... this," Atobe gestured to the space between him and Jirou, "whatever this is, a lifetime of riding those damn contraptions doesn't compare to the degree of foolishness acting on this would imply. It's dangerous and we stand to risk everything..."

Jirou sulked as the monologue continued, naturally causing him to tune out. In the years of their friendship, Jirou had learned to pick out the Cliff's Notes version of an Atobe speech. If Atobe didn't want to go out with him, that was fine. Jirou didn't want to date someone that cowardly anyway. Even if that someone was the only one perceptive enough to see through Jirou's guises. Even if that someone was the only person at school who didn't brush him off as an eccentric narcoleptic. Even if that someone had eyes the exact color of a hurricane. It didn't matter if he was too cowardly to face his own emotions, Jirou told himself. Atobe could have fun listing his excuses. Again.

"... so you are going to be extremely careful, and there will be no more of these amusement park stunts, ah? I'd rather my parents not find out via some peasant tabloid."
"Huh?" Jirou blinked. According to his estimate, Atobe should only now be getting to to his parents disowning him and his life of delivering ramen to commoners to survive.

Atobe pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "Honestly, Jirou, how is anyone supposed to confess if you can't stay awake long enough to hear it?"

"I'm awake," Jirou rushed. "I just ... thought maybe I wasn't. You're not scared?"

Atobe moved to sit next to Jirou. "We're both intelligent people. I believe we can avoid getting caught."

"I didn't mean just about our parents," Jirou said, looking Atobe in the eye. "I meant all this," Jirou repeated Atobe's gesture, "too."

Atobe closed his eyes and pulled one hand back through his hair, completely ruining the damage control he'd just performed. Then he returned Jirou's gaze. "Terrified."

The kiss that followed did not imply fireworks or lily fields or anything else overzealous manga-ka chose to draw in the backgrounds of first kisses. In fact, by what standards Jirou had, the kiss was executed in a rather sloppy manner with a bit too much saliva and not quite enough aim. It was not the way someone as awe-inspiring as Atobe was rumored to kiss. It was, Jirou realized, much closer to the way one might execute a first kiss: rushed, blind, and adorably inexperienced.

Atobe pulled back, completely failing to hide his insecurities as Jirou snickered, though he did try to be as discrete as possible in wiping his lip.

"You know," Atobe huffed, "this would be much easier if you would quit laughing at every romantic gesture."

"I can't help it!" Jirou giggled.

Atobe raised an eyebrow. "If you tell anyone..."

Jirou decided it was about time he put his agility skills to the test, pouncing to sit on a very surprised Atobe's lap. "I'm not gonna tell anyone and no one in the club will say anything and our parents won't find out until we're eighteen and can cash in our trust funds and run away to a tropical paradise in Guam."

Atobe's eyes widened.

"I'm kidding," Jirou assured him, though Atobe didn't appear to believe him.

"And until then?"

"We practice." Jirou leaned in to properly aim a kiss when the limo lurched to an abrupt stop, tumbling him off of his perch and onto the floor.

Atobe sighed. "Seatbelt, Jirou."

"Haaaaiii."

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The EllipsesBandit...'s continuing inside jokes and commentary:

1. I'm stealing the image of Atobe delivering ramen from Kamen Rider: Kabuto. And I'm perfectly comfortable admitting to stealing from a sentai series.

2. Guam is fun to say.

Silver Pair resolution-ish is up next!