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Satisfaction
Chapter 3
By Miki
Yuuta sighed a little as he trudged into his dormitory room and dropped his tennis bag on the floor.
He kicked his shoes off towards his bed, and pulled his sweat-soaked shirt off over his head, dropping it on the floor.
Mizuki had been in a terrible mood all practise, even though it was Saturday and even though no one had switched his hair shampoo or nicked off with his socks or hit balls into his head.
Yuuta's calves were aching, and he blamed it on the fact that Mizuki had demanded a hundred shuttle runs right after he'd given Yanagisawa a hundred laps for making loud, obnoxious comments about Atsushi's shorts.
Yuuta had pointed out that Yanagisawa would probably be dead after a hundred laps, to which Mizuki had smiled, chuckled and told Yanagisawa to hurry up if he didn't want two hundred.
Personally, Yuuta suspected Mizuki just wanted an excuse to get back at Yanagisawa for the hair shampoo incident last week.
One day Mizuki's training regime was going to kill him, Yuuta thought.
As he pulled off his shorts, he frowned a little at the bruise forming on his thigh – the first year who'd accidentally hit him was probably still quivering behind the sheds – and touched it tentatively. It stung, and he flinched and instinctively looked around for anything cool he could put on it.
And of course, Mizuki had to choose that moment to push Yuuta's door wide open and waltz right in.
He chuckled at the sight of Yuuta in his boxers and socks, something which sent distinct shivers up Yuuta's spine before the surprise wore off and he realised he was rather undressed and that Mizuki was here.
And people in the corridor were staring.
"Mizuki! Knock before you walk in!" he huffed loudly; cheeks flaming pink as he hurriedly walked to his bathroom and slammed the door. Stupid Mizuki, Yuuta thought miserably. He was always doing things like this.
A moment later, there was a knock at the bathroom door and Yuuta instinctively turned the lock.
"You know your socks and boxers don't match, Yuuta," Mizuki purred through the door, and Yuuta shuddered.
Maybe he should have gone home for the weekend after all.
Syuusuke would have scared Mizuki right off.
Syuusuke scared a lot of people off actually.
(S)
Yuuta looked at the café with more than a little apprehension.
It was already late afternoon, and he'd have preferred to get back to the dorms so he could finish off his homework and make sure he got to dinner on time (before all the edible food had disappeared), but Mizuki had insisted. That was, Mizuki had draped his arm around Yuuta's neck and reminded him that Yuuta had promised him last week that he'd come, and instead he'd gone home, and if Yuuta didn't come with him today, Mizuki was going to have to call his brother and talk.
Yuuta had weighed up his options for all of about ten nanoseconds before deciding that going out with Mizuki was a whole lot better than having Mizuki talk to Syuusuke.
Especially when he considered all the things Mizuki could talk about.
Yuuta honestly couldn't understand his manager's fascination with his brother. Furthermore, the thought of Mizuki and Syuusuke ever getting along gave him chills, even more so than the thought of Mizuki telling Syuusuke about the magazines he'd found under Yuuta's bed or the fact that he'd once found three pairs of boxers in Yuuta's pile of dirty clothing just one day after he'd done his laundry.
(When Yuuta had lost his temper at Mizuki asking him why exactly he was sorting through his dirty clothes, Mizku had told him it was an irrelevant question. What was relevant was that he was entirely available should Yuuta ever need to consult him about this sort of thing. Yuuta didn't think he ever would.)
And so, here he was at a café in the centre of the city; a newly-opened, upmarket-looking place that Mizuki wanted to try out for their green tea crème brulees.
A slight grimace on his face, Yuuta followed Mizuki inside.
(S)
"Stop here," Atobe directed suddenly, authoritatively, startling his driver into braking a little hard and swerving in the general direction of the kerb.
The limousine pulled into a no-standing zone at the side of the road and Atobe glanced through the tinted window at the café on the other side of the glass.
"Kabaji, get me a strawberry milkshake and make it quick," Atobe instructed, his tone a little sharper than usual.
"Usu," Kabaji replied, opening the door and walking out and into the café.
Atobe peered after him.
He was thirsty and he couldn't wait another ten minutes until he arrived back home. Of course, he could have had anything else from the minibar in the back of the limousine, but he had a sudden craving for a milkshake, and he knew for a fact that the milkshakes here were good.
Saturday morning training had taken more out of him than he'd anticipated. He'd stayed up later than he'd meant to the night before, so he'd been a little tired in the first place, but then he'd had other things with which to deal – things like Choutarou and Shishido and Jirou and the unnamed shirt which had turned up in his locker in the clubroom.
Kabaji was taking his time, he noted with annoyance.
Atobe stretched out his arms in front of him, practising his patience. But when Kabaji still hadn't returned after another three minutes, he frowned and twitched a little, wanting to know exactly what was taking the boy so long.
Another two minutes and he'd had enough waiting. If Kabaji wasn't going to return any time soon, he'd just have to go in and get his drink himself. He'd have called, but his phone had gone flat that morning after he'd had to make a rather long call to Jirou's house to make sure he'd get out of bed and to training on time.
He could hardly send the driver either. He'd probably be just as slow as Kabaji.
"Driver," he said quickly, tone flat and bored.
The driver took a glance in the rear-view mirror at Atobe's expression and hurriedly hopped out of his seat to run around and open Atobe's door with a flourish.
Atobe swung his legs out and stepped up onto the footpath, trying not to look annoyed as he opened the door to the café and stepped inside.
It was busier than he'd anticipated. All of the tables were taken, and most of the seats were as well, and the queue at the counter was seven people long.
Kabaji stood second from the end.
Atobe looked at the pimply youth behind the counter and his co-worker, who looked about 70 and as though she ought to have been in a nursing home already, and decided that the wait wasn't worth the bother.
He could feel a headache coming on, and he irritably marched up to Kabaji, about to tell him to forget about the milkshake and hurry back to the limo when a familiar voice caught his attention.
(S)
Yuuta tapped the top of his crème brulee, watching with satisfaction as the spoon cracked the hard sugar layer and sank into the soft, fluffy texture beneath.
The café was a lot busier than he'd thought it would be, and it was actually not half as bad as he'd imagined either. Mizuki hadn't said (or done) anything weird yet, and he'd even kept his legs on his side of the table, which was something he normally didn't seem to be able to do for more than five minutes.
Yuuta scooped up a little of his dessert and put the spoon in his mouth, pleasantly surprised at the taste.
When Mizuki had said 'green tea crème brulee' at first, he'd been thinking something horribly disgusting that only people with "tastebuds with taste" would like – things like snails and frogs and lamb's brains and those other weird things Mizuki sometimes tried to feed him. But this was actually… quite…
Yuuta searched for the word, but came up blank.
Well, anyway, it was good.
Better than snails.
"What do you think, Yuuta?" Mizuki asked, his eyes focused only on Yuuta.
Yuuta nodded. "It's good," he replied, a little smile of relief on his face.
Mizuki seemed pleased enough with that, and chuckled. "You're more of a sweet tooth than you look, Yuuta."
Yuuta shot him a glare. "Mizuki-san…"
"It's too bad your sister's never available these days," Mizuki mused aloud. "Wouldn't it be fun to go out together, Yuuta?"
Yuuta cringed, but said nothing. Mizuki never paid him any heed when he was in one of these moods anyway.
"Perhaps I should come and visit you when you return home next," Mizuki continued. "What do you think?"
Yuuta cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I don't think so," he mumbled, and put another spoonful of dessert into his mouth.
"Your brother will be home, won't he? It's been a long time since we've seen each other, and I'm sure he's missing the stimulation of having a rival…"
Yuuta tactfully looked away. Mizuki never got to finish his sentence though, and Yuuta was spared the trouble of thinking up a reply as they both found themselves interrupted.
"Fancy meeting you here… Fuji Yuuta."
Yuuta looked up quickly, not recognising the voice.
Luckily he was sitting on a couch and not on a chair or he might have fallen right off.
Atobe Keigo stared back at him, a smug look on his face as he flicked his grey hair.
Yuuta couldn't help but frown a little, slightly confused.
Atobe, apparently, wasn't used to such silent greetings, and made a small noise of annoyance before sitting down on the couch in the space next to Mizuki.
Mizuki twitched.
It was entirely one thing to bump into Atobe and endure his ego for one or two minutes, but it was entirely another when he actually seemed to want to outstay his welcome and intrude on Mizuki's hard-won time with Yuuta. And only Yuuta.
Yuuta blinked, unsure what he was supposed to say to that.
"I notice the standard of your company seems to have deteriorated since the last time I saw you," Atobe said, filling in the silence. Clearly both boys were too stunned by his presence to produce any meaningful conversation, so he'd have to make his own.
"I thought you'd appreciate mine," Atobe continued when it was clear that neither had yet recovered from the surprise.
Yuuta looked across at Mizuki.
Mizuki looked mildly irritated, though with the tight, stressed smile he was sporting, Atobe was possibly just egotistic enough not to notice it at all and go on talking until Mizuki lost his temper and poured his coffee over Atobe's head.
If Syuusuke were here, he'd probably say it added colour to the greys.
"And to what do we owe the honour of your visit, Atobe-san?" Mizuki asked, twirling a strand of his hair. Yuuta noticed it wasn't the loose, unconscious action of a plotting, scheming or otherwise evilly-engaged Mizuki. It was the tight, snappy action of a hand which would rather be doing something to get rid of Mizuki's current problem.
Atobe blinked, a blank expression on his face as he turned to Mizuki. He'd met this boy before; annoying thing that he was.
"I'm waiting for my drink, isn't that obvious?" he replied a little shortly.
Mizuki pursed his lips.
Yuuta couldn't help but feel a little annoyed. He knew who Atobe was, and what he was like, and he had no idea why Hyoutei's captain was coming and bothering them right now. He should have better things to do with his time, like preening himself or picking out his fleas or something.
It had been weird enough having Atobe turning up in his house last week, and Yuuta didn't really want to repeat the experience.
"Don't you have a lapdog to do this for you?" Mizuki asked tersely, patience stretched thin.
Atobe smirked. "I don't employ dogs, actually, so you need not apply."
"I shouldn't bother anyway," Mizuki retorted quickly. "Arse-licking really isn't my thing."
The smirk didn't disappear from Atobe's face as Kabaji appeared at the table and placed a takeaway cup in front of Atobe, who picked it up and took a sip.
"Shouldn't you be leaving now?" Yuuta grumbled, half-glaring at Atobe.
Atobe sat back and crossed his arms. "Why should I? We're having an amicable conversation, aren't we?"
"No."
"Granted, the company could be better, but I'll make do with what I have."
Yuuta twitched.
Mizuki grit his teeth.
Atobe, true to character, ignored their irritation and kept the smug look on his face, happy to stir them up.
He hadn't realised before how different Fuji Syuusuke and Fuji Yuuta were. Stirring Fuji's little brother up was proving to be a little more fun than he'd thought. It was true that he was hardly his brother's rival when it came to conversation, but he was amusing in his own way.
"You wouldn't happen to be on another date, would you Yuuta? Because I'd hate to be the person to rain on your parade for a second week… There's no fun in monotony after all… na, Kabaji," he said coolly, turning to the boy in question.
"Usu."
"It wasn't a date," Yuuta insisted loudly, a blush returning to his cheeks as he thought of all the things Syuusuke liked to tell people.
"And it's none of your business anyway," he glared, shoving the last of his crème brulee into his mouth and glaring across at Mizuki.
They were leaving.
Now.
Atobe shrugged and took another sip of his drink. "Well I'm glad you had the decency to clarify that for me. I was starting to wonder why Fuji would be wasting his time on someone like you. People say he's a genius, but clearly a genius ought to have better taste than that…"
Atobe paused for effect.
"Don't you agree, Yuuuu-ta?"
Yuuta stood up abruptly, glaring down at Atobe so fiercely that he was almost taken aback at the expression on the other's face. Somehow, he'd expected just a little more self-control out of Fuji's brother.
"Of course, you're entirely at liberty to prove me wrong," he smirked, hoping very much that Yuuta would take up his challenge.
(S)
Yuuta fumed all the way back to the dorms, so much so that Mizuki didn't actually dare speak another word until they were within the safe confines of St Rudolph.
Hours later, he was still fuming as he lay in bed, glaring across at the wall in the darkness.
They'd missed all the edibles for dinner, so they might as well have stayed out for it instead.
His homework was finished – he was sure he had a lot of incorrect answers in there – but finished was finished as long as all the spaces were filled with something.
But still, Yuuta couldn't help but feel pissed off.
Atobe's voice kept repeating itself in his head. The way he said 'Yuuta' was really, really annoying.
Yuuuu-ta.
Yuuuu-ta.
Yuuuu-ta.
Yuuta turned over, glaring now at the opposite wall. Stupid Atobe.
He fell asleep, dreaming of tennis balls that kept bouncing out of his reach and of Atobe's voice saying his name over and over and over again.
(S)
Atobe looked up as a voice startled him from his thoughts. Hyoutei's practise session was going along nicely, his plan was progressing, his lemonade was cold and all in all, he could hardly be more satisfied.
Although… He wasn't entirely sure how to proceed with Fuji Yuuta. He had risen to the bait, just as Atobe had wanted him to, but he hadn't bitten.
"How's your mouse?" Jirou asked, rocking on the balls of his feet, racquet held in front of him.
Atobe frowned. "What mouse? Why would ore-sama keep such a vile thing as a mouse?"
Jirou blinked. "You know…"
Atobe rolled his eyes and stood up, picking up his tennis racquet. "Come, Jirou. I want to play."
"Okay," Jirou said readily, grinning as he led the way to the free court, the mouse already forgotten.
.tbc.