It's a promise that Yukimura wants to hold him to.

The problem is that his own promise of returning sometime in the middle of next week simply won't be fulfilled, not when he returns home late, late that evening to the scrutinizing, demanding stares of his parents. They know. No matter the care Yukimura put into such an elaborate lie, there's only so much that can be done about upperclassmen ratting him out when his parents find their numbers and call and confirm that he isn't practicing long hours, he isn't around at all, and from there, there are just logical conclusions they can reach.

"Think of your health, Seiichi! If you want to keep visiting your friend so badly, then you simply can't keep playing tennis at such a strenuous level. Those long train rides aren't good for you, you're still-"

Still what?

Yukimura wants to throw a tantrum like a child, and is fairly certain that he comes close, what with how he slams his bedroom door in his parents' faces. The insinuation that he can't sit on a damned train for six hours and also play a game of tennis burns, and he texts Yanagi faster than anything, demanding a match for the next day, needing desperately to remind himself that they're wrong (especially when even Sanada still looks at him worriedly sometimes, and clearly expects him to keel over, and that makes his temper spike faster than anything).

It also doesn't change the fact that he simply can't escape onto a train again any time soon. Atobe's number hovers in his phone several times over, disappearing when the screen goes idle and Yukimura can't quite find the strength to hit call. A text will do. God, how did he even get Atobe Keigo's number, anyway? Someone must have grabbed his phone months ago and stuck it in there, because obviously, all of the captains should be buddy-buddy. Not. Atobe is tacky at best, no matter his talent, and it isn't that Yukimura harbors any sort of ill-will against him, it's more… he simply doesn't care.

Be that as it may-

If you have a free moment tomorrow, can we meet and chat? After he plays Yanagi-wins-and calms the irritated twitch of his ego.

"I thought you'd never text." Atobe sits back, legs crossed, smiling smugly, with his arms resting on the bleachers behind him.

No, too formal.

"You finally finished being so awed by me that you-"

Too wordy.

Atobe checks his watch, annoyed. Yukimura will be here any minute, and he still can't think of the proper opening line. He's unaccustomed to meeting with people that have beaten him, given how few of those there are besides Tezuka. Ah, if only it were Tezuka meeting him here, now that would be entertaining. Yukimura always makes him feel a little uneasy, as if he's not sure whether he'll have to run to the hospital or lose pathetically at tennis. Still, an invitation is an invitation, and promises to be more entertaining than what Shishido had proposed, which had been something like camping, of all things. Atobe privately believes that his team chooses activities to spite him, or possibly to punish him for every day he doesn't throw a pool party. He should definitely throw more pool parties. Maybe Yukimura would come to a pool party, if he found out it was in a pool the size of six Olympic pools stuck together, and infinity pools set into the side of a mountain no less!

Yes, that would be a more level playing field.

So distracted is he that he almost doesn't notice the gate to the court opening, and barely has time to properly secure his jersey around his shoulders-something Yukimura never seems to struggle with, damn him.

He fumbles for an opening phrase as he settles back for Yukimura's approach, deciding at the last minute on, "So, the mighty captain has come to be graced with my awe-inspiring presence."

Yes, that will do.

Yukimura is going to ignore that phrasing entirely. That's definitely for the best.

"Atobe," he greets instead, trying to keep the dryness and even more importantly, weariness from his tone. Sleeping with today in mind wasn't exactly a thing that happened, and playing Yanagi earlier might have taken the edge of his nerves off, but it certainly did his mind no favors about shutting up. "I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me. Shall we cut to the chase?"

He steps up onto the bleachers, and with a smile, deposits himself next to Atobe. "How have you been faring with your new tennis club?"

Atobe's smile brightens. "Excellent well! Your prowess, I may say, has transcended the local level. Surely we are the only two freshman captains in all of Japan, are we not?"

Everyone certainly tells him about the other freshman captain, the other one who'd had to beat an entire tennis club of a hundred members just to achieve that spot. Atobe had held onto his smile until the last defeat, walking jauntily off before dashing into the bathroom to throw up from exhaustion. But no one had seen, and Kabaji had been there when he got out, with a cloth for his forehead and a breathmint.

"That does indeed seem to be the case," Yukimura sweetly replies. "A pity that I don't have a vice captain to assist me. That sort of thing is needed in a club that seems to grow exponentially every day."

"I've always found vice-captains to be something of a bother," Atobe says airily. "They always seem to think they have an opinion that matters." His demeanor slips slightly, and he adds, slightly less arrogantly, "I was sorry to hear about Sanada's parents. Please convey my condolences."

Yukimura's head inclines. "That," he begins to admit, "is the reason I contacted you. I'm not sure if there is anyone else I can speak to at this point that might even care, let alone be able to do anything about… the way things are. I'm sure that you and every other competitor are thrilled about it, but Ibaraki is the last place that Sanada belongs."

Atobe arches a delicately sculpted eyebrow. "You wound me, Yukimura Seiichi! You think I would wish that kind of fate to befall one of my greatest competitors? Glorious me, who seeks out every dangerous opponent? Hardly!"

Ah. He can already feel a muscle in his jaw start to twitch from trying to continue smiling. "Then if dangerous opponents are your cup of tea-if I beat you in a tennis match, will you do me a favor? Barring that, you can keep your pride and simply do me a favor anyway."

"Is there a reason this favor is couched in mystery?" Atobe asks mildly. "Have I given you some offense, that you think the only way to my good graces is through tennis? Did I not send an order of one live gardenia for every member of the Hyotei tennis team when you were in the hospital? Ask your favor, and I will respond in a matter befitting my generous, awe-inspiring self."

Yukimura slowly feels his sanity slipping away, inch by inch. That's fine. It makes it a little easier to deal with Atobe on any given day, he thinks.

"I want Sanada back." It always sounds so simple when he says it, but it isn't at all. "I've tried literally everything, but the fact that he still has a living relative in Ibaraki makes it impossible to bring him back to Tokyo. Outside of killing his brother-well, does the Atobe family know any assassins?" He's only half-joking.

"I thought it might be something like this," Atobe says slowly, the jester's mask fading slightly. It's just poor form when Sanada's parents are dead, and no Atobe will ever be accused of poor form. "I have a suggestion, if you will accept help from my most gracious self. One that doesn't involve stepping outside the law, no matter how exciting it may be to dabble in delinquency."

"Anything is fine at this point," Yukimura agrees exasperatedly, feeling a tiny spark of hope for the first time in what feels like ages. That's probably premature, but… "Please, suggest away."

"I assume, given how distressed you seem to be about his condition," Atobe says smoothly, "that the life your former Vice-Captain is living is hardly up to the conditions to which men of our status-well, mine, anyway-are accustomed. If that is the case, surely there will be a legal loophole through which you can, so to say, snatch him safely home."

Seeing Yukimura blinking, he clarifies, "I have lawyers. Fleets of lawyers, in fact. And at least one investigator who won't mind sitting in an unmarked vehicle close to Sanada's place of residence for long enough to find some gaping hole in his brother's custodial care."

That definitely sounds better than anything Yukimura has heard in a long while. "That would be perfect," he agrees, maybe too-eagerly, but who even cares at this point? Atobe is suddenly about a dozen times more tolerable, and maybe he wasn't that bad to begin with-or so says the momentary flash of relief that someone is going to do something.

"Very well! Just let me know his address, I'll have him flown out by helicopter immediately." Atobe's smile widens. "Now, what favor shall I ask of you?"

And there it is. Yukimura can't repress the roll of his eyes, even as he fishes out his phone to just text the address over for Atobe's future reference. "If you manage to bring Sanada home, you can ask for anything you want," he bluntly replies.

Ah, god, Sanada's situation must really be terrible. Atobe almost lets the expression falter, almost asks quietly whether it's really so bad, but that won't change anything. Being gloomy won't bring him home faster. "Very well!" he declares instead. "I look forward to being served by you in the future, my friend!" That's a dismissal, but he can't count on Yukimura interpreting it correctly, so he jumps down from the bleachers, relieved when the jersey stays on his shoulders as he walks away.

Atobe is just one of the things that Yukimura has come to accept as necessary in the grand scheme of things. Many things are like that, when it comes to Sanada and tennis.

Sanada edges out tennis, though, even though Yukimura has had moments where he's wondered (he's only human, after all, and when he's been literally trapped by his own body, when he's been the powerless one and Sanada couldn't keep a promise…).

Now, Yukimura can safely say there isn't a contest.

Sanada or tennis. Yukimura picks Sanada, much to his parents' chagrin, and stubbornly insists that he will be going on the train not this weekend, but the next, to Ibaraki. This coming weekend, they have a game. It's just the districts, and it isn't like he needs to play in that, anyway.

The team expects him to, of course, and his name is in the singles one slot as always. That doesn't mean he has to play. That doesn't mean he'll need to play.

Except that he does, because Marui and Jackal fumble in doubles two, the upperclassmen fumble in doubles one, and the upperclassmen slotted in singles only barely scrape their way to victory.

Yukimura is seething.

It's just the districts. He could feign illness and weakness here and not play, and they would still go to the prefecturals all the same. The thought makes him actually feel physically ill, makes his knuckles white when he grips at his knees, and the warring factions of must win, must be a good captain, must lead the team to victory and Genichirou, Genichirou, Genichirou give him a migraine.

Sanada would want him to play.

He crushes his opponent 6-0, and curls up in the back of the train silently and sullenly for the entirety of the ride back, ignoring Niou's whispering about how he's unusually bitchy today, especially when they've won.

The letter he writes is filled with dozens of angrily scratched out things, because he's angry at his parents, angry at himself, and sick of apologizing by the time it's over. I spoke to Atobe, is the only consolation he can offer. He's going to fix this. He's working on it as we speak, so I'll see you soon.

Sanada needs a phone again, and soon, or Yukimura is going to lose his mind with letters being their only means of reliable communication. He's a little less angry with himself when he fishes out his allowances saved over the past couple of weeks, and includes that with the letter. P.S. Buy a prepaid phone, I swear to god.

The idea of taking Yukimura's money makes Sanada want to throw himself in the river.

But the idea of being able to talk to him again, especially after he receives a very interesting communication from JP Bank, is too tempting to resist.

He's been staying after tennis practice, ever since one of his teachers had mentioned in class that he used to be a kendo champion. Sanada had formally requested a match on his knees, and ever since he'd been able to practice again after school, with Nakajima-sensei's wooden blades.

On his way home, he swallows his pride with an acrid, bitter taste, and buys a prepaid phone from the single electronics store in the area. It takes about ten minutes by bicycle to find a spot that gets good reception, and there's never any doubt in his mind that he'll call Yukimura first, fingers hitting buttons as if he'd only dialed them yesterday.

Yukimura picks up on the second ring. "Gen-Sanada, that has to be you-ah, one second, Marui don't throw up there, please-no, don't do that, I need to take this call, Yanagi, take over-"

The clubhouse door slams behind him, and Yukimura sighs heavily as he collapses down onto a bench, leaning back with shut eyes. "I'm sorry," is all he can say at first, and he's glad, at least, that Sanada can't see him clinging to his phone like a child. "I wanted to come up this weekend."

"It's fine." It is, because even hearing Yukimura's voice is enough to make Sanada's chest ache in the best way he's ever felt. He leans back against the wall of a falling-down barn, in the middle of a rice field-the only place he can get service.

He lets out a long sigh, eyes closing so he can imagine Yukimura's here. "Sorry to use your money. I should have sent it back."

"I would have yelled at you if you had. Even the idea of it makes me want to make you run laps." Maybe he'd run them with Sanada for a change, because the idea of that sounds soothing. Yukimura knocks his head lightly back against the wall, his own eyes lidding. "I was just not going to play; then I could have come up to see you. I guess we know who the selfish one is here after all."

"You shouldn't play if you don't need to for victory, I've said it before," Sanada says, slightly cross. "You should save your strength. If you had to play, our team must have needed you." It's still our team, no matter that he's never set foot at that school. It will always be theirs, even if he never does.

"Our doubles were channeling your school's," Yukimura mutters, put out about it still. "And the upperclassmen were hardly trying. Apparently, it's something of a tradition here not to bother putting one's all into the earlier tournaments, which I find ridiculous. Also," he bitterly adds, "I would have had to fake being ill to not play, which I think would have only made the problem worse. I don't want to be like Tezuka."

"Tezuka doesn't know he's faking," Sanada says dismissively. It's an old debate, with him on one side and Yukimura on the other, neither of them believing Tezuka is as "injured" as he continually claims. "You don't need to worry about visiting me. It isn't as if we're going to run out of weekends." Ah, that's not a bad idea for a poem. He starts scratching it in the dirt with the toe of one shoe.

"… My parents don't want me to go at all." Just remembering that conversation makes his throat tighten up, and Yukimura reaches over to lock the door to the clubhouse before anyone annoying (read: everyone) can walk in and interrupt. The last thing he needs is any of them saying he's going off the deep end again. "They think all the travel is too much for me, which is ridiculous. I'm fine. I've been fine. You know I'm fine."

Sanada's toe stills in the dirt. He swallows hard at the idea of not seeing Yukimura this weekend, or the next, or at all. "I don't want you to get sick again," he says slowly, breathing deeply around the rising ache. "Just take care of yourself. That's always the priority."

"I'm not going to get sick again," Yukimura irritably replies. "It's-they said either no travel, or no tennis. But I had to play, and… I'm just going to sneak out." Yes. Definitely that, even though they had found out the last time, and he's not so sure how many strikes he has left until they start taping his bedroom door at night. "Or Atobe can just hurry up. I already agreed to an as of yet unnamed favor, the least he can do is be prompt."

"Don't do that," Sanada says with a sigh, sagging against the shed. "I don't want you to get in trouble. This won't last, Seiichi." He doesn't want to say anything too cliche, but…

"Just remember our house on the mountain. It will still be there."

"…Mm." Yukimura drags a knee up to his chest, pointedly glaring at the locker next to his own, one he's saved specifically for Sanada. "If I'm going to get in trouble, you should at least do it with me. We can both skip school one day and meet somewhere else. I'll get your tickets for you."

"You don't need to do that. I have a job after school, I'll buy my own ticket." Sanada tallies up numbers in his head. "If you can wait eleven days, I'll meet you in Tokyo. We can go to the botanical gardens."

Yukimura pauses. "Wait, did you actually agree to skip with me? I feel like I need to record this for posterity."

"I take it back. Be delinquent on your own."

"No take backs allowed, you've already agreed. Make sure you wear my headband, you look like a real delinquent then."

"Wear my hat. I miss it."

Yukimura hums in agreement. "You would. If it makes you feel better, it sleeps with me every night, in my pillowcase. My pillow smells like you."

"I wish my pillow smelled like you," Sanada admits quietly, looking around just to make sure no one has entered the rice field recently. "And not from your headband. I want your head on my pillow."

"I want to use you as a pillow." Sanada is a good one, and Yukimura can easily recall every train ride where he's dozed off onto Sanada's shoulder, and every other occasion, for that matter, wherein Sanada's chest has become a convenient resting place. "I'm sorry that I'm not as good at being a pillow, but you can still use me as one, too."

"You're better than you think. Remember how many times I've fallen asleep on you." More times than Sanada really understands, to be honest. Yukimura is all bones and angles, and yet Sanada still manages to wind up snoozing on his belly or hip or shoulder at least once a week….or at least he had. Once, he'd even drooled, to his immense consternation.

"At least you don't whine about me being bony as much anymore," Yukimura teases, slowly flopping to the side on the bench. Ah, well. It's fine and understandable if he curls up like a teenage girl around his phone right now, isn't it? "Maybe you're just used to it. You're still better because you're warm, though."

"You aren't so bony anymore." Sanada hesitates, then sinks down to the ground in a crouch, admitting on a reluctant exhale, "And I'm so happy to see you that I don't care if you're made of knives and frozen glass."

"I'm glad I'm not made of that sort of thing, though," Yukimura sniffs. "Though I've been told lately that I'm made of meanness and spite. Is that still okay?"

"It's all okay." Sanada wishes his voice didn't sound quite so broken all of a sudden.

Yukimura wonders about breaking physics, and time, and space, and how that all applies to reaching through phones to touch someone. "Are you going to place high enough in your district tournament to make it to prefecturals?"

"Yes. No matter what I have to do. The singles players are good enough. It'll be fine. I think the other district teams are afraid of me, which is for the best." Sanada closes his eyes, leaning against the phone as if that will help.

"Definitely for the best. You can be very imposing when you want to be." Yukimura exhales a long sigh, cradling his phone against his ear. "I should actually go and run practice like a captain," he quietly admits, "but it's not anywhere near as enjoyable without you here. I'm sorry that you had to do the same without me, before."

"It's fine. I just wanted you to get better." At least this time, Yukimura's safe. At least he doesn't have to wonder this time if Yukimura's going to keel over at any given time, or if he'll go to the hospital one day and find nothing but an empty, made-up bed. "Slap them around for me for losing. Go on."

"We should save your minutes for later, anyway." Yukimura can hear a few of them starting to gather around the clubhouse, anyway, obviously wanting to hear who the captain could possibly be talking to and ugh, he really might slap them around in Sanada's absence at this rate. "Don't forget about being a delinquent with me later."

Sanada starts to snap that he's never in his life broken a promise even made in passing, but he can't, now. Not after losing to Seigaku. That, probably, is what makes him the angriest of anything. "I won't forget."

And then it's awkward, because how does he usually hang up on Yukimura? He doesn't remember. "Uh, have a good...practice."

"Mmhmm." And to end on a good note for both of them-"I'll have your hat to keep me company tonight."