Star-Crossed

Character/Pairings: Atobe/Oshitari
Rating: NC-17
Words: 5416
Summary: Oshitari thinks too much; Atobe has never been good at expressing what he needs on a personal level. "Perhaps, Yuushi thought, it has always been hopeless."

"Game, set, and match – Atobe! Six games to three!" a deep voice boomed.

Yuushi shook the sweat out of his hair, taking off his glasses to wipe at his forehead with a sleeve. He was standing in the middle of a Hyoutei tennis court, panting hard and trying to stop the sweat from dripping into his eyes.

Behind him, the sun was setting, orange and red streaks colouring the darkening sky. Yuushi turned his head up, admiring the scenery for a few moments. The night was cool, the chilly evening air chasing away the humidity and the heat of the afternoon. Yuushi took a deep breath, and smiled.

Then a towel was thrown onto his head. He blinked and plucked it off, raising an eyebrow.

"Stop daydreaming and cool down before you catch a cold," Atobe ordered, arms crossed and a towel draped over his shoulder. He tossed a water bottle over, and it was only Yuushi's well-trained reflexes that allowed him to catch it.

Yuushi laughed lightly, twisting the bottle cap open and taking a long draught. His eyes didn't leave Atobe's, noting the frustrated light in his eyes, his soft sigh. He put the bottle down, and started rubbing his hair with the towel, not meeting Atobe's eyes again.

"I'm not a very good opponent nowadays, am I?" he began, his tone teasing. "You still look frustrated."

Atobe shook his head and did not answer. Yuushi watched him for a moment before turning away, walking towards the bench.

"No," Atobe's footsteps were light, almost weightless, as if he was wearing the winged sandals of Hermes. "Don't be ridiculous, Oshitari. You..."

Yuushi stopped in his tracks, turning back to face Atobe. He blinked, tilting his head slightly to the side. "I...?"

Atobe shrugged and started walking towards him. As if on cue, Kabaji stepped down from the umpire's chair and headed for them. Atobe was looking towards him when he continued, "I know you too well; played you for too long that even without the Koori no Sekai, I can roughly find where your blind spots are."

At Yuushi's sudden, startled look, he chuckled softly, "Don't look so shocked. Just because you can play with your mind closed doesn't mean that I can't still read you, Yuushi. My Insight is far better than that, especially after so long."

Oh. What use is it for now, then? Yuushi shook his head, chuffing under his breath. He turned away, ostensibly staring at the sunset. Ne, Atobe. Do you know that I learnt how to live my entire life with my mind closed just for you? So you can develop your Insight?

Just so I can hide from that very Insight of yours?

Should I tell you?

Yuushi stared down at the purple asphalt courts, rubbing his hair with the towel. "And you tell me this now," he remarked dryly, looking back up to face his captain. A pause, and then he sighed. "You need to find someone who is stronger than you are, to perfect this move. Someone," he held up a hand, smirking slightly, "who is not Tezuka."

Atobe shook his head immediately, and he huffed quietly, "I'm going to use this move against him, Oshitari. Why would I give him prior warning? No, I'm thinking more along the lines of... Sanada."

"Sanada? Why? " Yuushi blinked. Behind them, Kabaji picked up all three of their bags; Yuushi had stopped protesting a long time ago and just let him do it. He knew that the younger boy always wanted to help Atobe as much as he could.

"Because he is one of the very few who is stronger than I am," Atobe's arms crossed, his hands splaying on his face to form his trademark Insight pose. A smirk crossed his lips, "And because he's very easy to provoke into a match."

Yuushi's lips curved into an identical smirk, and he punched Atobe lightly on the shoulder. "Just don't get yourself killed, since you're going to his home ground." What else could Atobe do; invite Sanada to Hyoutei? He tapped his lip, pretending to think, "Maybe you shouldn't wear the school uniform and wear something red instead, since you're pretty much going to wave a red flag under the nose of a bull. Several very angry bulls."

Atobe burst out laughing at that. He shook his head, "I might just do that." Suddenly, he narrowed his eyes, reaching out to grab Yuushi's wrist and stopping them both in their footsteps. Yuushi blinked when he felt a hand, warm and callused by endless practice with a tennis racket, cup his cheek.

"You know me too well. And you worry too much," a hand tugged Yuushi down by the collar, and Atobe pressed their lips together. Yuushi's eyes widened for a moment before he started to kiss back, his hands on Atobe's shoulder.

Atobe's smirk was far too knowing when he said, "It's just tennis, Yuushi. Don't overthink it." With that parting shot, he turned and walked away. Yuushi could only stare after him, uncomprehending.

It's never 'just' tennis. This is where it had all begun. Do you remember, Atobe?

Is this going to be where it all ends, too? Is that what you're trying to say? It'll be rather poetic, wouldn't it?

Atobe turned around and raised an eyebrow. Yuushi blinked, a sheepish grin curving his lips as he jogged over to catch up.

Ne, Atobe, I'm getting tired of chasing after you.

Yuushi wasn't expecting to be pushed against the wall the moment he stepped in the Atobe's room, but he certainly adapted and opened his mouth to allow Atobe access. The kiss was harsh and demanding and possessive, and Yuushi could already feel Atobe's hands on his shirt buttons, unbuttoning them in such a hurry that he was mildly surprised that they didn't rip. His hand clenched around Atobe's shoulder, pulling him closer even as the other hand cupped Atobe through his shorts.

Smirking at the slight shudder that movement evoked, Yuushi gasped, throwing his head back as Atobe's hand slipped into his shorts and stroked. If he was only half-hard before, he was certainly hard now.

He quickly repaid the favour, pulling down Atobe's shorts and underwear clumsily, then wrapped his fingers around the heated cock and squeezed. Atobe's breath hitched, his head dropping down onto Yuushi's shoulder as he bucked his hips slightly, thrusting into Yuushi's hand. The dark-haired boy gasped again as the hand into his shorts tightened around his erection.

A soft growl; Yuushi's eyelids fluttered shut as Atobe started to stroke him in earnest. He could feel the other hand on his hips, pulling down his shorts and briefs in one fleeting motion. Yuushi broke the kiss at that, throwing his head back and drawing in a long, labour red breath as sparks of pleasure danced down his spine from the sudden onslaught of cool air on the sensitive parts of his anatomy.

Yuushi barely managed to open his eyes in time to see Atobe smirk, all arrogance and sensuality, before he slid gracefully down on his knees.

And Yuushi could only breathe out Atobe's name, half-disbelieving, before he felt a hot, wet heat engulfing him. His head snapped back, smacking hard against the wall. He did not feel any pain, for it was drowned under the waves upon waves of pleasure crashing over him. Inhaling sharply, he bit his lip, arching his back and clawing at the wall so he wouldn't shout, so he wouldn't thrust into that mouth and choke Atobe.

He felt more than heard Atobe's low chuckle, the vibrations making him shiver all over. A hand buried itself into newly-cropped golden hair; it took him a few moments, a few tries, before he could get a good grip, because it just felt so…

Unfamiliar.

Atobe pulled away, batting Yuushi's hand from his hair. He stood back up in a fluid motion, then leaned in to kiss Yuushi again. His eyes were oil-dark and intense, and Yuushi felt as if he could fall inside them forever and not be able to come out. His hands were gripping Yuushi's shoulders as if Yuushi was the only thing that kept him standing. The lips pressed against his were hard and harsh, as if demanding something from Yuushi.

But Yuushi doubted it (what could Atobe want of him that he didn't already have?), and he didn't understand. He could only wrap his arms around Atobe, embracing him as he kissed back, hesitant at first but then more passionate, determined to make Atobe forget. His hand played with the soft, short hair at the nape of Atobe's neck.

Atobe growled softly, biting Yuushi's lip and he got the message this time. Withdrawing his hand, he let Atobe pull him even closer, so close that he was sure that Atobe could feel and perhaps even hear the rapid, drumbeat-loud beating of Yuushi's heart.

An arm wrapped around his waist, and they both broke the kiss simultaneously to gasp as their naked erections brushed against each other. Atobe leaned over, brushing his lips against the shell of Oshitari's ear, his breaths tickling; a teasing caress.

Then, in a swift, unexpected move, he pulled Yuushi away from the wall and pushed him towards the bed. Yuushi stepped back and stumbled, his legs tangling in his pulled-down shorts and underwear, catching him just in time to fall backwards onto the smooth, cool sheets, a soft gasp of surprise escaping his lips.

Before he could even get over his surprise, Atobe was already stalking over, his eyes gleaming like a tiger and Yuushi was his favoured prey. He climbed onto the bed, looming over the other boy before tilting his head down and capturing Yuushi's lips for another kiss.

Atobe's hands stopped, coming down to rest heavily atop the ivory keys of the piano. His frustrated sigh and the sudden clamour of noise cut through the second chord like a scalpel through skin. Yuushi winced, lifting his bow from his violin and turning to face Atobe. He raised an eyebrow, hiding the hurt.

Atobe shook his head, crossing his arms and giving Yuushi a flat stare, "I don't see why you're wasting my time here, Yuushi, when you're not feeling the piece. Kreisler didn't name the piece Liebesleid," as usual, Atobe's pronunciation of the word is flawless, and he wasn't even the one playing the piece for the school concert, "for nothing. Your playing is too flat."

Yuushi sighed and turned away. It wasn't that he didn't feel for the piece – he did; that was why he had chosen it in the first place. He simply felt too strongly for it, and he didn't want to play it in that form in front of Atobe, who would immediately see through whatever excuses or reasons before they were out of his mouth.

But Atobe was his piano accompanist for the concert – he had insisted. So Yuushi didn't have a choice, did he? He closed his eyes and exhaled in a frustrated gust before giving Atobe a small smirk.

"I'm sorry, Atobe. Let me try again?"

Atobe narrowed his eyes, and then nodded curtly. "Alright."

Yuushi placed the violin under his chin again, raising the bow. He took a long breath and closed his eyes, running through the melody and the notes in his head. The well of emotions he had always kept behind thick walls, and he readied himself to open up the dam. He felt the strings of his violins under his bow, under his fingers, and began.

The piece was not a slow one – it wasn't as boring as that. It was rather fast-paced, but with a lingering sadness like the echoes of endless goodbyes. It was romantic, like the great romance novels that Yuushi liked to read; Gone With the Wind; Anthony and Cleopatra; Jane Eyre; Titanic. It spoke of the tragedy of love; of having loved and lost the one you love; of loving and fearing that your feelings were not returned; of hope and of tragedy; of short-lived joy and endless sorrow. It felt like the elegance of a waltz, so close yet barely touching, feeling each other's breaths on skin and yet one couldn't get closer. And at the same time it sang of the impersonal intimacy of the tango, touching almost every inch of skin yet having to remain detached from one's partner so as to dance. The tango was not the dance for lovers, for their desire for each other would hinder the dance itself.

The notes rang out sweet and true from his violin, and Yuushi's eyes slid closed. He thought of Atobe in the sunset, a speck in the distance. He thought of running and running and running, reaching out as his lungs heaved, trying to catch up to him, trying to grasp on to him. But no matter how fast or how long Yuushi ran, Atobe always seemed to be just as far away.

Atobe had always been better at running.

He played about the millions of words stuck in his throat that he was too afraid to voice. He played about the fear of rejection that made him lock up every single emotion inside. He played of the sun and the moon and the eclipse, and how the moon would always love the sun but the sun would not and could not return the love. He played for the bond they shared now and his true feelings. He played of running away; of the possibility of rejection; of losing mutual respect and of pride and of everything that stopped him from even opening his mouth.

It was always in music that Yuushi bared his soul.

The silence after the song ended was nearly deafening. Yuushi opened his eyes, turning to the piano... but Atobe wasn't sitting on the bench. Come to think of it, Atobe didn't play a single note. Where was-

Strong arms wrapped around him from behind, pulling him to lean against Atobe's chest. Yuushi blinked, his hands dropping down to his sides.

"That was beautiful," Atobe murmured. "Ne, Yuushi..."

Yuushi turned around, tilting his head to the side slightly. Atobe smiled, genuine and almost sweet, and leaned in to brush their lips together. "One day, my Insight will be sharp enough that I can see through you while off the courts." He brushed a hand across Yuushi's cheek, his smile changing into a rather melancholic one.

"Then you won't be able to hide such things from me anymore."

Atobe's predatory smile had faded into a softer, gentler one. Yuushi stared up to him, looking into his eyes with his breath caught in his throat as Atobe traced the curve of a cheekbone with the backs of his fingers, expression fascinated and almost curious. Then, slowly, like he was unveiling a great treasure, he reached up and slid off Yuushi's glasses.

Yuushi blinked, suddenly vulnerable, his true self laid out fully in the light in his eyes, the flutter of his eyelids, the rapid rise and fall of his chest. His eyes had always shown everyone what he really felt. Instinctively, he raised a hand to cover them, turning away.

But Atobe caught his wrist, pinning it to the bed none too gently as he stared deep into Yuushi's eyes. The intensity and heat in Atobe's own eyes nearly took Yuushi's breath away, and he waited, muscles tensing, for Atobe to make the next move.

But Atobe merely smiled, and ran a hand through Yuushi's midnight-dark strands. He leaned down and kissed him again, and Yuushi parted his legs, letting Atobe settle between them. He arched upwards, towards Atobe, their chests moulding against each other like they were two pieces of a jigsaw. Yuushi's arms wrapped around Atobe's back, moaning soft and low as their erections rubbed against each other.

After a few moments, Atobe pulled away, reluctance in every breath he took, turning away to rummage around in the nightstand drawers. Yuushi let his eyes slide shut, lying flat on the bed, waiting for the moment when Atobe touched him again.

He sat up, leaning on his elbows as he watched Atobe climb back onto the bed, wearing a smirk and nothing else. Their lips met again, but Yuushi broke the kiss soon after, throwing his head back and hissing through his teeth as cool, slick fingers circled and teased at his entrance.

Leaning in, Atobe whispered a soft word into Yuushi's ear, letting the warmth of his breath caress the sensitive shell for good measure. Yuushi nodded, closing his eyes and exhaling quietly, letting the tension bleed from his body.

Atobe started kissing his way down Yuushi's body, following his jaw line, then his neck. Yuushi let out a gust of air, almost like a sigh, exposing his throat as he dropped back onto the bed bonelessly.

Atobe buried his face into the crook of Yuushi's neck, nibbling on his collarbone and neck leisurely, distracting him as he pressed two fingers inside. Yuushi gasped throatily, but his only answer was to spread his legs further, his hips bucking up and thrusting against the fingers inside him, eager for more contact. Atobe, however, did not respond, his mouth moving down Yuushi's chest to tongue first one nipple, then the other.

Yuushi growled, thrusting his hips upwards again, trying to tell Atobe to hurry up. But Atobe only smirked slightly before withdrawing his fingers and, before Yuushi could react at all, pressed three inside. His tongue moved even further down, dipping into Yuushi's navel and encircling it with light licks and even lighter nips.

Yuushi's eyes snapped wide open, his back arching upwards as sparks appeared in his vision. He bunched the pure white silk sheets under his hands, his heels digging into the mattress as his hips rose of their own accord, trying to buck upwards to get more.

But Atobe's hand on his stomach held him down, held him completely still even as he tried to writhed and struggled on the bed, gasping and moaning as Atobe's fingers rubbed against his prostate and his tongue licked the head of Yuushi's cock, drawing it into his mouth.

Yuushi nearly snarled out Atobe's name, more than a little impatient and frustrated; even before Atobe could open his mouth to ask, Yuushi had already nodded a rather frantic affirmative.

Atobe smirked, his smugness like a cloak around him as he pulled his fingers out of Yuushi's body, sitting back and reaching for more lube. Yuushi frowned, disliking the mask and the sudden shuttering of Atobe's eyes.

Taking a long, deep breath, he regained control over (most of) himself, and sat up. It wouldn't do for Atobe to think of him as a pushover and easy to overwhelm, after all. He eyed Atobe with a predatory glint in his eyes. That was Atobe's only warning.

Yuushi pounced.

His grin was impish and mischievous when he pinned Atobe down onto the bed, wide-eyed as he stared up to Yuushi, their positions reversed. Yuushi groped around the bed for the tiny bottle of lube that Atobe had dropped, already leaning in to steal a kiss from Atobe's kiss-swollen lips.

The crinkle of silver foil – he looked down and picked it up, tearing it with his teeth. He put down the bottle of lube he found by the side, pinning Atobe's hips down by both hands as he proceeded to put the condom onto Atobe's erection with just his mouth alone.

The taste of latex was disgusting – thick and artificial – but the look on Atobe's face when he realized when Yuushi was about to do made it all worth it. The wide eyes; the complete shattering of that arrogant mask ; the flushed cheeks; the rapid breathing; the white-knuckled fists; the trembling of his skin beneath Yuushi's hands. Yuushi smirked, pouring a small amount of lube onto his hand, and wrapped his fingers around Atobe's now-covered cock and stroked.

The soft, strangled sound that Atobe made was like a small piece of Heaven, all for him to enjoy.

Yuushi moved closer, straddling Atobe's lap. His lips were curved into the most wicked of smirks as he lifted his hips and sank down onto Atobe's cock, impaling himself.

Perhaps, Yuushi thought, it has always been hopeless.

He had been watching Atobe for years – ever since they met that first day of middle school. He had watched him; watched his brilliance grow brighter and brighter; watched him as he pushed himself further and further and achieved more and more; watched him as he seemed to transcend humanity and become god-like. Yuushi could only watch while Atobe left him behind in the dust, racing forward to achieve all those innumerable goals; all those dreams.

He could only watch, stumbling as he tried to catch up, to catch him.

He was Hyoutei's tensai, the boy whom no one expects to work hard because being a genius means that you get the world falling into your lap effortlessly. He shouldn't have to lift a finger, because that's what being a prodigy was, wasn't it?

How terribly ironic, really.

The world had never seen the endless amounts of balls that the machine had spat at him and he had smashed back, trying to perfect the Higuma Otoshi; had never seen him sweat and his chest heave as he worked on those 'thousand techniques'; had never seen him spend hours upon hours learning how to meditate so he could live his entire life with his mind closed to the world; had never seen the calluses on his palm due to his racket and the countless scars on his knees and elbows from the asphalt.

Tensai. Sometimes Yuushi still silently scoffed at the name, because for everything he had, for every skill he possessed, he had fought tooth and nail for it. He had fought for it because he didn't want to be left behind; didn't want to be discarded like the multitudes of outdated toys and dolls and even tennis rackets that he had seen in one of the storerooms of the Atobe mansion. He fought with everything he had just to be able to watch Atobe shine so brilliantly in front of him; to be his follower and not just one of those faceless worshippers.

It was Atobe who gave him the title, Atobe who elevated him to a status that almost, almost allowed Yuushi to stand on the same level as he. It was the only reason why he still fought so hard to retain it. It was also the only why he cultivated his mask of the 'lazy genius' – no one bothered to look deep behind the fake glasses and the Kansai drawl and the smirk. No one looked, because he fulfilled their every expectation of a tensai, of a boy who never had to work for a single thing he possessed.

Atobe didn't like to be wrong, you see.

And sometimes Yuushi thought that he had worn that mask for so long that he couldn't take it off anymore. Sometimes he thought that perhaps he was that lazy genius everybody shook their heads and smiled about, the lascivious playboy flirt who gave every girl with pretty enough legs the time of the day but never his heart. Sometimes he thought that if he was really that person, then things would be so much easier.

But then Atobe would run a little further and Yuushi would have to scramble and catch up and this was how an illusion falls, shattered into glass shards and tinkling like bells as the pieces of his mask fall to the floor. The wind blew the shards away.

Yuushi's hands trembled as he looked at Atobe; blank-faced and dead-eyed on the courts as Echizen's serves flew pass him.

Atobe's hands were around Yuushi's hips, his back against the headboard as he watched Yuushi push himself before sinking downwards again, his pace maddeningly slow. He was biting his lip, Atobe noticed, his dark lashes fluttering against his flushed cheeks, his head thrown back. The pale flesh of his throat was already starting to bruise – a physical reminder of Atobe's previous kisses – and his chest was rising and falling rapidly. Dusky pink nipples rose from that pale chest, framed by long, pale fingers as his genius pinched and rubbed them.

Atobe was completely entranced. God, but Yuushi was beautiful like this. Beautiful, and such a horrible, horrible tease.

Reaching forward, he buried his hand into Yuushi's long hair, pulling him close to kiss him hard and demanding, trying to communicate all the fire he felt while simply watching to Yuushi. His hand wrapped around Yuushi's thin (lanky) frame, his fingers tapping against the nearly-visible ribs.

They both gasped, pulling away when the need for air grew too great. Yuushi had an absolutely wanton smile on his red, kiss-swollen lips, and the sight made Atobe want to kiss him even more.

Yuushi wasn't moving; he was grinding his hips against Atobe's, a slow, sinuous motion that made Atobe gasp and moan a mangled version of Yuushi's name. He leaned forward, kissing Yuushi's neck again, sucking against an unmarked spot – almost low enough to be completely covered by the collar of the school shirt – until he was sure that it would bruise.

Yuushi moaned in appreciation, and was lifting his hips again. Atobe's hands returned to Yuushi's hips – he couldn't let Yuushi do all the work, after all – and when Yuushi slid back downwards, he thrust up, seating himself completely inside Yuushi. Then, he lifted Yuushi's hips, and did it again.

Yuushi's hands cupped his face, pulling him forward into a passionate, nearly soul-devouring kiss. Atobe smiled into it, thrusting even harder and faster into Yuushi's body. And Yuushi's response could only encourage him – he moaned and gasped and sighed, clutching and clawing at Atobe's back, his eyes wide and blind with pleasure.

Atobe grinned. But there was a certain nagging voice at the back of his head...

They kissed again, their lips and mouths and tongues finding each other as if they couldn't bear to be parted for long. Atobe wrapped his arms securely around Yuushi's waist, and braced himself. He spun the both of them around, until Yuushi's back was flat against the bed and Atobe was on top of him, smirking in triumph, eyes burning with desire.

Hearing his name shouted in Yuushi's deep, usually composed voice was... deeply satisfying.

Yuushi wrapped his legs around Atobe's waist and his arms around his neck, rocking back against him. Yuushi's eyes were gorgeous this close, huge and dark and so intense, the irritating veil of his glasses long gone. Atobe loved seeing Yuushi like this, so open and raw and honest, because he was the only one who could see it; who was allowed to see.

Steadying himself with his forearms flat against the bed, around Yuushi's head, he started pounding into Yuushi in earnest. Yuushi clung onto him as if he was his only anchor in a storm, his head thrown back and eyes blinded by pleasure. Atobe had squeezed his own eyes shut, concentrating on just breathing, because sex with Yuushi was always amazing; always mind-blowing.

One of his hands left the bed, travelling down Yuushi's skin – his neck, his chest, his stomach, his thighs – to wrap around his erection. Atobe tugged at it, fast and hard and sudden, and Yuushi's eyes flew open. His mouth opened in a silent scream as he threw his head back, his fingernails leaving red trails behind as he scratched down Atobe's back. But Atobe couldn't feel it, because it was suddenly just too much – the sudden clench around his cock, the hurried, frantic kiss as Yuushi pulled him down by his hair.

His world went white and black all at once.

It was dawn when Atobe awoke – far too early to be a decent hour. He blinked blearily, unsure of what had woke him, before realizing the habitual warmth by his side was gone. He blinked again, scanning the room with narrowed eyes.

Yuushi was standing by the window, a hand splayed against the glass. He was dressed in a bathrobe – a dark blue one; his own – and he seemed to be doing nothing but staring at the rain. His glasses remained on the nightstand.

Atobe stood up, naked and unashamed, padding noiselessly over to Yuushi. He wrapped his arms around the slender waist, nuzzling again the crook of Yuushi's neck. "What's wrong?" he murmured.

Yuushi turned away, his eyes hooded. Atobe frowned, reaching out with both hands to cup Yuushi's face, turning him to face Atobe properly. "Yuushi," he said, firmly.

A soft sigh; Yuushi lifted his eyes. Atobe's breath caught in his throat, almost a gasp, in his surprise. Yuushi immediately tried to turn away, but Atobe stopped him, forcing him to face him with a hand in his hair and the other on his chin. Those eyes...

No wonder Yuushi wore glasses, he thought, almost dazed. Yuushi's eyes showed so much; showed every single drop of emotion that the other boy was feeling. They were brimming over with so much emotion that Atobe thought that he was going to drown in them; they were so intense. He could see passion there, deep and turbulent like the sea during a thunderstorm. He could see panic; fear; insecurity; confusion; shame. He could see love.

It was the first time that he had seen Yuushi's emotions laid out so bare; so vulnerable, available for anyone (for him) to trample on.

And for one of the few times of his life, he was truly grateful that his Insight worked just as well away from the tennis courts. Because he thought that he could understand, now. He could understand why Yuushi was so withdrawn and broody sometimes; why, in the middle of one of his romance novels, he would stare out of the window for no seeming reason; why he had found passion in tennis; why he was so good at hiding; why he could play (no, not just play; live) with his mind closed; why he had kept himself just a little distant from Atobe even when Atobe told him specifically not to hide.

The answer was just in front of him, reflected in Yuushi's sapphire-bright eyes.

Atobe shook his head and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he drew Yuushi closer, into a slow, gentle kiss that Atobe hoped would convey his own feelings. As good with words as he was in front of an audience, he never knew what to do when trying to convey his emotions – his particular brand verbosity and flair tended to come off as insincerity and mockery, which is, of course, entirely counterproductive. So he usually let his actions speak for themselves, but...

He thought that he had let his actions speak for themselves so far, but it seemed that certain things had gotten lost in translation. Atobe swallowed, and ran his hand through Yuushi's hair, trying to find the right words. Yuushi stared right back at him, his eyes showing completely his confusion and... hope.

"Idiot Yuushi," Atobe said, affectionately. "Why are you trying to chase after me?" He looked deep into Yuushi's eyes, taking a deep breath to calm that unaccountable nervousness he felt. He could do this; he was Atobe Keigo, and Atobe Keigo could do anything.

"Silly Yuushi, I'm standing right beside you, running with you." He paused, and he shook his head, "And even if I run forward and overtake you, I would turn around and wait for you. I'll wait for you, because I don't want to run alone with you chasing after me. I want to run with you."

Atobe blinked, and dragged a hand through his own hair, feeling naked without the bangs that he could hide behind. "God, this metaphor is stupid. I mean, I-"

Yuushi laughed, reaching forward and pressing a gentle, lingering kiss onto Atobe's lips. When he pulled away, his eyes weren't quite so dark and sad any more – they were shining. Atobe smiled slightly, then "oofed" under his breath as he was pulled into a tight embrace.

"Silly Keigo," Yuushi's voice was choked, almost as if he was on the verge of crying. Atobe mentally panicked - had he said it all wrong after all? He opened his mouth, but before he could even utter a word, Yuushi spoke again.

"Silly Keigo. I love you too."

End