"Atobe and Yukimura-buchou are back together."

Marui Bunta stood in front of a bemused Jiroh. They were outside Hyoutei and Atobe, in a predictable act of post-sex obliviousness, dismissed them early from practice. Jiroh had been pleasantly surprised to see the traffic stopping yellow tennis uniform. Bunta's red hair fell in crinkles around his pale, heart shaped face.

"I know."

"So I guess we're back on?"

Jiroh looked into those uniquely gorgeous eyes. And said, "No."

"What?"

Channeling his own inner Atobe's iciness, Jiroh stated, "I don't want to be a burden to you."

"No. I want you, Jiroh-kun."

Jiroh's head snapped up. "What did you say?"

"Sorry. I understand. It's fine. I'll just go-"

"Say my name again."

Bunta cocked his head to one side, an Atobe-esque smirk playing about his lips. "Jiroh," he said, his voice confident. Atobe would have purred or carressed his name, Jiroh was sure.

"Yes?" he asked innocently, happily.

"Go out with me, Jiroh."

Jiroh's eyes were glazing over as he whispered, "Okay. You're just the right amount of genius."

Bunta smiled. Jiroh liked making Bunta smile.

He wasn't Atobe. But maybe that was okay. Because Jiroh's stomach was jumping around and he had trouble catching his breath.

As Bunta eyed a spot on the floor he awkwardly held out his hand, Jiroh took it. It wasn't cool as ice like Atobe's. Bunta's hand was warm and sweaty, just like Jiroh's.

He wasn't Atobe; he was better.

~Fin