[Fic] El Alma del Tango: 5th & 6th Dance [complete]
Title: El Alma del Tango
Author: Kiarene
Pairings: Sanada / Atobe
Rating: R
Summary: No other dance connects two people more closely than the tango.
Published: 9th August - 6nd December 2005
Disclaimer: I would love to own Atobe-sama… and gang… but I don’t.
A/N: In which Sanda finally, finally gets a clue.
El Alma del Tango
5th Dance
Life pretty much settled down after that, as life often does after an intense tournament season. Atobe never spoke of Tezuka again, at least not in terms of beating him, but instead he looked forward, to other players. Sengoku, Fuji, Kentarou. Having seen the mentioned players in action, I think he was more than a match for them.
Atobe rambled on, wondering if he could beat Echizen, who had gone away to America so nobody could beat him. Well, not for *that* reason, but it was true that leaving as he did resulted in a lot of dissatisfaction among the players he defeated, myself included.
Grunting, I mentally shook my head. The iron weights clanked rhythmically behind me, my arms burning with the strain. Atobe came over occasionally to use Rikkadai’s gym; we may not have as much funding as Hyotei, but we do have extremely good, specialized equipment.
“If you can talk so much,” I huffed, “you’re obviously not training hard enough.”
Atobe snorted in irritation. I smirked - I could *feel* his annoyance. For a while, I could only hear the metallic clanks of the weights and our panting. I counted the presses: twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty-
Then Atobe started talking again. I rolled my eyes. Granted, he’s fairly witty and he has a decent voice, but he talks too much.
“Sanada? Are you listening?”
“Yes, yes.” I paused, reached over to readjust the weights to a lower load. “Why do you think Fuji Syuuske, the Prodigy, would eventually quit tennis while his more obscure younger brother would go on to be a pro?”
“Attitudes. While the older undoubtedly has more talent, he-”
Atobe is entirely too good at this. He could go on for hours, analyzing everyone and everything.
~
“What’s this?” I stared at the two tickets in front of me. My voice echoed in the empty changing room.
“You know what these are,” Atobe said impatiently.
“Of course I do,” I snapped back. I had been trying to get hold of these tickets ever since I heard that the group was coming to Tokyo but the ones I could afford were sold out almost immediately. And, I tried hard not to peer at the seat numbers, but were those *almost* front row seats? The cost of those seats did *not* just come to mind.
It would be just like Atobe to have the tickets. To the concert I’d been dying to see. Which I hadn’t told him about.
Atobe sighed, waving the tickets. “I wanted to see the concert and I wanted company.” His tone became brisk. “Go home, shower and change. Wear something suitable. I’ll pick you up at six.”
I was torn between anticipation and annoyance. Did he even ask me if I wanted to see the concert? If I was free? That was Atobe for you.
My eyes returned to the tickets again longingly and I heaved a sigh. Well, it was very nice of Atobe to invite me.
“Anything else?” I asked dryly, suddenly in a good mood.
He eyed my cap distastefully. “Yes. Burn that cap.”
Brusque invitation aside, I was looking forward to the concert. After my shower, I stood in front of my wardrobe, clad only in a towel. It was no great chore for me to decide - I had only a few good shirts and pants. Atobe, though… I laughed silently. He was such a clothes horse.
The stray thought that this seemed much like a date ran through my mind when Atobe’s limousine drew up outside my house. Atobe came by often enough that my family was used to him and they no longer came outside to gawk at the expansive, expensive car. Now *that* was embarrassing. I pushed the random thought from my mind and got into the car.
Atobe examined me critically and pronounced my crisp blue shirt and black slacks acceptable, if boring. I eyed Atobe’s attire; a crushed silk shirt in soft gray and dark gray pants in some material that shimmered. From his shiny hair to his polished shoes, he *shone*. I told him bluntly and he preened.
Once, such behavior irritated me. Now, I realized I merely found his habits and little affections quite endearing. There was no one else like Atobe. Well, I thought wryly, if I could put up with Akaya…
The concert hall was packed, but the people were respectfully quiet. When the lights dimmed, I easily forgot about the people around as I was caught up in the music.
The fast-paced Latin music reminded me very much of the concert we attended during our last year in junior high, only this time, we were seated together and not one row apart. I noticed that while I like to close my eyes while listening to the music, Atobe sat upright and alert, eyes bright as they darted around the stage and performers. Atobe told me once he was very much a visual person, and that was why he particularly enjoyed coming to concerts rather than simply listening to the album at home.
I’ll have to return this treat, I thought, eyes half-closed as I watched him out of the corner of my eyes. All too often, Atobe’s generosity was overlooked because of his wealthy background; just because a person could easily afford the gift doesn’t cheapen the thought behind it.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” Atobe asked me as we walked around during the intercession. The foyer had lovely artwork adorning the walls.
“Very much so.” I inclined my head in thanks. “Thank you very much.”
Atobe waved a hand airily.
Passing an open balcony, we both slowed. A shared glance - perhaps some of the teamwork we cultivated on court extended off the court as well - and we stepped out onto the balcony. The night air was crisp, a fresh welcome after the warm, overly perfumed air indoors.
“The intermission is over,” Atobe noted. Indeed, the sounds of people moving about in the corridors behind us were fading. I wasn’t sure how long we stood there.
I felt oddly reluctant to move, the mood around us mellow. “Aa.”
Atobe gave me a quizzical look, but didn’t move. It was quiet, everyone else having gone back into the concert hall. Then, faintly, we could hear the music starting.
“Do you know how to dance the tango?” I asked suddenly, looking down at the other boy. I had undergone a growth spurt a while back, and now stood a half-head taller than Atobe.
Atobe smirked, and placed a hand on my hip lightly. My hand came up to grasp his other hand lightly. We fell into positions perfectly. Somehow, I knew Atobe knew how to tango. It was something I could very well imagine him doing.
Atobe laughed, clear and bright. “My, Sanada. I didn’t know you knew…”
My lips quirked. I moved his hand from my hip to my shoulder, and the rested my hand firmly on *his* hip instead. “I’ll lead.”
Atobe looked startled, and then he laughed again. As one, we started moving. Lively steps back and forth, our movements perfectly in harmony, feet tapping softly on the tiled floor. The music swelled in my head; the faint tune we could hear from the concert hall was a familiar standard.
“Your hands are cold,” I commented, rubbing his hand that was clasped in mine. He was smaller than me, slim and lithe. It was hard to believe his slender frame could hit such powerful shots.
“I’m warming up now,” Atobe said breathily, cheeks pinking lightly from the brisk dance. His hair swung lightly as he moved, his eyes bright as they peered up at me.
I had taken lessons before, but I never danced well. It had always felt a little stiff, a little awkward. Until now…
I spun him around, the music twirling around us. When he twisted back into my arms, my hand slipped from his hip to the small of his back. He allowed me to dip him, his leg sliding up along my outer thigh as he leaned back, trusting that I wouldn’t let him fall.
When the song ended, we stood there, looking at each other, hands lingering on shoulders and hips. “Let’s go in,” I said softly, keeping a hand at the small of his back as I led him into the warm building. “…Keigo.”
Keigo looked at me, eyes searching, and then he smiled.
~
“Good match,” Keigo noted. He tossed me a can of isotonic drink.
“Thanks.” I caught the still cold can and placed it on the ledge. Picking up my towel, I wiped my face. Familiar faces littered the gray concrete seats that ringed the street courts, many were Regulars from other school teams. From the other court, I could hear the steady twacks of another match. Just another Sunday afternoon, and the street courts were packed.
I inclined my head as I popped the can. “So, who’s playing on the other courts?”
Keigo looked up quizzically at Ohtori, who was seated a couple of seats higher. The light-haired boy stood up obediently and peered over to the next court. “Tezuka and Oishii from Seigaku.”
“Aa.” I glanced at Keigo. “I supposed you would want to watch?”
Keigo shrugged, looking bored. “Doesn’t matter either way.”
I raised a brow. “It’s Tezuka…”
“So?” Keigo stood up. “Oh all right. Since there’s nothing else better to watch.”
I followed, frowning. Our team mates got up as well, chattering about Seigaku.
I should be happy Keigo has forgotten all about Tezuka, but for some reason, his disinterest unsettled me. Keigo had been so obsessed with Tezuka for years, but after beating him, that fixation just fizzled. It was… unsettling.
“Keigo,” I began. He half-turned his head quizzically.
Then we were at the next courts and momentarily distracted by the activity, I forgot what I was going to say.
“Sorry, nothing.” I shook my head. A pause. I remembered something else. “Keigo, are you free for dinner later? My treat, for the concert tickets.”
Keigo smiled easily. “Sure.”
~
“So. What’s up with you and Atobe?” Akaya asked me bluntly a few days later.
I ignored him. Yelled at the second years to run another five rounds. Glanced over to the regulars to make sure…
“Don’t you all have practice?”
“Done” Masaharu chirped. “We won six-four,” Renji added. Bunta and Jackal looked disgruntled.
“You haven’t answered my question, Genichirou,” Akaya repeated.
“Nothing,” I said flatly. It *had* been quiet last year, when Akaya was still in Junior High and the rest of us had graduated to High School. Of course I knew it wouldn’t last, but I had been hopeful.
The other regulars were pretending to be looking away but doing a bad job of it. “Did you lose a bet, Akaya?”
“Yeah…” Akaya looked sheepish, then his smile turned sly. “But that’s because everyone is curious about you and Atobe.”
I ignored him again.
“You two seem very close,” Bunta noted. Everyone nodded.
“We’re good friends,” I said, aware only after I opened my mouth that I was falling right into their trap.
“Classic denial,” Renji murmured. Everyone nodded again.
“But you want to be more, right?” Akaya crowed, pointing a finger at me. “Can’t blame you; Atobe is damn hot.”
My hand clenched around my racket.
“You know you can always ask us for help,” Seiichi said softly, grinning. I then decided that the first years were slacking off in their drills and walked off.
“If you don’t want Atobe, can I have him?” Akaya yelled after me. And then he broke out laughing.
~
Although I knew Akaya was teasing me, his question disturbed me. When I realized just how such an insinuation would disturb me, what those idiots were implying…
That I *wanted* Keigo.
I couldn’t think about it; my brain just shut down. The idea, the thought of it-
-it was scary and something just not done and those idiots were just making fun of me-
-but yet it brought to mind tantalizing, scandalous thoughts of what being with Atobe might be like-
I cleared my thoughts, changed into my gi and mediated until my knees and ankles ached from kneeling on the floor. I had hoped to clear my mind, but it had the opposite effect. With nothing to distract me, all I could think about was that infuriating boy.
The moonlight slanting into my room reminded me of the glint off Keigo’s purplish-silvery hair, the way the fine strands flew up as I twirled him-
I closed my eyes in frustration. Listened to the slow inhale and exhale of my breath, concentrating on-
-the draw of his husky voice, sure and cultured. We spent the many hours discussing music or Japanese literature or tennis; he was arrogant but no doubt brilliant-
Sighing and knowing meditation was futile, I stood up and crossed my room. I picked up my katana and swung it, over and over again. Needed the mindless exertion and wanted to feel the burn of muscle. Much like tennis.
Do I want Keigo that way?
Unbidden, my thoughts drifted back to him again.
The night air was cold and I was shivering. The exertion was hard enough to raise a fine sheen of sweat, but hardly enough to keep me warm as the chill air blew over my damp skin.
I don’t know.
I… I’ll just take it one day at a time. If we….
My mind stuttered to a stop when my cell phone rang. I laid my katana back on the stand and strode across the room. Flipping my phone open, I stared down at the display. Keigo!
“Hope I’m not disturbing you Genichirou.”
“…ah, not at all,” I stuttered. Suddenly, I felt nervous.
“Sorry, I just had a bath and was about to sleep when-“
You didn’t have to tell me that detail, I thought. I do *not* need that image right now.
“-I realized that we never did finish our match. Do you want to meet up on the street courts this weekend?”
Actually, no. For some reason, I didn’t feel like it. I don’t think I would be up to facing Keigo anytime soon. If ever at all. “It won’t be an official match,” I told him, thinking frantically for an excuse.
“I don’t mind.”
I clutched the phone, silent.
“Genichirou?”
My mind was blank. “….ok.”
Keigo’s voice was warm. “Great. I’ll see you then, 4 o’clock.”
Long after Keigo hung up, I was still staring at the wall. Then I slapped myself.
Idiot!
~
A/N: Game, set, match. Last chapter!
El Alma del Tango
6th Dance
By the time Sunday came around, I was a nervous wreak. I didn't think I would be able to play my best, as mentally troubled as I am now, but backing off wasn't an option. Keigo would ask why... and I was not ready to say yet. If ever.
The question "how could this have happened" kept circling in my mind. I had never felt any sort of interest in any girl, or boy, before. I’d never thought about anything but tennis... and music… No time for messy relationships. I like Japanese classics too.
All of which are connected to Keigo. He’s always there, a constant. I feel more comfortable with him than with any of the girls I know, and yet, my relationship with Keigo is not like the friendships I have with my teammates; he’s in a different category on his own. Maybe it is… but I am not even sure if what I feel for Keigo is, well, something more-than-and-not-quite-friendship or not.
I arrived at the outdoor courts, cap pulled low and face blank, mind whirling round and round like a dog chasing its tail. To my horror, my teammates were there. Bunta caught sight of me first and waved. The whole group turned to grin cheekily at me.
"What the hell are you all doing here?" I barked rudely.
Akaya pointed a thumb behind him. "Oshitari called me."
I looked behind him. The entire Hyotei team beamed back at me.
"Please tell me Seigaku or Fudomine isn't here as well."
"Do you think I should call them?" Yukimura asked with a straight face.
"Hell, no!" I stomped off towards the courts, knowing there really was no way for me to stop the others from watching. Knowing that there really was no *good* reason for me to feel so touchy as well.
Keigo wasn't here yet so I got out my racket and started a few rallies at the practice wall to warm up. I was just working up a light sweat when I heard footsteps around me. Without thinking, I took a step to the side. A thwack behind me, and the ball flew past my shoulder.
Keigo stepped up beside me, racket held low. "How did you know it was me?" He sounded like he already knew the answer.
"I could tell."
The ball now alternated between us. Keigo didn't say anymore, but for some reason, he had a pleased look on his face. I guess he must be happy he was finally going to play a long-time rival.
I faltered mid-step.
Rival. Was that all he saw me as?
The ball sailed past me, crashing into the chain fence behind with a rattle. Before I could turn, Keigo was already there, scooping up the ball with his racket. He gave me a quizzical look. "Enough warm-up?"
"Yeah," I said quickly. "You?"
Keigo nodded. We walked over to the courts in silence. At the furthermost courts, our teams were looking very friendly and chummy. Keigo looked pleased with himself. Overall, the atmosphere was relaxed. Even festive. The boys chattered. Somebody popped a drink can.
If they start breaking out snacks though, I *will* send them a ball or two.
"Would you like to serve first, Gennichirou?" Keigo called out.
I shrugged. Bounced the ball, and served it. For the first few minutes, we rallied back and forth, but my mind wasn't wholly on the game and it showed. First point went to Keigo when I dropped an easy point. After I retrieved the ball, I turned to look at Keigo, who was frowning slightly, mouth twisted, eyes searching worriedly…. and disappointed.
Suddenly, I felt angry at myself. I accepted Keigo's inivitation to a match and I should be playing my best. To daydream like this was a show of disrespect to Keigo. And that look of faint disappointment; it speared me. I never want to see him look at me like that. Clenching my racket tightly, I took a deep breath and centered myself.
When I next served, I didn't hold anything back. Keigo looked surprised at the sudden change in game tempo, which quickly changed to a grin. The intensity rose quickly from there. The points climbed evenly between us; it was a very close match.
Facing Keigo across the net brought forth a host of conflicting thoughts. I realized that more than just playing a match wtih Keigo, I wanted to give my very best. To impress him, to show Keigo that I was worthy.
I remembered how obsessed Keigo had been with Tezuka, and I realized I wanted Keigo to look at *me* instead with those eyes. To chase only me. To only look at me.
But Keigo only chased Tezuka because he viewed Tezuka as a rival, because he hadn't been satistified with the previous outcome of their match. I did not want that - I want Keigo to see me as a rival...
I want Keigo to see me as his *only* rival.
I want Keigo to see me as *more* than his rival.
The ball crisscrossed the court blisteringly. My cap was sodden and Keigo's face was heavily flushed, his bangs damp and curling. I couldn't keep my eyes off him. I reached for the ball automatically, but my eyes were always drawn back to him. Keigo is beautiful, and when he plays all out like this, his lithe body stretching for the ball, every stroke calculated and elegant, he never looked more perfect. The fierce look in his eyes and the sharp smile on his lips, the intense concentration, yes, I want all that.
I want to give my all. But...
But if I beat Keigo, will he only see me as a rival? As someone to beat in his quest for perfection?
The ball slammed into the chain fence with a loud rattle. "Five-all. Change courts."
Panting heavily, I walked towards the bench in a daze. As this was only a friendly match, we simply left our stuff on the same bench. Someone tossed me a cold drink, and I downed it with relief.
Looking at Keigo, I thought; and if Keigo won, will he move on? I remembered what happened after he defeated Tezuka and a chill ran through me. He never looked at Tezuka with those serious eyes again.
What should I do?
I don't want to beat Keigo... but I don't want to lose either. I...
Dimly, I heard the referee's call to return to play. Without thinking, I reached out and grasped his wrist. "Keigo."
He turned to look at me, puzzled.
I suddenly felt extremely stupid.
"Yes?" He cocked his head, studying me intently.
"I..." I stared at him, not knowing what to say. How to explain myself. Keigo waited patiently, a worried look growing on his face.
"I can't play on."
"Why?" He looked alarmed. "Did you injure yourself?"
"No," I said slowly. "I just think... I can't finish my match with you."
"What?! Why?" Keigo exclaimed in sudden anger. He wrenched his hand out of my grip violently. "Explain yourself! Is it because you think you've won the game already?"
"No!" Panicked, I grabbed his hands again, both hands. "It's because I don't want this to be over!"
"Because you don't want... what to be... over?" Keigo looked shocked.
"I don't want you to look at me only a rival. But I don't want to be discarded like Tezuka as well," I said hurriedly. At the back on my mind, I knew I wasn't making sense at all. But Keigo was always very smart, and I could see comprehension growing in his eyes.
"Did you think that-"
"Keigo." My cheeks grew warmer, my voice hoarse and gruff. I had been refusing to admit to the obvious until it was right in front of me.
"Shut up."
And I pulled him close, wrapping my arms around him and kissed him. Full on his soft lips, wet and hot and utterly perfect. After a moment, Keigo kissed back enthusiastically. Our rackets clattered to the ground.
Dimly, I heard a roaring noise. Then I registered Keigo's hands pushing me away, gently but insistently. Reluctantly, I broke the kiss.
"As much as I would like to explore this further, I do believe it's currently a little too public..."
I finally look up, and oh hell.
I had forgotten all about the spectators.
"You didn't notice more people watching as our match progressed?" Keigo tried to sound casual but it was hard when I was still wrapped around him.
Someone gave a very shrill whistle.
"Uh, maybe you should let me go?" Keigo's cheeks were darkening.
I stepped back but did not release him completely, swearing heavily. "Do you think we can escape them?"
"Not a chance."
Holding his hand firmly, I had but one thought on my mind. I caught his eye and nodded.
And the two of us ran helter-skelter from the courts in the direction away from the crowd, crashing through the bushes. We ran like children, laughing hysterically, through the bushes and across pavements and lawns, until we were out of breath. Slowing down and wheezing, we realized we had run until the canal. We walked in silence for a while, my hand still holding his.
“I never saw you as Tezuka,” Keigo said suddenly.
I looked askance at him. “What do you mean?”
He turned his head, staring incredulously. “I can’t believe you didn’t realize! I don’t go out for coffee and hang around discussing classic Japanese poetry with rivals. I don’t invite them out for a concert, and I sure as hell wouldn’t dance with them.” He gestured wildly, voice rising. “Gennichirou, I don’t even call Tezuka by his first name!”
“Oh.” I blinked.
“Oh indeed,” Keigo said waspishly. Then he smirked. “But your jealousy was cute.”
“I was not-!”
“I suppose it’s good you’re possessive,” Keigo went on, tone musing.
“What?”
“Kiss me again,” Keigo demanded. Feeling a little aggravated, I leaned across and kissed him hard.
“Well, maybe,” I admitted when we pulled apart again. This time, I slid my arm around his lower back, keeping one hand on his hip.
Keigo leaned into me with a satisfied purr. “But we really must do something about your cluelessness. And this.”
Almost idly, he reached up, plucked off my cap and dropped it in a trashbin. I was about to yell at him when he smiled back, catching me off-guard.
“Keigo.” My eyes narrowed. “Shut up.”
And I leaned down to kiss him again.
~*~ End ~*~
Omake
“What are you going to tell them?” Keigo asked, We were lying down on the grass beside the canal. The sun was setting, painting the sky a hazy orange-blue. The air was very quiet, missing the usual bustle of rush-hour traffic on weekdays.
“I’m trying hard not to think about that.” I closed my eyes, enjoying the cooling breeze. “What about you?”
“I don’t have to explain myself,” Keigo said haughtily.
“Good idea.” I grinned.
“Gennichirou.”
“Hm?”
“They’re holding your racket hostage.”
“…damn,” I swore. “Hey, what about yours?”
I could feel his shrug. “I’ve plenty.”
“…”
A bicycle went past on the path above us, bell tinkling.
“Keigo?”
“Ah?’
“Buy me a racket.”
~*~
Feedback is worshipped!
Author: Kiarene
Pairings: Sanada / Atobe
Rating: R
Summary: No other dance connects two people more closely than the tango.
Published: 9th August - 6nd December 2005
Disclaimer: I would love to own Atobe-sama… and gang… but I don’t.
A/N: In which Sanda finally, finally gets a clue.
El Alma del Tango
5th Dance
Life pretty much settled down after that, as life often does after an intense tournament season. Atobe never spoke of Tezuka again, at least not in terms of beating him, but instead he looked forward, to other players. Sengoku, Fuji, Kentarou. Having seen the mentioned players in action, I think he was more than a match for them.
Atobe rambled on, wondering if he could beat Echizen, who had gone away to America so nobody could beat him. Well, not for *that* reason, but it was true that leaving as he did resulted in a lot of dissatisfaction among the players he defeated, myself included.
Grunting, I mentally shook my head. The iron weights clanked rhythmically behind me, my arms burning with the strain. Atobe came over occasionally to use Rikkadai’s gym; we may not have as much funding as Hyotei, but we do have extremely good, specialized equipment.
“If you can talk so much,” I huffed, “you’re obviously not training hard enough.”
Atobe snorted in irritation. I smirked - I could *feel* his annoyance. For a while, I could only hear the metallic clanks of the weights and our panting. I counted the presses: twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty-
Then Atobe started talking again. I rolled my eyes. Granted, he’s fairly witty and he has a decent voice, but he talks too much.
“Sanada? Are you listening?”
“Yes, yes.” I paused, reached over to readjust the weights to a lower load. “Why do you think Fuji Syuuske, the Prodigy, would eventually quit tennis while his more obscure younger brother would go on to be a pro?”
“Attitudes. While the older undoubtedly has more talent, he-”
Atobe is entirely too good at this. He could go on for hours, analyzing everyone and everything.
~
“What’s this?” I stared at the two tickets in front of me. My voice echoed in the empty changing room.
“You know what these are,” Atobe said impatiently.
“Of course I do,” I snapped back. I had been trying to get hold of these tickets ever since I heard that the group was coming to Tokyo but the ones I could afford were sold out almost immediately. And, I tried hard not to peer at the seat numbers, but were those *almost* front row seats? The cost of those seats did *not* just come to mind.
It would be just like Atobe to have the tickets. To the concert I’d been dying to see. Which I hadn’t told him about.
Atobe sighed, waving the tickets. “I wanted to see the concert and I wanted company.” His tone became brisk. “Go home, shower and change. Wear something suitable. I’ll pick you up at six.”
I was torn between anticipation and annoyance. Did he even ask me if I wanted to see the concert? If I was free? That was Atobe for you.
My eyes returned to the tickets again longingly and I heaved a sigh. Well, it was very nice of Atobe to invite me.
“Anything else?” I asked dryly, suddenly in a good mood.
He eyed my cap distastefully. “Yes. Burn that cap.”
Brusque invitation aside, I was looking forward to the concert. After my shower, I stood in front of my wardrobe, clad only in a towel. It was no great chore for me to decide - I had only a few good shirts and pants. Atobe, though… I laughed silently. He was such a clothes horse.
The stray thought that this seemed much like a date ran through my mind when Atobe’s limousine drew up outside my house. Atobe came by often enough that my family was used to him and they no longer came outside to gawk at the expansive, expensive car. Now *that* was embarrassing. I pushed the random thought from my mind and got into the car.
Atobe examined me critically and pronounced my crisp blue shirt and black slacks acceptable, if boring. I eyed Atobe’s attire; a crushed silk shirt in soft gray and dark gray pants in some material that shimmered. From his shiny hair to his polished shoes, he *shone*. I told him bluntly and he preened.
Once, such behavior irritated me. Now, I realized I merely found his habits and little affections quite endearing. There was no one else like Atobe. Well, I thought wryly, if I could put up with Akaya…
The concert hall was packed, but the people were respectfully quiet. When the lights dimmed, I easily forgot about the people around as I was caught up in the music.
The fast-paced Latin music reminded me very much of the concert we attended during our last year in junior high, only this time, we were seated together and not one row apart. I noticed that while I like to close my eyes while listening to the music, Atobe sat upright and alert, eyes bright as they darted around the stage and performers. Atobe told me once he was very much a visual person, and that was why he particularly enjoyed coming to concerts rather than simply listening to the album at home.
I’ll have to return this treat, I thought, eyes half-closed as I watched him out of the corner of my eyes. All too often, Atobe’s generosity was overlooked because of his wealthy background; just because a person could easily afford the gift doesn’t cheapen the thought behind it.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” Atobe asked me as we walked around during the intercession. The foyer had lovely artwork adorning the walls.
“Very much so.” I inclined my head in thanks. “Thank you very much.”
Atobe waved a hand airily.
Passing an open balcony, we both slowed. A shared glance - perhaps some of the teamwork we cultivated on court extended off the court as well - and we stepped out onto the balcony. The night air was crisp, a fresh welcome after the warm, overly perfumed air indoors.
“The intermission is over,” Atobe noted. Indeed, the sounds of people moving about in the corridors behind us were fading. I wasn’t sure how long we stood there.
I felt oddly reluctant to move, the mood around us mellow. “Aa.”
Atobe gave me a quizzical look, but didn’t move. It was quiet, everyone else having gone back into the concert hall. Then, faintly, we could hear the music starting.
“Do you know how to dance the tango?” I asked suddenly, looking down at the other boy. I had undergone a growth spurt a while back, and now stood a half-head taller than Atobe.
Atobe smirked, and placed a hand on my hip lightly. My hand came up to grasp his other hand lightly. We fell into positions perfectly. Somehow, I knew Atobe knew how to tango. It was something I could very well imagine him doing.
Atobe laughed, clear and bright. “My, Sanada. I didn’t know you knew…”
My lips quirked. I moved his hand from my hip to my shoulder, and the rested my hand firmly on *his* hip instead. “I’ll lead.”
Atobe looked startled, and then he laughed again. As one, we started moving. Lively steps back and forth, our movements perfectly in harmony, feet tapping softly on the tiled floor. The music swelled in my head; the faint tune we could hear from the concert hall was a familiar standard.
“Your hands are cold,” I commented, rubbing his hand that was clasped in mine. He was smaller than me, slim and lithe. It was hard to believe his slender frame could hit such powerful shots.
“I’m warming up now,” Atobe said breathily, cheeks pinking lightly from the brisk dance. His hair swung lightly as he moved, his eyes bright as they peered up at me.
I had taken lessons before, but I never danced well. It had always felt a little stiff, a little awkward. Until now…
I spun him around, the music twirling around us. When he twisted back into my arms, my hand slipped from his hip to the small of his back. He allowed me to dip him, his leg sliding up along my outer thigh as he leaned back, trusting that I wouldn’t let him fall.
When the song ended, we stood there, looking at each other, hands lingering on shoulders and hips. “Let’s go in,” I said softly, keeping a hand at the small of his back as I led him into the warm building. “…Keigo.”
Keigo looked at me, eyes searching, and then he smiled.
~
“Good match,” Keigo noted. He tossed me a can of isotonic drink.
“Thanks.” I caught the still cold can and placed it on the ledge. Picking up my towel, I wiped my face. Familiar faces littered the gray concrete seats that ringed the street courts, many were Regulars from other school teams. From the other court, I could hear the steady twacks of another match. Just another Sunday afternoon, and the street courts were packed.
I inclined my head as I popped the can. “So, who’s playing on the other courts?”
Keigo looked up quizzically at Ohtori, who was seated a couple of seats higher. The light-haired boy stood up obediently and peered over to the next court. “Tezuka and Oishii from Seigaku.”
“Aa.” I glanced at Keigo. “I supposed you would want to watch?”
Keigo shrugged, looking bored. “Doesn’t matter either way.”
I raised a brow. “It’s Tezuka…”
“So?” Keigo stood up. “Oh all right. Since there’s nothing else better to watch.”
I followed, frowning. Our team mates got up as well, chattering about Seigaku.
I should be happy Keigo has forgotten all about Tezuka, but for some reason, his disinterest unsettled me. Keigo had been so obsessed with Tezuka for years, but after beating him, that fixation just fizzled. It was… unsettling.
“Keigo,” I began. He half-turned his head quizzically.
Then we were at the next courts and momentarily distracted by the activity, I forgot what I was going to say.
“Sorry, nothing.” I shook my head. A pause. I remembered something else. “Keigo, are you free for dinner later? My treat, for the concert tickets.”
Keigo smiled easily. “Sure.”
~
“So. What’s up with you and Atobe?” Akaya asked me bluntly a few days later.
I ignored him. Yelled at the second years to run another five rounds. Glanced over to the regulars to make sure…
“Don’t you all have practice?”
“Done” Masaharu chirped. “We won six-four,” Renji added. Bunta and Jackal looked disgruntled.
“You haven’t answered my question, Genichirou,” Akaya repeated.
“Nothing,” I said flatly. It *had* been quiet last year, when Akaya was still in Junior High and the rest of us had graduated to High School. Of course I knew it wouldn’t last, but I had been hopeful.
The other regulars were pretending to be looking away but doing a bad job of it. “Did you lose a bet, Akaya?”
“Yeah…” Akaya looked sheepish, then his smile turned sly. “But that’s because everyone is curious about you and Atobe.”
I ignored him again.
“You two seem very close,” Bunta noted. Everyone nodded.
“We’re good friends,” I said, aware only after I opened my mouth that I was falling right into their trap.
“Classic denial,” Renji murmured. Everyone nodded again.
“But you want to be more, right?” Akaya crowed, pointing a finger at me. “Can’t blame you; Atobe is damn hot.”
My hand clenched around my racket.
“You know you can always ask us for help,” Seiichi said softly, grinning. I then decided that the first years were slacking off in their drills and walked off.
“If you don’t want Atobe, can I have him?” Akaya yelled after me. And then he broke out laughing.
~
Although I knew Akaya was teasing me, his question disturbed me. When I realized just how such an insinuation would disturb me, what those idiots were implying…
That I *wanted* Keigo.
I couldn’t think about it; my brain just shut down. The idea, the thought of it-
-it was scary and something just not done and those idiots were just making fun of me-
-but yet it brought to mind tantalizing, scandalous thoughts of what being with Atobe might be like-
I cleared my thoughts, changed into my gi and mediated until my knees and ankles ached from kneeling on the floor. I had hoped to clear my mind, but it had the opposite effect. With nothing to distract me, all I could think about was that infuriating boy.
The moonlight slanting into my room reminded me of the glint off Keigo’s purplish-silvery hair, the way the fine strands flew up as I twirled him-
I closed my eyes in frustration. Listened to the slow inhale and exhale of my breath, concentrating on-
-the draw of his husky voice, sure and cultured. We spent the many hours discussing music or Japanese literature or tennis; he was arrogant but no doubt brilliant-
Sighing and knowing meditation was futile, I stood up and crossed my room. I picked up my katana and swung it, over and over again. Needed the mindless exertion and wanted to feel the burn of muscle. Much like tennis.
Do I want Keigo that way?
Unbidden, my thoughts drifted back to him again.
The night air was cold and I was shivering. The exertion was hard enough to raise a fine sheen of sweat, but hardly enough to keep me warm as the chill air blew over my damp skin.
I don’t know.
I… I’ll just take it one day at a time. If we….
My mind stuttered to a stop when my cell phone rang. I laid my katana back on the stand and strode across the room. Flipping my phone open, I stared down at the display. Keigo!
“Hope I’m not disturbing you Genichirou.”
“…ah, not at all,” I stuttered. Suddenly, I felt nervous.
“Sorry, I just had a bath and was about to sleep when-“
You didn’t have to tell me that detail, I thought. I do *not* need that image right now.
“-I realized that we never did finish our match. Do you want to meet up on the street courts this weekend?”
Actually, no. For some reason, I didn’t feel like it. I don’t think I would be up to facing Keigo anytime soon. If ever at all. “It won’t be an official match,” I told him, thinking frantically for an excuse.
“I don’t mind.”
I clutched the phone, silent.
“Genichirou?”
My mind was blank. “….ok.”
Keigo’s voice was warm. “Great. I’ll see you then, 4 o’clock.”
Long after Keigo hung up, I was still staring at the wall. Then I slapped myself.
Idiot!
~
A/N: Game, set, match. Last chapter!
El Alma del Tango
6th Dance
By the time Sunday came around, I was a nervous wreak. I didn't think I would be able to play my best, as mentally troubled as I am now, but backing off wasn't an option. Keigo would ask why... and I was not ready to say yet. If ever.
The question "how could this have happened" kept circling in my mind. I had never felt any sort of interest in any girl, or boy, before. I’d never thought about anything but tennis... and music… No time for messy relationships. I like Japanese classics too.
All of which are connected to Keigo. He’s always there, a constant. I feel more comfortable with him than with any of the girls I know, and yet, my relationship with Keigo is not like the friendships I have with my teammates; he’s in a different category on his own. Maybe it is… but I am not even sure if what I feel for Keigo is, well, something more-than-and-not-quite-friendship or not.
I arrived at the outdoor courts, cap pulled low and face blank, mind whirling round and round like a dog chasing its tail. To my horror, my teammates were there. Bunta caught sight of me first and waved. The whole group turned to grin cheekily at me.
"What the hell are you all doing here?" I barked rudely.
Akaya pointed a thumb behind him. "Oshitari called me."
I looked behind him. The entire Hyotei team beamed back at me.
"Please tell me Seigaku or Fudomine isn't here as well."
"Do you think I should call them?" Yukimura asked with a straight face.
"Hell, no!" I stomped off towards the courts, knowing there really was no way for me to stop the others from watching. Knowing that there really was no *good* reason for me to feel so touchy as well.
Keigo wasn't here yet so I got out my racket and started a few rallies at the practice wall to warm up. I was just working up a light sweat when I heard footsteps around me. Without thinking, I took a step to the side. A thwack behind me, and the ball flew past my shoulder.
Keigo stepped up beside me, racket held low. "How did you know it was me?" He sounded like he already knew the answer.
"I could tell."
The ball now alternated between us. Keigo didn't say anymore, but for some reason, he had a pleased look on his face. I guess he must be happy he was finally going to play a long-time rival.
I faltered mid-step.
Rival. Was that all he saw me as?
The ball sailed past me, crashing into the chain fence behind with a rattle. Before I could turn, Keigo was already there, scooping up the ball with his racket. He gave me a quizzical look. "Enough warm-up?"
"Yeah," I said quickly. "You?"
Keigo nodded. We walked over to the courts in silence. At the furthermost courts, our teams were looking very friendly and chummy. Keigo looked pleased with himself. Overall, the atmosphere was relaxed. Even festive. The boys chattered. Somebody popped a drink can.
If they start breaking out snacks though, I *will* send them a ball or two.
"Would you like to serve first, Gennichirou?" Keigo called out.
I shrugged. Bounced the ball, and served it. For the first few minutes, we rallied back and forth, but my mind wasn't wholly on the game and it showed. First point went to Keigo when I dropped an easy point. After I retrieved the ball, I turned to look at Keigo, who was frowning slightly, mouth twisted, eyes searching worriedly…. and disappointed.
Suddenly, I felt angry at myself. I accepted Keigo's inivitation to a match and I should be playing my best. To daydream like this was a show of disrespect to Keigo. And that look of faint disappointment; it speared me. I never want to see him look at me like that. Clenching my racket tightly, I took a deep breath and centered myself.
When I next served, I didn't hold anything back. Keigo looked surprised at the sudden change in game tempo, which quickly changed to a grin. The intensity rose quickly from there. The points climbed evenly between us; it was a very close match.
Facing Keigo across the net brought forth a host of conflicting thoughts. I realized that more than just playing a match wtih Keigo, I wanted to give my very best. To impress him, to show Keigo that I was worthy.
I remembered how obsessed Keigo had been with Tezuka, and I realized I wanted Keigo to look at *me* instead with those eyes. To chase only me. To only look at me.
But Keigo only chased Tezuka because he viewed Tezuka as a rival, because he hadn't been satistified with the previous outcome of their match. I did not want that - I want Keigo to see me as a rival...
I want Keigo to see me as his *only* rival.
I want Keigo to see me as *more* than his rival.
The ball crisscrossed the court blisteringly. My cap was sodden and Keigo's face was heavily flushed, his bangs damp and curling. I couldn't keep my eyes off him. I reached for the ball automatically, but my eyes were always drawn back to him. Keigo is beautiful, and when he plays all out like this, his lithe body stretching for the ball, every stroke calculated and elegant, he never looked more perfect. The fierce look in his eyes and the sharp smile on his lips, the intense concentration, yes, I want all that.
I want to give my all. But...
But if I beat Keigo, will he only see me as a rival? As someone to beat in his quest for perfection?
The ball slammed into the chain fence with a loud rattle. "Five-all. Change courts."
Panting heavily, I walked towards the bench in a daze. As this was only a friendly match, we simply left our stuff on the same bench. Someone tossed me a cold drink, and I downed it with relief.
Looking at Keigo, I thought; and if Keigo won, will he move on? I remembered what happened after he defeated Tezuka and a chill ran through me. He never looked at Tezuka with those serious eyes again.
What should I do?
I don't want to beat Keigo... but I don't want to lose either. I...
Dimly, I heard the referee's call to return to play. Without thinking, I reached out and grasped his wrist. "Keigo."
He turned to look at me, puzzled.
I suddenly felt extremely stupid.
"Yes?" He cocked his head, studying me intently.
"I..." I stared at him, not knowing what to say. How to explain myself. Keigo waited patiently, a worried look growing on his face.
"I can't play on."
"Why?" He looked alarmed. "Did you injure yourself?"
"No," I said slowly. "I just think... I can't finish my match with you."
"What?! Why?" Keigo exclaimed in sudden anger. He wrenched his hand out of my grip violently. "Explain yourself! Is it because you think you've won the game already?"
"No!" Panicked, I grabbed his hands again, both hands. "It's because I don't want this to be over!"
"Because you don't want... what to be... over?" Keigo looked shocked.
"I don't want you to look at me only a rival. But I don't want to be discarded like Tezuka as well," I said hurriedly. At the back on my mind, I knew I wasn't making sense at all. But Keigo was always very smart, and I could see comprehension growing in his eyes.
"Did you think that-"
"Keigo." My cheeks grew warmer, my voice hoarse and gruff. I had been refusing to admit to the obvious until it was right in front of me.
"Shut up."
And I pulled him close, wrapping my arms around him and kissed him. Full on his soft lips, wet and hot and utterly perfect. After a moment, Keigo kissed back enthusiastically. Our rackets clattered to the ground.
Dimly, I heard a roaring noise. Then I registered Keigo's hands pushing me away, gently but insistently. Reluctantly, I broke the kiss.
"As much as I would like to explore this further, I do believe it's currently a little too public..."
I finally look up, and oh hell.
I had forgotten all about the spectators.
"You didn't notice more people watching as our match progressed?" Keigo tried to sound casual but it was hard when I was still wrapped around him.
Someone gave a very shrill whistle.
"Uh, maybe you should let me go?" Keigo's cheeks were darkening.
I stepped back but did not release him completely, swearing heavily. "Do you think we can escape them?"
"Not a chance."
Holding his hand firmly, I had but one thought on my mind. I caught his eye and nodded.
And the two of us ran helter-skelter from the courts in the direction away from the crowd, crashing through the bushes. We ran like children, laughing hysterically, through the bushes and across pavements and lawns, until we were out of breath. Slowing down and wheezing, we realized we had run until the canal. We walked in silence for a while, my hand still holding his.
“I never saw you as Tezuka,” Keigo said suddenly.
I looked askance at him. “What do you mean?”
He turned his head, staring incredulously. “I can’t believe you didn’t realize! I don’t go out for coffee and hang around discussing classic Japanese poetry with rivals. I don’t invite them out for a concert, and I sure as hell wouldn’t dance with them.” He gestured wildly, voice rising. “Gennichirou, I don’t even call Tezuka by his first name!”
“Oh.” I blinked.
“Oh indeed,” Keigo said waspishly. Then he smirked. “But your jealousy was cute.”
“I was not-!”
“I suppose it’s good you’re possessive,” Keigo went on, tone musing.
“What?”
“Kiss me again,” Keigo demanded. Feeling a little aggravated, I leaned across and kissed him hard.
“Well, maybe,” I admitted when we pulled apart again. This time, I slid my arm around his lower back, keeping one hand on his hip.
Keigo leaned into me with a satisfied purr. “But we really must do something about your cluelessness. And this.”
Almost idly, he reached up, plucked off my cap and dropped it in a trashbin. I was about to yell at him when he smiled back, catching me off-guard.
“Keigo.” My eyes narrowed. “Shut up.”
And I leaned down to kiss him again.
~*~ End ~*~
Omake
“What are you going to tell them?” Keigo asked, We were lying down on the grass beside the canal. The sun was setting, painting the sky a hazy orange-blue. The air was very quiet, missing the usual bustle of rush-hour traffic on weekdays.
“I’m trying hard not to think about that.” I closed my eyes, enjoying the cooling breeze. “What about you?”
“I don’t have to explain myself,” Keigo said haughtily.
“Good idea.” I grinned.
“Gennichirou.”
“Hm?”
“They’re holding your racket hostage.”
“…damn,” I swore. “Hey, what about yours?”
I could feel his shrug. “I’ve plenty.”
“…”
A bicycle went past on the path above us, bell tinkling.
“Keigo?”
“Ah?’
“Buy me a racket.”
~*~
Feedback is worshipped!