My shoulder hurts... ><'
Title: The Odd Years
Pairing: AtoJi
Rating: PG
Notes: People seemed to like the first year, second year, third year format, so this is something similar.
Disclaimer: They belong to Konomi-sensei. *sighs*
Summary: Progression of the boys' relationship, starting age five.
Aged five:
Atobe frowned, as he shut the door of the limousine and promptly sat on something rather oddly shaped and squishy. He disdainfully lifted his hips and fished around on the seat, pulling a cuddly toy out by a rear leg before settling his bottom firmly on the car seat again, kicking his short little legs which failed to reach the floor as he examined it. "Oh Jirou," he muttered, as he appeared to be holding a cuddly sheep, one foreleg of which was completely faded and worn as a result of being constantly held by Jirou.
Tucking it under his arm as he hopped off the limousine, Atobe trotted towards his school, and had just passed the iron-wrought gates when something flew onto him. "EEEE! 'Tobe-sama has my sheepy~" squealed a delighted little voice, the owner of which hugged Atobe hard several times repeatedly and plucked the beloved toy out from under his arm. The young boy looked quite hassled for a moment, as he smoothed back his perfect hair, and patted Jirou on the head.
"You must have left it in the car after when you came over to play yesterday," he figured, walking in to the school with Jirou tumbling after him, clutching at Atobe's school shirt.
Age seven:
"Nya~ LOOK!" Jirou beamed, a paper crown tilted lopsidedly on his blond hair, being the birthday boy. He waved a four foot large sheep with much difficulty, being barely four foot himself. "It's so big, and cuddly, and BIG!"
Atobe chuckled quietly and finished his cake neatly. "Ore-sama knows, Jirou. Ore-sama chose it for you, remember?" He'd had quite a time trying to persuade the nice lady at the shop that he was serious about buying it too, seeing as he'd had much trouble trying to carry it to and onto the counter. It wasn't until his mother finally caught up with her imperious son that he'd managed to obtain the rather large toy for his friend.
The birthday boy proudly wrapped two short arms around it and said, "This is my favourite present~" before attempting to include Atobe in the hug despite the fact that his arms were already filled with sheepy, and Atobe found himself engulfed in fabric. He didn't really mind though. He'd gotten a gift for Jirou and the other boy had called it his favourite present. Atobe preened.
Age nine:
"I don't get this," Jirou pouted, swinging a racket. "What's it for?"
Atobe's parents had introduced their son to the sports of the elite a year or so earlier, and Atobe had decided that he quite liked tennis; croquet and golf was just too boring. What with all the walking in between and the slow aiming and timings. He'd immediately demanded a tutor for tennis, and was progressing along quite well in private lessons already. He'd joined his primary school's tennis team, and naturally, Jirou had tagged along to see what the fuss was about.
"You don't stand there with a racket," Atobe sighed, taking his out of its bag, "you hit the ball with it. Into the other court." Jirou gave him puzzled eyes, so Atobe proceeded to show him how it worked, stunning Jirou into awed silence. But not for long.
"EEEEE! That's so cool! I wanna play! Can I play against 'Tobe-sama?" He ran excitedly up to Atobe just as Atobe started stepping off the court, and they crashed together, Jirou hooking onto Atobe's t-shirt in a panic as the two boys tumbled over into a heap. "Ick! Atobe-sama," he whined, shoving a little at the body on top of him. "You're heeeavy~"
"Ore-sama is not one gram over thirty kilos," Atobe relied automatically, dazedly, as he hauled himself off the floor.
Age eleven:
"I'm sure your parents will send you there. It is the best school, and my parents are," Atobe affirmed to his friend as they peeked at what seemed like piles of paperwork for middle schools. "Look, there's even a picture of the grounds," he fished out the prospectus for Hyoutei Gakuen and pointed at the large buildings, extensive fields and-
"Oooh, wow~ Look at the tennis courts," enthused Jirou, poking his head over Atobe's shoulder. "Do you think we'll join the tennis club? I think I'd like to. Mama told me the tennis club is really big, and good, and stuff," he added, counting all the courts. He yawned a little, and settled against Atobe's back to look at the rest of the photos.
"...so as well as all that, there's a team of regulars, which I'll get into of course, as will you, and- Jirou?" Atobe felt a warm body slide off his back, where the younger boy had been leaning. "Jirou?" He looked down at a peacefully snoring Jirou, lulled into sleep by Atobe's running commentary of the school they were most likely going to go the next year. He rolled his eyes and put all the papers back on the table, before sliding a cushion under Jirou's head.
Age thirteen:
"It doesn't matter," insisted Jirou, flopping onto his bed, which was mostly taken up by a large cuddly sheep toy, now years old and well loved. The blond boy hugged it automatically. It was comforting, big and reminded him of Atobe. Atobe in turn looked at the thing, remembering when he'd given it to Jirou years ago, and the Jirou's happiness at receiving it. It was shabby now, the original fluff having worn thin and one ear having been lovingly and thoroughly chewed on by an eight-year old boy.
Atobe sat down on the edge of the bed and didn't look at Jirou, who was clasping the toy. "But what about my parents? And... and it'll affect our tennis," he protested weakly.
Jirou scowled. He rarely did. "Your parents couldn't mind less. They've been talking about it to my parents for months, wondering when we were going to tell them. And nothing affects your tennis." He added after the slightest hesitation, "Not even me." He plucked at the comforting wool, "But I play better if you watch me," he confessed softly. "But I guess... if you really don't want to, then it's okay."
There was a long silence. The words which Jirou had been saying slowly seeped into Atobe's mind. "Ore-sama-" he started, and then stopped. He turned on the bed to face Jirou, who was curled up in the corner, clutching the oversized toy and looking for all the world like a boy who'd had his dreams shattered. Atobe just wanted to wipe that look off Jirou's face. He crawled over the bed and curled his arms around Jirou, sheepy and all, and pulled the boy to him.
"Ore-sama thinks it's okay," he murmured softly into the blond curls, a hand cupping Jirou's chin as his thumb smoothed away the melancholy expression. Jirou leaned into him, and just seemed like the right time for Atobe to turn his head and kiss him.
Pairing: AtoJi
Rating: PG
Notes: People seemed to like the first year, second year, third year format, so this is something similar.
Disclaimer: They belong to Konomi-sensei. *sighs*
Summary: Progression of the boys' relationship, starting age five.
Aged five:
Atobe frowned, as he shut the door of the limousine and promptly sat on something rather oddly shaped and squishy. He disdainfully lifted his hips and fished around on the seat, pulling a cuddly toy out by a rear leg before settling his bottom firmly on the car seat again, kicking his short little legs which failed to reach the floor as he examined it. "Oh Jirou," he muttered, as he appeared to be holding a cuddly sheep, one foreleg of which was completely faded and worn as a result of being constantly held by Jirou.
Tucking it under his arm as he hopped off the limousine, Atobe trotted towards his school, and had just passed the iron-wrought gates when something flew onto him. "EEEE! 'Tobe-sama has my sheepy~" squealed a delighted little voice, the owner of which hugged Atobe hard several times repeatedly and plucked the beloved toy out from under his arm. The young boy looked quite hassled for a moment, as he smoothed back his perfect hair, and patted Jirou on the head.
"You must have left it in the car after when you came over to play yesterday," he figured, walking in to the school with Jirou tumbling after him, clutching at Atobe's school shirt.
Age seven:
"Nya~ LOOK!" Jirou beamed, a paper crown tilted lopsidedly on his blond hair, being the birthday boy. He waved a four foot large sheep with much difficulty, being barely four foot himself. "It's so big, and cuddly, and BIG!"
Atobe chuckled quietly and finished his cake neatly. "Ore-sama knows, Jirou. Ore-sama chose it for you, remember?" He'd had quite a time trying to persuade the nice lady at the shop that he was serious about buying it too, seeing as he'd had much trouble trying to carry it to and onto the counter. It wasn't until his mother finally caught up with her imperious son that he'd managed to obtain the rather large toy for his friend.
The birthday boy proudly wrapped two short arms around it and said, "This is my favourite present~" before attempting to include Atobe in the hug despite the fact that his arms were already filled with sheepy, and Atobe found himself engulfed in fabric. He didn't really mind though. He'd gotten a gift for Jirou and the other boy had called it his favourite present. Atobe preened.
Age nine:
"I don't get this," Jirou pouted, swinging a racket. "What's it for?"
Atobe's parents had introduced their son to the sports of the elite a year or so earlier, and Atobe had decided that he quite liked tennis; croquet and golf was just too boring. What with all the walking in between and the slow aiming and timings. He'd immediately demanded a tutor for tennis, and was progressing along quite well in private lessons already. He'd joined his primary school's tennis team, and naturally, Jirou had tagged along to see what the fuss was about.
"You don't stand there with a racket," Atobe sighed, taking his out of its bag, "you hit the ball with it. Into the other court." Jirou gave him puzzled eyes, so Atobe proceeded to show him how it worked, stunning Jirou into awed silence. But not for long.
"EEEEE! That's so cool! I wanna play! Can I play against 'Tobe-sama?" He ran excitedly up to Atobe just as Atobe started stepping off the court, and they crashed together, Jirou hooking onto Atobe's t-shirt in a panic as the two boys tumbled over into a heap. "Ick! Atobe-sama," he whined, shoving a little at the body on top of him. "You're heeeavy~"
"Ore-sama is not one gram over thirty kilos," Atobe relied automatically, dazedly, as he hauled himself off the floor.
Age eleven:
"I'm sure your parents will send you there. It is the best school, and my parents are," Atobe affirmed to his friend as they peeked at what seemed like piles of paperwork for middle schools. "Look, there's even a picture of the grounds," he fished out the prospectus for Hyoutei Gakuen and pointed at the large buildings, extensive fields and-
"Oooh, wow~ Look at the tennis courts," enthused Jirou, poking his head over Atobe's shoulder. "Do you think we'll join the tennis club? I think I'd like to. Mama told me the tennis club is really big, and good, and stuff," he added, counting all the courts. He yawned a little, and settled against Atobe's back to look at the rest of the photos.
"...so as well as all that, there's a team of regulars, which I'll get into of course, as will you, and- Jirou?" Atobe felt a warm body slide off his back, where the younger boy had been leaning. "Jirou?" He looked down at a peacefully snoring Jirou, lulled into sleep by Atobe's running commentary of the school they were most likely going to go the next year. He rolled his eyes and put all the papers back on the table, before sliding a cushion under Jirou's head.
Age thirteen:
"It doesn't matter," insisted Jirou, flopping onto his bed, which was mostly taken up by a large cuddly sheep toy, now years old and well loved. The blond boy hugged it automatically. It was comforting, big and reminded him of Atobe. Atobe in turn looked at the thing, remembering when he'd given it to Jirou years ago, and the Jirou's happiness at receiving it. It was shabby now, the original fluff having worn thin and one ear having been lovingly and thoroughly chewed on by an eight-year old boy.
Atobe sat down on the edge of the bed and didn't look at Jirou, who was clasping the toy. "But what about my parents? And... and it'll affect our tennis," he protested weakly.
Jirou scowled. He rarely did. "Your parents couldn't mind less. They've been talking about it to my parents for months, wondering when we were going to tell them. And nothing affects your tennis." He added after the slightest hesitation, "Not even me." He plucked at the comforting wool, "But I play better if you watch me," he confessed softly. "But I guess... if you really don't want to, then it's okay."
There was a long silence. The words which Jirou had been saying slowly seeped into Atobe's mind. "Ore-sama-" he started, and then stopped. He turned on the bed to face Jirou, who was curled up in the corner, clutching the oversized toy and looking for all the world like a boy who'd had his dreams shattered. Atobe just wanted to wipe that look off Jirou's face. He crawled over the bed and curled his arms around Jirou, sheepy and all, and pulled the boy to him.
"Ore-sama thinks it's okay," he murmured softly into the blond curls, a hand cupping Jirou's chin as his thumb smoothed away the melancholy expression. Jirou leaned into him, and just seemed like the right time for Atobe to turn his head and kiss him.