I Feel Fine (Part 2) For Tessa!
Title: I Feel Fine
Recipient: Tessa / chouta_angel
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Some liberties with geography.
Summary: Seven years later, eight boys from Hyoutei travel cross country in an RV; it's the end of the world as we know it.
Notes: While writing this, I listened to the Zac Brown Band's You Get What You Give album on repeat. Some of it slithered on in, and I don't own a lick of it.
With Taki’s CD on infinite loop, it didn’t take long to commit the the songs to memory. They hummed and drummed with every tune, or mouthed the lyrics when they felt inspired to do so.
“I play the road,” Atobe sang softly, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “And the highway is our song.”
Shishido propped his feet up on the dash and joined, just as hushed, “And every city’s like the same three chords in helping us along when the story’s told.”
“And the crowd has come and gone,” Atobe cut in, louder.
“Shakin off the miles, and tryin to make it home,” Shishido’s volume matched. He grinned at Atobe, quite unable to resist the challenge. They bellowed together,
“Every exit is a season,
Every signal is a beacon
And the wind, it carries me
And it eases up my load”
Ohtori, completely unable to help himself, began to thump the ground in time. Gakuto clapped, and even Hiyoshi looked slightly less miserable than usual.
“Everyday I drag the turns
Every candle still burns
And every lesson I have learned
Brings us closer to the crowd...
I play the road -”
Oshitari leaned between them to totally turn down the music. Completely insulted, Atobe glared. Oshitari only smiled and explained, “As much as I enjoy your dulcet tones, my loves, it’s Kenya with our itinerary.” Oshitari flipped open his phone to greet his cousin.
They hadn’t realized that there was an itinerary for Osaka. Shishido had hoped to ride the ferris wheel with Ohtori, and Atobe considered abducting Taki for shopping while Oshitari inflicted unholy mayonnaise on Gakuto and Hiyoshi. He further supposed that they could purchase a stroller large enough for Taki to push Jirou.
I won. Stand in awe of my prowess, Atobe mouthed at Shishido, who rolled his eyes and used a single finger to tell his former captain where to go.
Oshitari’s laughter cut the battle short. “Of course, your grumpy thing is the DJ. MMhm. Yes, we’ll meet you at the bar. We won’t be - well, that’s a lie. We’re always late, but worth the wait…” Frowning, he pulled the phone back. “The call was disconnected for some reason.”
“I can’t imagine why,” Hiyoshi drawled. If only a moose would pop into the road to murder them.
Atobe wouldn’t stand for the griping. “Explain.”
Oshitari shrugged and draped himself elegantly across the floor beside Ohtori. “What’s to explain? Kenya wants to watch his boyfriend DJ, so I thought we’d meet him at the club. Giraffe, if I heard him correctly.”
“I’ve never heard of it,” Atobe frowned at the road, because driving a small boat made it difficult to properly freeze Oshitari with his hardened stare. “My people can suggest a suitable upscale -”
“I want to see the Giraffes!” Jirou popped out of nowhere to shout in Atobe’s ear.
Game, set, match. Oshitari closed his eyes, and didn’t open them again until Atobe parked them safely in a garage. He took up two full parking spots and refused to fix it.
“What kind of hotel doesn’t have a parking area,” Taki worried. As they rounded a corner in America-town, they found that Taki’s worry had been completely justified.
“A capsule hotel, Ryou?!” Gakuto hissed and shoved at Shishido’s backpack, knocking the man off balance.
“The smallest among us should not complain,” Oshitari sighed, and looked sideways at Ohtori, who didn’t seem to know what awaited them.
“What’s a capsule hotel?”
“Fear always springs from ignorance,” Oshitari wrapped an arm around the tall man’s waist. “Except for when it doesn’t, dear friend. But worry not, we giraffes will suffer in close, close quarters.”
Shishido growled. “No way! Choutarou is going to suffer with me!”
“We’re all suffering with you,” Hiyoshi considered that at least he would have a little bit of personal space. Not that he hated the other hotels. Mostly, he only pretended to mind sharing a hotel room with Taki.
The establishment seemed normal enough at first, if not a little grungy for Atobe’s taste. The last establishment hadn’t provided monogrammed slippers either, but Atobe supposed he could extend his fit of generosity to forgive this hotel too. That was until he beheld the two bed high rows of futuristic spaceship morgue holes that were to be their homes for the evening. Shishido must have truly wished to avoid the real world after university to decide on group suicide like this. If space was involved, Hiyoshi had to be in on it. The junior in question was too busy investigating his box to notice.
“Waaah!” Jirou exclaimed. “I want to sleep on top of Atobe!” he clamored past Atobe to climb into a top capsule.
Gakuto snickered.
“Easy for you to laugh, short stuff. I bet you already sleep in a cupboard,” Taki huffed, and put his purse down in a capsule. “At least they have television in these things.”
Atobe frowned. He expected to hear Oshitari purr something about making no noise and pretending to not exist. “Where’s Yuushi?”
“Maybe he crawled into another dimension,” Hiyoshi said flatly from inside his capsule. He had pulled down the blinds to isolate himself from the others. “Lucky Oshitari.”
“Oi, Yuushi!” Gakuto grumbled as he texted his boyfriend. “If you snuck into the girls’ section, I’m so going to kick your -”
A low, feminine moan emanated from the capsule Ohtori had occupied. Shishido went immediately red.
“KYAAHH! R-you!” Ohtori stammered. His long legs dangled out of the capsule and kicked around nervously. “God oh god oh god…I-I-HELP!!! I can’t!! It won’t turn off!”
“CHOUTAROU!” Shishido threw his bag to the ground as the feminine voice purred oh yes big boy, more, oh YES. “I’m coming!” Shishido barreled into the small space on top of Ohtori.
“A little soon, hmm? Does our Ryou-kun require some practice? Perhaps another pair of hands?” Oshitari chuckled.
Paying no mind to the strange, muffled yelps coming from a cubby not too far away, Atobe graced Oshitari with his most unimpressed side-eye. “Of course you’d appear for that opportunity.”
“Where were you?” Gakuto asked, butting one of Oshitari’s long legs with his hip.
“They have the same porn that our dear Ohtori found playing across from the bathroom. But don’t worry, my dear Gakuto. There isn’t an erotic video in the world that could keep me from your side.”
“...If that was supposed to be romantic, it still sounds totally perverted.”
“Ah. But consider. I was watching for research purposes. I’m not a small man, Gakuto. How is a man like me to fit into such a small space, I wonder?”
Hiyoshi rolled up the screen to his capsule to hit Oshitari in the face with a towel.
-
“Ah,” Oshitari moaned. The almost pornographic sound belonged in their capsule hotel rather than the arcade mall. “It smells like home.”
“By that you mean fried food?” Gakuto asked, keeping pace with Oshitari with two steps for his every one.
“Mmmm, precisely. Takoyaki?” Oshitari pointed to a takoyaki cart tucked next to a side opening.
Ohtori blinked, and grasped Hiyoshi’s shoulder to stop him from headed over. “Um...that takoyaki owner seems a little…”
“...Hiding,” Hiyoshi frowned. Surely enough, the takoyaki owner sat slouched behind his cart, curled up in a quivering ball. The takoyaki in question were being turned and subsequently eaten by none other than Shitenhouji’s former rookie, Tooyama Kintarou.
“This’ SO GOO!” Tooyama tried to say as he added another piece to his already full mouth. “‘oo ‘ob ‘oh mah - OH!!!” he looked straight at Hyoutei and swallowed the massive gob. Tooyama left the takoyaki to fizzle, planted his feet, and began to screech loudly, waving his tiny arms like a lunatic.
Taki leaned into Oshitari. “Do you still want takoyaki?”
Crossing his arms, Atobe fixed Tooyama with a glare strong enough to freeze even the sizzling octopus. “Tooyama-kun, I know you’re quite excited to see my face, but do contain your emotions.”
“Yatta!” Tooyama cheered. “I summoned the monkey king! Didja see it Koshimae! Huh...Koshimae?” the small redhead darted to and fro, his anxiety climbing with every second that Echizen eluded him. “KOSHIMAE!!!”
Ohtori gasped. The takoyaki vendor seized his pant leg in one shaking, batter coated fist. “Please,” he begged at a hiss. “You have to help me.”
“I…um…” Ohtori stammered, brain coming up short with what on earth to say to this adult on his knees.
“Tooyama-kun, we saw Echizen earlier. He was sitting in the McDonalds by the arcade entrance,” Shishido stood next to Ohtori and crossed his arms.
“Really?!” Tooyama perked up right away. “Thank you, thank you! Bye bye now, Monkey King!” he sprinted off in a cloud of dust and takoyaki batter. Cries of Koshimae echoed throughout the mall.
Ohtori looked at Shishido and smiled beatifically. “Shishido-san.”
“Don’t call me that!” Shishido flushed and scratched the spot beneath his short ponytail. “Call me Ryou.”
“Ryou,” Ohtori agreed, and took Shishido’s hand.
Oshitari teared up. Gakuto high kicked him in the bum before he could get any funny ideas about being disgusting in public.
-
Club Giraffe was just off one of the small side streets that hooked into the arcade mall maze that was Namba, the southern section of downtown Osaka. If Kenya hadn’t fetched them from the capsule hotel (more because he wanted to see his cousin struggle to fit in the narrow coffin than out of any real kindness), they never would have found it. As their stunning group approached, Atobe spotted the unstylish people waiting in front of an absurdly tiny elevator, and he considered abandoning their schedule all together.
Jirou slid an arm into Atobe’s. “It doesn’t really look like a giraffe, even though the building is tall. Why do you think they named it that?”
With the ability to invent anything with enough confidence to turn it to fact, Atobe said, “The owner must like Giraffes.”
“Ah, I see,” Jirou laughed and leaned against Atobe’s arm. His eyes drooped to half-mast, and yet, he didn’t seem sleepy. Atobe could feel the energy radiating from the blond. “Does Atobe like giraffes?”
“Not having made one’s acquaintance, I imagine that they’re quite dirty.”
“EH?! Atobe has never seen a giraffe? You’ve never been to the zoo?!”
“What should I go to the zoo for, ahn?” Atobe’s usual grandeur came off defensive. He couldn’t help it. Who had the time to go and stare at animals that had nothing to do with his life? The memory of his loyal afghan fulfilled any creature comforts he might require.
Jirou took Atobe’s edge with his usual flexibility. “Fun,” he smiled, and dragged Atobe into the elevator before anyone else could enter. With a grin too wide for anyone to be angry, he waved his fingers at the closing door.
“I can’t tell who the bigger idiot is,” Gakuto murmured gloomily to Shishido.
“Atobe. Atobe for sure.”
“I’m starting to wonder if he’s impossible after all. We should just let that fuckhead marry his company and be done with it.”
Shishido and Gakuto shared a sigh, because they could never actually fill that threat.
Hiyoshi pressed the button to the elevator. And again. “I want to go back to the hotel,” he said.
“No phoning home tonight. The mothership will do without your capsule for a few hours,” Oshitari chuckled. Oshitari relaxed at Kenya’s side with a lazy arm drooped about his cousin’s shoulders. They were both in medical school and rarely found the time to meet.
When they arrived upstairs to the small, tightly packed club, Atobe had already bullied his way to the front of the bar.
“Can you believe that they don’t have olives for a proper martini?” Atobe grumbled, quite scandalized. He sipped on his whiskey sour, which wasn’t all that bad.
Oshitari gasped and clutched a hand to his chest. “The nerve! I only like mine extra dirty.”
“...You don’t like them at all,” Gakuto said quizzically.
“Hmmm, no, but I liked the sound of that answer.”
“Of course. As expected of a fake megane.”
“Rude -”
“HIKARU!” the blond Oshitari leapt and waved at the DJ. Zaizen pretended to ignore him for his next track, but the slightly upturned pissy expression he wore gave away his true feelings. The beat picked up, thickening the adjacent dance floor.
Jirou put down his half-finished tequila sunrise. “Atobe! Let’s dance, I love this song!”
“Ahn?” unable to hear, he squinted down at Jirou.
“I said, let’s dance!”
“Apologies, I can’t seem to -” Atobe leaned down, close enough for Jirou to seize his silk blend shirt and speak his request into Atobe’s ear. Flexible wrists uncurled from the fabric, which hadn’t wrinkled at all from the touch. That was what Atobe paid for, after all.
To keep his mind on fabric and not the sway of Jirou’s body (or perhaps the other way around), Atobe downed the rest of his drink and went to drown in the music too.
In retrospect, it was everyone’s fault. Hyoutei operated in rounds and Atobe, being Atobe, had too much pride to opt out of even one. He didn’t even notice when he was the only person still drinking. Ohtori and Shishido were cuddling each other up by the bar, and their easy happiness appeared like a wavering hallucination in the desert. Shishido went to the bathroom, leaving Atobe alone with Ohtori. The man was a sounding board and Atobe vomited in words.
“Hmph, you’ve become disgusting commoners. Flaunting yourselves in public.”
Ohtori was silent and tight-lipped, almost unable to believe that Atobe was criticizing anyone for showing off, not that there were. “I -”
“You’ve been together since High School. Do you really think you’re going to be together forever and ever? What’s your plan?” Atobe brought his vicious smirk close to Ohtori’s face.
Forcibly reminded of a documentary on how to handle aggressive bears, Ohtori floundered. He took a deep breath and pretended that he was at home, watching that documentary with Shishido.
Talk to the bear in a calm voice and put your arms out to the side and move them slowly up and down. You want the bear to know quickly and without doubt that you are a person and not another bear or some type of prey animal.
“I...um...are you okay, Atobe? Can I get you some water,” he forced a smile and flapped his arms slowly.
Atobe felt sick, suffused with liquid dread and the burning, hateful feeling that he wished had come out of nowhere. Ohtori with his stupid face and his stupid happiness, couldn’t possibly understand the answer to that question. So he continued.
“That is your plan, isn’t it? You’re going to follow him after graduation from university too,” he slid his middle finger down the bridge of his own nose. “You’ll teach at the same school, nah, Ohtori? You’ll teach music and Shishido will teach PE. Every night you’ll go home together, cook together, and canoodle in front of the television.”
“Um...usually we get takeout.”
Atobe laughed. It wasn’t a kind sound. His vision shook with his shoulders. Naturally, Ohtori hadn’t a clue. He never did. “You’re such children, all of you. We see each other once a year to play best friends and pretend that life isn’t complicated. You, you and Shishido-san live here in this fantasy world.”
Shocked and hurt by Atobe’s sudden resentment, Ohtori struggled to stand his ground. Why did Atobe try to attack him by turning his hopes for the future into something more sinister?
A defensive bear feels you are a threat. It may woof, chomp its teeth, growl, weave its head back and forth, slap the ground with its front feet, charge suddenly or smacks its lips and salivate. It is stressed by your presence. Continue to talk to the bear and act in a non-threatening manner.
“I-it must be very difficult for you, Atobe,” Ohtori understood that after the death of his father last year, Atobe bore the weight of his company and name alone. “I...You’re right that I can’t imagine how you feel. But if there’s anything you need...I’m your friend.”
Atobe tossed his hair. It was a mistake. More than spite rebelled in his throat. “Are you?” his eyes seared into Ohtori. “You’re terrified, like I’m some kind of wild animal and you’re a sweetheart waiting for Shishido-san to come.”
Just as Ohtori considered playing dead, Shishido flew in from the periphery to punch Atobe in the face. Atobe crumpled, clutching to the bar to keep from falling. “You don’t fucking talk to him like that, not even you!” Shishido got between Atobe and Ohtori.
Rigid with anger, Atobe clenched his fist to return the favor. His stomach saw fit to join the action instead. He emptied the fruity drink from some trussed up college student and replaced it with the liquid contents of his stomach. Takoyaki didn’t taste as good on the way up.
Atobe seethed at the couple standing against him. He could see concern at war with caution in Ohtori, and worry and protectiveness in Shishido. The indecisive behavior grated. He wanted them to comfort him or hate him, not this disgusting, half-hearted sort of pity.
“Excuse me,” he put the cup of his vomit on the table before the shocked student.
“Atobe!” Jirou wormed and squashed his way through the small crowd that formed. “Atobe! Your face...what?” he grasped Atobe’s wrist and cupped his cheek to better inspect the bruise forming there. Atobe tried to turn away, not wanting any of Jirou’s bizarre pity either. Pity did nothing for the pitied, only made the pitying feel better.
Atobe Keigo was anything but pitiful.
“Don’t touch me,” Atobe wrenched arm from Jirou and stepped away from his gentle hands.
“It’s okay, Atobe. Let’s go back to the hotel now, okay?” Jirou pushed on with a well-meant palm against Atobe’s back.
“I said, don’t touch me!” Atobe whirled around to shove Jirou. The blond didn’t fall, but the crash of a chair he knocked over echoed through the entire bar. Atobe couldn’t look at the pain on Jirou’s face. “You stay away from me!” he insisted, strutting his way to the bathroom with as much composure he could muster.
Here he was, one of the most powerful men in the world, on his knees in a shitty bar and giving it all to a toilet. He wouldn’t cry, no, but he wanted to go back to five minutes ago to make Shishido regret ever marring his glorious visage. Go back to five minutes ago and…
Atobe sighed and dropped his head against the paper-covered toilet seat. There were people talking outside the stall, but he couldn’t quite hear them. Unknown hands pushed through his hair, holding them back when he retched again. Tears bit at the corners of his eyes.
“Kabaji...don’t tell anyone.”
“Usu,” Oshitari replied.
¬-
Atobe always knew the right thing to do, the right thing to say, to fracture any obstacle before him: to weaken and weaken, until a final kick could shatter into shards. There were many kinds of fractures, most difficult to heal and some requiring surgery. Humans broke in the most irregular ways and Atobe could see them all; he often threw himself at the things that he wanted most, just to see if they could bear up against his full weight.
The downside was that when Atobe fractured a person, or a relationship, it was never as simple as a bandage. Regret didn’t quicken the healing process. Tezuka Kunimitsu proved that much.
Atobe’s head was killing him. He bumped every cold shoulder on the way past the people-cubbies, but kept his heavy head high and proud. Considering his escapades last night and this morning’s task of bathing with the everyman, it was difficult to feel proud.
To make it more difficult, Oshitari was half-awake in the hot pool next to the showers. He wondered if the genius was dying of heat stroke. If that were the case, he supposed he had a few last minute words for Oshitari.
“Thank you,” Atobe said. He sat down on a shower stool, putting his back to Oshitari. Though he rarely expressed gratitude, Oshitari had fully earned those words.
Oshitari shook his head. “You put on quite the show last night.”
“How many Oscars do I have to my name?”
“Costume design, obviously. Best visual effects, the vomit looked so real. I’d say best Foreign Language Film if you cared enough to include subtitles.”
Atobe ran the hot water over his head. It eased the throbbing a little. “Just as well. It wasn’t the kind of film an ordinary person could understand.”
Oshitari stepped out of the bath to start washing Atobe’s hair. “If the director will deny his audience the opportunity to try, he forfeits his right to complain about the review.” Scrubbing the soap into well-manicured locks, he continued, “In fact, the director should be pleased to receive any appraisal at all.”
“The film is perfect, like I am.”
“Jirou cried last night, while you were passed out. Ryou and Gakuto stayed up with him all night in the capsule.”
“He…” Jirou’s wide, hurt-filled eyes popped into his head unbidden. “Why should he cry? He wasn’t on my side.”
“No one is on your side, Keigo. Your side is ridiculous. Come back to our side.”
To that he had no response. Oshitari turned the hose on to gently rinse the shampoo from Atobe’s hair. In his low, comforting rumble, Oshitari continued, “Stop playing this game with your pride, Keigo. If you can’t scale it yourself, you can hardly expect him to.”
Something clicked in Atobe’s head. “...You fancy yourself Emma, don’t you?”
Oshitari’s laugh echoed through the bath. “My goodness, could you imagine Gakuto a model of all great, moral, and mature? Now, now. He’s no Mr. Knightley, but he’s quite mine, you see.”
Atobe wondered if he could ever call another person his own with such pride. Did he want another to even dare refer to Atobe as his? He recalled his hideous show of jealousy from previous evening and perhaps, in doing so, answered his own questions.
-
They checked out of the capsule hotel. By the shoe lockers, Atobe reached for Ohtori’s leather slides before his own and set them at the younger man’s feet. He brought himself up to full height to stare up at Ohtori.
After a beat, Ohtori smiled. “Thank you, Atobe.”
Just like that, a chunk of the tension melted away. He wondered if he was now seeing a bit more of what Shishido saw in Ohtori.
“I don’t mind you being jealous of me every once in awhile,” Shishido poked Atobe sharply in the middle of the back. “Just don’t be so lame about it next time. How’s the face?”
Atobe ran a hand through his hair and tossed it. A mistake - that Echizen was doing a split step over his skull. “As perfect as ever,” he fought for a smirk and won.
“Oh, shut up,” Gakuto whirled round on him to stick his thumb to the center of his chest. Atobe felt like he was in a circus, trapped between two midgets. “You look like shit and you have work to do,” he hissed quietly, jerking his head toward Jirou, who sat staring sullenly at his shoes.
Atobe’s lips tightened guiltily. He supposed he could apologize. Even in his head, such a gesture felt empty. Shishido and Gakuto pushed and pulled at Atobe until he was outside before the rest of them. Though Ohtori had no idea what was going on, he stepped in front of the door to ensure that they had a moment.
“You kicked in his manly pride, Atobe,” Gakuto gestured wildly. Anger came off him in frenetic waves, but since that was his usual state, Atobe remained quite unconcerned.
“...His manly pride,” Atobe repeated, slightly incredulous. “And wearing that dress kept it pristine?”
“That has nothing to do with anything! Don’t change the subject!”
“It seems quite related.”
Shishido shoved at Atobe, who stood his ground and shoved back. Even now, he wasn’t about to let himself get pushed around. He crossed his arms and glared to haze the perimeter into tundra.
In all honesty, Shishido had never been so relieved to be on the other end of that glare. At least Atobe had come to his senses.
“You have to fix this. I don’t care how, but you have to,” Shishido warned him.
When Ohtori stopped holding back the tide, they were all too eager to leave the hotel and Osaka behind. Not that being in the car was much better. Much of the pressure had been lifted, but the air remained thick and hard to pull from.
Atobe sat in the passenger seat, next to Oshitari. He didn’t notice Jirou boring tiny holes into the back of Oshitari’s driver seat for the first hour of their ride to Hiroshima.
“Ne, Yuushi, could you possibly drive any slower?” Gakuto kicked the back of the driver’s seat.
“I’m obeying the speed laws.”
“More like we’re going to get pulled over for going too slow. Seriously, step on it.”
“What’s the hurry, love?” if anything, Oshitari slowed down a little. Atobe left the bickering pair to lower the window and let the wind wash away his headache. The sight of a bridge stirred him from his thoughts. It was magnificent in that he really couldn’t see where it ended.
“Akashi,” Hiyoshi murmured, staring out the window.
“Have you ever driven over it before?” Taki asked, quite fascinated by the structure known as one of Japan’s greatest engineering feats: the longest suspension bridge in the world.
“...Never,” Hiyoshi answered. For once, he actively sat up and watched the scenery instead of his textbook. “It’s nearly 4,000 meters long.”
Oshitari took the turn for Akashi Bridge.
“The hell, Oshitari! This isn’t on the way!” Shishido complained, only because he was the one who put his back into planning everything.
Oshitari pushed up his sunglasses and smiled. “Hmm?” he turned up the radio and pretended to not hear Shishido. Windows down, they drove over the Akashi strait.
Oshitari had absolutely no shame in joining in with the blaring music,
Looking back now on my life I can't say I regret it
And all the places that I ended up not the way Ma woulda had it
But you only get once chance at life to leave your mark upon it
And when a pony he comes riding by you better set your sweet ass on it
Something in the wind over the water, or in Oshitari’s alluring voice, made even the most sulky among them want to join in for the chorus.
You keep your heart above your head and you eyes wide open
So this world can't find a way to leave you cold
And know you're not the only ship out on the ocean
Save your strength for things that you can change
Forgive the ones you can't
You gotta let 'em go
“You should join the Zac Brown Band,” Taki joked to Oshitari as they touched down on Awaji Island.
Oshitari chuckled and shook his head. “Do you think I’d look good with a beard?”
“Of course. You could pull off anything you wanted.”
“Ta, Taki-chan.”
“UGH!!” Gakuto complained loudly.
Shishido sighed and gave Gakuto a long-suffering look. “What now?”
“Freaking Kikumaru. His instagram is all stupid, lovey dovey pictures of the Golden Pair on vacation together. They make me sick. Yeah, sure caption it Japan’s sexiest acrobatic player,” he huffed and flicked down through feed, grumbling with irritation all the way. “Like that isn’t the biggest lie ever.”
“Hey, are you saying you’d rather just be with Yuushi?” Shishido leaned back against Ohtori and frowned at the redhead.
“I don’t care who’s here and not here,” Gakuto growled. “I just refuse to let that Golden Pair get more action than me! Yuu-” oh, Oshitari was driving. No matter. Gakuto tossed his phone to the bed and leapt atop Hiyoshi. The geology textbook went flying. “Open up!” Gakuto said and shoved his tongue into Hiyoshi’s mouth.
Oshitari whirled around immediately to witness Christmas coming early. Thank goodness for Oshitari’s slow driving, because the RV went straight off the road and into the woods.
“AHHH!”
“What the?!”
“OSHITARI! WHAT THE FUCK?!”
“You bit my mouth!”
“CHOUTAROU!”
“I’m all right, Ryou? Is everyone else -”
“Where’s Jirou?!”
Atobe crawled slid out of his seat and quickly located Jirou behind his own seat. “He’s...asleep,” he realized with relief. One by one, they shakily filed out of the RV. Atobe dragged Jirou out, and set him on the ground below a tree before he could wake up.
“A tire just gave out. I’ll call my uncle and ask if that spare is okay to drive on,” Shishido sighed, once he assured himself that Ohtori was all right.
“The uncle who was abducted?” Hiyoshi asked, eyes suddenly bright for someone who had just been in a RV overboard.
More than a little mad that Oshitari ruined his picture for Kikumaru, Gakuto chased Oshitari around, lightly punching and kicking at the genius and letting him have it for picking the worst moment to perv out of them.
“The hell! My phone shattered! Piece of shit. Who has service?” Shishido took up Taki’s phone.
As Jirou started to stir among all the noise, Atobe walked away under the guise of having to use the toilet. It was easier than being alone with Jirou.
“And the award for best leading coward,” Atobe accused himself. He walked until he couldn’t hear Gakuto screaming. Until the pounding in his head forced him to sit down and re-evaluate every choice that led him to this point at the side of the road.
This wasn’t him. Atobe was never a coward. He was Atobe Keigo, one of the youngest fully responsible CEOs and business-owners of his time. He graced the covers of magazines. He forced conglomerates to their knees. The sound of his voice cowered and drove men older and more experienced than himself to real success.
When he looked at his own weakness, he could see clearly that the black hole of his career sucked all of the life from his personal reserves. What he needed wasn’t greater balance, but more strength to spread.
And he wasn’t going to get that by sitting pitifully in the woods, feeling sorry for his hangover.
Atobe pulled out his phone. The most perfect service that money could buy.
SOS. -K
Until the little seen mark appeared, Atobe wondered if Jirou slept through the arguing.
The woods were silent save the sound of passing cars. Atobe tilted his head back against the tree and closed his eyes. Jirou messaged him back, but Atobe minded only the spots of color dancing on the black of his own eyelids.
Bushes rustled. Footsteps. A shadow.
“Atobe? Are you okay?” worry filled Jirou’s voice, for all the distance he kept between them.
Opening his eyes, he said, “I am now.”
“Why...didn’t you text Yuushi?” Jirou asked, coloring his concern with bitterness.
“Yuushi wasn’t the one I wanted to see,” Atobe patted the ground next to him. “My head hurts.”
“Oh…” Jirou flushed. Jirou sharply recalled Atobe’s voice demanding that he get away, but he fought it for the chance to sit next to him. Atobe’s cheek rested against his thigh and rewrote the conversation. Jirou no longer knew what to anticipate, but he had always trusted in his reflexes.
“...Jirou,” Atobe murmured. “I have something to disclose -”
“I think I know,” Jirou said, a hesitant smile growing on his face.
Taken aback, Atobe glanced up at Jirou, “You know?”
“That you don’t really need to be rescued, yeah,” Jirou dared to put his fingers in Atobe’s perfectly coiffed hair. “I didn’t either, at the temple...but it’s enough. That you wanted me to rescue you that badly.”
“Ah,” Atobe didn’t quite know what to say. A bird swung down so close that he was almost sure it would go for Jirou’s hair, bright and golden in the sun.
“...Who have you been texting, this whole time?” Jirou asked, cutting into Atobe’s intent bird watching.
Atobe blinked. “Texting?” it took him a minute to realize what Jirou was talking about. He chuckled and pulled out his international phone. The long string of messages, all self-taken pictures of Atobe, bore the little mark of seen under each picture. “Kabaji wanted to come. He misses everyone a great deal.” Kabaji always went out of his way to send everyone cards on their birthday (blank), and the occasional message-less box of sweets from the U.K. “...He’s quite busy with his nephews, but I hoped to keep him apprised nonetheless.”
Jirou smiled and the sun seemed to shine brighter. Atobe worried that the bird might boomerang back. “Why don’t we send him a picture of the two of us?”
“Of course,” Atobe straightened out of Jirou’s lap and tossed his hair just so. Even if they were under a tree on the side of the road, he refused to look anything but dignified. He turned on the front camera, and fought for his breath as Jirou leaned in close to his neck. Atobe clicked the take button. “No, we must do it again,” he frowned. “My eyes were closed.”
With a laugh and quick motion of his wrist, Jirou swiped Atobe’s phone to send the picture.
“Jirou!” Atobe scolded, and reached around the blond for it. “No one takes my effects without reproa -”
“He responded!” Jirou giggled, enjoying the little game of keep away.
Atobe’s eyes widened. “What? He - give that to me.”
Showing Atobe his nice dimples, Jirou pressed the phone to Atobe’s palm. Surely enough, Kabaji sent back a little smiley face.
“I miss Kaba-chan too,” Jirou sighed. “Maybe next time we can go to England and visit with him.”
“Jirou.” His determined fist curled around his cell phone. “We are going to fix this RV and finish the road trip.”
“What? Atobe knows how to fix an RV? Sugoi!”
“I will see all of its weaknesses!” Atobe grabbed Jirou’s wrist and pulled him back to the RV. Jirou smiled.
-
It took two hours. Mostly because everyone was too busy laughing at Atobe attempting to change a tire. They had intended to wait for roadside assistance, but listening to Atobe shit talk an inanimate object was vastly more entertaining. While Atobe got his typically pristine hands dirty, Oshitari read instructions. Jirou watched with energized admiration, and handed Atobe everything that he needed.
“You did it!” Jirou draped himself over Atobe’s back in a hug, once the last fastening was secured into place.
Shishido hopped up on a branch to see over Oshitari’s shoulder. With brows like kissing caterpillars, he shouted, “Oi! What the hell are you watching porn for at a time like -…You knew how to fix the car this whole time?!”
With a secret smile, Oshitari shoved the manual down his pants and gave a little wiggle. “There are some places even the brave tread not, Ryou-kun.”
Atobe chased Oshitari until he soaked his Versace clogs in the horrible mud. It took a person on each limb to drag him kicking and shouting into the RV with Oshitari.
Jirou, buoyant and alert, slid into the driver’s seat. “My turn!”
“JIROU?!”
“Like hell you are!”
“We’re all going to die…”
-
“I will keep the headquarters of Atobe Enterprises in Japan,” Atobe said, raising up his first bite of Hiroshima-yaki.
“Seriously?!”
“That’s great, Atobe-san!”
“We can go shopping all the time now!”
“Good. It’ll be easier to crush you.”
Oshitari smiled and nudged Atobe with his foot under the table. He tilted his head toward Jirou, who fell asleep in his sauce before he could so much as take a bite.
Atobe chuckled. “I’ll tell him later.” Because there was an important person not present for the news, Atobe pulled out his phone. He sent a picture of their tired, fulfilled group and wrote, Kabaji. The company will stay in Japan. Your feelings?
Seen.
He hadn’t expected a reply. The buzz of his phone stopped him mid-bite. Usu. I feel fine.
“What is it?” Gakuto asked, stealing some squid from Yuushi’s plate.
“I feel fine,” Atobe said. “Pass the sauce.”
Recipient: Tessa / chouta_angel
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Some liberties with geography.
Summary: Seven years later, eight boys from Hyoutei travel cross country in an RV; it's the end of the world as we know it.
Notes: While writing this, I listened to the Zac Brown Band's You Get What You Give album on repeat. Some of it slithered on in, and I don't own a lick of it.
With Taki’s CD on infinite loop, it didn’t take long to commit the the songs to memory. They hummed and drummed with every tune, or mouthed the lyrics when they felt inspired to do so.
“I play the road,” Atobe sang softly, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “And the highway is our song.”
Shishido propped his feet up on the dash and joined, just as hushed, “And every city’s like the same three chords in helping us along when the story’s told.”
“And the crowd has come and gone,” Atobe cut in, louder.
“Shakin off the miles, and tryin to make it home,” Shishido’s volume matched. He grinned at Atobe, quite unable to resist the challenge. They bellowed together,
“Every exit is a season,
Every signal is a beacon
And the wind, it carries me
And it eases up my load”
Ohtori, completely unable to help himself, began to thump the ground in time. Gakuto clapped, and even Hiyoshi looked slightly less miserable than usual.
“Everyday I drag the turns
Every candle still burns
And every lesson I have learned
Brings us closer to the crowd...
I play the road -”
Oshitari leaned between them to totally turn down the music. Completely insulted, Atobe glared. Oshitari only smiled and explained, “As much as I enjoy your dulcet tones, my loves, it’s Kenya with our itinerary.” Oshitari flipped open his phone to greet his cousin.
They hadn’t realized that there was an itinerary for Osaka. Shishido had hoped to ride the ferris wheel with Ohtori, and Atobe considered abducting Taki for shopping while Oshitari inflicted unholy mayonnaise on Gakuto and Hiyoshi. He further supposed that they could purchase a stroller large enough for Taki to push Jirou.
I won. Stand in awe of my prowess, Atobe mouthed at Shishido, who rolled his eyes and used a single finger to tell his former captain where to go.
Oshitari’s laughter cut the battle short. “Of course, your grumpy thing is the DJ. MMhm. Yes, we’ll meet you at the bar. We won’t be - well, that’s a lie. We’re always late, but worth the wait…” Frowning, he pulled the phone back. “The call was disconnected for some reason.”
“I can’t imagine why,” Hiyoshi drawled. If only a moose would pop into the road to murder them.
Atobe wouldn’t stand for the griping. “Explain.”
Oshitari shrugged and draped himself elegantly across the floor beside Ohtori. “What’s to explain? Kenya wants to watch his boyfriend DJ, so I thought we’d meet him at the club. Giraffe, if I heard him correctly.”
“I’ve never heard of it,” Atobe frowned at the road, because driving a small boat made it difficult to properly freeze Oshitari with his hardened stare. “My people can suggest a suitable upscale -”
“I want to see the Giraffes!” Jirou popped out of nowhere to shout in Atobe’s ear.
Game, set, match. Oshitari closed his eyes, and didn’t open them again until Atobe parked them safely in a garage. He took up two full parking spots and refused to fix it.
“What kind of hotel doesn’t have a parking area,” Taki worried. As they rounded a corner in America-town, they found that Taki’s worry had been completely justified.
“A capsule hotel, Ryou?!” Gakuto hissed and shoved at Shishido’s backpack, knocking the man off balance.
“The smallest among us should not complain,” Oshitari sighed, and looked sideways at Ohtori, who didn’t seem to know what awaited them.
“What’s a capsule hotel?”
“Fear always springs from ignorance,” Oshitari wrapped an arm around the tall man’s waist. “Except for when it doesn’t, dear friend. But worry not, we giraffes will suffer in close, close quarters.”
Shishido growled. “No way! Choutarou is going to suffer with me!”
“We’re all suffering with you,” Hiyoshi considered that at least he would have a little bit of personal space. Not that he hated the other hotels. Mostly, he only pretended to mind sharing a hotel room with Taki.
The establishment seemed normal enough at first, if not a little grungy for Atobe’s taste. The last establishment hadn’t provided monogrammed slippers either, but Atobe supposed he could extend his fit of generosity to forgive this hotel too. That was until he beheld the two bed high rows of futuristic spaceship morgue holes that were to be their homes for the evening. Shishido must have truly wished to avoid the real world after university to decide on group suicide like this. If space was involved, Hiyoshi had to be in on it. The junior in question was too busy investigating his box to notice.
“Waaah!” Jirou exclaimed. “I want to sleep on top of Atobe!” he clamored past Atobe to climb into a top capsule.
Gakuto snickered.
“Easy for you to laugh, short stuff. I bet you already sleep in a cupboard,” Taki huffed, and put his purse down in a capsule. “At least they have television in these things.”
Atobe frowned. He expected to hear Oshitari purr something about making no noise and pretending to not exist. “Where’s Yuushi?”
“Maybe he crawled into another dimension,” Hiyoshi said flatly from inside his capsule. He had pulled down the blinds to isolate himself from the others. “Lucky Oshitari.”
“Oi, Yuushi!” Gakuto grumbled as he texted his boyfriend. “If you snuck into the girls’ section, I’m so going to kick your -”
A low, feminine moan emanated from the capsule Ohtori had occupied. Shishido went immediately red.
“KYAAHH! R-you!” Ohtori stammered. His long legs dangled out of the capsule and kicked around nervously. “God oh god oh god…I-I-HELP!!! I can’t!! It won’t turn off!”
“CHOUTAROU!” Shishido threw his bag to the ground as the feminine voice purred oh yes big boy, more, oh YES. “I’m coming!” Shishido barreled into the small space on top of Ohtori.
“A little soon, hmm? Does our Ryou-kun require some practice? Perhaps another pair of hands?” Oshitari chuckled.
Paying no mind to the strange, muffled yelps coming from a cubby not too far away, Atobe graced Oshitari with his most unimpressed side-eye. “Of course you’d appear for that opportunity.”
“Where were you?” Gakuto asked, butting one of Oshitari’s long legs with his hip.
“They have the same porn that our dear Ohtori found playing across from the bathroom. But don’t worry, my dear Gakuto. There isn’t an erotic video in the world that could keep me from your side.”
“...If that was supposed to be romantic, it still sounds totally perverted.”
“Ah. But consider. I was watching for research purposes. I’m not a small man, Gakuto. How is a man like me to fit into such a small space, I wonder?”
Hiyoshi rolled up the screen to his capsule to hit Oshitari in the face with a towel.
-
“Ah,” Oshitari moaned. The almost pornographic sound belonged in their capsule hotel rather than the arcade mall. “It smells like home.”
“By that you mean fried food?” Gakuto asked, keeping pace with Oshitari with two steps for his every one.
“Mmmm, precisely. Takoyaki?” Oshitari pointed to a takoyaki cart tucked next to a side opening.
Ohtori blinked, and grasped Hiyoshi’s shoulder to stop him from headed over. “Um...that takoyaki owner seems a little…”
“...Hiding,” Hiyoshi frowned. Surely enough, the takoyaki owner sat slouched behind his cart, curled up in a quivering ball. The takoyaki in question were being turned and subsequently eaten by none other than Shitenhouji’s former rookie, Tooyama Kintarou.
“This’ SO GOO!” Tooyama tried to say as he added another piece to his already full mouth. “‘oo ‘ob ‘oh mah - OH!!!” he looked straight at Hyoutei and swallowed the massive gob. Tooyama left the takoyaki to fizzle, planted his feet, and began to screech loudly, waving his tiny arms like a lunatic.
Taki leaned into Oshitari. “Do you still want takoyaki?”
Crossing his arms, Atobe fixed Tooyama with a glare strong enough to freeze even the sizzling octopus. “Tooyama-kun, I know you’re quite excited to see my face, but do contain your emotions.”
“Yatta!” Tooyama cheered. “I summoned the monkey king! Didja see it Koshimae! Huh...Koshimae?” the small redhead darted to and fro, his anxiety climbing with every second that Echizen eluded him. “KOSHIMAE!!!”
Ohtori gasped. The takoyaki vendor seized his pant leg in one shaking, batter coated fist. “Please,” he begged at a hiss. “You have to help me.”
“I…um…” Ohtori stammered, brain coming up short with what on earth to say to this adult on his knees.
“Tooyama-kun, we saw Echizen earlier. He was sitting in the McDonalds by the arcade entrance,” Shishido stood next to Ohtori and crossed his arms.
“Really?!” Tooyama perked up right away. “Thank you, thank you! Bye bye now, Monkey King!” he sprinted off in a cloud of dust and takoyaki batter. Cries of Koshimae echoed throughout the mall.
Ohtori looked at Shishido and smiled beatifically. “Shishido-san.”
“Don’t call me that!” Shishido flushed and scratched the spot beneath his short ponytail. “Call me Ryou.”
“Ryou,” Ohtori agreed, and took Shishido’s hand.
Oshitari teared up. Gakuto high kicked him in the bum before he could get any funny ideas about being disgusting in public.
-
Club Giraffe was just off one of the small side streets that hooked into the arcade mall maze that was Namba, the southern section of downtown Osaka. If Kenya hadn’t fetched them from the capsule hotel (more because he wanted to see his cousin struggle to fit in the narrow coffin than out of any real kindness), they never would have found it. As their stunning group approached, Atobe spotted the unstylish people waiting in front of an absurdly tiny elevator, and he considered abandoning their schedule all together.
Jirou slid an arm into Atobe’s. “It doesn’t really look like a giraffe, even though the building is tall. Why do you think they named it that?”
With the ability to invent anything with enough confidence to turn it to fact, Atobe said, “The owner must like Giraffes.”
“Ah, I see,” Jirou laughed and leaned against Atobe’s arm. His eyes drooped to half-mast, and yet, he didn’t seem sleepy. Atobe could feel the energy radiating from the blond. “Does Atobe like giraffes?”
“Not having made one’s acquaintance, I imagine that they’re quite dirty.”
“EH?! Atobe has never seen a giraffe? You’ve never been to the zoo?!”
“What should I go to the zoo for, ahn?” Atobe’s usual grandeur came off defensive. He couldn’t help it. Who had the time to go and stare at animals that had nothing to do with his life? The memory of his loyal afghan fulfilled any creature comforts he might require.
Jirou took Atobe’s edge with his usual flexibility. “Fun,” he smiled, and dragged Atobe into the elevator before anyone else could enter. With a grin too wide for anyone to be angry, he waved his fingers at the closing door.
“I can’t tell who the bigger idiot is,” Gakuto murmured gloomily to Shishido.
“Atobe. Atobe for sure.”
“I’m starting to wonder if he’s impossible after all. We should just let that fuckhead marry his company and be done with it.”
Shishido and Gakuto shared a sigh, because they could never actually fill that threat.
Hiyoshi pressed the button to the elevator. And again. “I want to go back to the hotel,” he said.
“No phoning home tonight. The mothership will do without your capsule for a few hours,” Oshitari chuckled. Oshitari relaxed at Kenya’s side with a lazy arm drooped about his cousin’s shoulders. They were both in medical school and rarely found the time to meet.
When they arrived upstairs to the small, tightly packed club, Atobe had already bullied his way to the front of the bar.
“Can you believe that they don’t have olives for a proper martini?” Atobe grumbled, quite scandalized. He sipped on his whiskey sour, which wasn’t all that bad.
Oshitari gasped and clutched a hand to his chest. “The nerve! I only like mine extra dirty.”
“...You don’t like them at all,” Gakuto said quizzically.
“Hmmm, no, but I liked the sound of that answer.”
“Of course. As expected of a fake megane.”
“Rude -”
“HIKARU!” the blond Oshitari leapt and waved at the DJ. Zaizen pretended to ignore him for his next track, but the slightly upturned pissy expression he wore gave away his true feelings. The beat picked up, thickening the adjacent dance floor.
Jirou put down his half-finished tequila sunrise. “Atobe! Let’s dance, I love this song!”
“Ahn?” unable to hear, he squinted down at Jirou.
“I said, let’s dance!”
“Apologies, I can’t seem to -” Atobe leaned down, close enough for Jirou to seize his silk blend shirt and speak his request into Atobe’s ear. Flexible wrists uncurled from the fabric, which hadn’t wrinkled at all from the touch. That was what Atobe paid for, after all.
To keep his mind on fabric and not the sway of Jirou’s body (or perhaps the other way around), Atobe downed the rest of his drink and went to drown in the music too.
In retrospect, it was everyone’s fault. Hyoutei operated in rounds and Atobe, being Atobe, had too much pride to opt out of even one. He didn’t even notice when he was the only person still drinking. Ohtori and Shishido were cuddling each other up by the bar, and their easy happiness appeared like a wavering hallucination in the desert. Shishido went to the bathroom, leaving Atobe alone with Ohtori. The man was a sounding board and Atobe vomited in words.
“Hmph, you’ve become disgusting commoners. Flaunting yourselves in public.”
Ohtori was silent and tight-lipped, almost unable to believe that Atobe was criticizing anyone for showing off, not that there were. “I -”
“You’ve been together since High School. Do you really think you’re going to be together forever and ever? What’s your plan?” Atobe brought his vicious smirk close to Ohtori’s face.
Forcibly reminded of a documentary on how to handle aggressive bears, Ohtori floundered. He took a deep breath and pretended that he was at home, watching that documentary with Shishido.
Talk to the bear in a calm voice and put your arms out to the side and move them slowly up and down. You want the bear to know quickly and without doubt that you are a person and not another bear or some type of prey animal.
“I...um...are you okay, Atobe? Can I get you some water,” he forced a smile and flapped his arms slowly.
Atobe felt sick, suffused with liquid dread and the burning, hateful feeling that he wished had come out of nowhere. Ohtori with his stupid face and his stupid happiness, couldn’t possibly understand the answer to that question. So he continued.
“That is your plan, isn’t it? You’re going to follow him after graduation from university too,” he slid his middle finger down the bridge of his own nose. “You’ll teach at the same school, nah, Ohtori? You’ll teach music and Shishido will teach PE. Every night you’ll go home together, cook together, and canoodle in front of the television.”
“Um...usually we get takeout.”
Atobe laughed. It wasn’t a kind sound. His vision shook with his shoulders. Naturally, Ohtori hadn’t a clue. He never did. “You’re such children, all of you. We see each other once a year to play best friends and pretend that life isn’t complicated. You, you and Shishido-san live here in this fantasy world.”
Shocked and hurt by Atobe’s sudden resentment, Ohtori struggled to stand his ground. Why did Atobe try to attack him by turning his hopes for the future into something more sinister?
A defensive bear feels you are a threat. It may woof, chomp its teeth, growl, weave its head back and forth, slap the ground with its front feet, charge suddenly or smacks its lips and salivate. It is stressed by your presence. Continue to talk to the bear and act in a non-threatening manner.
“I-it must be very difficult for you, Atobe,” Ohtori understood that after the death of his father last year, Atobe bore the weight of his company and name alone. “I...You’re right that I can’t imagine how you feel. But if there’s anything you need...I’m your friend.”
Atobe tossed his hair. It was a mistake. More than spite rebelled in his throat. “Are you?” his eyes seared into Ohtori. “You’re terrified, like I’m some kind of wild animal and you’re a sweetheart waiting for Shishido-san to come.”
Just as Ohtori considered playing dead, Shishido flew in from the periphery to punch Atobe in the face. Atobe crumpled, clutching to the bar to keep from falling. “You don’t fucking talk to him like that, not even you!” Shishido got between Atobe and Ohtori.
Rigid with anger, Atobe clenched his fist to return the favor. His stomach saw fit to join the action instead. He emptied the fruity drink from some trussed up college student and replaced it with the liquid contents of his stomach. Takoyaki didn’t taste as good on the way up.
Atobe seethed at the couple standing against him. He could see concern at war with caution in Ohtori, and worry and protectiveness in Shishido. The indecisive behavior grated. He wanted them to comfort him or hate him, not this disgusting, half-hearted sort of pity.
“Excuse me,” he put the cup of his vomit on the table before the shocked student.
“Atobe!” Jirou wormed and squashed his way through the small crowd that formed. “Atobe! Your face...what?” he grasped Atobe’s wrist and cupped his cheek to better inspect the bruise forming there. Atobe tried to turn away, not wanting any of Jirou’s bizarre pity either. Pity did nothing for the pitied, only made the pitying feel better.
Atobe Keigo was anything but pitiful.
“Don’t touch me,” Atobe wrenched arm from Jirou and stepped away from his gentle hands.
“It’s okay, Atobe. Let’s go back to the hotel now, okay?” Jirou pushed on with a well-meant palm against Atobe’s back.
“I said, don’t touch me!” Atobe whirled around to shove Jirou. The blond didn’t fall, but the crash of a chair he knocked over echoed through the entire bar. Atobe couldn’t look at the pain on Jirou’s face. “You stay away from me!” he insisted, strutting his way to the bathroom with as much composure he could muster.
Here he was, one of the most powerful men in the world, on his knees in a shitty bar and giving it all to a toilet. He wouldn’t cry, no, but he wanted to go back to five minutes ago to make Shishido regret ever marring his glorious visage. Go back to five minutes ago and…
Atobe sighed and dropped his head against the paper-covered toilet seat. There were people talking outside the stall, but he couldn’t quite hear them. Unknown hands pushed through his hair, holding them back when he retched again. Tears bit at the corners of his eyes.
“Kabaji...don’t tell anyone.”
“Usu,” Oshitari replied.
¬-
Atobe always knew the right thing to do, the right thing to say, to fracture any obstacle before him: to weaken and weaken, until a final kick could shatter into shards. There were many kinds of fractures, most difficult to heal and some requiring surgery. Humans broke in the most irregular ways and Atobe could see them all; he often threw himself at the things that he wanted most, just to see if they could bear up against his full weight.
The downside was that when Atobe fractured a person, or a relationship, it was never as simple as a bandage. Regret didn’t quicken the healing process. Tezuka Kunimitsu proved that much.
Atobe’s head was killing him. He bumped every cold shoulder on the way past the people-cubbies, but kept his heavy head high and proud. Considering his escapades last night and this morning’s task of bathing with the everyman, it was difficult to feel proud.
To make it more difficult, Oshitari was half-awake in the hot pool next to the showers. He wondered if the genius was dying of heat stroke. If that were the case, he supposed he had a few last minute words for Oshitari.
“Thank you,” Atobe said. He sat down on a shower stool, putting his back to Oshitari. Though he rarely expressed gratitude, Oshitari had fully earned those words.
Oshitari shook his head. “You put on quite the show last night.”
“How many Oscars do I have to my name?”
“Costume design, obviously. Best visual effects, the vomit looked so real. I’d say best Foreign Language Film if you cared enough to include subtitles.”
Atobe ran the hot water over his head. It eased the throbbing a little. “Just as well. It wasn’t the kind of film an ordinary person could understand.”
Oshitari stepped out of the bath to start washing Atobe’s hair. “If the director will deny his audience the opportunity to try, he forfeits his right to complain about the review.” Scrubbing the soap into well-manicured locks, he continued, “In fact, the director should be pleased to receive any appraisal at all.”
“The film is perfect, like I am.”
“Jirou cried last night, while you were passed out. Ryou and Gakuto stayed up with him all night in the capsule.”
“He…” Jirou’s wide, hurt-filled eyes popped into his head unbidden. “Why should he cry? He wasn’t on my side.”
“No one is on your side, Keigo. Your side is ridiculous. Come back to our side.”
To that he had no response. Oshitari turned the hose on to gently rinse the shampoo from Atobe’s hair. In his low, comforting rumble, Oshitari continued, “Stop playing this game with your pride, Keigo. If you can’t scale it yourself, you can hardly expect him to.”
Something clicked in Atobe’s head. “...You fancy yourself Emma, don’t you?”
Oshitari’s laugh echoed through the bath. “My goodness, could you imagine Gakuto a model of all great, moral, and mature? Now, now. He’s no Mr. Knightley, but he’s quite mine, you see.”
Atobe wondered if he could ever call another person his own with such pride. Did he want another to even dare refer to Atobe as his? He recalled his hideous show of jealousy from previous evening and perhaps, in doing so, answered his own questions.
-
They checked out of the capsule hotel. By the shoe lockers, Atobe reached for Ohtori’s leather slides before his own and set them at the younger man’s feet. He brought himself up to full height to stare up at Ohtori.
After a beat, Ohtori smiled. “Thank you, Atobe.”
Just like that, a chunk of the tension melted away. He wondered if he was now seeing a bit more of what Shishido saw in Ohtori.
“I don’t mind you being jealous of me every once in awhile,” Shishido poked Atobe sharply in the middle of the back. “Just don’t be so lame about it next time. How’s the face?”
Atobe ran a hand through his hair and tossed it. A mistake - that Echizen was doing a split step over his skull. “As perfect as ever,” he fought for a smirk and won.
“Oh, shut up,” Gakuto whirled round on him to stick his thumb to the center of his chest. Atobe felt like he was in a circus, trapped between two midgets. “You look like shit and you have work to do,” he hissed quietly, jerking his head toward Jirou, who sat staring sullenly at his shoes.
Atobe’s lips tightened guiltily. He supposed he could apologize. Even in his head, such a gesture felt empty. Shishido and Gakuto pushed and pulled at Atobe until he was outside before the rest of them. Though Ohtori had no idea what was going on, he stepped in front of the door to ensure that they had a moment.
“You kicked in his manly pride, Atobe,” Gakuto gestured wildly. Anger came off him in frenetic waves, but since that was his usual state, Atobe remained quite unconcerned.
“...His manly pride,” Atobe repeated, slightly incredulous. “And wearing that dress kept it pristine?”
“That has nothing to do with anything! Don’t change the subject!”
“It seems quite related.”
Shishido shoved at Atobe, who stood his ground and shoved back. Even now, he wasn’t about to let himself get pushed around. He crossed his arms and glared to haze the perimeter into tundra.
In all honesty, Shishido had never been so relieved to be on the other end of that glare. At least Atobe had come to his senses.
“You have to fix this. I don’t care how, but you have to,” Shishido warned him.
When Ohtori stopped holding back the tide, they were all too eager to leave the hotel and Osaka behind. Not that being in the car was much better. Much of the pressure had been lifted, but the air remained thick and hard to pull from.
Atobe sat in the passenger seat, next to Oshitari. He didn’t notice Jirou boring tiny holes into the back of Oshitari’s driver seat for the first hour of their ride to Hiroshima.
“Ne, Yuushi, could you possibly drive any slower?” Gakuto kicked the back of the driver’s seat.
“I’m obeying the speed laws.”
“More like we’re going to get pulled over for going too slow. Seriously, step on it.”
“What’s the hurry, love?” if anything, Oshitari slowed down a little. Atobe left the bickering pair to lower the window and let the wind wash away his headache. The sight of a bridge stirred him from his thoughts. It was magnificent in that he really couldn’t see where it ended.
“Akashi,” Hiyoshi murmured, staring out the window.
“Have you ever driven over it before?” Taki asked, quite fascinated by the structure known as one of Japan’s greatest engineering feats: the longest suspension bridge in the world.
“...Never,” Hiyoshi answered. For once, he actively sat up and watched the scenery instead of his textbook. “It’s nearly 4,000 meters long.”
Oshitari took the turn for Akashi Bridge.
“The hell, Oshitari! This isn’t on the way!” Shishido complained, only because he was the one who put his back into planning everything.
Oshitari pushed up his sunglasses and smiled. “Hmm?” he turned up the radio and pretended to not hear Shishido. Windows down, they drove over the Akashi strait.
Oshitari had absolutely no shame in joining in with the blaring music,
Looking back now on my life I can't say I regret it
And all the places that I ended up not the way Ma woulda had it
But you only get once chance at life to leave your mark upon it
And when a pony he comes riding by you better set your sweet ass on it
Something in the wind over the water, or in Oshitari’s alluring voice, made even the most sulky among them want to join in for the chorus.
You keep your heart above your head and you eyes wide open
So this world can't find a way to leave you cold
And know you're not the only ship out on the ocean
Save your strength for things that you can change
Forgive the ones you can't
You gotta let 'em go
“You should join the Zac Brown Band,” Taki joked to Oshitari as they touched down on Awaji Island.
Oshitari chuckled and shook his head. “Do you think I’d look good with a beard?”
“Of course. You could pull off anything you wanted.”
“Ta, Taki-chan.”
“UGH!!” Gakuto complained loudly.
Shishido sighed and gave Gakuto a long-suffering look. “What now?”
“Freaking Kikumaru. His instagram is all stupid, lovey dovey pictures of the Golden Pair on vacation together. They make me sick. Yeah, sure caption it Japan’s sexiest acrobatic player,” he huffed and flicked down through feed, grumbling with irritation all the way. “Like that isn’t the biggest lie ever.”
“Hey, are you saying you’d rather just be with Yuushi?” Shishido leaned back against Ohtori and frowned at the redhead.
“I don’t care who’s here and not here,” Gakuto growled. “I just refuse to let that Golden Pair get more action than me! Yuu-” oh, Oshitari was driving. No matter. Gakuto tossed his phone to the bed and leapt atop Hiyoshi. The geology textbook went flying. “Open up!” Gakuto said and shoved his tongue into Hiyoshi’s mouth.
Oshitari whirled around immediately to witness Christmas coming early. Thank goodness for Oshitari’s slow driving, because the RV went straight off the road and into the woods.
“AHHH!”
“What the?!”
“OSHITARI! WHAT THE FUCK?!”
“You bit my mouth!”
“CHOUTAROU!”
“I’m all right, Ryou? Is everyone else -”
“Where’s Jirou?!”
Atobe crawled slid out of his seat and quickly located Jirou behind his own seat. “He’s...asleep,” he realized with relief. One by one, they shakily filed out of the RV. Atobe dragged Jirou out, and set him on the ground below a tree before he could wake up.
“A tire just gave out. I’ll call my uncle and ask if that spare is okay to drive on,” Shishido sighed, once he assured himself that Ohtori was all right.
“The uncle who was abducted?” Hiyoshi asked, eyes suddenly bright for someone who had just been in a RV overboard.
More than a little mad that Oshitari ruined his picture for Kikumaru, Gakuto chased Oshitari around, lightly punching and kicking at the genius and letting him have it for picking the worst moment to perv out of them.
“The hell! My phone shattered! Piece of shit. Who has service?” Shishido took up Taki’s phone.
As Jirou started to stir among all the noise, Atobe walked away under the guise of having to use the toilet. It was easier than being alone with Jirou.
“And the award for best leading coward,” Atobe accused himself. He walked until he couldn’t hear Gakuto screaming. Until the pounding in his head forced him to sit down and re-evaluate every choice that led him to this point at the side of the road.
This wasn’t him. Atobe was never a coward. He was Atobe Keigo, one of the youngest fully responsible CEOs and business-owners of his time. He graced the covers of magazines. He forced conglomerates to their knees. The sound of his voice cowered and drove men older and more experienced than himself to real success.
When he looked at his own weakness, he could see clearly that the black hole of his career sucked all of the life from his personal reserves. What he needed wasn’t greater balance, but more strength to spread.
And he wasn’t going to get that by sitting pitifully in the woods, feeling sorry for his hangover.
Atobe pulled out his phone. The most perfect service that money could buy.
SOS. -K
Until the little seen mark appeared, Atobe wondered if Jirou slept through the arguing.
The woods were silent save the sound of passing cars. Atobe tilted his head back against the tree and closed his eyes. Jirou messaged him back, but Atobe minded only the spots of color dancing on the black of his own eyelids.
Bushes rustled. Footsteps. A shadow.
“Atobe? Are you okay?” worry filled Jirou’s voice, for all the distance he kept between them.
Opening his eyes, he said, “I am now.”
“Why...didn’t you text Yuushi?” Jirou asked, coloring his concern with bitterness.
“Yuushi wasn’t the one I wanted to see,” Atobe patted the ground next to him. “My head hurts.”
“Oh…” Jirou flushed. Jirou sharply recalled Atobe’s voice demanding that he get away, but he fought it for the chance to sit next to him. Atobe’s cheek rested against his thigh and rewrote the conversation. Jirou no longer knew what to anticipate, but he had always trusted in his reflexes.
“...Jirou,” Atobe murmured. “I have something to disclose -”
“I think I know,” Jirou said, a hesitant smile growing on his face.
Taken aback, Atobe glanced up at Jirou, “You know?”
“That you don’t really need to be rescued, yeah,” Jirou dared to put his fingers in Atobe’s perfectly coiffed hair. “I didn’t either, at the temple...but it’s enough. That you wanted me to rescue you that badly.”
“Ah,” Atobe didn’t quite know what to say. A bird swung down so close that he was almost sure it would go for Jirou’s hair, bright and golden in the sun.
“...Who have you been texting, this whole time?” Jirou asked, cutting into Atobe’s intent bird watching.
Atobe blinked. “Texting?” it took him a minute to realize what Jirou was talking about. He chuckled and pulled out his international phone. The long string of messages, all self-taken pictures of Atobe, bore the little mark of seen under each picture. “Kabaji wanted to come. He misses everyone a great deal.” Kabaji always went out of his way to send everyone cards on their birthday (blank), and the occasional message-less box of sweets from the U.K. “...He’s quite busy with his nephews, but I hoped to keep him apprised nonetheless.”
Jirou smiled and the sun seemed to shine brighter. Atobe worried that the bird might boomerang back. “Why don’t we send him a picture of the two of us?”
“Of course,” Atobe straightened out of Jirou’s lap and tossed his hair just so. Even if they were under a tree on the side of the road, he refused to look anything but dignified. He turned on the front camera, and fought for his breath as Jirou leaned in close to his neck. Atobe clicked the take button. “No, we must do it again,” he frowned. “My eyes were closed.”
With a laugh and quick motion of his wrist, Jirou swiped Atobe’s phone to send the picture.
“Jirou!” Atobe scolded, and reached around the blond for it. “No one takes my effects without reproa -”
“He responded!” Jirou giggled, enjoying the little game of keep away.
Atobe’s eyes widened. “What? He - give that to me.”
Showing Atobe his nice dimples, Jirou pressed the phone to Atobe’s palm. Surely enough, Kabaji sent back a little smiley face.
“I miss Kaba-chan too,” Jirou sighed. “Maybe next time we can go to England and visit with him.”
“Jirou.” His determined fist curled around his cell phone. “We are going to fix this RV and finish the road trip.”
“What? Atobe knows how to fix an RV? Sugoi!”
“I will see all of its weaknesses!” Atobe grabbed Jirou’s wrist and pulled him back to the RV. Jirou smiled.
-
It took two hours. Mostly because everyone was too busy laughing at Atobe attempting to change a tire. They had intended to wait for roadside assistance, but listening to Atobe shit talk an inanimate object was vastly more entertaining. While Atobe got his typically pristine hands dirty, Oshitari read instructions. Jirou watched with energized admiration, and handed Atobe everything that he needed.
“You did it!” Jirou draped himself over Atobe’s back in a hug, once the last fastening was secured into place.
Shishido hopped up on a branch to see over Oshitari’s shoulder. With brows like kissing caterpillars, he shouted, “Oi! What the hell are you watching porn for at a time like -…You knew how to fix the car this whole time?!”
With a secret smile, Oshitari shoved the manual down his pants and gave a little wiggle. “There are some places even the brave tread not, Ryou-kun.”
Atobe chased Oshitari until he soaked his Versace clogs in the horrible mud. It took a person on each limb to drag him kicking and shouting into the RV with Oshitari.
Jirou, buoyant and alert, slid into the driver’s seat. “My turn!”
“JIROU?!”
“Like hell you are!”
“We’re all going to die…”
-
“I will keep the headquarters of Atobe Enterprises in Japan,” Atobe said, raising up his first bite of Hiroshima-yaki.
“Seriously?!”
“That’s great, Atobe-san!”
“We can go shopping all the time now!”
“Good. It’ll be easier to crush you.”
Oshitari smiled and nudged Atobe with his foot under the table. He tilted his head toward Jirou, who fell asleep in his sauce before he could so much as take a bite.
Atobe chuckled. “I’ll tell him later.” Because there was an important person not present for the news, Atobe pulled out his phone. He sent a picture of their tired, fulfilled group and wrote, Kabaji. The company will stay in Japan. Your feelings?
Seen.
He hadn’t expected a reply. The buzz of his phone stopped him mid-bite. Usu. I feel fine.
“What is it?” Gakuto asked, stealing some squid from Yuushi’s plate.
“I feel fine,” Atobe said. “Pass the sauce.”