Kite/Tezuka ~ fic

[pixxers]

Title: Letting the cables sleep
Pairing: Kite/Tezuka - future timeline
Rating: R
Summary: Kite tries to accustom himself to an empty bed after Rin has packed up and gone. A chance meeting with an old rival helps to ease the separation anxiety.

a/n ~ Rin's drunk, Atobe's well on his way to getting drunk and Kite and Tezuka embark on a path that will likely lead to their picking out china together.

First bit + second bit + third bit + fourth bit + fifth bit + sixth bit + seventh bit + eighth bit



letting the cables sleep
chapter nine

The look that Atobe sent Tezuka, when he turned away from the intercom and smoothed his shirt down in a way that reminded Atobe very much of a prissy miss preparing to greet her first suitor, was not an unfamiliar one. Nor, really, was Tezuka's response to it.

"I expect that you will behave yourself, Keigo?" he asked lightly, as if he had not just insulted Atobe out of hand.

"Pardon me? Behave myself?" Atobe said, incredulous. "I'm not a child, Kunimitsu."

Fixing him with an even stare, Tezuka nodded once. "Indeed."

Frowning - because a man of his stature and consequence did not pout - Atobe slid onto one of Tezuka's bar stools and tried to appear just a bit more comfortable than he truly did.

"He wasn't gone very long, was he?"

Tezuka moved toward the door, glancing back with a frown, and paused there. "Precisely how long were you standing outside, spying on me?"

Atobe snorted. "Spying on you. As though I would stoop so low. Didn't I say I waited outside for near onto twenty minutes while you dilly-dallied in the bathroom, primping and making ready for Mr. Wonderful?"

Tezuka's expression did not change. "Charming, Keigo."

Despite his intention to appear as confident as possible, Atobe hunched his shoulders and scowled. Even as he considered his response, there was a knock at the door and he frowned again.

Tezuka pointed at him in warning, for only a moment, and didn't wait for a reaction before opening the door and stepping back to allow Kite inside. Though he'd intended to maintain as stiff and admirable a composure as possible, his plans were forgotten when he noticed that Kite was not wearing his glasses.

"Where are your glasses?" Leaning forward, studying his face, Tezuka blinked in surprise and reached up as though to touch Kite. Remembering himself, and his guest, however, he drew his hand back and regarded Kite placidly. "What happened to your eye?"

The intimate, unguarded expression on Kite's face gave way to something less inviting the moment he crossed the threshold and noticed that they were not alone any longer. Almost at once, the soft look he'd given Tezuka became something guarded and suspicious and Atobe could practically feel him bristling. Certainly he could smell the overabundance of testosterone. Or - more likely - Kite Eishirou merely needed a good scrubbing.

"Bad timing on my part?" he asked, casually, though there was no mistaking the hard edge to his words.

"Don't be ridiculous," Tezuka responded, ushering him inside - Atobe didn't miss the way his hand lingered just at Kite's back before he turned toward the small kitchen. "You remember Atobe Keigo, Kite?"

Glancing between Tezuka and Atobe, Kite seemed to decide that erring on the side of caution was preferable to losing his uncivilized temper and risk offending Tezuka with his intolerable absence of couth. "Vaguely," he said, noncommittal and apprehensive.

To Atobe's surprise, however, he closed the distance between them and offered Atobe his hand. "Kite Eishirou," he said. "It's been a while, Atobe."

Taking his hand - tan and firm - Atobe managed not to scowl. "Indeed. Pleasure to see you again," he said, generous to a fault.

Kite smiled at him, then - slow, knowing, seemingly quite amused - as if to call him a liar and Atobe felt his composure slip. But only marginally.

"I'm surprised to see you," was all that he said and Atobe glanced briefly in Tezuka's direction before meeting Kite's eyes again.

I bet you are, you hoodlum.

"Atobe is in town on business," Tezuka spoke up, placing three cups on a small tray and carrying them toward the breakfast bar. He set a cup in front of the both of them and filled Kite's cup first. Atobe's lips tightened at the blatant slight until Tezuka squeezed a lemon slice into his cup. He sat back a little, unable to prevent his smug satisfaction. Kite seemed not to notice, though of course - Atobe told himself - he must have.

Before he slid Kite's cup toward him, though, he dropped a cube of sugar into it and stirred it quickly. "Drink this and warm yourself," he said, voice low as if Atobe weren't there at all. "You should put some ice on your eye, also. It's beginning to swell."

Kite touched it gingerly, wincing the moment his fingertips came into contact with the skin there, and nodded once. "I will, thank you."

Atobe watched, silent and more than a little annoyed by what he was witnessing. Tezuka - his Tezuka - was fussing over this common hood as though he were made of some fragile, delicate imported china. Adding insult to injury, Kite responded favorably to it, even going so far as to pretend to enjoy Tezuka's mothering.

Kite was silent as he sipped his tea and Atobe imagined that he was not going to be so fortunate as to learn what trouble he'd managed to get himself into. Tezuka did not ask for an explanation and, instead, seemed unperturbed by Kite's disheveled state. It was almost as though he were accustomed to it and for all that Atobe preferred not to dwell on it, he could admit that it was likely.

Instead of taking his seat, as Atobe expected that he would, Tezuka moved to the cabinet to find a small towel and didn't look at either of his guests as he wrapped several pieces of ice inside the cloth.

Kite tilted his head when Tezuka carefully pressed the cloth to his temple and - at Tezuka's nod - held it against his eye by himself. It was only then that Tezuka took a seat at the bar - opposite Kite and Atobe.

Atobe sipped his tea through tight, thin lips.

"It's late, Keigo," Tezuka finally said. "You must be hungry."

When Atobe did not answer right away, Tezuka took another slow sip from his cup and went on. "Kite and I have not eaten yet, either."

Kite and I. Kite and I. Kite and I.

Several moments passed before Tezuka's words no longer rang in Atobe's ears and even as he shook his head in polite refusal, his heart ached. He was starving - it had been several hours since he'd last eaten anything substantial - but he knew that there was simply no way that he would be able to sit at Tezuka's table and share a meal with him when his new lover sat so attentively at his side.

Even as he drank from the cup Tezuka had given him, Atobe reminded himself that this scenario, this situation, was his own doing. He'd been the one to let Tezuka walk away; he'd been the one to let months pass without the first attempt at getting him back. He'd been the one to show up unannounced when he'd suspected that Tezuka was seeing someone else.

And so, as much as he would have liked to blame Tezuka for the dull, constant ache in his heart, Atobe could not. Not only would it be unfair, Atobe could not abide anyone thinking ill of Tezuka - not even himself.

He glanced briefly at Kite, curious as to what he thought of Tezuka inviting him for dinner, and tensed when he realized that Kite had been staring at him all along. Even when they locked eyes, Kite did not speak and Atobe simply looked away. There was no challenge in Kite's expression and indeed, Atobe wondered, why would there be? As far as Atobe could ascertain, Kite had already won.

"Thank you, Kunimitsu, but I should be going. I didn't…"

He trailed off, then, standing fluidly and stretching the muscles in his back. 'I didn't think you'd have company' would have sounded presumptuous and insulting. He yawned, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. "I have an early flight in the morning."

Tezuka was silent and his uncertain expression was almost enough to change Atobe's mind. The longer they looked at one another, however, the more apparent it became that what Tezuka was experiencing in regards to Atobe's presence was not happiness or excitement, but obligation. And that stung.

"We could go out for dinner," Kite offered weakly and it was clear enough to Atobe that it was one of the very last things he wanted to do. If the past twenty minutes had been anything to go by, they'd have been in for an evening of strained silences and infrequent conversation.

"Thank you, no," he returned, nodding acknowledgment to Kite and turning to retrieve his shoes and his jacket. Tezuka followed, though Kite remained where he was, tense and expectant and watching the both of them with his uncovered eye.

"Keigo," Tezuka began, though he hadn't the slightest as to what he might say.

Atobe stood, smiling tightly and laying a hand on Tezuka's shoulder. "I apologize for appearing unannounced," he murmured, speaking quietly in the hopes that Kite would not overhear. His goodbye was for Tezuka and not for the man he slept with.

Shaking his head, Tezuka sighed. "Why did you come here, Keigo?"

That Atobe was not in town on business had been obvious to him from the very beginning and it annoyed him that Atobe had offered such a flimsy excuse. What was once between them was over - by Atobe's own design - and his pride would never have allowed him to say the things, do the things, that he should have in order to win Tezuka back.

"It doesn't matter," he replied, squeezing Tezuka's shoulder and leaning in to envelop him in a familiar, reassuring embrace. Against Tezuka's ear, with his lips brushing soft, fragrant hair, he whispered, "For what it's worth; I'm sorry."

At the breakfast bar, Kite half-stood, though he made no move toward them. Atobe did not look his way when he pressed his lips to Tezuka's cheek, lingering as he closed his eyes. "Goodbye, Kunimitsu."

He flipped the lock and let himself out and when the door closed behind him, he stood silently for a moment. Soon enough, however, he lifted his head, took a deep breath and reminded himself that he was Atobe Keigo. Atobe Keigo - and the world could be his, if he wanted it. He could have it all - everything - with the exception of one man.

He smiled when he stepped out onto the sidewalk, again, laughing - for the first time - at himself and at the predicament he found himself in.

Atobe needed a drink, but he doubted he'd be satisfied with just one.

+++

When Tezuka turned away from the door, arms wrapped loosely about his own waist, he sought Kite's gaze and refused to feel guilty for his solicitous treatment of Atobe. Truthfully, if Atobe hadn't seemed so uncomfortable and eager to make an escape, Tezuka would have happily invited him to join them for as long as he liked. Such a realization helped him to accept the fact that - while he was no longer pining for Atobe in any romantic fashion - he still cared for him and probably always would.

"I don't want to discuss this," he told Kite firmly, voice a bit more severe than he'd intended. Already he was feeling defensive on both his own and Atobe's behalf.

Looking expectant, but not angry - though Tezuka could sense some undercurrent of intensity in his body language - Kite blinked in surprise. "Discuss what?"

Frowning, Tezuka set about clearing Atobe's cup and his own. He did not touch Kite's. "What happened to your eye?" he asked, back to Kite as he rinsed dishes at the sink.

Relaxing marginally, Kite withdrew his glasses and lay them on the bar. His temple throbbed. "I thought you didn't want to discuss it."

When Tezuka did not answer, did not shoot Kite the withering glance that he'd been anticipating, he approached him quietly. Laying the towel - now saturated - in the sink, he wiped his hands on Tezuka's lavender dishtowel and moved to stand just behind him. When Tezuka didn't turn to face him or otherwise acknowledge his presence, Kite rested both hands on Tezuka's shoulders and squeezed gently. He was tense, rigid under Kite's hands.

"Hey," he said, slipping his arms around Tezuka to hold him close from behind. "Are you okay?"

Tezuka nodded once, but didn't speak. He didn't relax, even when Kite began to rub his bare arms.

"How long was he here?"

"As long as you were gone."

They were silent for a few moments more and Kite leaned in to nuzzle just behind Tezuka's ear. "If you'd insisted, he might have stayed."

Shoulders lifting in silent amusement, when Kite knew that he had nothing at all to laugh about, Tezuka shook his head. "No. He wouldn't have." Sighing softly, Tezuka finally relaxed in Kite's arms. "He saw you leave. He's not stupid."

Kite tightened his hold on Tezuka and nosed against his hair. There were many admirable, selfless things he could say - suggestions he could make - in regards to Tezuka and Atobe's relationship. He could say that it was obvious that the bond between them was still there, that the lingering feelings and mutual regard had clearly not diminished during their time apart. He could say that he would understand Tezuka's need to go after Atobe, if he loved him, still.

But he would be lying. He wouldn't understand and he didn't want to plant seeds of doubt in Tezuka's mind where his own regard was concerned. Truthfully, Kite was not that altruistic - he had never been and he doubted he would ever be.

"Does that bother you?" he asked.

"Yes and no," Tezuka answered, curling his fingers around Kite's forearms to hold him where he was. "I don't like the idea of causing him pain, but neither can I pretend that we can ever go back - even for his sake."

It was Kite's turn to relax, then, feeling as though all the uncertainty and apprehension he'd grappled with before simply melted away.

"Does that mean you still want to go forward?" Kite asked, somehow dreading Tezuka's response. He was thinking of earlier, when he'd been so ready to make promises regarding his loyalty and his devotion and the things that he hadn't realized were necessary to his happiness until he'd spent one night with Tezuka Kunimitsu.

When he spoke, Tezuka's voice was guarded, hesitant. "What are you asking me?"

Kite turned him, then, looked into his eyes where Tezuka might have turned away. "You know what I'm asking you," he said. "I meant what I said to you earlier."

Attempting to pretend that he didn't know precisely what Kite was referring to, Tezuka went over the words they'd exchanged, however cryptic and breathless they might have been, and recalled the expression on Kite's face when he'd sought to stake some sort of claim.

You and me. Just you and me. That had been his promise. It wasn’t terribly surprising, Tezuka realized, to see this side of Kite and to experience this level of intensity with him. Even with as little of each other as they'd known, Tezuka could remember how serious Kite had been. How intense and determined and dedicated to what he'd seen as his responsibility. That he was the monogamous type made sense. Whether or not he was interested in the long term was another matter entirely.

Pulling away, feeling the way Kite attempted to hold on when there was sudden space between them, Tezuka touched the purple skin surrounding his eye and sighed again. When he walked past Kite, toward the sofa and that part of the room where the light was dim, he reached behind him to grip Kite's fingers.

"It was a ridiculous coincidence, but I'm glad it happened the way it did. Having Atobe arrive to find us in bed together would have been twice as awkward."

Kite didn't ask if Tezuka had disclosed any details of their relationship - such as it was - to Atobe. His very presence had been explanation enough. When Tezuka sat, half-turned to face Kite, he followed suit, one arm draped over the back of the sofa, ample space between them in the event that what either of them had to say might spark an argument.

When Tezuka did not initiate any conversation, however, - didn't ask the questions that Kite knew he wanted answers to - he met Tezuka's gaze squarely and took a steadying breath. From this distance, Tezuka's countenance was a bit blurry and Kite's swollen eye wasn't helping matters much.

"It was Rin," he began. "On the phone earlier. I went to meet him."

Expression unchanged, Tezuka merely blinked and waited for Kite to continue. Despite the surge of unwelcome, dishonorable emotion - the jealousy - that Kite's admission induced, Tezuka did not respond accordingly. It was to him that Kite had returned, even when Tezuka continued to tell himself it didn't matter.

"He spent the night with me - last night - and left his wallet in my apartment."

He hesitated, did not the miss the minute tightening of his Tezuka's lips, his jaw, but did not attempt to make light of the situation. "He came over rather late - I was studying - and wanted a fight. To be honest, I didn't want to oblige him, Tezuka; Rin's dramatics can be exhausting.

"I'm certain that he hadn't anticipated my reluctance to pick up where we'd left off. He hadn't been gone a handful of days when I ran into you."

"You weren't still in a relationship with him, then? When we spent the night together?" Tezuka asked, clearly suspicious, but not at all accusatory and Kite shook his head.

"No, and I told you as much. I was alone when I saw you in that coffee shop - alone and unhappy and feeling like shit, really."

Kite frowned, then. He didn't want to talk about this, didn't want to go through it all again. What had been done was done and he didn't see any reason to hash over bad feelings merely in the interests of making a point to Tezuka. He knew he could do that without spending an hour talking about his past relationships.

"I almost told him last night, that I'd met someone else, but he was all over the place and as edgy as I'd ever seen him. I told him that things couldn't be the same between us and his reaction was more or less what I'd expected from him. I would have reiterated, made it clear, this morning, but he was gone when I awoke."

Kite paused and though Tezuka knew he shouldn't ask the question - shouldn't create turmoil where there was already more than enough - he knew he would never be able to see his relationship with Kite in any sort of realistic light unless he knew the truth.

"Did you…"

He frowned, brows furrowing, and Kite did not allow for any unnecessary suspense. He knew what Tezuka wanted to ask.

"Yes."

Tezuka looked away and Kite did not rush to offer assurance; Tezuka would not appreciate the condescension.

"I'd imagined that it was our goodbye and, honestly, I'm sure he thought the same thing. He was less than pleased to have to return to me tonight."

Finally, Tezuka fixed his gaze on Kite again and while Kite could have no idea as to whether he was helping his cause or destroying it, he continued.

"He asked me if I was in love with someone else," he said quietly, and Tezuka held his gaze just as he very nearly held his breath. But still he didn't ask.

"I said yes."

Finally, Tezuka spoke, "And then what happened?"

Wincing, Kite touched his eye, his cheekbone. "He decked me."

Wanting to smile, wanting to touch Kite's hand and bring him close, Tezuka simply continued to stare at him. "You shouldn't have told him that," he admonished, weak though it sounded.

"Why?" Kite wanted to know, head tilted and sincere.

"Because," Tezuka answered, twisting the loose material of his pants for want of something to occupy his hands. "It's not love. You're intrigued, fascinated, even. But-"

"What's the difference, Tezuka? Whether I'm actually in love with you or I just think I am. The end result is the same."

Something in Kite's choice of words - his seeming nonchalance - rubbed Tezuka the wrong way and he glared at Kite, then. "It's not the same to me."

"Only because you won't let it be the same," Kite said, straightening and clearly losing his composure. "This isn't warfare, Tezuka. It's not a fucking battleground with a net strung along the center - there's no place for strategy here."

Tezuka stood, then, rigid with impending anger and a need to defend himself and his emotions.

"It's easy for you to say so, Kite. You've never invested time and effort into something - someone - in the hopes that they will do the same. You've never experienced the kind of heartbreak that makes it difficult to wake up every morning so that you can convince yourself that there are still things worth experiencing."

Such a challenge - such unfairness - was enough to bring Kite surging to his feet, as well. Truly, it had not been Kite's intention to lose his temper - not when all he wanted to do was to get his arms around Tezuka again - but that he could be so blind and so unaware and so completely unaccepting of Kite's feelings when he was trying so hard to make him understand was nearly unbelievable. And, honestly, he was still just the tiniest bit pissed off that Atobe had kissed and touched Tezuka - his Tezuka - right in front of him when there hadn't been a damn thing he could have done about it.

"I'm trying to experience it right now," he said, jaw clenched. "But you seem so determined to push me away that I don't know what else to do to make you understand!"

"Why do you think I don't understand? I understand perfectly, Kite, you'll simply have to excuse me for being a little apprehensive."

After a moment, Kite's expression softened and he rubbed his face, tired and spent and still wanting Tezuka so much that he couldn't let it go. "I do, Tezuka. I understand where you're coming from and what I should and shouldn't expect from you. But you can't expect me to risk the kind of heartbreak you're talking about when you give no indication that you feel about me the way that I feel about you."

Tezuka blinked. He stood there silently, adjusting his glasses and straightened his shoulders and crossed his arms over his chest. Kite stared back, wanting to reach out, wanting to initiate this, to take the first step, even when he felt he'd already taken it a hundred times over.

"When I say that I'm in love with you, I don't want you to correct me or second-guess my motives. I don't want to think that you might be doubting every word I say because, if you are, Tezuka, then what do we have to say to one another at all?"

"What is that you want, then?" Tezuka asked, voice low - embarrassed for the candid way Kite spoke and for his complete uncertainty as to how he could respond and still remain true to himself. "Just tell me what you're after so I'll know what to expect."

Kite laughed, then. He hadn't meant to and hadn't even known that he would and Tezuka's expression was such that he could not resist him any longer.

He took a step forward, and then another and still one more before holding his hand out to Tezuka - palm up. That it was a few moments before Tezuka actually took it didn't seem to matter when he curled his fingers around Kite's, hesitant still.

"You want a guarantee, Tezuka, when there isn't one."

When Tezuka looked away, tried to pull back, Kite took another step forward - Tezuka was running out of room.

"You don't want me to say that I love you, but you don't want to hear that I don't, either. All you have to do is let me try, Tezuka. Just…let me."

Still wary, but so obviously wanting to believe Kite, to trust him, Tezuka moved a bit closer. He had a feeling that meeting Kite halfway might be infinitely more satisfying than allowing him to back him against another wall.

This admission - this confession - was indication enough that Kite was serious about securing his affections and Tezuka could not trick himself into thinking that he didn't want them secured so completely.

"You don't want anyone else?" he asked, curling his fingers in the neckline of Kite's tank top and moving closer, crowding him. "You're certain?"

Hands at his sides, eager to allow Tezuka this dominance if it would, ultimately, mean his capitulation, Kite murmured against his lips, "Are you?"

Eyes flashing - with provocation, with challenge - Tezuka leaned against Kite to send him sprawling back on the sofa. He followed him down, between his legs to pin him against the cushions even as Kite gripped his hips.

"You're enough," he said, palms flat at Kite's chest when he initiated the first kiss, eyes closed and lips parting immediately.

Kite took over easily enough, however, and grunted his satisfaction when he kissed Tezuka deeply, defiantly. Being enough wasn't better than being everything, but it was a start.

+++

The cab ride to the hotel - and the walk to the bar, after that - had not lessened Atobe's desire for a few shots of tequila. Or vodka. Or rum. Or scotch. Or all of the above in as many variations as was possible. The tea he'd had at Tezuka's had long since settled in his empty stomach and made him queasy. Or perhaps it had been a combination of misery and bile - they worked together quite amicably, it seemed.

With a heavy sigh, he made his way toward the bar - jacket slung casually over one shoulder - and tried to ignore the thick plumes of smoke that rose from the small groups of people seated together. Atobe hated cigarette smoke and his very presence inside the bar meant that he would need to make use of the hotel's dry cleaning service before he left for the airport tomorrow morning.

He glanced from between a few private booths and the bar in an attempt to ascertain which seating arrangement would make him appear less pathetic. On the one hand, the booth would offer privacy and plenty of space in which to wallow in his self-pity. On the other, the alcohol would be even more expediently accessible from the bar and he wouldn't need to come up with flimsy excuses when drunken, shameless hussies came over to join him in the hopes of securing his attention.

Deciding that the bar would be the lesser of two evils, Atobe chose a seat next a man who looked to be very interested in the contents of his glass in favor of the empty stool surrounded by giggling females. Atobe pinched the bridge of his nose; he was in no condition to attempt to be charming that evening.

Sliding onto the stool and laying his jacket in his lap, Atobe signaled the bartender. "Grey Goose martini, please. Dry, up, with a twist."

The man next to him snorted, muffling a drunken giggle, and drained the bright green liquid from his glass. "You must be just warming up," he said, though he didn't look at Atobe. Setting his glass down heavily on the bar, he dropped his head forward to rest on his forearms and hiccupped.

Atobe frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

After a moment, the man turned his head, peeking at Atobe through pale strands of hair, and blew his hair out of his face to reveal two very blue eyes with very dilated pupils.

"That's a switch, eh? Good-looking city boy begging me, for a change."

Atobe stiffened, averting his eyes. The very last thing he wanted was a public come-on from some longhaired, pathetic drunk. That he, himself, was about to become a perfectly coiffed, pathetic drunk was rather a moot point as far as Atobe was concerned. He wasn't planning to be starring in any embarrassing, drunken, gay-themed scandals.

When it became apparent that he was not going to respond, the blonde man gestured toward his glass. "Still thirsty, Mikoto. Keep 'em comin'"

To Atobe, he mumbled, "Go ahead, ignore me. I'm invisible."

Taking immediate offense, Atobe accepted his drink from the bartender and immediately withdrew the little red cutlass spearing his olives and tapped it against the side of his glass. "Look, friend. While I can appreciate the pity party you're throwing for yourself, here, you'll have to excuse me for not attending." Biting down on the plastic sword, he sucked all three olives into his mouth and began to chomp loudly. "I'm hosting my own little soiree tonight, if you don't mind."

The blonde seemed to consider this, raising his head to watch Atobe drain the martini glass, and then nodded blearily. "Hey, Mikoto - scratch that. I'll have what he's having. Go ahead and give me two."

"Female trouble?" the blonde asked, sizing Atobe up as best he could when it was two of him that he was currently seeing.

Atobe snorted, rolling his sleeves up to just below the elbow and leaning against the bar. "You could say that," he allowed. As missish as Tezuka could sometimes be, it wasn't a far cry to insinuate that he was definitely the less masculine of the two of them. Atobe's nightly skin-care regiment aside, Tezuka was frigid and self-righteous enough to make any man a decent wife. Especially someone like Kite Eishirou, who was probably a wife-beater, anyway.

Such thoughts made Atobe immediately sad and his shoulders slumped as he considered all that he had learned tonight. Kite Eishirou. He'd better not lay a cross hand on Tezuka's beautiful, flawless skin or Atobe would ruin him. How one went about ruining someone who was clearly a member of the Yakuza was rather beyond Atobe, but he imagined that he could consider it again when he was a bit more level-headed and not nearly as heartsick and maudlin.

The blonde nodded. "I know what you mean. They don't care, though. You know that, right?"

The bartender - a handsome, young man with an earring and short, spiky hair - set three drinks on the bar and leaned in just long enough for the blonde to notice.

"Here you go, Hirakoba-kun," he said, smiling in obvious adoration. "And one's on me."

Atobe pursed his lips, watching the exchange. One was on him, indeed. It wasn't difficult to guess precisely what - or whom - he wished would be on him. Disgraceful. Was the entire country gay and looking for a cheap hook-up?

The blonde looked up, then, blue eyes shining with sudden, unshed tears and his lower lip trembled. "Don't call me Hirakoba-kun. Anything but that."

Atobe blinked, tilted his head. The blonde was familiar, somehow, though Atobe couldn't imagine where he might have met him before. He saw plenty of bleached-blonde pretty boys in Tokyo, but none had such evenly tanned skin or healthy, shiny hair. This boy looked like a surfer, or something equally frivolous and useless. Atobe wondered, then, if perhaps he were a singer or a television personality. He didn't follow pop-culture very closely and imagined that he could easily be sitting next to a TV idol without ever realizing it.

"Whatever you say, Rinrin," Mikoto purred, tousling the blonde's hair and leaning in to bonk heads playfully.

'Rinrin' sniffled and reached for the martini glass, gesturing to one of the others. "You have one," he told Atobe. "You can be my guest tonight."

Hirakoba Rin. The name was vaguely familiar - Atobe could not shake the feeling that he knew it somehow. He took the drink, tried to see the sad, sniffling young man as any sort of threat at all and found that he could not. From the sound of things, they were in the same boat. And misery certainly loved company.

"You're having women trouble, too, then?" Atobe asked politely, nibbling on an olive as he watched Hirakoba swirl a hot pink swizzle stick in his martini. He poked at the olives and made a face.

"Women, men, whatever. They're all the same," he spat. "Especially mine." He frowned then, scrubbed at his eyes like a sleepy child. "Well, he used to be mine, anyway. But he's a woman, too. Talking about his stupid feelings and his stupid boyfriend and his stupid…stupidness."

Atobe nodded his agreement - hear, hear - though he didn't answer. That his new drinking buddy was openly gay should have sent him scurrying for that booth he'd passed over earlier. The last thing he needed was for his father to catch wind of this. He relaxed, though, thinking that certainly no one had any idea that he was here, much less any nosy reporters. Here, he could be some nameless man with relationship woes, getting plastered with a heartbroken, queer surferboy and nobody would care. It was a good feeling - a buoyant, happy feeling. Atobe ordered another drink.

"And he had the nerve to call me stupid. Me! The only person in the world who will ever love his uptight, judgmental, met-merec-metic-"

"Meticulous?" Atobe supplied helpfully.

"Yes, meretriculous," Hirakoba slurred, slapping the bar with the palm of his hand. "And the most self-righteous bastard you'll ever meet in your life."

Arching one eyebrow, Atobe began to feel very justified in his upset. Justified and very, very right. Tezuka had been crazy to let him go. Who would love him now? That ill-mannered, uneducated, law-breaking Kite Eishirou? Hardly.

Hirakoba looked up at him, then, blue eyes wide and beseeching. If Atobe had less-discriminating tastes - or an overactive sex drive - he might have considered inviting his new friend back to his hotel. Even as muddled as his thoughts were becoming, and would become, still, with the amount of alcohol that he intended to consume tonight, Atobe was still Atobe. And he worried about all manner of things that he doubted other men his age ever gave a passing thought to: disease, scandal, being mugged, being recognized, getting his ass kicked in public - all very valid concerns.

"Oh, god," Hirakoba moaned, leaning forward and pressing one hand to his forehead. "My head hurts."

Atobe frowned. "You can't have any aspirin, with all the alcohol you've consumed. Perhaps you should lie down for awhile?"

Nodding, and grimacing when he did so, Hirakoba wiped his eyes and drained the remaining martini. "You're right."

He sat up, then, wobbling on his bar stool and gasping when he lost his balance. Atobe - only marginally in possession of all his faculties - caught him easily, righting him and helping him to lean against the bar. Up close, Hirakoba's eyes were blue, blue, blue. Like the ocean. His eyelashes were long. His skin clear. His mouth…

"Thanks," he murmured. He smelled like midori. "What's your name?"

Atobe smiled. It had been a long time since someone had batted his or her eyelashes at him in so sincere a fashion. "Oshitari," he said. "Oshitari Yuushi."

Hirakoba smiled in return, but winced when his head throbbed anew. "Oi, Oshitari-kun. Will you give me a hand? I'm a little wobbly."

Motioning to the bartender, Atobe gripped Hirakoba's shoulder with one hand and leaned in to talk over the din of voices and music. "You have private karaoke booths here, yes? Hirakoba-kun is feeling ill."

Nodding thoughtfully, Mikoto motioned to the side of the bar - along the hallway where the restrooms were located. Before he said a word, though, he plucked a bottle of rum from the shelf behind him and slid it across the bar toward Atobe. "Let him sip on this. He'll be okay in a while."

Atobe frowned. It seemed very irresponsible to ply Hirakoba with yet more alcohol when he was so keenly feeling the effects of that which he'd already consumed. "Are you sure? He seems quite drunk to me."

Mikoto laughed, slapped Atobe on the shoulder as though he'd just said the most hilarious thing Mikoto had ever heard. "Trust me. Hirakoba-kun can hold his liquor. Just don't let him wander out into the street. I'll pick up the tab - just take care of him 'til I get off work."

Atobe nodded his thanks, tucked the bottle under one arm and gathered his jacket as he helped Hirakoba to his feet. "This way, Hirakoba-kun. You can lie down in one the booths."

Clinging to Atobe's sleeve, Rin leaned his head on Atobe's shoulder and murmured his assent. "Stay with me, Oshitari-kun?"

"I will. For a while, at least," Atobe told him, certain that Hirakoba's hand on his ass was entirely accidental.

"Mmm," Hirakoba purred, fingers curling around the bottle wedged under Atobe's arm. "Oshitari-kun is nice. He smells good, too. Stupid woman to let him go."

Atobe snorted. He would agree, if he didn't know how entirely at fault he was for allowing obligation and paranoia to ruin his relationship with Tezuka. It was his fault - all his fault - and long had Atobe known that one reaped what one sowed. There would be no misplaced blame in this situation - Atobe was not his father.

"Right here, Hirakoba-kun," he directed, telling himself that Hirakoba only clung so tightly because he couldn't balance his own weight in his current state. His hair smelled like sunshine.

"Thank you, Oshitari-kun," he said, stumbling backward when the door swung open. He had the bottle, now, flopping back onto one of the benches to peel off the plastic seal at the top. "Let's drink to new friends."

Hirakoba glanced up - pretty eyes and wicked smile - to catch Atobe's gaze. Atobe let the door close behind him.