antiotpficathon: Atobe Keigo/Shishido Ryou
Title: Neapolitan
Series: Prince of Tennis
Characters: Atobe Keigo/Shishido Ryou
Rating: PG for language
Word Count: 1,441
Summary: Atobe and Shishido go out to eat ice cream after Shishido rejoins the regulars. Atobe reflects a bit [too much].
Notes: Written for antiotpficathon. This is the closest thing to a copout I've ever seen, since it's almost completely gen, but it was really hard to write nonetheless, and I tried my best. I hope you guys like it.
Strawberry.
It would almost be surprising, really, if Atobe ever considered himself a "surprisable" person. As it was, though, he was always at least three steps ahead of any of his Hyoutei regulars (and today was no exception), so as he watched a mildly disgruntled Shishido Ryou mutter his order -- strawberry waffle cone -- to the cheerful and excessively busty waitress who beamed down at them across the counter as if she were actually excited to be there, Atobe found himself curious and intrigued.
Curious and intrigued, but not surprised. Far from surprised. Atobe, surprised? Ah, what a unique sense of humor you have.
He had to admit, though, that his level of curiousity and intrigue was far above the acceptable limit. Badass Hyoutei Tennis Club Buchou Atobe Keigo wasn't supposed to be curious or intrigued or excited by little, inconsequential things like chosen ice cream flavors. That was what Jiroh was for.
And really, he should have known. On his occasional outings with Shishido, Atobe had come to realize that Shishido was a different kind of... different. They were all little things, like pouring extra salt on his salad or mouthing a mnemonic bunny rhyme while double-knotting his shoelaces, but they added up, and Shishido quite successfully pushed himself farther and farther away from normalcy without ever knowing -- or caring -- what being normal was in the first place. It was rather... amusing. Atobe liked being around him simply because it highlighted his own socially acceptable mannerisms and practices.
On the other hand, Shishido, having been a long-time companion of Atobe's, knew that one's social standing was reflected in everything he did. A person could never take his friendships for granted, so theoretically, letting his guard down while doing anything that reflected his character as a society-man was, in Atobe's eyes, a rather intimate show of his trust, respect, and devotion.
Shishido didn't realize it, but ordering strawberry ice cream in front of Atobe said a great deal.
He had really expected Shishido to order something like rocky road or moosetracks or superman while Atobe was with him. Something manly, with lots of hard bits to munch on with strong jaws, or something people could associate with hunting and manly men and really big guns, or maybe something named "superman" just to boost his ego. (After all, who didn't want to pump a fist into the air and yell, "Ha! I'm eating Superman!", whether it was done publicly or in the privacy of one's secure, third-story bedroom in the middle of the night when no one else was there so that, if approached with such an outlandish idea by acquiantances at school during an otherwise uneventful passing period, a person could shake his head, scoff at his questioners, and deny everything?) And even if he had to stand within the confines of the classic neapolitan flavors, Shishido would be the type to pick chocolate -- dark and deep, rich with feeling, and something of a guilty pleasure since you always had too much without ever having enough... It was the most like Shishido, so it would make the most sense.
Atobe almost wished that Shishido had picked vanilla. It was, at the very least, the most sophisticated of the three neapolitan flavors (it was very often prefixed with "French", after all, and Atobe had been to Europe enough to know that France was a very sophisticated country). And, more importantly, it gave him the opportunity to equate the other boy with something white and pure and sweet in a very, very simple way. Shishido is so vanilla. Heh.
But of course, the boy had chosen strawberry... the kind with Actual Strawberry Bits mixed in. Childishly sweet. Pink. Chunky and fruity in the middle.
Atobe had to reevaluate his current position. Why was he at an ice cream parlor with Strawberry Shishido, watching the other boy swing his legs from atop his high stool and lick happily at a flavor that he was about fourteen years too old for as he finished yet another anecdote about his pet dog? Oh, yes, that's right. Atobe had been there to see him hand Taki his ass on a plate. It was a cracked, dirty plate, held out by an equally bruised and beaten challenger, but his drastic change in character was impressive all the same.
"You and Ohtori will be playing together as a doubles team, starting tomorrow."
Atobe never bothered with transitions in oral discussions. He never followed lines of reasoning if they weren't important. He never segued or made tangents or placed convenient "oh, by the way"s on the road so that his listeners could follow. Whatever he talked about was the topic of conversation, and those around him understood that. There was never any reason to spend precious time introducing something that they would be conversing about anyway. Dawdling was a weakness. Highly inefficient.
Shishido looked up at Atobe, the slightly alarmed look on his face very quickly dissipating into a trained mask of disinterest. "I-I'll be playing with Ohtori? Why Ohtori?"
"You have been training with him, haven't you? You know each other's play styles, and it's not difficult to see that you'd complement each other on the tennis court."
Shishido tugged at his newly-shorn hair. Ah, Atobe had been there to see that, too... the moment that solidified Atobe's opinion on the matter, that pushed his feet several steps forward and pressed his voice through his throat, out of his mouth.
As if the long nights of dangerous training under the unpleasant buzz of Hyoutei's floodlights hadn't already convinced Atobe of the player -- and the person -- that Shishido had become.
The whole ordeal was ridiculous, really... even someone who trained as hard as a Hyoutei Tennis Club member was subject to unnecessary injury, especially if he was looking across the net into the barrel of a loaded gun, inviting the next shot with a strained push off the ground and a determined "Next!" on his lips.
But Atobe wasn't heartless, nor was he the type of person who would interfere in others' decisions. In Atobe's eyes, injuries were only unnecessary when the "injured party" wasn't involved in making them happen. A prolonged game at the risk of one's own health for the sake of his team, a sharp right-hook to a man's pride as he fell just to pick himself up and become better than he was... those were necessary injuries. They were the injuries that, tritely enough, made the world a better place, because it showed everyone else that the ones who were capable of being greater than themselves could -- and would -- take a great hit for a greater triumph.
Shishido didn't look so triumphant now, though. Picking at his hair with one hand and idly twisting his waffle cone around with the other (secretly, Atobe had hoped that Shishido would try spinning it on the tip of his finger), the boy sighed. "I... don't really want to be partners with Ohtori. He's already a bit too dependent on me. And besides..." His eyes glided over to meet Atobe's. "Singles players are a lot cooler, don't you think?"
Atobe smirked. "I suppose. But isn't that a rather biased statement, Shishido?"
Shishido continued to look at him, tilting his head to the side before responding, "Yeah, I guess it is."
They sat in peaceful silence for some time. Atobe watched as his companion continued to inhale his ice cream, and he quietly rapped his fingers on the counter before speaking again.
"Oh, by the way..." Shishido looked up, surprised to hear what could almost be mistaken as a transitional statement. Oh, but that was intentional. He was speaking with one of the most inefficient, irrational players on his team. Trying to assimilate with his surroundings was never a weakness. It was an admirable feat that could in no way be linked to the apprehension he felt as he brought a new, rather uncomfortable topic of conversation to light. "You're getting to be quite close with Ohtori, aren't you? Will you two be making your way to ice cream parlors any time soon?"
Shishido shifted in his seat and blushed lightly. "I don't know, I think eating ice cream with you is enough." He watched as a drop of strawberry ice cream fell onto the countertop before popping the last bit of his drippy waffle cone into his mouth with a sloppy crunch, quirking his lips a bit after he swallowed the last of it. "But even if I did go out for ice cream with Ohtori instead, I'd probably order rocky road."
Series: Prince of Tennis
Characters: Atobe Keigo/Shishido Ryou
Rating: PG for language
Word Count: 1,441
Summary: Atobe and Shishido go out to eat ice cream after Shishido rejoins the regulars. Atobe reflects a bit [too much].
Notes: Written for antiotpficathon. This is the closest thing to a copout I've ever seen, since it's almost completely gen, but it was really hard to write nonetheless, and I tried my best. I hope you guys like it.
Strawberry.
It would almost be surprising, really, if Atobe ever considered himself a "surprisable" person. As it was, though, he was always at least three steps ahead of any of his Hyoutei regulars (and today was no exception), so as he watched a mildly disgruntled Shishido Ryou mutter his order -- strawberry waffle cone -- to the cheerful and excessively busty waitress who beamed down at them across the counter as if she were actually excited to be there, Atobe found himself curious and intrigued.
Curious and intrigued, but not surprised. Far from surprised. Atobe, surprised? Ah, what a unique sense of humor you have.
He had to admit, though, that his level of curiousity and intrigue was far above the acceptable limit. Badass Hyoutei Tennis Club Buchou Atobe Keigo wasn't supposed to be curious or intrigued or excited by little, inconsequential things like chosen ice cream flavors. That was what Jiroh was for.
And really, he should have known. On his occasional outings with Shishido, Atobe had come to realize that Shishido was a different kind of... different. They were all little things, like pouring extra salt on his salad or mouthing a mnemonic bunny rhyme while double-knotting his shoelaces, but they added up, and Shishido quite successfully pushed himself farther and farther away from normalcy without ever knowing -- or caring -- what being normal was in the first place. It was rather... amusing. Atobe liked being around him simply because it highlighted his own socially acceptable mannerisms and practices.
On the other hand, Shishido, having been a long-time companion of Atobe's, knew that one's social standing was reflected in everything he did. A person could never take his friendships for granted, so theoretically, letting his guard down while doing anything that reflected his character as a society-man was, in Atobe's eyes, a rather intimate show of his trust, respect, and devotion.
Shishido didn't realize it, but ordering strawberry ice cream in front of Atobe said a great deal.
He had really expected Shishido to order something like rocky road or moosetracks or superman while Atobe was with him. Something manly, with lots of hard bits to munch on with strong jaws, or something people could associate with hunting and manly men and really big guns, or maybe something named "superman" just to boost his ego. (After all, who didn't want to pump a fist into the air and yell, "Ha! I'm eating Superman!", whether it was done publicly or in the privacy of one's secure, third-story bedroom in the middle of the night when no one else was there so that, if approached with such an outlandish idea by acquiantances at school during an otherwise uneventful passing period, a person could shake his head, scoff at his questioners, and deny everything?) And even if he had to stand within the confines of the classic neapolitan flavors, Shishido would be the type to pick chocolate -- dark and deep, rich with feeling, and something of a guilty pleasure since you always had too much without ever having enough... It was the most like Shishido, so it would make the most sense.
Atobe almost wished that Shishido had picked vanilla. It was, at the very least, the most sophisticated of the three neapolitan flavors (it was very often prefixed with "French", after all, and Atobe had been to Europe enough to know that France was a very sophisticated country). And, more importantly, it gave him the opportunity to equate the other boy with something white and pure and sweet in a very, very simple way. Shishido is so vanilla. Heh.
But of course, the boy had chosen strawberry... the kind with Actual Strawberry Bits mixed in. Childishly sweet. Pink. Chunky and fruity in the middle.
Atobe had to reevaluate his current position. Why was he at an ice cream parlor with Strawberry Shishido, watching the other boy swing his legs from atop his high stool and lick happily at a flavor that he was about fourteen years too old for as he finished yet another anecdote about his pet dog? Oh, yes, that's right. Atobe had been there to see him hand Taki his ass on a plate. It was a cracked, dirty plate, held out by an equally bruised and beaten challenger, but his drastic change in character was impressive all the same.
"You and Ohtori will be playing together as a doubles team, starting tomorrow."
Atobe never bothered with transitions in oral discussions. He never followed lines of reasoning if they weren't important. He never segued or made tangents or placed convenient "oh, by the way"s on the road so that his listeners could follow. Whatever he talked about was the topic of conversation, and those around him understood that. There was never any reason to spend precious time introducing something that they would be conversing about anyway. Dawdling was a weakness. Highly inefficient.
Shishido looked up at Atobe, the slightly alarmed look on his face very quickly dissipating into a trained mask of disinterest. "I-I'll be playing with Ohtori? Why Ohtori?"
"You have been training with him, haven't you? You know each other's play styles, and it's not difficult to see that you'd complement each other on the tennis court."
Shishido tugged at his newly-shorn hair. Ah, Atobe had been there to see that, too... the moment that solidified Atobe's opinion on the matter, that pushed his feet several steps forward and pressed his voice through his throat, out of his mouth.
As if the long nights of dangerous training under the unpleasant buzz of Hyoutei's floodlights hadn't already convinced Atobe of the player -- and the person -- that Shishido had become.
The whole ordeal was ridiculous, really... even someone who trained as hard as a Hyoutei Tennis Club member was subject to unnecessary injury, especially if he was looking across the net into the barrel of a loaded gun, inviting the next shot with a strained push off the ground and a determined "Next!" on his lips.
But Atobe wasn't heartless, nor was he the type of person who would interfere in others' decisions. In Atobe's eyes, injuries were only unnecessary when the "injured party" wasn't involved in making them happen. A prolonged game at the risk of one's own health for the sake of his team, a sharp right-hook to a man's pride as he fell just to pick himself up and become better than he was... those were necessary injuries. They were the injuries that, tritely enough, made the world a better place, because it showed everyone else that the ones who were capable of being greater than themselves could -- and would -- take a great hit for a greater triumph.
Shishido didn't look so triumphant now, though. Picking at his hair with one hand and idly twisting his waffle cone around with the other (secretly, Atobe had hoped that Shishido would try spinning it on the tip of his finger), the boy sighed. "I... don't really want to be partners with Ohtori. He's already a bit too dependent on me. And besides..." His eyes glided over to meet Atobe's. "Singles players are a lot cooler, don't you think?"
Atobe smirked. "I suppose. But isn't that a rather biased statement, Shishido?"
Shishido continued to look at him, tilting his head to the side before responding, "Yeah, I guess it is."
They sat in peaceful silence for some time. Atobe watched as his companion continued to inhale his ice cream, and he quietly rapped his fingers on the counter before speaking again.
"Oh, by the way..." Shishido looked up, surprised to hear what could almost be mistaken as a transitional statement. Oh, but that was intentional. He was speaking with one of the most inefficient, irrational players on his team. Trying to assimilate with his surroundings was never a weakness. It was an admirable feat that could in no way be linked to the apprehension he felt as he brought a new, rather uncomfortable topic of conversation to light. "You're getting to be quite close with Ohtori, aren't you? Will you two be making your way to ice cream parlors any time soon?"
Shishido shifted in his seat and blushed lightly. "I don't know, I think eating ice cream with you is enough." He watched as a drop of strawberry ice cream fell onto the countertop before popping the last bit of his drippy waffle cone into his mouth with a sloppy crunch, quirking his lips a bit after he swallowed the last of it. "But even if I did go out for ice cream with Ohtori instead, I'd probably order rocky road."