Realizations

Atobe sighed as he slid down into the bathtub, warm water enveloping him, closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the cool tile. The night had gone well— he had made Tezuka fidget ever so slightly, and then left him with something to chew on at the end of the evening. He had allowed him only a taste of what was there, but still enough to ensure that he would come back for more. Atobe could feel Tezuka's resolve slowly but surely weakening.

However, Atobe could no longer claim that he was only in it for the thrill of the chase. Of course, it was still satisfying to know that he was all the more closer to making Tezuka his, but the pleasure he felt wasn't from taking down his prey alone. No, it was something more complex than that. He was actually beginning to develop real feelings for Tezuka that Atobe couldn't deny. It was something that the heir wasn't quite familiar with. He wanted Tezuka, really wanted him, like he never had before. This time, it wasn't just because of a pretty face – though Atobe would admit that Tezuka was indeed handsome – and it wasn't for the enjoyment of proving that he could have whatever he wanted.

Atobe wouldn't call it love, because, in all honesty, the only person he loved was himself. He tolerated his parents, put up with his teammates, and respected a scant few. But there was definitely something there, even if he wasn't able to label it.

Atobe idly drew circles on the tile with the tip of one finger as he tried to remember when all of this had happened, and how it had managed to happen without him noticing. It had started, he recalled, as a vague interest in seeing what merit lied within that rumored talent. When he had finally seen Tezuka play, he hadn't been impressed, but perhaps grateful to have a worthy opponent. Someone he could take pleasure in crushing. He decided he would begin by breaking that calm and cool exterior. He wanted to make Tezuka writhe where he stood. And he had, not completely, but he had still succeeded in making the other boy squirm, if only a bit.

But Atobe wasn't satisfied. He couldn't understand why.

Even if he beat him at tennis, no matter how many verbal blows he got in, it wasn't enough. He needed more. It was frustrating beyond belief, because Atobe couldn't pinpoint exactly when that face had become so attractive, or at what point his personality had become so compelling. Somewhere along the way, Atobe had become intoxicated with him, with everything that was Tezuka. He was drunk in someone else's magnificence. He tried to be appalled with himself, or to be outraged with Tezuka, but he couldn't manage it. So he grudgingly had to accept it.

But that didn't mean he had to let it be known.

Atobe smirked and leaned back further in the bathtub, closing his eyes and letting the scent of bath salts surround him.

"Game and set, Tezuka, 6-3!"

Tezuka absent-mindedly walked to the center of the court to shake his opponent's hand, and then made his way over to Oishi to discuss the training schedule. He had decided that it wasn't tough enough, or enough laps weren't being run, or something of that nature.

Momoshiro watched as his captain walked off the court, mouth still slightly agape in disbelief. This wasn't like Tezuka, not at all. Granted he had still won the match, but Momo had managed to get three games off of him. He had never been able to do that. Never.

The black-haired boy shrugged and slung his racket over his shoulder as he strolled off the tennis court to join the small group of regulars congregated by the fence.

"Good job, Momo," Eiji told the second year as he reached them, "You actually managed to win three games."

Momo rubbed the back of his neck and grinned. "I guess I must be getting better,' he replied.

"No," Ryoma commented, "Buchou seemed off today."

"I—Wait! Are you saying that I'm not getting any better?!" Momo demanded, one hand balled into a fist. Ryoma shrugged impassively. And Mom had to refrain from punching that smug face.

"He's right, Momoshiro," Inui interjected, adjusting his glasses and turning the page of his notebook, "Tezuka's level of concentration is down by twenty-seven percent today. The probability of his distraction being related to the team is nineteen percent, seeing as we don't have any major matches coming up for a couple of weeks. So I'd say that the chances that something in his personal life is bothering him are seventy-six percent, most likely having to do with all of the presents he received last week."

"Do you think a girl confessed to him?" Momo asked.

"Possibly,' Inui replied, flipping through the pages of his notebook, "But no previous data shows Tezuka having reacted in this way to a confession before."

"Nya, Buchou must really like her then," the redhead exclaimed.

"Perhaps he's in love, na, Kabaji?"

"Usu."

The four of them spun around to see the captain of Hyotei standing grandly in front of the tennis courts, henchman in tow.

"What's the Monkey King doing here? Looking for a match?" Ryoma asked, pulling his cap down to further shade his face.

"Nothing of that sort," Atobe replied, brushing back as few strands of hair.

"Are you spying on us, then?" Inui asked, not bothering to look up as he scribbled something down hastily.

Atobe gave the data collector an arrogant look as he said, "Even if Hyotei was that desperate, Ore-sama wouldn't be the one to do such a paltry task."

"Atobe, a word, if you wouldn't mind," a voice said, more commanding than requesting.

"Ah, Tezuka, of course. Anything you ask," he replied, turning on his heels and walking towards the brunette at a leisurely pace. "Kabaji, stay here."

"Usu."

Tezuka paced quickly over to just before the clubhouse door, where they might have some privacy while the other club members were practicing. When Atobe came to stand beside him, Tezuka looked him up and down. He was wearing his school uniform, pants creased neatly and not a wrinkle in his stark white, untucked shirt, of which the top button was undone. His tie hung loosely from his neck, and he looked as full of himself as ever.

"So?" he finally asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"So what?" was Atobe's only reply as he waved his hand arbitrarily, feigning bored ignorance.

Tezuka's frown deepened and he subtly shifted his weight to one foot. Atobe wasn't going to make this pleasant for him, not that he ever did. "Why did you come here?" he demanded.

Atobe shrugged indifferently. "Ore-sama thought he might pay you a visit."

"Atobe," was Tezuka's only response, voice stern.

"What, are you going to force me off the campus?" the heir asked, the amusement evident in his voice.

It's not as if I could, even if I tried, Tezuka remarked to himself. "Atobe," he began, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Why did you really come here?"

Atobe only smirked. "I like to watch you squirm," he simply stated.

Inui jotted something down as he watched the two captains converse. He noticed Tezuka's unusual posture, and the smirk of Atobe's face. He glanced over what he had just written and then snapped his notebook shut.

"Chances that this is the cause of Tezuka's lack of concentration, one hundred percent."

He must have been temporarily insane, Tezuka mused, when he had decided to play a match with Fuji. Then again, his sanity had seemed to abandon him as of late.

He grunted as he reached for a far return and managed to hit it back with some amount of skill. He could feel Atobe's eyes on his back and he could see Fuji's knowing smile in front of him, and it was almost too much for him to take. It felt as if Atobe's gaze was digging into his back, getting under his skin. It made him shudder, falter. He wanted Atobe to just leave, so he could be free of these feelings. So he wouldn't be all too confused as to how he could feel so insecure under that stare, but still love it, relish it. He thought that playing a real match might take his mind off… other things, but he had been horribly, miserably wrong.

He tried to initiate the Tezuka Zone so that he would have to move around as much, and maybe have a chance to clear his head, but he couldn't quite manage to put the right spin on the ball. He hit back the next ball, again unable to put the correct spin on the ball. Fuji returned it, and the ball spun where it landed, and then rolled smoothly over the court. Tezuka groaned inwardly; he had fallen into the trap of one of the Triple Counters.

"40-15!" a second year called.

Tezuka turned to walk back to the baseline, pulling a fresh tennis ball from his pocket. His gaze met with Atobe's for a moment, who was raising an eyebrow at him, and Tezuka hastily averted his eyes. The last thing he needed at the moment was a staring contest with the other boy, which he would inevitably lose.

He reached the line and faced Fuji, with that omnipresent smile plastered on his face. Tezuka bounced the ball once, then twice.

"Ne, Buchou, is something wrong?" he heard Fuji ask without looking up, "Your playing isn't as sharp as usual. Is it your eyesight? Perhaps you need a new prescription."

"I can see perfectly," he answered dryly, now trying his best to send a warning glare Fuji's way.

The tensai only continued grinning, eyes closed in a contented manner. "Ah, I see. Is something else bothering you, then?"

"I can assure you, everything is fine," he replied, catching the ball in his hand as it rose.

Fuji tilted his head to the side. "Perhaps, Buchou, you should follow your own advice more carefully. It's not wise to let your guard down."

Tezuka served the ball, hitting it hard for good measure. In the end, he won 7-5, but it had been by no means easy. When he walked off the court, he was glad to find that Atobe was gone. He ended practice early, because he simply couldn't deal with it. He didn't care if it was blatantly uncharacteristic for him to do such a thing, because, by that point, everyone had already noticed that he wasn't acting like his usual, composed self. Better to make them wonder if he was feverish for making that decision than to let them see him weak for any longer.

It wasn't fair. It simply wasn't fair. Even as he played, stumbling and making mistake after mistake, he was still amazing. He still looked amazing.

His sleek movements, the way his muscles would contract, the sweat that clung to his skin, how his uniform hugged his body in all the right places. The bit of skin that would show when his shirt was accidentally lifted up. Everything about him was tantalizing, and Atobe couldn't stand it anymore. But he wasn't able to move his gaze, either.

Atobe knew that Tezuka wasn't purposely doing this, he knew it was his own fault, and that frustrated him even more. Especially since he was aware Tezuka didn't feel that same attraction towards him.

But still, Tezuka was unknowingly making it nearly impossibly for Atobe to keep himself from storming onto the court, dragging Tezuka off, and groping him right there in the Seigaku locker room. It was hardly proper etiquette, not at all the appropriate time, and it would never be acceptable to do such a thing in that locker room, of all places.

Atobe ran his fingers through his hair, trying his best to look casual. Two can play at this game, Tezuka, he thought to himself.

"Come, Kabaji, Ore-sama needs a shower."

"Usu."

And a cold one, at that.