FIC: Escape from Ennui (complete)

[maxine_chan]

Whee, santa_smex reveals are up! GUESS WHICH ONE I WROTE?? Oh, what, you already knew? Yeah, thought so. ^^;;

Anyhoo. This was written for the wonderful, amazing, COMPLETELY AWESOME chasingwhispers. ^.^ And now I'm sharing it with the rest of y'all. Enjoy!


Title: Escape from Ennui
Fandom: Prince of Tennis
Rating: R
Pairing: Tango Pair (Atobe/Sanada)
Disclaimer: It's not mine. Which sucks. Woe.
Length: 14,222 words
Notes/Warnings: Possible Nationals spoilers, and mentions of a made-up outcome between Seigaku and Rikkaidai. And random cameo appearances, yay!
Summary: Tezuka wants to get drunk. Atobe wants to play tennis. Sanada wants to stop being harassed. Shishido and Ohtori want to bake cookies. STUFF HAPPENS. :P





~~Escape from Ennui~~


If there was one thing Atobe was good at, it was making the best out of a bad situation. Like when he’d been forced to hack off most of his hair in front of a huge crowd of people, for example. He’d done it standing tall and smirking, even managing to remain completely poised as he took carefully controlled steps to the nearest public bathroom, and only when he was safely locked inside a stall did he proceed to have a minor breakdown. Shishido had dragged him out half an hour later, and after a few snips with the scissors and a lot of hair gel, Atobe had felt like the rest of the world might be worthy enough to be graced with his presence again.

Now, with his team out of the running for a Nationals title (and thus out of the spotlight), Atobe refocused his efforts into planning an end-of-season party for all of the schools (that would be so magnificent and spectacular it would hurtle Hyoutei back into the forefront of every tennis player’s mind). He was sorely tempted to accidentally misplace the invites for Seigaku, but then Rikkaidai pulled ahead and claimed first place for the third year in a row, so instead he sent Seigaku’s out first, done up elegantly with extra glitter and a lavender ribbon.

Again, as stated before, he was good at this sort of thing. He’d turned his loss to Echizen into an excuse for a new and better hairstyle, hadn’t he? Clearly he was on top of things.

The party started off well enough, which was to be expected. He stayed up in his room until he decided enough time had passed for him to make a fashionable appearance. Unfortunately his timing was off and Rikkaidai was apparently late as well, so he walked into the room just as there was a mass rush for the door.

Tch. Maybe he should have misplaced their invites…

He hovered on the stairs for a moment, pointedly ignoring Gakuto’s snickers, and then decided to go find some unfortunate soul that needed to be awed with his presence.

He found Tezuka by the drinks table, looking as moody and irritable as ever, and decided finding someone more unfortunate than that was unlikely at the moment.

“Tezuka,” he said, smirking a little as he walked over to stand beside him.

Tezuka spared him a glance, and nodded. “Atobe.”

“I see you’re not greeting the newest arrivals like the rest of these brainless followers,” Atobe said, taking the drink a nearby staff member offered him.

Tezuka frowned behind his own cup. “I’ll have to talk to them eventually, but I see no need to be at the front of that crowd,” he said. “They’ll find me.”

Atobe arched an eyebrow. “You sound bitter, Tezuka.”

“I’m not bitter.”

“But you sound it.”

“I’m not.” He glanced at Atobe again. “Nice hair.”

Atobe almost scowled, but then remembered that is was nice. “Thank you,” he said imperiously. “Ore-sama decided to try something new.”

Tezuka snorted into his drink. “So that’s not the result of you shaving half of it off when you lost?”

Damn. “Of course not.”

“Right.”

Atobe would have had a comeback for that, but at that moment the proverbial sea of tennis players parted, and Rikkaidai appeared.

“This place is so cool,” Kirihara was saying, practically bouncing up and down as he took in his surroundings. Atobe hoped they had him on a leash, but it became apparent that they didn’t when he dashed off suddenly. He nearly bowled over St. Rudolph’s manager, who’d been busy feeling up Seigaku’s second-years, from what Atobe could tell.

“Hey, watch where you’re going!” he – Mizuki? – snapped.

“Sorry, sorry,” Kirihara said sheepishly, hand behind his head, but he stopped abruptly when he saw who he was apologizing to. Mizuki froze as well.

“What’re you doing here?” they said simultaneously.

Sanada sighed. “Jackal,” he said gruffly.

“On it.”

“My apologies,” Yukimura said, smiling. “He’s very easily excited.”

Tezuka frowned. “Yukimura,” he said levelly.

“Tezuka,” Yukimura returned, and then nodded at Atobe. “Atobe.”

“Yukimura.”

There was an awkward sort of silence for a moment, during which Atobe thought he should say something as the host, but then Tezuka spoke again. “Congratulations on your victory.”

Yukimura smiled again. “Thank you, Tezuka. It was a hard fight, but I was certain we would come through.”

Tezuka’s hand tightened around his cup. Atobe was trying to figure out if that was some sort of backhanded compliment or not.

Yukimura stood there for another moment, before nodding again. Then he turned and continued on without another word. The rest of his team followed.

Like a bunch of puppies, Atobe thought, frowning. “Sanada,” he said suddenly, and waited for the boy to turn to him. When he did, Atobe continued, “We have a match to finish.” Sanada merely nodded, and then turned back to mutter something to Yukimura as they disappeared into the crowd. Atobe’s eyes narrowed.

“Smooth,” Tezuka said.

“Shut up,” Atobe muttered, and then gave Tezuka a look. “How did you lose to him?”

Tezuka frowned, looking straight ahead. “He is a very talented tennis player--”

“He’s fresh out of the hospital--”

“He had enough time to recover--”

“He was bedridden for months--”

“He’s one of the most dedicated players in the circuit--”

“He just had surgery!”

“Atobe!”

Atobe huffed and rolled his eyes. “I could beat him.”

“No, you couldn’t.”

“Excuse me?” Atobe arched his eyebrows. “Ore-sama beat you.”

“Thank you for reminding me.” Tezuka glowered into his empty cup and turned back to the table.

Atobe peered at him, suddenly noticing his flushed cheeks. “Are you drunk?”

“I believe Oshitari spiked the punch,” Tezuka said flatly, and then filled up his cup again. Atobe paused in the middle of taking a sip, and then shrugged and downed the rest of it.

“Tezuka,” another voice said, and Atobe glanced over to see Fuji standing there. “Have you seen Yuuta?”

“Nfu. Fuji-kun.” Oh, and wonderful, now Mizuki was here. Just like a moth to a flame, really. Mizuki spared the other two a glance. “Tezuka-kun, Atobe-kun.” He turned back to Fuji. “Yuuta-kun and I saw your match against Shiraishi--”

“I’m sorry,” Fuji interrupted, tilting his head to the side a bit. “Who are you?”

Mizuki suddenly looked like he might strangle the first neck that got anywhere near his hands, so Atobe, being the ever-gracious host that he was, decided to step in and help him out a bit. “Mizuki…kun. You’re enjoying the party, ahn?”

Mizuki glanced at him, eyes flicking up to his hair, and smirked. “I suppose it’s adequate, yes.”

Atobe frowned. Right, never mind. Fuji could tear him apart for all he cared.

“Yuuta’s over there,” Tezuka spoke up, pointing to the far side of the room where the boy was sitting with some other members from his team.

Fuji beamed. “Thank you, Tezuka,” he said, and then made his way over without another glance at his shadow.

Mizuki all but growled. “Excuse me,” he said peevishly, and then stomped after him.

Atobe sighed and decided that it was probably time to go bestow his presence onto other people. “Don’t spend too much time wallowing in self-pity, Tezuka,” he said, pushing away from the table.

“I’m not wallowing,” Tezuka said.

“You’re being completely unsocial,” Atobe pointed out. Tezuka gave him a look, and Atobe snorted lightly, rolling his eyes. “Right, forgive me. That’s nothing unusual.”

Tezuka waved him off. “Go do your rounds or something.”

“You should drink more often; it really brings out a much more favorable side of your personality.”

“It’s not like I’m drunk,” Tezuka said. “I’ve only had four glasses.”

Atobe frowned. “You said Oshitari spiked it?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

Tezuka nodded. “I saw him doing it before you came down. Mukahi was supposed to be on the lookout, from what I gathered. He sort of fails at that, though.”

“And as a fellow captain, you didn’t think it might be a good idea to stop them?”

“They’re your team, not mine,” Tezuka said, shrugging. “Although Inui did try to bring some concoction of his own, which I forbid, so you can thank me for that.”

Atobe wasn’t sure what that meant exactly, but he’d heard rumors. Ignoring it, he plucked Tezuka’s cup from his hand and set it down on the table, where one of his servants immediately picked it up and ran a dry towel across the surface it had been sitting on for approximately half a second. “If it was Oshitari, then you’re probably already three sheets to the wind. Here, have a cookie instead,” he said, shoving one into the other boy’s hand. Tezuka blinked down at it. Atobe rolled his eyes and put a hand on his shoulder, steering him over to a nearby couch where half of Fudomine was hanging around. “Sit down,” he said, and then nodded toward the other captain. “Tachibana.”

“Atobe,” Tachibana returned, eyeing Tezuka.

“Watch him,” Atobe ordered, ignoring Tezuka’s annoyed protests. “We wouldn’t want him trying to jump off the fourth floor terrace or something.”

Tachibana arched an eyebrow. “Right,” he said doubtfully.

“What’s wrong with him?”

Atobe straightened and turned, finding Sanada standing behind him. He smirked. “He’s thoroughly depressed that your team had the gall to beat his.”

Sanada blinked. “Is he really?”

“No.”

“…Oh.”

Atobe chuckled and headed toward another part of the room. “You seem to have lost your other half,” he said when he was sure Sanada was following him.

“Yukimura is trying to keep Kirihara distracted,” Sanada said flatly. Atobe wasn’t sure if he should be amused or not that Sanada seemed to know exactly who he’d been referring to.

“He looks like he’s doing well.”

“Kirihara?”

“Yukimura.”

“Of course he is,” Sanada said, straightening his cap. “We were all sure he would make a complete recovery.”

Liar, Atobe thought, and then resisted the urge to tell Sanada that hats weren’t allowed indoors. “I was serious about the match,” he said again, finding an empty couch and sitting down elegantly, one leg crossed over the other. “I want to play until an actual outcome is decided.”

Sanada sat down at the opposite end, leaning over and resting his arms on his knees. “Rikkaidai doesn’t allow unscheduled matches.”

“Technically you’re not even on the team anymore.”

“Yukimura wouldn’t like it.”

Atobe arched an eyebrow. “Do you always do what he says?” he asked exasperatedly.

“No,” said Sanada, frowning. “But I don’t deliberately go against him either.”

Atobe scowled for second, and then smiled. “It’s alright, I understand. You’re just scared, ahn?”

Sanada gave him a flat look. “Hardly.”

“You lost to Echizen, and then to Fuji. It’s perfectly fine to be intimidated by Ore-sama’s greatness.”

“You lost to Echizen, too.”

“In a tiebreak of about a million to a million-and-one,” Atobe snapped, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward. “The brat cheated.”

“Nice hair, by the way.”

“Everyone has been saying that tonight,” Atobe said, ignoring that Tezuka had been the only other person. “It must be more fabulous than usual.”

Sanada snorted, and they fell into silence for a moment. Atobe used the time to survey the room. It looked like everyone was enjoying themselves – not that that was surprising, of course. Seigaku’s Momoshiro and Kaidoh were either in the middle of an argument or about to start making out. Atobe was hoping for the former; it would cause less of a scene. Shishido and Ohtori probably were making out. They were sitting suspiciously close together and apparently trying to hide themselves in the corner. The large potted plant in front of them wasn’t helping much, though. Yamabuki’s Sengoku was…flirting with one his staff members, from what Atobe could tell. Odd. And that scary, lanky kid also from Yamabuki was…smoking? In his house?

Atobe frowned. Normally he would deal with Akutsu himself, but… He snapped his fingers. “Kabaji.”

The taller boy appeared out of nowhere, and Atobe had to stop himself from laughing at the way Sanada jumped a little. “Usu.”

“Go tell him to stop smoking in Ore-sama’s home,” Atobe ordered, pointing across to where the other boy was tapping ashes onto one of the ice sculptures. There was some Echizen-sized kid hanging around him, too. Atobe vaguely wondered who the hell he was.

“Usu.”

“It’s easier this way,” Atobe said when Sanada looked at him with raised eyebrows. “I didn’t want to cause a scene.”

“…Sure,” Sanada said doubtfully.

“I’m not scared of him.”

“Of course not.”

“Glad you agree.”

“Hn.”

There was a sudden crash from the opposite side of the room, and then Kirihara came backpedaling out of the crowd, arms held out in front of him and giggling like a maniac.

“I didn’t mean to!” he cried, waving his hands. “Accident!”

Mizuki came storming after him, wiping what looked like the remains of a cherry pie off the front of his shirt – which Atobe was suddenly very glad he had not bought when he’d seen it at the store that one time. “You are so dead, Akaya! DEAD!”

“Oh yeah?” Kirihara said, still giggling. “What’re you going to do, Haji-chaaan?”

“I’m going to TELL YOUR MOTHER!”

Kirihara gasped and looked like Mizuki had just announced he had the power to drag him to hell and back five times over.

Sanada sighed. “Excuse me,” he said, standing.

“I’m not forgetting about our match.”

Sanada rolled his eyes but didn’t reply as he went to sort out his kouhai. Atobe watched him go and then grinned slightly.

He needed to throw parties more often.

* * *

With the tennis season over, Atobe found himself with more free time than he knew what to do with. He spent some of it studying, but his grades were good and he was inherently smart, so there was no reason to overdo it. He had the occasional mini tennis tournament at his private courts, inviting all of Hyoutei’s graduated regulars. And every so often he stopped by the rest of the team’s practices, but he didn’t want to seem like he was undermining Hiyoshi’s authority as the new captain, so he kept that to a minimum.

A lot of the time he was bored. He wasn’t used to not having practice every morning and every afternoon, and Kabaji wasn’t around as often anymore either, because he was still on the team. Even upping his self-training regiment didn’t really help.

By the beginning of October, Atobe thought he might be going slightly mad. Third year was supposed to be hard, wasn’t it? Why didn’t he have more schoolwork to do? Why did third years have to graduate from their sports teams? Why was everyone else always busy?

In an effort to alleviate some of the boredom, he got tickets to a concert in downtown Tokyo. He’d enjoyed the last one he went to, and it was something to do, at least.

He wasn’t exactly expecting to see Sanada there again.

Last time they were accidentally at the same concert together, they’d both ignored each other. Sanada seemed to be doing the same thing this time around, so Atobe made a point of waiting for him in the lobby after whole thing was over.

He leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms and watching the crowds of people pour out until he caught sight of the other boy.

“Sanada,” he called.

Sanada froze, turning slowly to face him. “Atobe,” he said, slightly warily.

“Come with me,” Atobe said, heading for the doors. He paused when he noticed Sanada wasn’t following him. “Something wrong?”

“I’m not going with you,” Sanada said, looking annoyed that Atobe had even ordered him to.

“Why not?”

“Did it occur to you that I might have other plans?”

Atobe blinked. “Not really, no. Do you?”

“…No,” Sanada admitted.

“Well, now you do.” Atobe pushed through the doors, not even looking back this time. “Come on, I thought I passed a coffee shop around the corner.”

“I don’t even drink coffee. It stunts your growth,” Sanada said, but at least he was trailing after him.

“They have other beverages that should be to your liking, I’m sure. I’ll pay.”

Sanada scoffed. “I don’t need you to--”

“Ore-sama will pay,” Atobe interrupted, giving the other boy a look. Sanada rolled his eyes.

“Fine,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Whatever.”

They found the coffee shop, but it turned out to be too small and grubby for Atobe’s tastes, so he decided to go find another one. The second one didn’t have an adequate pastry selection, though, so they didn’t stop at it, either. The third one only had coffee, the fourth one had a shifty looking guy at the cash register…

“How about you come to my home instead,” Atobe said, after the fifth coffee shop turned out to be too crowded for his liking.

“It’s too far away and I don’t have that much time,” Sanada said, glancing down at his watch.

“Alright, we’ll go here then,” Atobe said, stepping into the next restaurant that he saw.

“…This is a McDonald’s,” Sanada said flatly, eyeing their surroundings in distaste.

Atobe perked up. “They have food here, right? I was getting hungry anyway.”

“If you want to call it that, then yes, they have…food.” He glanced at Atobe out of the corner of his eye. “You’ve never been to a McDonald’s before?”

“I think Shishido tried to drag me to one once,” Atobe said absently as he scanned the menu, “but there was an Italian restaurant across the street that managed to change his mind. Jiroh comes here quite often though, I believe.”

Sanada frowned. “So does Kirihara.”

That brought Atobe up short. “…Oh,” he said, looking around the restaurant in a new light.

“That doesn’t mean it’s bad,” Sanada said, pushing Atobe lightly towards the counter. “It’s just not a place I frequent very often. Or ever.”

Atobe gave Sanada an affronted look for daring to touch him, but ultimately ignored it and looked up at the menu again. “Order for me, Sanada. I don’t know what anything is.”

“They’re hamburgers,” Sanada muttered. “How difficult is that?” He ordered for both of them anyway and Atobe paid, looking in fascination at the multi-colored wrappers the burgers came in.

“We get French fries, too?” he asked.

Sanada gave an exasperated sigh. “Yes. Typical McDonald’s meal.”

They found seats by the window at the front of the shop, and Sanada dug into his food like someone who hadn’t eaten in a good week or so. Atobe followed more carefully, glancing around for silverware until he saw Sanada pick his burger up with just his hands.

“That’s so plebian,” he said absently, watching in amazement.

“What is?”

“Eating with your hands!”

“It’s not a big deal, everybody does.”

“Ore-sama has never eaten without utensils befo--”

“Atobe?” Sanada interrupted.

“What?”

“Shut up.”

Atobe blinked, his eyes widening a bit, and then harrumphed and picked up his own burger. He took a bite, chewing it carefully, and then his eyes widened some more.

“It’s good,” he said faintly, after he’d swallowed. “Certainly not up to par with what I’m accustomed to, but it’s not the worse thing I’ve ever had the misfortune of eating.”

“Try the fries,” Sanada said flatly. “They make everything better.”

Atobe sampled one. And then another. And then two more. “Indeed,” he said, snagging another three.

“So why did you drag me out?” Sanada asked, reaching for his soda and taking a sip.

“Do I need a reason?”

“I guess not, but I’m sure you have one.”

Atobe shrugged, wiping his fingers off on a napkin. “I was bored, you were there. End of story.”

Sanada arched an eyebrow. “We were at a concert, how were you bored?”

“Before the concert,” Atobe said, waving his hand absently. “I went to the concert because I was bored.” He glanced up at Sanada. “What did you think of it?”

“It was alright,” Sanada said, shrugging. “The other one was better.”

“I agree. Although the third piece they played today was quite entertaining.”

“I liked the finale myself.”

“You’re a fan of the more modern selections, ahn?”

“You could say that.”

Atobe finished off his burger, turning his attention to the remaining fries. “You still owe me that tennis match.”

Sanada frowned. “I told you, we don’t--”

“Oh, that’s right,” Atobe cut in. “Yukimura-buchou says it’s against the rules.” He smirked at him.

“…Yukimura isn’t my captain anymore,” Sanada said after a slight pause. “We’ve retired from the team.”

“So then we can play.” It wasn’t a question.

Sanada sighed. “I don’t have my equipment with me,” he said.

“Neither do I, of course,” Atobe said, reaching up to flick some of his newly grown hair back. “Are you free next Monday?”

“No.”

“Tuesday?”

“No.”

“…Sanada,” Atobe said, frowning.

Sanada rolled his eyes. “Thursday is good for me.”

“Thursday, then!” Atobe crossed his arms, smirking. “You remember where I live, yes?”

“Why do I have to go all the way over there?”

“Because Ore-sama has his own courts, that’s why. The bus ride isn’t that long.”

“Fine,” Sanada said. “Thursday.”

“Be prepared to be awed by my prowess.”

“We’ll see,” Sanada said, slightly exasperated. He glanced at his watch again. “I have to go.”

They stood, taking their trays over to the trashcan, and then headed back outside. The streetlights had already come on.

“Do you need a ride?” Atobe asked, glancing up at the darkening sky. “I could get my driver--”

“I’m perfectly capable of getting myself home,” Sanada said flatly, turning to walk down the sidewalk. “I’ll see you later.”

Atobe blinked. “Bye,” he said faintly, watching the other boy go.

If he didn’t show up on Thursday, there was going to be hell to pay.

* * *

“McDonald’s?” Shishido repeated, slamming his locker shut. “You want to go to McDonald’s?”

“Yes,” Atobe said simply from where he was leaning on the row of lockers beside Shishido’s. “I’m hungry, I’m bored, you’re here, let’s go.”

“You’ve never been to McDonald’s before in your life,” Shishido said, shouldering his bag. “Why the sudden urge?”

“I have too been there,” Atobe said, as if Shishido had just greatly insulted him. “I went over the weekend.”

Shishido’s eyebrows rose. “With who?”

“Sanada.”

“…Rikkaidai’s Sanada?” Shishido asked incredulously.

Atobe gave him a flat look. “Do you know any others?”

Shishido scowled. “Well, no…”

“So you’ll come?”

“Can’t,” Shishido said. “There’s no tennis club practice today, so Choutarou and I are gonna meet up and play.”

Atobe frowned. “Ohtori can come…”

“Tennis,” Shishido said, glaring at Atobe a little. “We’re playing tennis.” Atobe knew that glare. It either meant leave me the fuck alone, or don’t bother me, I’m with Choutarou. Atobe had managed to get that glare when on the phone with the other boy, which he always thought was impressive. Not many people could fully employ such a look with just their voice.

“ATOBE!” somebody else suddenly cried, and Atobe had about two seconds to brace himself before Jiroh slammed into him from the side.

“Jiroh,” he said flatly, once he was sure he was still standing.

Shishido looked amused. “You could take him.”

“What? Take me where?” Jiroh asked, looking excited. “I slept through all of my classes after lunch, I am SO AWAKE right now. Where are we going??”

“McDonald’s,” Shishido answered before Atobe could change the topic of conversation.

Jiroh’s eyes went wide. “I like McDonald’s!” he exclaimed, grabbing Atobe’s arm. “Can I come?”

“Who’s going to McDonald’s?” Gakuto asked as he and Oshitari caught up with the rest of them.

“Atobe and Jiroh,” Shishido answered promptly. Atobe glowered at him.

“Awesome!” Gakuto said, grinning. “Yuushi and I were going to get ramen, but McDonald’s works, too! Right, Yuushi?”

“Whichever is fine,” Oshitari drawled.

“Shishido,” Atobe growled.

Shishido grinned and held up two fingers in the shape of a V. “Gotta run,” he said cheerfully. “Choutarou’s waiting.”

“Che, boring,” Gakuto said, watching the other boy practically flee down the hall. “What a sap. Come on, let’s go! I’m hungry!”

Atobe sighed, glancing up at the ceiling, and asked himself why it was only Monday.

* * *

Thursday morning arrived and then Thursday afternoon took another eternity to get there, but eventually Atobe got himself home and into his tennis uniform. Why he was looking forward to this match as much as he was, he wasn’t sure. Maybe because it had been awhile since he’d had a truly challenging opponent, or maybe because he and Sanada had never actually played each other until the end before. Whatever the reason, he couldn’t help hovering in the foyer as he waited for Sanada to show up. Then he realized that might look a bit pathetic, so he entrusted his butler to bring the other boy out to him when he arrived, and instead decided to go warm up on the courts.

Sanada got there fairly quickly, especially for having had to take the bus.

“I had my stuff with me,” he explained when Atobe pointed this out. “So I didn’t have to stop by my house after school.”

“Eager, were you?” Atobe quipped, smirking.

“No, I just don’t like to waste time,” Sanada said. “Are we playing?”

“Of course.”

They played well into the evening, longer than Atobe had anticipated they would. They were pretty well matched, each giving games and taking them in turn, but the final score went to Atobe, 7 games to 5.

“I want a rematch,” were the first words out of Sanada’s mouth as they shook hands across the net.

Atobe grinned, dragging his free arm across his forehead. “I think we can arrange that.”

Sanada nodded, still shaking Atobe’s hand. “Next Thursday again?”

“Don’t beg, Sanada, it’s most unbecoming.”

Sanada scowled, stepping back. “I’m not begging, I’m suggesting a date.”

“You swing that way, then?”

“What?”

“…Nothing.” Atobe coughed discreetly as they moved off the courts. “Next Thursday should be fine.”

“Good,” Sanada said, as he packed away his racket. “I should probably go.”

“You could stay for dinner,” Atobe said suddenly, and then added in a more casual tone, “Since it’s already late. That way your family won’t have to wait for you.”

“That sounds fine,” Sanada said slowly, without looking up. He glanced back at the house. “Will your…parents be joining us?”

Atobe snorted. “It’s unlikely,” he said. “I’m not even sure if they’re in the country this week.”

Sanada blinked at him, startled. “And you have no brothers or sisters?”

“No siblings,” Atobe said. He smirked. “I was perfect enough that they didn’t need anymore children.”

“…I’m sure,” Sanada said flatly. He stood up, turning towards the house. “So. Dinner?”

“Ah. This way.”

* * *


onto part 2