Chapter Text
Tezuka splashed some water on his face. He didn’t flinch at the sharp pain tearing his shoulder apart as he went to turn off the faucet. His fingers turned white at his grip on the sink, the tension a welcome distraction from the searing static zipping down his arm. The bathroom was desolate. The drips of water that rolled down his hair bounced echoes against tile. When the footfalls of another man got closer, it was deafening.
“Tezuka,”
The voice that called out to him was low and languid. In the moment, it was like nails on a chalkboard to him. He turned to address him despite it.
“Atobe.”
Atobe Keigo stood arms crossed with statuesque poise. He looked fresh as ever; like their neverending tiebreak was a distant memory rather than something that occurred barely an hour ago.
Atobe stared at him for a moment, before cocking his head and jutting his hip out.
“What’s your plan?” He asked.
Tezuka kept his face blank. Atobe shifted his weight.
“For your arm, Tezuka.”
Tezuka couldn't help but clench his jaw. He never had issues keeping his emotions in check, nor could he be goaded like some of his more hot headed teammates. But seeing as he just lost his match and could feel his body deteriorating with each passing second since-
It was a bit of a tender nerve.
“I have doctors,” Tezuka responded cooly. Atobe pursed his lips.
“Clearly not competent enough doctors, if this is where we’re at.”
Tezuka thinned his eyes. “I don’t recall this being any of your business.”
Atobe’s smirk was infuriating.
“Ensuring I get a rematch with you is absolutely my business,” Atobe stalked up to Tezuka like a territorial lion. “You can’t deny what was on that court, Tezuka.” He had a way of drawling his name like it tasted different from all his other words. “I can’t go on playing knowing I’ll never get to feel that again. I know you feel the same way. I need to play you at your very best.”
Tezuka needed space. Atobe was far too close to him, but he refused to back down.
“We will play again if the brackets and lineups allow.”
Atobe made a noise that was somewhat like a laugh, but it dripped acid.
“Diplomatic as always.” Atobe sighed and he breathed relaxation into his spine. He wasn’t standing quite so tall and didn’t look quite so bronzed this way. “Look, I have a connection to some of the world's best sports medicine specialists and physical therapists. I’d be happy to get your case file into someone’s hands who can give you the dedicated time your body deserves.” He ran a hand through his hair, uncannily casual.
“I cannot accept your offer.” Tezuka didn’t waste any time ending the conversation. He desperately wanted to shoulder past Atobe, but not as desperate as he wanted to avoid proving his point.
“It’s not an offer , we aren’t day trading. It’s medical assistance.”
They were at another tiebreak, net removed. They were stuck staring each other down and daring the other to make the next move.
“There you are, Tezuka, we’re all looking for you!” Hurried footsteps and rushed tones snuck up on them, both boys' eyes on the door to see a flustered Oishi Syuichiro. “Is……everything okay?”
Atobe lit up, placing a hand on Tezuka’s good shoulder. “Never better. Just chatting with your captain about our match. Stunning work. I’ll leave you two to celebrate.”
Atobe sauntered away from their stare down, pride in his gait like he was the winner of all of this.
Whatever ‘this’ was.
He stopped just in front of Oishi, head tilted back with a wretched smile creeping up his face like invasive ivy.
“Think about it, Tezuka.”
And Atobe was gone.
Or so Tezuka hoped.
It had been 3 days since Atobe's words wormed his way into his brain and burrowed themselves into his thoughts. Tezuka had seen his doctor, who was none too pleased with his condition. They talked about intense rehab, an associate down in Kyushu, and the idea of having his racket taken from him yet again. He ensured Oishi wasn’t aware of the appointment, much less the results.
All his organs felt tangled and gnarled like the roots of some old tree. He wished to play against the ball machines but feared staring down the limitations of his body all over again. He wished he could go fish with his grandfather, but he was out of town for the week to visit an old Shogi friend. Tezuka briefly wished he was the kind of person who talked to his friends about what he was feeling, even if imagining it made his skin crawl.
Instead, he sat in his house with a book reading the same page over and over again, not a single word absorbing into his brain. His mind felt far too large for his skull, pressure mounting in his temple. He clapped the book shut and decided to go for a run.
He changed in silence, he stretched in silence. He gathered up courage and silence, giving his head a gentle shake off everything sticking to his mind. Like something as heavy as the future of his career could be gently dusted off of him.
With pursed lips, he locked his house and shoved the key into his shorts pocket. He wasn’t quite sure where he was going to run to, but he knew it’d be away .
It worked, briefly. The sound of his footfalls and heavy breath were a little louder than his own thoughts. The burn in his body distracted him from the lingering pain of his shoulder so long as he didn’t pump his arms too hard. He let his animal instincts take control, simply knowing that his body had to move and if it stopped moving there would be dire consequences. The air was thick and it felt even thicker as Tezuka gasped for breaths, like there wasn’t enough of it to fill his lungs. His chest burned, and sticky and stagnant sweat created a film over his skin. Thick clouds lined the sky, muting Tokyo with a dull filter. It looked more like a set than a city and gave Tezuka a ponder of a foreign film he once saw before the shock of a raindrop hit the end of his nose.
And he was back to life.
Tezuka’s feet stopped, his lungs still billowing, as scattered drops started to sprinkle, swiftly doubling and growing into a heavy wave. A drizzle became a downpour in seconds, and Tezuka hurried to find some coverage. He was still getting his bearings, unsure where his legs took him. A bus awning peered into view like a lighthouse, an answer to both problems of attempting to stay dry and attempting to get home. As he approached the sign, he pulled off his wet glasses to try and figure out where he had ended up. Rain dumped on him, a step outside of the awning. It impaired his vision almost as much with his glasses on. Tezuka sighed as he pushed his wet bangs out of his eyes, and suddenly there was no more rain falling onto his face.
“A fair ways away from home, aren’t you Tezuka?”
Tezuka turned his head slowly and kept his teeth clenched so he wouldn’t make a face as he drank in Atobe’s smug grin backdropped by the black nylon of his umbrella. Atobe took a half step closer to Tezuka. Tezuka refrained from taking a half step back. He turned his head back to the sign even though he could feel Atobe’s body heat.
“Just out for a run,” Tezuka responded, well aware that Atobe could already put that together.
“Without a look at the forecast? A little careless for someone like you, hm?” Atobe drawled out. Tezuka glared at him. He didn’t have the bandwidth for Atobe’s little mind games today.
“A rare misjudgment.”
Atobe hummed, his nostrils flaring in displeasure.
“You don’t even have KT tape on your shoulder. What’s going on?”
“I ran out.” Tezuka lied. Atobe thinned his eyes. He didn’t need insight to see right through him.
“I’m taking you home. You’re sopping and I won’t have you on public transit as such.” Atobe’s words were heavy with finality. He was two steps ahead knowing very well there was nothing in Tezuka’s arsenal to disarm him.
It wore on his patience to lose to Atobe again.
“Thank you.” Tezuka’s tone was measured and ironed out. Atobe smirked.
“My driver is around the corner. Come come, there’s a towel in the car for you to dry off.”
Tezuka nodded and they left shoulder to shoulder, huddling under Atobe’s umbrella. A sleek black sports car was around the corner and Tezuka was earnestly surprised it wasn’t a limousine. Atobe held the door open for him and made sure there was enough umbrella so Tezuka wouldn’t get soaked all over again. As soon as Tezuka was seated, he slid gracefully right next to him.
Atobe asked his driver for his towel, a lavender fluffy thing, and he scrubbed off any lingering moisture in his hair. He patted his face before handing the towel to Tezuka. Atobe looked very different in the dim lighting of the car. Everything was soft around the edges without his glasses. The warm light dulled all the edges of his face into something smoother, and closer to his age. His dirty blonde hair was all fluffed up from his machinations, and it almost looked like Kikumaru’s. If Tezuka was in a better mood he might find some amusement in it.
Tezuka took the towel with a nod and rubbed his own hair, still heavy and clinging to his face. He dried himself off to the best of his abilities, wiping down his glasses and finally getting them back at home on the bridge of his nose. The first thing he noticed was Atobe staring at him with an expression Tezuka couldn’t quite put his finger on.
“What?” He asked the question before he could think if it was a good idea or not.
“Oh, it’s nothing. I have never seen you without your glasses before.” There wasn’t the usual finish of teasing or condescension in Atobe’s voice, and Tezuka never realized how uncomfortable it was when it was missing.
“Is it that different?” He asked. Atobe’s lips curled off to the side into a lopsided smile.
“Not at all.”
Tezuka didn’t understand. He didn’t want to. He turned his attention to literally anything else in the tiny world of the back seat of the car. He shifted his legs so the leather wouldn’t feel so sticky against his thighs. He turned his eyes toward the roof of the car, to see a collection of shiny black fishing rods with metallic accents safely tucked in elastic strapping.
“You fish?” Tezuka was going to blame his poor headspace for continuing to say things without thinking about them long enough. Atobe grinned and tapped his mole with an elegant finger.
“Fly fishing. I was meant to meet up with Kabaji today, but the rain was more than either of us could contend with.”
Tezuka turned back to Atobe. “So you were unaware of the forecast.”
Atobe’s grin was thin and stretched from ear to ear.
“A rare misjudgment.”
Tezuka hummed and turned his attention back to assessing the rods on the ceiling.
“You partake?” Atobe asked him.
“Yes.” He responded. It was truly quite bizarre to think of Atobe who existed outside the lines of the court, without a net between him. Tezuka only just put together he only ever saw Atobe as an athlete, and not a person.
“Join me tomorrow,” Atobe stated. Tezuka shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “It’s a Sunday. You can’t practice. It’ll be a breath of fresh air.” Atobe had his legs crossed and his stature straight. He looked a suit away from a boardroom takeover.
“I spin fish.” Tezuka rebutted. Atobe simply smiled.
“Then we will spin fish. You’ll have to pick the location as the expert. I’ll pick you up at 7 if that works for you.”
Tezuka was too tired for as fast as his world was moving. He was on a ride that Atobe firmly had the controls of. He felt like a pinned insect underneath the canines that showed through when Atobe smiled too wide. Tezuka dug his nails into the leather of the seats.
“I must decline.”
“I must insist.”
Tezuka thinned his eyes at Atobe. They’d rally until one of them deteriorated, again. Tezuka’s mind was already scraped raw. This wasn’t like tennis, there was nothing worth winning here.
He sighed.
“7 is fine.”
“Splendid.” Atobe switched which legs he had crossed, with a gold medal smile painted on his face. “I’ll make room for your rods. Prepare the address of the location for my driver. I’ll have lunch and refreshments taken care of so just bring your darling self.”
Tezuka twitched at the word ‘darling’. “Okay.”
He only just realized then the car had stopped moving. He peered out the window to see his home. He had no idea how long he had been caught up in his discussion with Atobe. The entire trip felt like a blur but in an entirely different way from his run. This was all sharp and vivid and hit him like whiplash.
“I’ll be going now.” He said in lieu of thank you.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Atobe paused. “Tezuka.”
Tezuka closed the door of the car without a second thought. He didn’t look back as he entered his house, even though every cell of his being begged to.
Atobe picked up Tezuka at 7 am to the minute. The same black sports car waited outside of his home, and it looked even glossier now that the sun was out to make it shine. Tezuka grabbed his rod and his tackle box and paused by the front door for a moment.
He should savor peace while it was still available to him.
Tezuka had never fished with anyone other than his grandfather, and to have Atobe fill his role felt…..well he didn’t quite have the words for it. But it left a pit in his stomach that left his body leaden.
If seeing Atobe outside of the tennis court was strange, seeing him in casual clothing was downright bizarre. Atobe was lounged in the back of the car in cargo shorts and a fly fishing vest. Tezuka recognized the Columbia fishing shirt he had on, and Tezuka wasn't ready to contend with the fact that there was an overlap in their wardrobe.
“We’re not fly fishing.” Tezuka greeted. Atobe smirked.
“It’s practical. You of all people should get that. Let me pack your rod.”
Tezuka handed his rod to Atobe wordlessly. “There’s a river in Akigawa Valley. We’d have to hike briefly to get there. Is that acceptable?”
“I trust your judgment,” Atobe stated. “Address?”
Tezuka handed a folded piece of paper to Atobe, who didn’t bother to look at it and handed it to his driver.
The ride was quiet. Tezuka thought he would like that, but it felt airless. Tezuka wondered if Atobe felt the same way, he could hear him shift his legs constantly.
“Michael,” Atobe’s English accent was practiced. “Music, please.”
“Of course, young master.”
What a world Tezuka found himself in. Orchestral strings filled the space in the car, a prelude in every sense of the word. It helped ease the starch out of Tezuka’s spine, and Atobe assessed him with a lazy smile.
“You like Wagner?” Atobe asked. He sounded genuinely curious. It made Tezuka want to shift around like Atobe had earlier, but he had far too much restraint.
“As much as the next man,” Tezuka stated, and Atobe bellowed a laugh.
“The ‘next man’ isn’t studied in classical, Tezuka.”
Tezuka blinked. “It’s classic for a reason.” Tezuka thought that was explanation enough, but Atobe smiled slyly, the skin around his eyes crinkling.
“You really are something else, Tezuka Kunimitsu.” Atobe’s tone was dripping, but Tezuka wasn’t sure with what. It was like Atobe spoke an entirely different language at times and Tezuka wasn’t sure if there was any text he could study to understand it better.
The car pulled up to the dirt parking lot at the base of the mountain, stones crackling underneath the tires as the reality of the situation hit Tezuka all over again. The driver held the door open for him, and it was a far cry from jiggling the handle of his grandfather's old Toyota Starlet.
Atobe left the other side, asking for the trunk to be popped. He pulled out a KastKing backpack in the same mossy green as his fishing vest. Tezuka busied himself with pulling out the rods from the car, being meticulous to not jostle them.
“Thank you,” Atobe said. Their hands brushed as Atobe took his rods from Tezuka. Tezuka was surprised at how soft Atobe’s skin was. Tezuka’s were essentially a giant callous at this point. Fuji Yumiko always joked that there was no point in reading his palm since Tennis eroded every line and crevice. Tezuka thought that made sense, and only now realized that it was probably meant to be an insult.
Atobe secured his rods to his bag, a spare in his hand. Tezuka had his resting against his shoulder and made sure to act like he was unaware of the sensation. They made eye contact with each other, and Atobe nodded.
They headed up the trail in silence.
It wasn’t so bad, this time. The leaves beneath their feet and the breeze in the trees were comforting, like the Wagner in the car. There was no silence to fill, and both boys allowed the ambiance of nature to keep them company rather than force conversation. Atobe followed Tezuka without question or comment until the trail led them to a babbling river, cerulean and sparkling under the morning sun.
“Here we are,” It was obvious enough, but Tezuka felt it deserved an introduction. Atobe ran a hand to fix his hair and smiled with an amount of triumph.
“It’s lovely.”
Tezuka was inclined to agree.
They settled themselves on some rocks. Atobe had the foresight to bring a blanket that he laid out for the both of them. He pulled a fancy cooler from his bag that seemed to have an infinite amount of small sandwich points, cheese, and fresh fruits. Atobe pulled a bottle from his bag, and the loud ‘pop’ told Tezuka it was champagne. Atobe poured two glasses.
“We’re underage.” Tezuka deadpanned. Atobe looked delighted.
“Non-alcoholic. Don't be foolish.” Atobe handed out the glass. The dancing bubbles felt a little mocking. “Trust me, Tezuka.”
Tezuka took the glass. It shouldn’t have made him so uneasy. He took a whisper of a sip. He’s pretty sure Atobe laughed under his breath, but he didn’t push the issue.
They sat down, and Tezuka felt the weight of his fishing rod in his hand. He put an experimental hand on the reel, barely moving his fingers as he felt a twinge in his shoulder. He frowned. He could feel Atobe stare at him as he stared at his own hands. Tezuka closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose.
“Do you have a rod with a right-handed reel I could use?” Tezuka asked, and it felt like begging for mercy.
“Certainly. A wise decision,” Atobe said plainly and handed Tezuka the rod. Tezuka was still expecting the other pompous shoe to drop.
But it never did. Atobe cast off in silence. Tezuka awkwardly did the same to the best his right hand could muster. Atobe sipped on his champagne, and after enough time to be convinced there was, in fact, no alcohol content Tezuka did as well.
They stayed in silence for a little longer. Tezuka indulged in some of Atobe’s spread. He could appreciate the flavor profile, but it brought no comfort as Japanese food did. There was peace to this, however. It wasn’t the same as spending time with his grandfather, but Tezuka could appreciate engaging in sport with someone who was just as dedicated as he was. He never expected Atobe to fill that role outside of a tennis court, but the entire experience could be a whole lot worse.
Then, Atobe opened his mouth.
“How is your shoulder? You can’t be in great shape if you can’t cast.”
Tezuka thinned his eyes.
“I’m still assessing my options.” Tezuka lied. There were very few options. He just needed to talk to his parents about going to Kyuushuu to start this soul-wrenching process anew.
“May I be so bold as to assume my offer is one of those options?”
Tezuka looked at his line. Atobe frowned.
“I’m serious, Tezuka. I can set you up with a clinic that’d be 100% dedicated to your recovery 24/7. From the minutiae of diet programs and orthopedic sleeping arrangements. I need to make a single call and I can you to a facility by the end of the week.”
Tezuka could feel his teeth grinding in his temple.
“I don’t need your charity.” Tezuka corrected himself. “I don’t want your charity. I can take care of my own body.”
Atobe screwed his face into something like a snarl, his nostrils flared in a way that made him look foreign from himself. Atobe reeled in his line, and placed his rod beside himself. He turned on his hip to face Tezuka. Atobe’s lips were pursed, and his eyes down in Tezuka’s lap for a moment before he pulled his gaze to meet his.
“Tezuka,”
He looked sad.
“I’m a very proud man. I don’t need to tell you that. As thrilling as our match was I feel…..poorly about it. I clearly didn’t understand the ramifications of my actions. I can’t say I never meant to hurt you, but I can say I didn’t mean it to become….this. I didn’t want to take your tennis away.”
Tezuka tightened his grip on rod. His palms were sweating, and he didn’t think it was from the cresting afternoon sun. The lead in his gut had turned into something more alive, bubbling like the champagne that sat between them- if not more sludgy.
“I’m not pitying you. There is nothing to pity here, you played the most engrossing match of tennis I ever experienced. I want to take responsibility for my game. If you’ll let me.”
It wasn’t uncommon for people to think Tezuka was at a loss for words. He was a man of few and didn’t waste them where he thought them unnecessary. Call him stoic, even off-putting, it never bothered him. He communicated in his own way.
Currently, Tezuka was at a loss for words.
Atobe had taken his entire world and shook it upside down in the time from their match to now. Every constant in Tezuka’s life had shifted into a role he couldn’t quite place, and he couldn’t figure out how he fit into it.
It’d be wrong to say Atobe Keigo brought this pain and uncertainty into his life. Tezuka, despite all odds, couldn’t blame him for what happened. Tezuka knew the risks. He wasn’t as methodical as Inui, but he crunched the numbers in his own way. He did what he had to play his game.
Atobe merely played his game as well.
Tezuka realized he was still playing. Things started making sense.
“Okay,” Tezuka spoke before he could think too hard about it. He expected Atobe to put on his victory smile, and clap him on the shoulder like he just sold him a car over asking price.
Instead, he only got a small sigh of relief.
“You won’t regret this. Mark my words.”
For his own sake, Tezuka sorely wished that to be true. He supposed he had very little to lose at this point.
“Where is this facility?” He asked.
“Munich,” Atobe stated casually.
Tezuka nearly dropped his rod into the river.