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There was an eerie hush permeating the Hyotei tennis courts. The usual cheering from their sideliners and cheering squad were decidedly reserved. It was unnerving and unsettling.
The chirping of birds and cicadas seemed loud and drove home just how quiet it was. To Atobe, it was unbearable, but she was well aware that it was partly her fault. The tennis club always seemed to represent what she was feeling, her mood reflected in the others like a mirror. A common trait with leaders and their followers. And though the Regulars were nowhere near that malleable, it was hard to ignore how they were all in sour moods anyway.
This had been the setting for the past ten days, but today it was especially prevalent because Atobe’s mood had darkened considerably when she realized that someone had slotted Kabaji into her match-ups. First block. Third game. Atobe would have loved to know whose great idea that was. Would having them play each other make a difference? Maybe whoever it was was just hoping the clouds would finally break and the storm would start. Atobe supposed she could understand that. She’d rather have an all-out bout than this ever-looming doom and gloom. She just didn’t want to be the first to break this deadlock.
They hadn’t spoken to each other in ten days. It was a new record for them. Usually someone would have given in by now. More often than not, it was Kabaji, whom everyone agreed was far too lenient. This new stubborn streak was unheard of, adding another aspect to the uncertain and desperate air surrounding the team.
Atobe was distracted enough to lose four games to Hiyori before painstakingly taking them back. But Hiyori didn’t seem excited about it. She clearly knew Atobe wasn’t in top form and took no pleasure in nearly beating her because of it. It made Atobe feel worse. She knew time was running out for Hiyori to make good on her promise to knock Atobe off the Hyotei hierarchy and Atobe had gradually come to look forward to it, but that didn’t mean she was going to make it easy for her. And games like this, that did absolutely nothing for either of them, were particularly vexing.
By the time the second matches ended, the tension was practically physical. Despite themselves, the team had seemed to take sides in this civil war, not bothering to keep their speculations to themselves about whose fault this was. They were overwhelmingly in Kabaji’s favour. Atobe didn’t blame them, Kabaji had them all fooled with her sweet and quiet demeanour. Very few of them had any idea just how irritatingly irrational Kabaji could be.
In the five minute break before the match, Atobe took a moment to herself in the bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror and was annoyed to note how tired she looked. She doubted anyone could tell, since she’d hidden it well behind her expertly applied makeups, but it was definitely there. She hadn’t slept in days, her insomnia had come roaring back once Kabaji stopped coming over.
Atobe made her way to the assigned court and stoutly ignored all the looks from her teammates. For once in her life, she didn’t want a bunch of spectators. With her graduation right around the corner, now was the worst time to be causing dissent in the ranks but she just couldn’t bring herself to talk to them about this. The whole team was on edge and nervous about what might lay ahead, but not one of them knew just how much this was effecting her. More than any of them, she was the most anxious.
Atobe and Kabaji’s relationship was essential to the team dynamic, but it was easy to lose sight of that until something like this happened. Then it threw everything out of whack. Atobe understood why the team was nervous, but did they care how she was feeling? More than team dynamics, this relationship was essential to her whole life. Right now, no one was more uncertain of the future than her.
In many ways, Kabaji was the polar opposite of Atobe. Patient where Atobe was rash, kind where Atobe was cruel. And her playing style simple while Atobe’s is complex. Kabaji played like a neutralizer. Her style works remarkably well against anyone relying on elaborate techniques to overpower their opponents.
Maybe it was narcissism, but Atobe enjoyed matches against Kabaji because it was like playing her own reflection. It was the closest she could come to playing herself. But there were also times, like now, when she dreaded it. All the techniques she worked tirelessly to perfect would come back to her with minimal effort. There was nothing quite as maddening as seeing someone immediately mimic something you had spent months or years developing. Tennis was a game of ego and Kabaji’s style would eat away at anyones’. Kabaji was unmoving and tenacious. It was a tenacity Atobe wasn’t in the mood for today.
As they squared off against each other across the net, Atobe felt the full weight of the past ten days barrelling down on her. Her moves were sluggish, her concentration non-existent. They didn’t bother with any etiquette, they didn’t greet each other or call first serve. Atobe threw a ball into the air and smashed it down with everything she had. She practically heard the intake of breath from their teammates on the sidelines. Atobe played ultra aggressive tennis, but she typically saved it for later in the game. It was rare for her to whip it out so early and so fast. But she wasn’t interested in prolonging this match. She wanted it over and done with as quickly as possible.
The ball was immediately returned. It hurtled back toward her. It didn’t matter how you hit it or what move you tried, Kabaji always returned it the exact same way. The harder you played against her, the more you hurt yourself.
It was a natural talent that Kabaji had, copying moves she had never even seen before. She could clear her mind in an instant and immediately perceive every detail. And because she didn’t particularly think of anything while she played, Atobe could never read her or trick her into displaying her emotions. Usually that didn’t bother Atobe, but today it was beyond frustrating.
Atobe always poured all of herself into her games. She was an open book. With her Insight she picked apart her opponents and exposed whatever they were trying to hide. This made tennis a more successful communication tool than talking. But those things didn’t work on Kabaji. Atobe felt like she was playing against a wall. All the frustration she put into each ball was unceremoniously returned.
Atobe sent each ball like a message, her feelings overflowing into every move, hurt and angry, fast and hard, but Kabaji hit them back without even blinking, completely shutting her out, refusing to show a single crack in her demeanour.
Atobe gripped her racket so hard her knuckles turned white. Each return grew more and more desperate, betraying a little more each time how deeply unhappy she was. She hit them as hard as she could and, of course, they came back just as hard. But never harder and never softer. So there was really no one to blame but herself when the returned balls shook her racket a little, tested her resolve a little.
This was getting them nowhere.
Kabaji had immediately noticed the dark circles under Atobe’s eyes. The way her movements, usually fluid and smooth, were disjointed and clumsy. It wasn’t to the point that anyone else might have noticed, but it was impossible for Kabaji to overlook. It was painful to see, but there was nothing she could do about it. Not this time.
Atobe was smart enough to know that over-training was a strain on her body and would do nothing to make her stronger. And yet she would fall into that obsessive pit anyway time and time again. Training until she couldn’t stand anymore, working until she was so exhausted that Kabaji had to carry her home. It had been a continual sore spot in their relationship since its inception.
Everyone on the Hyotei tennis team loved tennis, but Atobe was consumed by it. Where everyone else managed to figure out how tennis fit in with the rest of their lives, Atobe needed one hell of a counterbalance or else it would eat her alive. And Kabaji was the only one strong enough to be that. Her official team position was “Assistant Treasurer”, but they all knew in reality it was something like, “Atobe Handler” since she was the only one who knew how to get their obsessive captain to do things like eat and sleep properly.
Things had started to take a turn for the worse after they lost the second time to Seigaku. Kabaji had begun to see the signs of Atobe unravelling, but she naively hoped that the relationships Atobe had started to form with the members of other teams, would take the edge off. Unfortunately, Kabaji had contributed to Atobe’s breakdown by making a suggestion that had come out sounding like something else entirely.
Kabaji had never claimed to be an eloquent speaker. She much preferred to let actions speak for themselves. But she had taken the lull in their post-tournament schedules to suggest Atobe try to form more substantial relationships with her rivals. Atobe had been spending more time with Rikkaidai’s team and Kabaji would have been remiss to not notice how Atobe’s mood had seemed brighter since then. It had seemed like a perfect solution to a problem Kabaji had been considering for a while: how would she keep Atobe from over-working herself when they would be separated for a whole year? If Atobe took to her suggestion, she could be filling her schedule with things like spending time with people she liked, instead of the obsessive training Kabaji tried to keep her from on a daily basis.
Yes, it had seemed great in theory, but Kabaji hadn’t worded it quite as carefully as she should have. Atobe’s icy response had been, “If you’re so eager to hand me off, why don’t we break up now?”
This had surprised Kabaji. Normally something like this wouldn’t have upset Atobe like that. It had only been an innocent suggestion, one Kabaji was sure Atobe would consider. But instead, Atobe had seemed hurt and disturbed. Seeing other people had always been part of their arrangement, so why would Atobe take offence like that? Kabaji was at a complete loss. Where had this sudden insecurity come from?
Things could have gone smoothly from there. Kabaji would have apologized and they would have talked it through, but before they could get there, Atobe had done something so foolhardy and dangerous that Kabaji just couldn’t overlook it.
They had made only a handful of rules concerning their relationship and Atobe had broken the big one. Since then, they had seemed to take turns, breaking one rule after another, each being completely petty until they had finally reached this stalemate.
It was 2-2 and neither one of them was budging. It was a series of never-ending rallies. Power strokes that launched the ball across the net and back, the only points scored happened when the ball finally had enough and disintegrated. Much like the state of their relationship. Kabaji was too good at being quiet and Atobe was too stubborn for her own good. Was this really the end? Their years of friendship finished without either one of them saying a word?
“This has to stop.” Kabaji said, her voice deep and steady. It shocked Atobe to hear it because in all their time together, Atobe had never, ever won a silence contest between the two of them. In the past when they’d fought, Kabaji would simply resume her position at Atobe’s side once they’d forgiven each other. They would eventually talk about whatever problem they’d had and put it behind them.
“What has to stop?” Atobe asked. Her bright blue eyes were sharp as ice shards and Kabaji could feel the way they tried to dig into her.
Kabaji actually wasn’t sure. This fight? This match? This silent treatment? All she knew was that if they were really breaking up, she didn’t want it to be like this. Their relationship wilting away, bruised and bleeding until they finally put it out of its misery.
“This unproductive compulsion to see how much we can hurt each other.” Kabaji decided.
“You started it.” Atobe growled, slamming the ball to the ground where it deflated on Kabaji’s side of the net. No one called out the score. Everything was as quiet and still as the eye of a hurricane.
“I didn’t mean to.” Kabaji said, sending one of Atobe’s Tannhauser serves right back to her.
Atobe clenched her jaw. Kabaji had hit a nerve when she suggested Atobe start ‘dating’ other people instead of just seeing them occasionally. They were already going to be separated and Kabaji wanted her to spend the little down time she got with someone else? And with Sanada of all people? They were sexually compatible but that was about it. If they spent longer than 3.5 hours together, they wanted to scratch each other’s eyes out. Kabaji knew that, so why on Earth had she said that?
Kabaji wasn’t the type to blurt things out. She thought long and hard about something before she voiced it. You could count on whatever she said to be important, because if it wasn’t, she wouldn’t say it. Kabaji asserted that she was bad at verbal communication, but Atobe felt she was the most effective speaker she’d ever met. Because of that, Atobe had a hard time believing Kabaji hadn’t intended to say what she had. Her words were always so perfectly formed. She always said so much in such few words. How else was Atobe supposed to understand that? It had rocked Atobe to the core to know that Kabaji had been thinking this way just before their forced separation. Maybe she was thinking what Atobe was too afraid to, that their relationship was not sustainable.
Kabaji seemed to pick up on Atobe’s inner monologue, despite Atobe not saying anything. She elaborated, “I only meant that I don’t want to hold you back.”
It wasn’t that Kabaji thought Atobe was pining for anyone, but rather she probably hadn’t considered what those people could potentially bring to her life. Atobe was always looking for ways to become a better tennis player, but she rarely thought about how she could develop herself as a person too. Atobe had already accomplished so many amazing things, but what more could she do if she had a bit of Sanada’s patience? Yukimura’s composure? Tezuka had taught her humility and Kabaji had witnessed how Atobe’s potential had skyrocketed. All Kabaji wanted was for those experiences to be constant. But Kabaji was beginning to see that from Atobe’s point of view, this all looked like concession.
“Oh, I see,” Atobe glared. “This is about holding back, is it?” Her returns were getting harder and harder. “In that case, why don’t I just marry Sanada. Then the whole Rikkai circus and then I can work my way around the Kantou region until settling down somewhere with Seigaku’s resident brat since our kids would be super, fucking cute.” Atobe’s blood was boiling. If she wanted to spend more time with other people she would. This whole thing felt like Kabaji was trying to hand Atobe off on someone.
Kabaji sighed, annoyed her words had come out wrong again. But Atobe also seemed determined to find the flaw in anything she said. It was difficult to talk to her when she was like this. But Kabaji wanted to make her understand what she was really thinking.
“I don’t want to be responsible for stunting your growth.” Kabaji finally said. Everything she was afraid of inside those seven words.
The flames in Atobe’s eyes didn’t disappear, but they seemed to turn into a simmer. “You think you stunt me?” She said softly, disbelief colouring her words.
The resulting silence was palpable. They’d been worrying about the same thing. Though in completely different ways.
Atobe too had been analyzing their codependency. She had been feeling insecure and anxious about the large and looming life-transitions coming up. She had been forced to face her short-comings in more ways than one, but the bottom line was that she couldn’t even manage something as simple as sleeping without Kabaji. Being forced to face her weaknesses had done a number on her ego. She’d been in a fragile state of mind when Kabaji had suggested what she had. Atobe had gotten immediately defensive and angry, not bothering to hear Kabaji out. And things had just snowballed from there.
Their relationship had been forged through their unique dynamic. They never would have worked if Kabaji hadn’t been so accommodating. But they were reaching a point now where that dynamic was working against them. With Kabaji being so endlessly enduring, Atobe had rarely had to change for the better. Between Kabaji’s unreasonable over-protectiveness and the multitude of servants at the Atobe home, she had never had to learn to pour her own tea, to file her own paperwork, to cook, to navigate a bus… the list was endless. She had always been taken care of and never had to learn how to take care of herself. Now she would be stepping out into the world unprepared and weak. She didn’t blame Kabaji for any of this, but she blamed herself for being so complacent.
And for the first time, Atobe was thinking about how Kabaji must have felt when she had lost to Tezuka in those final matches before they were expelled from the Nationals. Atobe had had absolute faith in the other girl, she had been so sure Kabaji would win. Tezuka had really surprised them all. Atobe recalled the air of complete frustration that had come from Kabaji as she took her seat on the Hyotei benches after that.
Though the second years had been working tirelessly since then on their plans for next year, none of them had yet forgotten the sting of losing. Atobe hadn’t been the only one longing for victory. As badly as she had wanted it, the others had wanted it just as bad. They’d all been entrusted with Hyotei’s legacy and had all been found unworthy. Atobe was beginning to see how the loss must have been weighing on Kabaji just as much as it had been weighing on her. But Kabaji had never held them back, not the team, not Atobe, not ever.
“You’ve never stunted me.” Atobe said, the fire in her eyes turning into something else.
Kabaji had already changed her, in more ways than anyone could count. When they’d met, Atobe had been friendless and alone, unable to get along with anyone, relying on money and luck to make things happen. Kabaji had changed all that. She was the first person Atobe had ever met who wasn’t intimidated by her or using her. Kabaji had rounded off Atobe’s sharp edges, made her personable, showed her how to make friends without buying them. If Atobe was being honest, she would have been a completely different person without Kabaji. A person she would have despised.
And Kabaji was still changing her. Even now. Even right this second.
They were still rallying, seemingly lost in time. The ball suspended between them.
With Kabaji’s fears out there in the open, Atobe felt her own crawl up into the light. “I can’t do this without you.” She said, her voice quiet, barely there.
Atobe suddenly felt like all her weaknesses were on display. All of this had served to remind her just how helpless she was without Kabaji standing behind her, to alleviate the incredible pressure she put on herself. They had been co-dependent for too long and this next step in their lives would reveal who they really were. And Atobe felt like a coward, bitter and defensive, terrified because they both knew nothing she ever accomplished had been because of her talent alone.
Kabaji’s eyes were soft. They drew Atobe in like they always did, wide and encompassing. Comforting, easing all of Atobe’s anxiety. “You can.”
Coming from anyone else, the words might have sounded like pandering. But Kabaji never said anything unless it was something she really believed. Warmth spread through Atobe and for the first time, she believed that. Still, even if she believed she would be okay somehow without her constant companion, she didn’t want to. And that was something completely different.
Somehow time hadn’t stopped around them and they were now in tie-break. Atobe felt like she was waking up from a dream, and when the ball came back at her with every bit of power she’d put into it, it ripped the racket out of her hand. Her racket clattered across the court, a cringing, scratching noise before coming to a rest just outside the service line.
The score keeper who had kept quiet this whole time, finally said. “Game, set, match. Kabaji. 7-6.”
Atobe stared at her racket on the ground for what felt like a long time. She was a bit surprised to realize her eyes felt wet. The disappointment and frustration she usually felt when she lost was completely absent. She blinked a few times to clear her eyes. She didn’t feel like she had lost, rather she felt like she had gained something. Though she wasn’t clear on what it was.
With the match over, the Regulars quickly shooed everyone away. Atobe was grateful as she picked up her racket and returned to the net where Kabaji was standing. But even without their audience, this felt too exposed.
“Let’s talk in the clubroom.” Atobe suggested and Kabaji followed wordlessly behind.
Within the confines of their clubroom, Atobe said, “I didn’t mean to break my promise.” Because that was the simple truth. Waking up in the hospital had never been a favourite hobby of hers, it was just more wasted time when she could be doing other things. “But I should’ve known better.” She really should have. Quadrupling her already ridiculous training schedule was one thing, but doing it while she was sleep deprived and possibly running a fever was quite another. Though she had believed she was capable of it, she never would have done it in the first place if they hadn’t been fighting. It’d been a petulant decision and one that might have had even worse consequences. The old woman who’d found her passed out in the park had reported her as ‘dead’ at first.
“I’m sorry too.” Kabaji said. She was also to blame in this whole petty war that had escalated. Part of their agreement was keeping Sundays to themselves. But last Sunday, she had stood Atobe up for the first time ever. It had been childish of her. They could have talked and cleared things up if Kabaji had been willing to listen instead of over-reacting.
Atobe went over to her desk and pulled out a blue file folder. She passed it to Kabaji.
It was her new training schedule, completely revised and, Kabaji was happy to note, completely reasonable.
“I don’t know how much a promise is worth now that I’ve broken the last one, but I suppose you’re just going to have to learn to trust me.” Atobe said. She crossed her arms, not looking fully at Kabaji.
Kabaji nodded. She held the file to her chest like it was precious to her.
Atobe swallowed, looking away. “Good. Because there’s nothing you’ll be able to do about it anyway.” Atobe said, unable to resist the urge to be a little bit bratty. With them in different schools, Kabaji wouldn’t be able to enforce anything.
Kabaji didn’t seem the least bit bothered and suddenly Atobe knew why. She groaned. “Oshitari was the one who told you about the hospital, wasn’t she?” That asshole, she was supposed to be on Atobe’s side. And she would no doubt continue to spy on Atobe for Kabaji in the future since she was a born meddler. Atobe would be sure to extract revenge in her remaining days as captain.
Kabaji seemed able to read her mind, “She cares about you.”
Atobe rolled her eyes. Fine, maybe 1000 laps weren’t in Oshitari’s future after all.
Atobe finally met Kabaji’s eyes properly. “Do you really want me to spend more time with other people?”
Kabaji took only a moment to think. “If you haven’t felt the desire to, I’m satisfied with the way things are.” After a short hesitation, she added. “You’re right, I need to trust you more.” If Atobe could stick to this training schedule, there was no reason for Kabaji to worry. There was no reason for Atobe to try balancing other serious relationships if it wasn’t something she had an interest in anyway.
A small smile made its way across Atobe’s face. “Good.” She flung herself onto the clubroom’s couch, which was honestly what she was going to miss most about the clubroom. “If you noticed, I matched up Hyotei’s rest days with my own.”
Kabaji had noticed that. It made her warm inside.
“So while I’m sure we’ll both be busier than we’ve ever been, I hope to see you as often as possible.” Atobe watched Kabaji from where she sat on the couch. Her face was a neutral expression, but Kabaji could read the fire inside her.
For the first time, Kabaji felt a bit excited for the next school year. They’d always relied on each other too much, but they no longer needed to be tied together by that codependency. Instead, this separation meant that they would have the chance to grow and form independently. It meant that they weren’t together because they had to be, they were together because they simply wanted to be.
Kabaji moved closer to the couch and Atobe held out her hand. Kabaji took it and let Atobe pull her down.
Atobe felt the wave of tiredness she had been fighting these past ten days, hit her all at once. Her body finally relaxing after more than a week of tension. Kabaji’s larger frame and soft muscles enveloped her in the immensely soothing way she had been missing the past week and three days.
Kabaji pressed her mouth against Atobe’s throat and kissed her. She placed another kiss on her collarbone. When she tried to move away, Atobe held her there with a hand on the back of her head. “Harder.” She said, her tone was soft but her voice was commanding.
Kabaji had to replay that request in her head. Atobe had little to no hang-ups when it came to most things, but she was always insistent that her lovers leave no marks on her. She disliked having her skin marred under any circumstances. Hickeys and bruises had always been completely off limits.
She let Kabaji lean back to look at her properly. “I want you to.” She said. And when Kabaji didn’t move, she added, “Please?”
This was new ground. Atobe hated feeling possessed and Kabaji hated the idea of marking her, like a brand. But in the end, Kabaji could never deny her anything. And since soon Kabaji wouldn’t be able to see her all the time, while and when they were together, Kabaji wanted to spoil her as much as possible.
She pressed her mouth into Atobe’s neck, sucking at the skin there. She could feel the vibrations of Atobe’s moans against her lips.
When Kabaji was finished, Atobe unbuttoned her collar even further and pointed to her breast. “And here.”
Kabaji put her lips where she was instructed and felt the skin against her tongue. She pulled the skin into her mouth and felt Atobe’s fingers card through her hair. Once that was done, Atobe lifted her shirt to reveal her right hip. “And here.”
Kabaji did as she was told and moved herself down Atobe’s body. She bit at the hip lightly, making Atobe shake a little, before sucking at it until a mark showed.
After that, Atobe shifted her skirt. “And here.” She pointed to her inner thigh. Atobe was breathing deeply and Kabaji could feel her heartbeat hammering in her head. When she was finished, she looked up at Atobe. Atobe’s eyes were blazing with want and fixed on Kabaji’s.
Kabaji looked back down at the marks she had made. She wasn’t sure how she felt at first. She felt like she had sullied Atobe somehow, but the pleased look on Atobe’s face made it worthwhile. Looking at the glistening marks, Kabaji felt guilty but also a little bit thrilled. She wasn’t typically the possessive type, but she knew that she would not be happy if she ever saw anyone else’s marks on Atobe’s body. She knew Atobe would never allow that. This was something just for them.
Atobe pulled her back up so they were face to face. She put a hand on either side of Kabaji’s face and kissed her. It was a deep kiss that made Kabaji light-headed.
“You should rest.” Kabaji said when they pulled apart for air. “Before Rikkaidai gets here.”
Atobe smirked. “I’m not tired anymore.”
Kabaji gave her a disapproving look, but Atobe wasn’t in the mood for a nap. She pulled Kabaji down on top of her. She loved the feeling of Kabaji’s weight above her, the pressure all along her body. It had been a while since she had been able to do this. To exhale Kabaji’s scent, hibiscus and soap, and feel her body heat melding into her own. Usually this would make Atobe sleepy, contented and safe, she felt she could sleep. But right now she wanted to touch every inch of Kabaji. Get her fill of the other girl now that she could. Make up for every second they’d been apart and maybe even an excess for their separation to come. She could tell Kabaji would really rather Atobe try to sleep, but even Kabaji had limits. It took no convincing at all as Atobe moved Kabaji’s hands to where she wanted them.
Atobe often reveled in the novelty of new lovers. But there was absolutely something to be said about lovers who already knew the secrets of your body. Lovers who have already memorized your weak spots and know exactly what you like. Her flings had their charms, but no one would ever match the way Kabaji moved her.
The familiar fingers ran up and down her body, stopping in all the right places.
Kabaji was always very slow and gentle, something Atobe didn’t like with her other lovers, but with Kabaji it was different. Kabaji was the only one Atobe let herself feel vulnerable around, she was the only one Atobe dropped her guard for.
With other people it was always like a game. There were winners and losers, though ideally, you wanted something close to a tie. There was always a lot of pressure and there was usually a time crunch. But with Kabaji, she could relax. There was no one to impress, no pressure to make it memorable or interesting. Just being close was enough to make it worth it. It felt good. It felt right.
Kabaji made her feel small, but not just because of their obvious size difference. Atobe felt her proper size when they were alone because she didn’t need her ego here.
Atobe tried not to think about how this would likely be the last time they were together like this here. Atobe had a lot of good memories at Hyotei, but her favourites were often with Kabaji.
Atobe’s voice in her ear ignited fire inside her. She flushed up to her cheeks. Atobe had her arms around Kabaji’s neck and she pulled her down, down, and closer. Kabaji was always a little in awe of how needy Atobe could be when they were alone. It made her happy, though she wouldn’t tell Atobe that. It was another secret just between the two of them. It was what separated Kabaji from Atobe’s other lovers.
Atobe’s face was glowing with lust, but she frowned. “Stop thinking.” She pressed a finger to Kabaji’s forehead. “I want your full attention.”
Kabaji almost laughed, no matter what they were doing, Atobe always had her full attention. But Atobe wanted proof, so in the short time they had before Rikkaidai arrived, Kabaji would give it to her.
Rikkai finally arrived and Atobe made her way back out to the courts. She sent a vicious glare at Oshitari who Atobe was now convinced had been the one who changed the game match-ups, but Gakuto stuck her tongue out and Hiyori was smirking so she wasn’t so sure anymore. It didn’t matter anyway. Whoever it was, they had known better than Atobe what it was she really needed. She’d remember to thank them later and apologize too.
She greeted their guests and after some quick instructions, the two teams mixed to head to their match ups.
Yukimura looked pointedly at the kissmark on Atobe’s collarbone. “I see you and Kaba-chan have made up.”
Atobe didn’t say anything. She gave her a dazzling smile and buttoned up her collar to hide it.
She went off across the courts with a swing in her hips. Yukimura didn't envy any of her challengers today. It was something they all already knew. With Kabaji, Atobe was invincible.
Yukimura won her match against Kabaji. They shook hands over the net.
“You made me sweat today.” Yukimura said. A compliment.
Kabaji bowed. Always so proper.
Across the court, Atobe had blown through three matches without dropping a single game.
“Atobe’s quite a force of nature.” Yukimura said.
Kabaji replied, “Yes.”
“The kindest adjective would be ‘high maintenance’, I think.” Yukimura laughed. There was no denying that. “She is fearsome, to be sure.” Yukimura said softly. “But she’ll always need you standing behind her.”
Atobe took pride in being the solo leader commanding all 200+ members of Hyotei’s tennis team on her own. But anyone who was anyone, knew the truth. Atobe’s fearless strength came from the unshakable support she got from Kabaji.
Kabaji blinked at her. She never expected to be complemented by one of Atobe’s lovers, let alone the captain of a rival team. Yukimura just smiled. “Out of everyone in the world, I think you’re the only one suited for her.”
Kabaji felt a smile. Yes, she supposed she was.