Not a challenge?!
Nope, it's a CONTINUATION!!!
All Over the Shower Curtain
Chapter 2b:
Pairings this chapter: AtoJi, ShishiTori
Warning: Atobe.
Word Count: 1018
It was three in the morning, and Atobe woke up to a very distinctive sound. It took his sleep-fuddled mind a moment to identify it, another to locate it, and a third to completely absorb what it was.
Jirou, Atobe thought. He got out of bed, slipped on his slippers and his silk dressing-robe, and went to see if he was right. Not because he was concerned, of course not. He was merely...curious. Yes. That was it. Merely curious.
Unfortunately for his concern, he wasn’t the only one investigating.
“Honestly, you didn’t eat anything today. How can you still be throwing up?”
“Don’t yell at me, Shishido,” Jirou half-muttered, half-snapped, and Atobe suddenly felt a desire to make Shishido run laps until he fell over. “This isn’t my fault.”
“Why do I have to room with you,” Shishido snap-grumbled back, and started off on his favorite subject again: Choutarou. “Choutarou would-”
Jirou, poor miserable Jirou, cut him off. “He at least was nice to me!”
“Duh, he’s Choutarou,” Shishido shot back. Atobe could practically see his far-off, dreamy gaze. “He’s the nicest, most caring-”
Well, now was as good a time to step in as any. Better, because it would shut Shishido up. Atobe stepped around the corner into the bathroom.
The sight that met him froze him with horror and a thick feeling in his gut that he couldn’t even begin to name. Guilt? Pity? Fear? No matter what it was, there was Jirou on his knees next to the toilet, shaking and pale and utterly miserable. Standing above him, Shishido, the scowl not completely gone from his face as he stared lovingly at the seashell wallpaper.
Remembering himself, Atobe cleared his throat. He felt an immense sort of vindictive glee as Shishido’s head snapped towards him, eyes wide with surprise. Jirou probably didn’t hear him, bending suddenly over the white porcelain bowl again. Atobe flinched at the sounds, but kept his gaze firmly locked on Shishido.
“Shishido. Twenty laps.”
Jirou froze. Shishido stared before the scowl returned full force, and he crossed his arms over his chest defensively. “Atobe-”
“Thirty,” Atobe snapped back. How dare Shishido even be in the same room as Jirou? Could he not see the pain and misery the other was in?!
“Not in my pajamas,” Shishido argued vehemently.
“Then run naked,” Atobe retorted, and ignored Shishido’s jaw drop of disbelief. “Get going before I make it forty.”
Their eyes locked, and there was a brief contest of wills before Shishido looked away and high-tailed it out of there. Atobe turned his attention to Jirou.
“Jirou?”
The boy in question whimpered, and the noise shot straight to Atobe’s heart. Hesitantly he took a step forwards...and then stopped. What was he doing? He didn’t know the first thing about comforting a sick person. Aside from maybe being in the room with them, or-or watching someone else do it-Atobe realized suddenly that comfort was an area he did not specialize in. And that was unacceptable.
He’d better get started, then.
.......
.....yes, he’d better.
.....
....um....
.....well, he’d read somewhere that touching people’s hair was either somewhat comforting or downright creepy. Atobe’s memory seemed to be failing him as to which one it was, but he hoped it was comforting. And Jirou did have a lot of hair. Curly, auburn, sleep-mussed hair. It was probably getting in his way, too, what with all that-ew-
He was not going to get anything done at this rate. Swallowing, as if that would push away all his worries and dread about the situation, Atobe stepped forward and reached out a tentative hand to brush back some of Jirou’s hair.
Jirou didn’t flinch at the contact. Rather, he jerked, and Atobe pulled back his hand as if he’d been burned, eyes wide. “Jirou?!”
“Go away,” Jirou half-cried, and Atobe could barely believe his ears. “Don’t touch me, Atobe, just go away!”
Atobe only stared, frozen to the spot by confusion and disbelief. What was Jirou thinking? Here he was, going out on a limb and trying to help, and Jirou told him to go away? A thousand possible retorts swam through his brain, but Atobe was so shocked--and a bit hurt, though he’d never admit it-that all he could choke out was Jirou’s name.
“Don’t,” Jirou mumbled, his intention no less clear than his words. “Just leave, Atobe. Go away.”
He was shaking, Atobe noted with no little alarm, and reached out a hand. “Jirou, I-”
“Just leave!”
“Fine.”
Atobe gave up and stalked out of the bathroom. If Jirou didn’t want him there, then fine, he wouldn’t be there. If he didn’t want help, then fine, Atobe wouldn’t help him. If Jirou wanted Shishido to come back and drive him insane then fine! Let it happen! Atobe didn’t care, anyway.
He’d only just returned to his room and was in the process of slamming the door behind him when a voice, quiet and obviously concerned, reached his ears, and Atobe stopped with his hand on the doorknob.
“Akutagawa-senpai?”
So Ohtori had woken up. Atobe frowned. Ohtori could try all he wanted, but he wasn’t going to get anywhere if Atobe couldn’t. Despite himself, he stayed his hand and waited to hear Jirou yell Ohtori away. Like he’d done with him.
But instead of angry words and protests, he heard a noise that could only be a stifled sob.
A sob.
“Oh, senpai...”
This was wrong. This was all wrong. Jirou was supposed to be yelling, not--not crying! Instead Atobe was hearing Ohtori’s quiet murmurings that definitely did NOT sound upset or angry, but...comforting. Like Atobe wasn't.
His fingers tightened on the doorknob, and for a moment Atobe saw red as white-hot jealousy surged through his veins. Why was Jirou choosing Ohtori over him?! Ohtori had nothing on him! He wasn't beautiful, he wasn't rich, he wasn't the Captain of the tennis team--
--but he was, apparently, comforting.
Comforting.
Disgusted, Atobe closed the door and tried to block out the sounds coming from down the hall and the illogical screaming from his brain.
Let Ohtori do all the comforting. Atobe-sama was above such things, anyway.
Even if it was Jirou.