Worth It (Sequel to Peacock’s Thighs) Part 3/3
Title: The Blame It On Atobe Series, or In The Name of Love 2016
Otherwise Known As: Worth It (Sequel to Peacock’s Thighs) Part 3/3
Author: Gold
Pairing: Oshitari/Gakuto.
Rating: PG.
Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis is created by Konomi Takeshi. This work is a piece of fanfiction and no part of it is attributed to Konomi-sama or any other entity holding any legal right associated with and arising out of Prince of Tennis . It was written purely out of fanservice and it is not to be used for profit or any false association with Konomi-sama or aforesaid entities.
Summary: Sequel to Of Peacock’s Thighs and Moonlit Balconies. Set two years later, in 2016.
Warning: Unabashed sap. I actually injected a dose of reality here, took it out for a sappier ending, and then shoved it back in again.
- - - --- - - - --- - - - --- - - - --- - - -
Atobe Keigo runs a tight ship. He is a ruthless and remarkably canny investor, a shark at the mergers and acquisitions table, the formidable mainstay of the sprawling Atobe business mega-empire, a crack tennis player who can best the world’s top pro tennis players in a one-set match on his best of days (just ask Tezuka Kunimitsu, Echizen Ryoma, Yukimura Seiichi or Sanada Genichirou)-and he is also a very, very good friend to the people he considers close to him.
Tomorrow is New Year’s Eve. So today, Atobe is hosting his umpteenth annual get-together for his exclusive little coterie, plus the usual invited guests. There will be an extraordinary buffet spread, where Atobe’s team of personal chefs will tempt the palates of the guests with a myriad of cuisines that hail from the four corners of the globe. There will be good-natured ribbing, lots of photographs being shown around, a little bit of grumbling about how they’ve just seen each other a week ago at Atobe’s Christmas Day party and here they are stuffing their face again, comparisons of fresh data and several impromptu karaoke sessions accompanied by a lot of good red wine from Atobe’s best cellars. There will also be a few midnight sessions of tennis, once they’re done with the alcohol and the dinner’s been suitably digested. Someone will probably suggest a dip in Atobe’s open-air onsen (the one that can easily hold two Olympic-size swimming pools) despite the freezing temperatures, and likely everybody will grab a towel, strip and pile in. And there will be swimming races in the onsen again, and childish water games that involve sitting on shoulders and snatching towels from opposing teams.
All right-perhaps it would be more prudent to put the red wine away and serve them fruit juice instead.
It is half-past nine when Oshitari finally knocks on Atobe’s front door.
The butler shows him in immediately and tells him that Master Keigo is available to see him. Oshitari obediently sheds his coat, which is handed over to a waiting housemaid. The butler takes it upon himself to escort Oshitari up the stairs. On the way, they pass by the suite of rooms where the party is being held. Oshitari pokes in his head carefully, just to take a quick glimpse of the crowd, to see if a certain someone is somewhere within.
“Yo, Hiroshi, you’re back. You dyed your hair blue, huh?” Niou Masaharu raises a glass of red wine to Oshitari, smiling beatifically. “Have some. This is goooooooooooooooooooood….”
Clearly, Niou has had more wine than is good for him. Oshitari nods to him in response (because there is no point arguing with a drunk) and his eyes dart around quickly.
“Mukahi-san isn’t here,” pipes up someone else-Aoi Kentarou, in a horrible Hawaiian shirt and matching loud shorts, with a lurid pink mask hanging around his neck. “And I’m Elvis Presley from Blue Hawaii!”
Oshitari mentally makes a note to tell Atobe that the idea of a masquerade is great, but the theme is not. “Thanks.”
“Don’t you like my costume?” demands Aoi Kentarou, doing a bizarre little twirl.
“It’s very colourful. Very suitable,” Oshitari answers truthfully. Then he beats a hasty retreat. There is no cranberry-red head in sight and anyway, he is in a bit of a hurry.
Atobe is in his study, already decked out in a magnificent black tuxedo with dark purple lapels, a cummerbund of silver silk, patterned all over with snowflakes embroidered in white silk, and a cravat of heavy lavender-and-gold silk. “Well, the prodigal son returns. You’re late and Gakuto’s in a deplorable mood.”
Oshitari winces. “Have you seen him anywhere?”
Atobe shrugs his shoulders. “He’s nowhere near The Room, if that’s what you’re asking. No flowers for apologizing?”
“Not for you,” Oshitari shoots back. “Is The Room ready?”
Atobe gives him a scornful glance. “It’s been completely guarded from any intrusion since you locked the doors at four this afternoon and rushed back to work.”
Oshitari sighs a little, and runs one hand through his hair. “I didn’t plan for that to happen, honestly.”
Atobe rolls his eyes. “The vicissitudes of life, yes. Go and apologise to Gakuto, not to Ore-sama.”
Oshitari purses his lips. “Well, where can I find him on this twenty-acre estate of yours?”
“Probably somewhere sulking,” Atobe tells him flatly. “You will be notified when we’ve found Gakuto. Please don’t do something as stupid as leaving your mobile phone somewhere inaccessible.”
Oshitari raises an eyebrow. This is rude, even for Atobe. “Something the matter?”
Atobe doesn’t even deign to toss him a glance. “Nothing that Ore-sama can’t handle. Go, before you miss the right time.”
“Promise me you’ll tell me later.” Oshitari’s eyes are keen, and he misses nothing.
Atobe glances up. “Ore-sama cannot make any promises, Yuushi. But thank you.”
==================
The Room is the place where Oshitari and Gakuto first sorted out how they felt about each other-or rather, it is the room with the balcony where Oshitari first sweet-talked Gakuto into going on their first date. Not surprisingly, Oshitari has a special affection for that room.
When Oshitari steps on to the balcony, he notes that it is mostly untouched. There is the small round antique pedestal table covered with snowy damask table linen (borrowed from Oshitari’s sister) that Oshitari himself has set there earlier that day, complete with fine porcelain, silver cutlery, a gleaming candelabra all alight, and a crystal vase simply bursting with an exquisite arrangement of roses and lilies. The Waterford champagne flutes are there too, and Oshitari easily spots the silver ice bucket and the waiting bottle of champagne. But-
“Gakuto?”
Mukahi Gakuto is standing there, mouth agape with astonishment.
Oshitari’s brow wrinkles in a frown; isn’t Atobe supposed to keep Gakuto away first?
“Yuushi-you did all this?” Gakuto’s eyes are suspiciously bright.
Oshitari slides one hand into his trousers pocket and walks forward, smiling. “Well, except for the champagne in the ice bucket. I guess Atobe had someone bring it up here.” He reaches out to clasp Gakuto’s hand. “Happy anniversary, Gakuto. Shall we?”
As if by magic, Atobe’s butler, appropriately snooty, materializes barely a second after they take their seats. He bears two large, covered dishes, which he proceeds to set before them with a flourish.
Oshitari knows what will happen next; he has planned the menu, after all.
Sure enough, Gakuto gives a little gasp of astonishment as soon as the butler lifts the silver lid off his dish.
A chunky platinum ring sits on a small and very plump velvet cushion in the middle of the cold porcelain dish, reflecting light off the numerous facets of the six tiny, square-cut diamonds set into it.
Somewhere, the lilting strains of part of the second movement from Mozart’s Eine Klein Nachtmusik begin to play (it’s actually Ohtori Choutarou valiantly performing a ‘live’ solo two balconies away with an entire sound system in tow, but Gakuto finds this out only later).
“Will you marry me?” (Originally, Oshitari had thought of giving a long and flowery speech, but it is entirely possible that Gakuto's eyes might just glaze over midway through it).
Gakuto’s head is bowed and he appears to be utterly speechless.
“Gakuto?”
As if in answer, Gakuto raises his head very slowly. He is biting his lower lip, but in a way that tells Oshitari that he's actually trying hard not to smile, and Oshitari’s heart, which has hitherto been in his mouth, immediately plops back into his chest in relief. Gakuto is smiling, thank goodness.
Then the unexpected happens.
Gakuto pushes something into Oshitari’s hand.
It is a velvet-covered box, Tiffany blue in colour, and when the lid pops open, Oshitari catches his breath. For inside lies a handsome, broad platinum band, set with a single brilliant, square-cut solitaire diamond.
This, then, is Gakuto’s answer. Or question, depending on how you look at it.
Gakuto leans across the table, reaching for the little box in Oshitari’s palm, and he takes out the ring with the solitaire diamond. He takes Oshitari’s hand and slips the ring on to Oshitari’s engagement ring finger. Then he sits back expectantly.
Oshitari knows what Gakuto is waiting for. He reaches across (he has longer limbs than Gakuto, so he need not lean across the table) and picks up the chunky platinum ring from its plump velvety bed. He gently slides it over Gakuto’s engagement ring finger, admiring the sparkle of the six small diamonds as they catch the light.
It is all perfectly romantic. The balcony where they first plighted their troth, the warm glow of candlelight, the moon beaming benignly overhead, the sweet strains of one of Mozart’s finest compositions wafting in like sweet incense on the evening breeze…
“Yuushi.”
“Hmm?”
“Can we have dinner now?”
“…”
“I’m really hungry. I haven’t had anything to eat since lunch. I got lost in one of the stupid kitchens when I was trying to find something to eat. Did you know that this place has five kitchens?”
“…”
“Anyway, the one I went to had nobody inside, so I tried to cook something on my own ’cause I was hungry and everything was raw, but it set off the fire alarms and sprinklers. It wasn’t my fault, you know-Atobe’s kitchens are crazy things. The oven is so big you could cook me in it and never notice, there’s a whole barbecue pit in there that can roast up to ten chickens at the same time, and there’s even this weird stove with a big, deep hole inside that holds boiling water. I don’t even know what it’s for and I don’t want to know. And it took me two hours to get clean, ’cause I had to wash my clothes and I didn’t want to destroy the laundry room too… and when I was done, I had to wait for half an hour before I could see Atobe and he just chased me up here.”
“…”
“It’s also really cold out here, so it’s better if we eat something.”
“…”
“Yuushi, say something.”
“…”
“Yuushi? Are you listening to me?”
“Gakuto…”
“Yeah?”
“…”
“What, Yuushi?”
There is an almost undetectable sigh from Oshitari. “We could go down and join the party. I’m sure it hasn’t ended yet and there’s quite a lot of food there.”
“…”
“Gakuto?”
“… couldn’t we get someone to bring some food up here?”
Oshitari tilts his head. “Yes, of course…”
Gakuto hunches a little in his seat. “… I … don’t mind eating here…”
… which is Gakuto’s way of conceding that he likes it there.
“Of course, if you want to go down, it’s a good idea too,” adds Gakuto quickly. He is staring at his empty dish rather dolefully, and Oshitari has to stifle a laugh.
“Gakuto…”
“Hunh?”
“I’ll ask Atobe to send someone up with food. I did plan to have dinner right after this, you know.”
“Really?” Gakuto perks up.
“Yes. These things here-the cutlery and all that-aren’t just for display, you know.”
“What’re we having then?”
“You’ll see.”
The butler arrives not five seconds after Oshitari makes a call, accompanied by a prim-looking maid. The candelabra and vase are removed to the side, and so are the empty dishes on the table. The champagne is removed from the ice bucket (where it has lain, forgotten, for quite some time), and the two champagne flutes are filled with the sparkling fluid. A small bottle of fine, light sherry is also produced, as are two sherry glasses, which are quickly filled and placed on the table. Following that, the maid sets a number of small, covered silver dishes before them.
“It smells really good…” Gakuto stares hungrily at the covered dishes. “I wonder what this is… and this… and this…”
The maid uncovers the dishes, one after another, announcing the names of each dish, and with each successive uncovering, Gakuto’s eyes grow rounder and wider, and he nearly begins drooling visibly.
“Creamy apple cubes.” There is a dish of apples, peeled and cubed, completely covered with the kind of thick cream that is usually used for cakes.
“Carpaccio of scallops.” The scallops are fresh, thinly sliced and arranged in a seashell pattern on the dish, then seasoned with sea salt, lemon juice and sesame oil. Two small saucers, one containing wasabi and the other holding soy sauce, sit on the sides of the dish as condiments.
“Salt-baked chicken, breaded and spiced, with vegetables.” The chicken comes in large, delicious-looking chunks, with a slightly saffron-red tinge (thanks to the spices), on a bed of mushrooms, parsley and long stalks of spring onions. A rich, peppery smell emanates from it.
“Chef’s specialty: roast red pork in a secret sauce.” The pork comes in sizeable pieces, and glows like red embers. It has been perfectly cooked in such a way that there are almost no charred pieces at all.
“Red dates with sticky rice.” This savoury dish is heaped with red dates, each plump with glutinous rice that seems to have been stuffed into the skin of the red dates before being cooked.
Oshitari watches with amusement and a fair bit of anticipation as Gakuto makes his first attack on the food, right after the butler and maid have barely turned their backs to leave. The menu had been put together by Oshitari after sampling several potential dishes prepared by Atobe’s team of chefs. After trying out a variety of different cuisines, the decision had been taken to have East-West fusion cuisine.
Circumstances prove that Oshitari’s choice is absolutely correct.
One bite of the apple cubes covered with the rich icing, and-“Yuushi, I love you!”- Gakuto falls with undisguised fervour upon the rest of the meal.
Oshitari hides a fond smile behind a quick sip of light sherry. He glances at the champagne, which has remained untouched thus far. They have forgotten to celebrate the traditional sealing of an engagement-with a kiss and champagne-
A sudden blaze of colourful lights flare up all around them.
Gakuto and Oshitari exchange perplexed glances.
“What’s going on?” demands Gakuto.
“I don’t know.”
With one accord, they get up from the table and proceed to look out over the balustrades of the balcony, Gakuto nearly hanging off the balcony, while Oshitari has one arm around Gakuto’s waist to secure him.
The night sky is alight with exploding fireworks as far as the eye can see. Somewhere, Eine Kleine Nachtmusik fades away unobtrusively, giving way to what appears to be an entire orchestral rendition of Beethoven’s Ode to Joy. And down below, right underneath their balcony and three storeys down there-
“CONGRATULATIONS!”
It sounds like a roar from a thousand throats... except that it comes from perhaps thirty to forty throats, standing in groups around a number of microphones thoughtfully provided for them. Another display of fireworks immediately comes in on cue, spelling out the words “CONGRATULATIONS” in fiery and brilliant hues.
Gakuto stares in dismay at the crowd of people below, all of whom are really familiar to him. Some are raising glasses and drinking with gusto; others are hollering good wishes over the microphones, resulting in a cacophony of noise that has to be heard to be believed. “Yuushi, I hope you’re not responsible for this.”
Oshitari chuckles and tightens his arm around Gakuto. “It’s just Atobe, and he has good intentions, Gakuto. Don’t be too angry with him.”
“I won’t.” Gakuto purses his lips. “It’s just that it feels like this should be our private moment, you know?”
“The kitchen,” Oshitari reminds him.
Gakuto pauses. “Yeah. Okay. So maybe I nearly destroyed part of one of his five kitchens, but... that’s just not fair of him.” He grimaces. “Anyway, I’m not going to go down there.”
“We can stay up here.” Oshitari smiles down fondly at Gakuto. “There’s food, champagne... and the récamiers make nice beds.”
Gakuto turns his head back to look at the table, still groaning under the weight of the dishes. “Yeah. Oi, Yuushi?”
“Hmm?”
“Let’s watch that movie after dinner.”
“All right.”
They did this on their first anniversary and presumably will continue to do it: watch the movie that they saw on their first date together, in Atobe’s private cinema.
As they take their seats back at the table, Oshitari notices a somewhat distant look on his fiance’s face (fiancé is such a nice word, Oshitari thinks, especially because it means Gakuto is his, all his). “What are you thinking about, Gakuto?”
Gakuto pillows his chin on his right palm. “This means we’re going to be married, right?” He doesn’t look at Oshitari, but keeps his gaze fixed on his plate.
“Yes.” Oshitari wonders where this is going. He hopes that it doesn’t mean Gakuto’s about to get cold feet before they even start planning the wedding. (Wedding is a word that has a nice ring to it, too, in Oshitari’s opinion).
Gakuto glances up. “Your parents...”
Oshitari’s parents have never approved of the fact that their son has fallen in love with someone of his own gender. It is as if on Monday, their son was heterosexual, and on Tuesday, he woke up and decided that he wasn’t straight, after all. Oshitari’s sister, on the other hand, has supported them unconditionally, and continues to do so (currently Gakuto is relieved that she appears to find more amusement in torturing Shishido Ryou).
“They’ll get over it,” Oshitari answers, with all the callowness and callousness of youth, and a casualness he does not really feel. He still has standing fights with his parents almost every day about this for the last two years, but he’s not about to give up Gakuto. Oshitari is a romantic soul at heart; he still believes in giving up everything for love, even though it keeps him awake some nights while he ponders the bitter reality that his parents may never speak to him again. Gakuto, in this respect, is luckier; his family is more accepting of the situation (or is it more resigned?).
Gakuto bites his lip. “It’s just that... I don’t believe in forever like you do, Yuushi.”
Oshitari waits quietly. Gakuto has more to say, he knows.
“I don’t know what will happen tomorrow. It’s not that I don’t... care... enough, it’s just that so many people...” His voice trails off and he gazes almost moodily at the half-eaten bite of salt-baked, spiced chicken sitting in the middle of his plate. “Funny how I never thought of this before. Oi, Yuushi...”
“Yes, Gakuto?”
“... just... if you like someone else some day, and you don’t want... and, just let me know, okay? I won’t stop you.”
Oshitari’s eyes widen. “Gakuto!”
“I mean it.” Gakuto’s brows are furrowed and he looks as if he’s addressing the chicken very seriously. “I don’t want to tie you down. I mean, I’m not going to let anyone have you, but if you want to, then-”
Oshitari interrupts him, reaching across the table to catch hold of Gakuto’s hand. “Gakuto, stop. Listen. Other people-let them handle their own problems. We are not the same. We’re making this work, Gakuto. Even if you say you don’t believe in forever, I do-and I’ve got enough belief for the two of us. Just promise me something.”
“... what?”
“That you won’t give me up without a fight.”
Gakuto's breath hitches.
Oshitari tightens his hold on Gakuto’s hand. “Relationships need both people to work. I won’t let you give me up without a fight, and you promise me you won’t just give me up without a fight. And if you can’t believe in forever at this moment, at least promise me you believe in now. That’s two promises-will you give me your word?”
Gakuto swallows hard, then nods.
Oshitari exhales. “You do love me, Gakuto?”
Gakuto flushes deeply, and then nods again, very quickly, just once.
“Good. Then the wedding’s still on.”
“Yuushi.”
“Hmm?”
“Let’s just stop thinking and eat.” Gakuto holds up a forkful of salt-baked, spiced chicken. “Here. I’m not gonna be the only one pigging out.”
Oshitari opens his mouth obediently to let Gakuto feed him. This is enough for now, Oshitari thinks. Weddings and things-he’ll talk to Gakuto about it later. Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps the day after. Oshitari’s eyes rest on the sparkling, six-diamond ring on Gakuto’s finger. For now, he’s going to teach Gakuto the meaning of forever.