rp log; Atobe & Tezuka

[mraz]

Date: Tuesday, July 1, evening
Rating: G
Summary: Atobe shows up at X-corp after-hours to bring dinner for Tezuka and to keep him company. And they finally have a real conversation.

It was after hours at X-corp and as such, Atobe had parked himself in the lobby of the building with the food he had picked up on the way over sitting on one of the waiting area tables in front of him. The building was hardly abandoned - no doubt busy after the events of the weekend - but it was much quieter at this hour than when he had last been by to try to amend any problems he and Tezuka had as a result of getting off on the wrong foot. A couple of employees headed home for the night spared him a glance before heading out the door, but otherwise he had privacy flipping open his cellphone to call Tezuka and let him know he had arrived. He sat down on one of the chairs in the waiting area and tilted his head against the phone, waiting for Tezuka to pick up the line.

Tezuka was on the other side of the section looking through a file cabinet stuffed full to bursting when the phone rang. He started--the phone buzzed, vibrating on his desk, too loud in the deserted office--and then winced as he cut himself on the side of a hanging file. He was not one for swearing, but he did glare at the offending file. He pulled the file he'd been looking for out of the drawer and pushed it shut firmly, sucking on his finger. No one was there to see, after all.

Setting the file down on his desk, Tezuka picked up his cellphone. Putting the phone on the table had been a bad idea, and why had he done it anyway? It was easier to hear the phone vibrate when it was on the desk instead of in a drawer, but almost no one called him this late after office hours. He flipped it open and realized it had begun sending whoever it was--it was an unfamiliar number--to voicemail. Before the pre-recorded greeting could finish, he pressed the "call" button. "Tezuka here."

It was several rings before Tezuka finally got to the phone, and Atobe wasn't planning on leaving voice mail. He had been about to hang up and find another way up to the office when the voice came from the other end of the line pausing him in his tracks. Automatically, he responded, "It's Atobe." There was a very specific sort of phone etiquette one was meant to follow in such situations, but he could not be bothered when it was just Tezuka. "It's awfully lonely down in the reception area - only the spiders to keep me company." He highly doubted that there were any spiders at all in the building; even bugs often would not venture this far into the city, for one, and the building was also almost irritatingly clean. It reminded him of his father's home in that sense - clinical and untouched despite the daily traffic.

Atobe nudged the edge of the table with his foot looking down at his shoe. "So I hope you're hungry."

"You're already here?" Tezuka asked. "I apologize; I wasn't expecting you... so soon." Actually, Tezuka hadn't anticipated Atobe just presenting himself at X-Corp without prior notice at all. He checked his watch, wincing to find it was this late. Most of the restaurants nearby would be busy now. Perhaps if Atobe was willing to travel a little on the trains, or if he wasn't too choosy about his food... Tezuka doubted Atobe would enjoy dinner that was substandard, though. "I'll be right down." He would think of restaurants in the elevator.

Atobe waited patiently for the first minute - then he became restless and was once more on his feet patrolling the area curiously. Not that there was a whole lot to see; a reception desk, chairs, magazines... everything he had already seen when he was last in the office. He finally stilled, standing beside a water cooler with his hands on his hips regarding it seriously. The bubbles that would occasionally rise in the tank were more interesting than anything else in the room. It was a relief when he finally heard a door open somewhere behind him... but it was also not Tezuka. Sighing, Atobe once more resigned himself to flopping back in one of the chairs with his toes rested on the very edge of the table in front of him.

Stepping out of the elevator, that was what Tezuka saw--the heir of the Atobe family, flopped (still gracefully, surprisingly, but that was most definitely not how one sat in a chair) in one of the sofas, toes on the table before him. "Please make yourself comfortable," Tezuka said dryly. He wondered if Atobe cared whether or not others saw him like that.

Then he saw the food, and paused. Oh. Well, there went the Italian restaurant he'd decided on.

Languidly, Atobe looked back at Tezuka, doing his best to not look like he had been impatient for the other to arrive and simply casually lounging. "Thank you, I will," he responded just as flatly, though he had the sense to get to his feet. "I hope you don't mind that I took the liberty of ordering for you." He had just taken a wild guess as to what Tezuka might like at the restaurant... and if worse came to worst, they could always switch meals if Tezuka liked what Atobe was having better. Their tastes were probably not too wildly different when they could at least agree on a country of origin for food. Though, Atobe would not hesitate to admit that he did have a habit of indulging his cravings.

The bags on the table weren't plain plastic bags, they were wax-paper printed with the name of a restaurant Tezuka could have sworn he recalled in the news some time back. The chef was apparently an up-and-coming young star who refused to follow the conventions of other restaurants and who'd established his own simply to cook whatever he felt like, whenever he felt like it. Then again, now that Tezuka thought on the matter, it did seem like exactly the sort of restaurant Atobe would enjoy.

"Thank you for the food," Tezuka said, picking up the bags. "I hadn't expected you to bring any, though. Will eating in a meeting room be all right?" They would have to make do with whatever utensils had been provided, but if push came to shove, Tezuka supposed the leg of an unused chair would allow for temporary utensils. He'd rather go upstairs to the secretaries' section to see if they had any extras, though. Those women seemed to have on hand an endless supply of the most esoteric things and put survivalists to shame. Surely chances were good they would have disposable (or not) eating utensils.

Tezuka needn't have worried. Not only was there a mouth-watering selection of Italian food (he had never seen lasagna look like that, nor spaghetti sauce in that color, yet it was all strangely appetizing), the restaurant had prepared utensils for four. Spares, or had Atobe intended on company? "You didn't have to bring so much," Tezuka said, licking his lips unconsciously. It all looked very good.

With a one-shoulder shrug, Atobe said, "It's a family style restaurant - they don't let you order any less than food for an army of children." Which was half the fun of it... or it had been when he was younger. He had argued with the daughter of one of their clients over lasagna or eggplant for what felt like hours (eventually, she won and they had eggplant for dinner), but it had been the process of troubling over the menu to decide on something they both wanted that had been so fun. It was one of the rare fond memories of business dinners from when he was young... or at all, for that matter.

"Lead the way, Tezuka-san." Atobe picked up the bags, again, nodding to indicate he would follow Tezuka.

They headed for the room they'd previously used (in which Atobe had given Tezuka a tennis ball for Kinoko). Nothing had changed, though there was the lingering scent of perfume, citrusy and floral. Likely a parent of some young newly-manifested child. Tezuka set down the bags he had been holding, and then made sure both chairs were close by. "I hope this is acceptable?"

"Of course." Atobe also set down what he was carrying, rifling through the bag to find the plastic plates and paper napkins the restaurant supplied him - the utensils were in another bag. He set two places at the table and pulled out fresh bread from the bag, putting it on the table between the two place settings. Everything else was in the bag Tezuka had been carrying, so Atobe seated himself and waited for Tezuka to dig through everything else. "To be honest, I took a wild guess at what you might like - I hope you enjoy Italian."

Lifting the rest of the food and other items out onto the table, Tezuka nodded. "I do," he said. The address of the restaurant was printed on the bags, and it wouldn't be difficult to go there someday. If the food was good enough to satisfy Atobe, it was good enough to bring work-related colleagues there (as long as it had an atmosphere conducive to business lunches or dinners). Tezuka didn't see a single dish he felt he would be unable to eat. "You made good choices," he said, folding the paper bags flat so they wouldn't clutter the table and their eating surface.

Between them, they arranged the food, and soon they were eating. Tezuka paused at the first mouthful, surprised that it tasted so good after being transported. If take-out was this tasty, he'd need to go to the restaurant soon. A good choice indeed.

Twirling his fork between his fingers idly, Atobe regarded Tezuka. "So I'm starting to get a sense of your tastes, after all." Though it was not a widely broadcasted fact (perhaps widely obvious, despite), Atobe enjoyed spoiling his friends - he would go to great lengths to be mindful of their likes or dislikes or even to discover things they would enjoy that they themselves did not know about. If it meant showing up to one of the Sanada family functions in a proper family kimono to appease the traditional side of Sanada, Atobe would certainly do that. If it meant bringing a tennis ball to entertain a playful golden, Atobe had no qualms. His biggest downfall was his habit of playing favorites... which simply could not be helped.

Atobe finally dug his fork into the lasagna that was, as he had expected, really quite fantastic. The unusual sauce mixed with just the right portion of Italian sausage and noodles that were refreshingly not too soggy made for a simply divine combination. He made a mental note to both suggest his father visit. It was often difficult to convince his father that restaurants and opera houses that attracted Atobe's attention were worth investigating as potential investments or even just as a patron, but his father did share Keigo's weakness for good lasagna.

What did Atobe mean by that? Did he think Tezuka was a fussy eater? Tezuka would have eaten anything Atobe had chosen, in all honesty, merely because to do anything else would have been utterly impolite and unappreciative of the fact that the other had brought food when he didn't need to. "Selective eating habits are not a sign of good upbringing," Tezuka said, brow furrowing a little. There was no need to pander to his taste.

He bit into the lasagna, and his forehead relaxed again. The food was amazing. Was that... a hint of black sesame? Black sesame, with creamy sauce and meat? Tezuka would never have attempted that, had he seen it on a menu, but this... "This is delicious. Thank you for bringing it."

"Think nothing of it, it's my pleasure." Atobe set his fork back down on the side of his plate to pause to watch Tezuka eat, instead. Not that it was particularly interesting, but he had to wonder what was going through his head. Studying Tezuka's face wasn't revealing any great cosmic secrets. That left the direct approach which had proven to be distinctly useless when it came to the older mutant.

But what choice did he have? Giving in to boredom, Atobe asked, "What's on your mind, Tezuka-san?"

Lost in the sensation of the beautiful blend of Japanese and Western tastes, Tezuka was taken aback to be addressed, and opened his eyes. "Excuse me?" he asked. He hadn't quite heard the question. Something about a mind.

Atobe did his best to mimic the expression that had just been on Tezuka's face moments before - blinking just a bit too long as though lost in thought. "You looked like you were thinking very hard about something. I was wondering what's on your mind."

Realizing Atobe was mimicking him, Tezuka flushed, looking down at his food again. "Nothing. I was eating." He hadn't realized he'd been enjoying the food a little too much.

Was that a hint of color? Smiling wolfishly, Atobe leaned closer to the table. "You can say all you want about a solid upbringing, but you seem to appreciate good food as much as the next person." It was refreshing to see the man so lost in something, however - he could be so lifeless on the outside at times. There was some hope, yet. "You were probably reluctant to invite me here, too."

"There was no need for you to make the trip," Tezuka said. It wasn't that he wasn't happy for the company, but Atobe had responsibilities too. "You are a student and it is a school night." He ignored the comment about his enjoyment of the food, but that reminded Tezuka of how good it was. Atobe had taken the trouble of bringing it, and of coming here. Why, Tezuka didn't know. "Why did you?"

Why? Atobe opened his mouth to say something snide but paused, his smile being chased away by a small frown. "Because you would sit up in your office until god knows when and eat instant noodles for dinner if I didn't," he responded casually after a moment of thought, but he was probably not convincing Tezuka. Really, he had just wanted to get out for a bit and enjoy the pleasure of Tezuka's company and if he was already going to do something nice for someone, he might as well spoil them a little while he was at it. It wasn't as though he was in grave danger of getting behind in his classes - his school work was always completed well before it was due. He really didn't have anything better to do that evening other than perhaps pester Sanada, just as he did any other day of the week.

"It's been a while," Atobe amended, this time speaking more seriously. "And I wished to do something... nice for you."

Tezuka was an adult, living independently, attempting to make a difference in the world the only way he knew how. And here was Atobe, a child--yes, child, only seventeen, eight years Tezuka's junior--who had, apparently, decided Tezuka was a floundering puppy and that Atobe was the one to save him. There were plenty of people--humans and mutants alike--who needed nice things done for them. Tezuka didn't deserve to be someone's good deed for the day, and he didn't appreciate being thought of as one, either. "There's no need," Tezuka said, perhaps a little colder. He sat up, tensing, his back straightening. "If you need a charity project, Atobe-kun, Yukimura-kun will help you organize one."

That stung. Years of programming to respond with the vain, indignant persona for which Atobe was so famous was difficult to overcome, but he knew that would only make things worse in this situation. Still, if Tezuka was going to be cold, he had certainly chosen the wrong person to talk down to. "Are you always this self-important?" Atobe tilted his chin up, glancing over Tezuka's face seriously. "Do you really think that I have the free time to spend time with you as some sort of charitable act on my part?" He closed his eyes briefly, centering himself before he continued. "I think it's time you stopped judging me by a name I was born into and cannot change."

Even in his indignance, Tezuka paused, listening to Atobe. He'd expected the other to flounce, shout, or coldly leave. He hadn't expected a calm response or an accusation of self-importance on his own part. Had he been wrong? Was he indeed making a mistake and doing Atobe an injustice by thinking that of him? Looking into Atobe's eyes, Tezuka could only see sincerity and a large measure of hurt--doubtlessly from Tezuka's own accusation. What was Tezuka doing? He was an adult, and he was supposed to be reasonable, logical, and rational. Yet here he was, chasing shadows, seeing things where they weren't, accusing others of things they hadn't done. Was it so difficult to accept that perhaps Atobe did enjoy Tezuka's company?

Well, yes, it was. Atobe was surely mistaken about how much Tezuka's company was worth. But that didn't mean Atobe didn't mean it.

"I apologize," Tezuka said after a long pause. "I didn't mean..." It wasn't Atobe's family name. "I apologize for putting words into your mouth and for misinterpreting your intentions." To tell Atobe that Tezuka was a waste of Atobe's time might be incredibly rude after what Tezuka had already said tonight. It was actually clear from the tone of Atobe's voice that he really had not thought of Tezuka as anything other than desirable company, mistaken though that might be. Tezuka had accused Atobe wrongly, and so Tezuka put down his fork and turned towards Atobe, bowing his head in apology. "Please don't take what I said to heart."

As always, Atobe's temper was quick to deflate and he simply bowed his head slightly in return. "I shouldn't put words in your mouth, either." With a light sigh, Atobe lifted his eyes to look at Tezuka's face, again. "I know it may be difficult to believe, but you do make it quite difficult to find excuses to see you." He offered a smile to try to make peace. "It may be even harder to swallow that I keep trying to find those excuses, but I have no better explanation for it than enjoying your company. And I confess, I'm prone to spoiling friends."

Lifting his head, Tezuka stared at Atobe and Atobe's smile, trying to decipher it to see if Atobe was being sarcastic. Atobe couldn't mean that. Tezuka had never been accused of being good company. Efficient, yes. Strict, yes. A slave-driver, on occasion. But good company? Any invitations Tezuka received were out of duty, and most of the time declining them was easiest for both him and the would-be host. If Atobe was acting, though, he was very good at it, and finally Tezuka said, "Suit yourself," sighing inwardly. He probably needed to keep a distance from Atobe, just because inevitably Atobe would lose interest and depart, and if Tezuka grew attached to Atobe, that would be a bad thing.

Attempting to make conversation and amends, Tezuka returned his attention to the dish before him. "How did you find this restaurant?" he asked.

"Fate," Atobe responded gravely, though a twinkle of humor had returned to his eyes. "I'm still hopeless when it comes to finding much of anything in this area." He had gone in with the logic that it appeared to be a hole-in-the-wall sort of place from the outside; and if he had learned anything in his travels over the years, it was that the best food always came from the most unlikely places... such as the dives. If anything, once inside the restaurant it took on a completely different atmosphere - it felt more like the fancy French restaurant his father preferred for business meetings. There had been something nagging at him that the name of the restaurant was familiar, but he had not been able to place it when he went in. It was not until he asked the chef for a personal recommendation that he learned more of the history of the restaurant and then recognized it as a place that had been featured in the news just a few days before. It really was completely incidental, but it worked out well enough.

Atobe resumed picking at the lasagna, his mind wandering to what it would be like to take Sanada to a place like that. The very image of Sanada attempting to eat the lasagna with chopsticks out of sheer stubbornness made his smile a bit softer. The private amusement tainted his voice when he tacked on, "Have you been there, before? It's only a few blocks down from here."

The tone of Atobe's voice was a little different. Tezuka looked up, and then stared at Atobe's soft smile a moment before catching himself and averting his eyes to his food. Atobe looked sweet when he smiled like that, but almost too open, and Tezuka wasn't used to seeing others so vulnerable around him. Looking away was giving Atobe privacy. Clearing his throat as much because of the lasagna as it was because of the way it had suddenly blocked up, Tezuka shook his head. "No," he said. It had been one of those would-be-nice things, but Tezuka didn't prioritize restaurants. That was Sawada, not him. "Sawada-san--one of my colleagues--may have." He didn't know.

"Is Sawada-san more the sort to enjoy lunch out of the office?" Atobe turned his eyes to Tezuka, though he continued eating. For whatever reason, Tezuka was staring quite intently at his food. No matter how much he tried, Atobe might have to resign himself to never understanding what was going through the older mutant's head, sometimes. Regardless, he was having a very difficult time picturing said present company sitting down with coworkers for lunch at any restaurant at all. He seemed to be more the eat-at-his-desk sort; or possibly the eat-in-the-breakroom sort.

"She doesn't spend more time in the office than necessary," Tezuka said. Sawada was a Delta-level empath whose husband tolerated what he considered his wife's compassion towards the more unfortunate (in this case, mutants). Her husband had no idea, and neither of them planned to have children. At least that was a relief, Tezuka thought, for it was unlikely Sawada would ever be exposed unless she wasn't careful.

Once more, Atobe settled the fork on the edge of his plate, leaning more toward his companion and resting his elbows on the table. Atrocious manners on his part, but he hardly cared and frankly neither should Tezuka. "It occurs to me that I have no idea what you do, Tezuka-san." He could hardly imagine Tezuka doing clerical work, though he also had a difficult time imagining him on the phone all day making various arrangements or fielding questions. For the way Japanese workplaces were structured, Tezuka was a bit too young to be in the upper ranks of the corporation... and for all Atobe knew, he was merely some sort of processor of some sort, which would be a horrible waste of intellect. "If it's not classified information, that is." Atobe folded his hands under his chin, once more smiling slyly.

Giving Atobe a glance, Tezuka finished the last of the lasagna, and was very glad there was no dessert (he couldn't possibly eat all of that AND dessert). How did one explain one's job, when one did whatever needed to be done? "Project manager," Tezuka finally said. It was the best answer, and the one he usually gave everyone anyway. "I work in General Affairs."

"Ah~n?" Not that it explained anything at all, really - Atobe didn't know much of the structure of X-corp apart from what little information he had gleaned from Tezuka and what the company put out to the general public on their webpage. "Tell me about an average day of a 'project manager.' I'm afraid the title doesn't mean much to me on its own." Then again, to be fair, he had long ago given up on explaining his own position in the Atobe family business and just called himself the "heir" to the company. It was a bit more complex than that with the various legal complications and the role he already played in the company even though he did not actively go to the office every day. Heir and posterchild was probably a bit more accurate.

Tezuka had expected that. He settled in for the explanation. "I don't have a daily routine. I take charge of particular projects and see them through to completion. For example, I am currently in charge of the recent--" He stopped, thinking. Was there a secrecy or confidentiality clause Tezuka might be violating if he continued? No, but all the same, it wouldn't be wise to spread the details of who was in charge of what, and the sperm bank was high-profile enough that the director of Tezuka's department was nominally responsible (though as usual, Tezuka ended up doing all the work). Something safer, then. "--recent new manifestations discovered. I arrange for them to receive training, medical attention, and mentors, whatever is applicable. Whatever needs to be done."

The hesitation was not lost on Atobe, but he also did not comment. He probably really was coming up against some sort of confidentiality policy in asking Tezuka to explain anything in great detail. He could only assume the company had something in place similar to what Atobe was familiar with in his family's business. "So you look out for people, basically." At least, in the case of recently manifested mutants as Tezuka had cited. "That must be an interesting place to be - on the proverbial front line. I imagine you hear enough stories to write a book." Not that he could imagine Tezuka writing a book, either... unless he was far more prolific in text than when he was speaking.

Even if Tezuka were to write a book, he hoped he would be able to write it in a way that didn't say too much about others. "That's not accurate," he said. "Counsellors look out for new mutants. I merely assign them." And make the resources available for the counselors, plus remove whatever obstacles needed to be removed--Sawada was good on the phone as long as she knew what to negotiate for and how much to tolerate before passing the phone to Tezuka. She seldom needed to do that more than once with anyone. "I also negotiate, research, and do other things as needed."

Giving Atobe another glance, Tezuka said, "I presume it may be somewhat similar to running a business." The tone was not a question, necessarily, but he was curious. "Is it?"

"You'd have to ask my father," Atobe replied with a half-hearted shrug of his shoulders. "For the most part, he goes into the office for the purpose of making decisions but then spends most of the day out running meetings and taking clients to lunch or the like. In particular, one of our clients is very fond of tennis so they'll play on Saturdays. As best as I can tell, being at the head of the company is just as much about keeping clients happy as it is bringing in new business." One day, that would all be Atobe's responsibility. Joy of joys. Furthermore, it would be his responsibility to marry, have a son, and raise that son to follow in his footsteps just as his father had done. In his father's case, that marriage had been as much a business venture as a union of two people. At the time, as he understood it, his father had been very much in love with a woman who was not Keigo's mother... though, from the way his mother spoke of his father, he assumed that had changed. It was not readily apparent to a fly on the wall.

No use thinking about that, really. It was what it was, and it was still several years until he would have to really face any of those responsibilities for what they were. "My role is more to be a poster child, at this point. I'm the pretty, perfect son my father can display at social functions with promises of a great future when I eventually take over the company." To over-simplify the situation, in any case.

"Running a business is not often the same as being the figurehead," Tezuka said. "As the heir, though, it is likely you will have presumably capable managers to help with the former so you have more time to focus on the latter." He wondered how difficult it was to be the face of such a large group. It had to be much more difficult than heading one company, even a mid-sized one like X-Corporation. It certainly wouldn't suit Tezuka's personality, and he would sooner renounce an inheritance like that than be thrust into the spotlight. Even if it was his responsibility. Better to let someone properly suited to the job do it, than to force himself into a role where he would do more harm than good.

Tezuka had no doubt Atobe was far more gifted in pleasing multitudes. It also seemed Atobe did not wish to. How much of that personal magnetism was nature, and how much was nurture? Would Atobe have been the same person if he had been brought up any differently? Would he wish for the spotlight if it weren't inevitable, say if Atobe had an older sibling slated to step into the father's shoes? Or would Atobe prefer being allowed to go his own way?

What way would Atobe choose, if he could? "Is that what you want?" Tezuka asked, watching Atobe as he did so.

"It doesn't matter, regardless." Atobe lifted his chin from his hands, shaking his head and resting his arms on the table. "There's a rather long tradition of disregarding personal desires in the males of my family. At this juncture in my life, I have a difficult time picturing filling my father's role, but I cannot say how much of that is inexperience and youth and then how much is desire to explore and enjoy all life has to offer." Which was exactly why he was suited to the job - it was the opportunity to travel, to interact with all manner of people, to sample exotic foods, and to have shoo-in invitations to events that would otherwise close their doors to the general public. "There are two sides to the coin - fame is not all it is made out to be, but it also opens doors to things I do desire." Such as being allowed to spend the better part of his life out of the country in a culture where he was more comfortable.

There was also the obvious fact that he had been groomed to fill the role, so from a very young age he was suited to doing just that. "It would be an awful waste of my natural charm to hide myself away, anyway. Don't you think?"

"I see." It didn't sound like something Tezuka would enjoy very much, but he wasn't Atobe, and it seemed Atobe was far more culture-seeking (and company-seeking, he reminded himself) than Tezuka was. Tezuka didn't mind travel or the opportunity to see and experience new things, but the insistence of others to socialize was wearing, especially when socializing seemed to consist of endless gossip and empty discussion with no resolution preferred. In any case, Atobe seemed resolute enough, and wasn't it good for the youth to have direction? Then there was the matter of that last comment. Natural charm indeed. Many men like Atobe dominated the business scene presumably for their ability to act convincingly in large gatherings. If Atobe was willing, Tezuka had no place inserting his own views on the matter, especially if they did not match Atobe's own. "Indeed, it would be a great loss for socialites everywhere."

"You'd miss me," the younger mutant shot back, grinning. "It's probably not the burden I can make it out to be, at times. It may be the life I was born into, but it does not define me any more than 'project manager' defines you, Tezuka-san. I know there's more to you than that - even if you're expected, in this environment, to just focus on your work." It was Atobe Keiichi that seemed to be defined by his work; he would work ridiculous hours, socialize with his son only to remind him of how to behave "properly" and be sure he wasn't wasting his time, and even years later seemed to treat his relationship with his wife as a business venture.

There was no point in responding to Atobe's assertion, since saying yes would be saying too much, but saying no would be saying too little. Instead, Tezuka shook his head, though his gaze softened a little (the food might be settling in his stomach, he thought). "Don't see things where there aren't any," he said. He was just a salaryman, doing the best he could. "We aren't born into anything, except perhaps our powers. For everything else..." Tezuka looked at Atobe, meeting the other's eyes. "As long as your heart is in it, Atobe-kun." It wasn't his place to be offering advice when none had been asked for, anyway, and so Tezuka said no more. "Don't get careless."

Careless? Tezuka would say something like that. But for all their discussion of it, they weren't getting anywhere - Tezuka was "not getting careless," himself. Whether it was deliberate or not, it felt a bit like he was all at once trying to keep Atobe at an arm's length but also not try to come across as being too distant. Well, shock therapy had been quite effective against Sanada, perhaps it would be equally effective in this situation with Tezuka. Atobe made sure that he still had Tezuka's gaze, looking him in the eye honestly, and said out of the blue, "You have nice eyes, you know."

Though Tezuka had been wondering what Atobe was thinking as Atobe met his gaze, he hadn't anticipated this at all. If Atobe had said "My name is Magneto," Tezuka would not have been more startled. His eyes widened as he stared back at Atobe, and then suddenly he remembered himself and pulled away, backwards, jerking to a stop a moment later as he realized that might have been perhaps a little too much reaction, and likely Atobe's aim in the first place.

And what was he supposed to do now? Thank Atobe for the compliment? Rebuke him for the practical joke--because of course, it was a practical joke, and an entirely effective one. Especially since Tezuka had just told Atobe not to be careless. Perfect timing to be caught unawares himself. More angry with himself than anything else, Tezuka said, "Stop that nonsense," and then caught himself.

Had he been younger, Tezuka suspected he would have left the room. Working for X-Corp had shown him many ways in which people tried to discomfit him, however, and Tezuka had a proven way of dealing with this particular brand of disruption. He closed his eyes and counted mentally to three. Then to ten. Then twenty. Then fifty. By forty-seven, he was much calmer. "Thank you," he said. "I am sure yours are, too. Do not do that again."

Chuckling, Atobe said softly, "It was a compliment, Tezuka-san, but I'll be sure to avoid them in the future." He examined Tezuka's face, taking in the slightly grumpy twist of his features and couldn't help but feel a certain level of fondness, as much as it pained him to admit it. It must have been spending too much time with Sanada that had given him the inclination to finding such behavior endearing. Speaking with more confidence, he added, "I didn't mean to offend, simply to point out that it's alright with me if you're a bit more familiar. We're hardly strangers, anymore."

"Compliments are not the only way to become familiar with others," Tezuka said. "Food brought after hours, however, is. There was no need to do what you did." By now, the surprise (and accompanying anger at being taken by surprise) had faded, and Tezuka was matter-of-fact again. "If you insist on proving your point, bring more tomorrow."

"Careful, I might take you up on that." Atobe put one hand to his mouth, tapping his lips with his fingers thoughtfully. "So if you really want to be rid of me, you should be out at a reasonable hour before I can track you down and feed you." He certainly liked this side of Tezuka much better - his sense of humor might be dry, but it was nice to see it at all. It was not as though Atobe's would appeal to anyone who did not have a dry sense of humor, themself.

"The heir to the Atobe empire personally bringing dinner he recommends. Indeed a fate to be avoided at all costs," Tezuka commented dryly. "Before I pass from this earth from enjoying such luxuries."

"And when I speak your eulogy at your funeral, I'll be sure to tell your friends and family you were careless and let yourself be drawn into the horrible downward spiral of the life of luxury." With a chuckle, Atobe leaned back in the chair, again, resting his palms against the edge of the table so he could stretch his shoulders. "Here lies Tezuka Kunimitsu - his crime was to eat not wisely, but well."

The corners of Tezuka's lips tugged upwards. Perhaps it was the late hour, but Tezuka let them. The sheer ridiculousness of that eulogy pulled too strongly for him to resist at this late hour, and it wasn't as if it was a crime to be seen smiling. Tezuka smiled. "In days like these, one would prefer to go that way. There are far worse fates."

There certainly were, but even a couple of months ago, Atobe would not have expected to hear Tezuka say something like that. His expression softened and he said coyly, "I'd like to give you advance warning that I'm going to give you a compliment." Then, a bit more seriously, "You also have a nice smile. It's a rare treat."

Now that he was relaxed enough to smile, there was less reason for him to retract it so soon. "Thank you for the warning," Tezuka said. "And for the compliment. At the risk of sounding like we are trading them, I would like to say you do, too. You must be very popular at social gatherings. I envy you that."

"Thank you." Atobe folded his arms over his chest casually and barely resisted the urge to swivel in the chair. Rolling chairs were dangerous for the easily entertained; Particularly when the hour was growing late and the conversation had taken a turn for the lighthearted. "It is remarkable what a pleasant smile can do - it's a skeleton key that unlocks all manner of doors." Not to say that Tezuka was a door. "It was only a matter of time before you found yourself in awe of my charm." A laugh bubbled out of Atobe.

Tezuka gave Atobe a look of disbelief. "And you can say that with a straight face." Did Atobe really believe what he was saying? Was he really that egotistical? Yet Atobe was laughing, spontaneously and naturally. He looked so young and mesmerizing when he laughed like that, and Tezuka stared. Then he shook his head, looking away, but the corners of his mouth were upturned.

Rather than entertain Tezuka with an answer, Atobe closed his eyes, resting his head back against the chair and let the last of the laughter work out of him. It was nice to relax, if even only for a moment. Even when he was in the dorm room, with no one but Sanada there to see him, he was not able to really just let go of his troubles - he still had to be careful how he spoke. They had nearly reached the point where things were completely open between them and everything felt perfectly comfortable... but then that was when the weird tension started between them and all by a very simple gesture that started off a long chain of controlled actions on Atobe's part. The thought was sobering - when he opened his eyes, again, his expression was still relaxed, but the mirth was chased from the corners of his mouth.

"I told you not to stay here late, and now I'm keeping you. I'm contradicting myself." Atobe shifted in the chair as though to stand, but didn't move just yet - he really was comfortable. "I should let you get home to the lovely lady."

Tezuka shook his head. "Kinoko is staying with my parents now. If overtime were an occasional thing, I wouldn't do that, but recent events have caused my workload to keep me here late on a daily basis. Golden retrievers shouldn't be left alone so much. I still see her on weekends, and once these projects finish she'll be back." He missed her, but it was best for someone else to keep her company while he was gone. At this rate, Kinoko was spending more time with his parents than she was with him. At the same time, it allowed him to work more and harder, since an empty apartment wasn't very welcoming. In times like this, Tezuka only went home to sleep. "You, however, should get back. I'll take you home, if you don't mind waiting for me a few minutes."

"I can find my way back - you don't need to do that." Though Atobe did have to admit, if that meant Tezuka would be driving, he did have a certain level of curiosity as to what Tezuka drove... and furthermore what sort of driver he was. Much better than Kirihara-senpai, at any rate. Anyone would be, frankly. Ultimately, he did not want to turn that down - the prospect of Tezuka possibly driving a boring brown ancient station wagon was much too entertaining (though he highly doubted that was actually the case). "Can I see your office?" He assumed that was where the man had to go to get whatever he needed in order to leave... but he realized moments after the words were spoken that it made him sound a good ten years younger than he was to be interested in that.

"I'm afraid not," Tezuka said, shaking his head. He'd left a file on the table, and he knew both Matsuda and Tanioka occasionally left things lying about, too. Though he could probably trust Atobe not to go rooting about, information left out in the open was another matter, and some projects Tanioka was working on were particularly sensitive. "I'll be back immediately."

Ten minutes later they were in the building's car park, and Tezuka keyed in the code that would instruct the automatic car park to bring down his car. Considering how late he was working nowadays, there were times when he missed the last train, so Tezuka had borrowed his grandfather's car. It was old, but in good condition, a Nissan that had seen better days but could never be accused of not being the best it had to be. Like Grandfather, actually. Tezuka enjoyed driving it, and Grandfather didn't mind Kinoko's fur on the seat.

While they waited, Atobe watched Tezuka - looked up at Tezuka, he realized. Had he always been the shorter of the two? Not that it was surprising, he was doomed to be vertically challenged for the rest of his days. He was about to comment on that but then came the outdated Nissan - not quite the wood panel station wagon Atobe had pictured - and he knew immediately there was just no way it was actually Tezuka's vehicle. "You must be borrowing the car," he commented, though he could not be sure from whom. Perhaps his parents in exchange for dog. Swapping a dog for a car... my, Atobe was getting tired.

"My grandfather's," Tezuka said, nodding. "He doesn't use it much." Once every six months was about it, though occasionally Tezuka Kunikazu drove to his old precinct to catch up with still-serving juniors. He unlocked the car manually, Atobe's side first, reached into the back and carefully placed his briefcase down on the backseat, and then stepped back, holding the door open for Atobe.

Atobe spared Tezuka a glance, thanking him quietly, and got into the car settling into the seat comfortably. He could swear there were traces of dog hair still in the seat (not that he cared, really) but somehow that made it all the better. Whenever he had needed a car in Japan growing up, they took the Rolls. No one would believe that this was a pleasant departure from the beautiful vintage luxury car. The car was also missing the new car smell that mysteriously followed every car owned by the Atobes regardless if it was a 2008 or a 1968 model. Once more, Atobe kept from commenting; he didn't want to imply that riding in a very typical vehicle was an adventure. Instead he waited for Tezuka to situate himself in the driver's seat and patiently folded his hands over his lap.

Getting into the car himself, Tezuka started it, backed out carefully, and then drove towards the beltway. The music in the car--enka--began to play, a low background that was soothing and relaxing to Tezuka. It wasn't that far to Nakano, but he wasn't that familiar with Tokyo's streets at this time of night, and either way it would be about the same distance. It wasn't until they were on the road turning onto the ramp that Tezuka realized two things: Atobe might not like enka but was too polite to ask to change the music, and Atobe had probably spent his entire life in new cars, definitely far more sophisticated than the basic Nissan he was now in.

There was nothing wrong with the Nissan, though it might be different from Atobe had known. The enka, on the other hand, wasn't exactly Tezuka's first choice of music either. He didn't have any casette tapes of his favorite Rammstein, and he didn't think his grandfather would enjoy listening to it anyway. Atobe didn't have to if he didn't want to, though. "If you want to turn on the radio, feel free," Tezuka said. It would be a few more minutes to the turnoff anyway.

"I'd prefer enka to anything we'll find on the radio," Atobe responded, though his attention was out the window, watching the city pass by. "I don't suppose you fancy German opera?" The answer to that question already had to be, "no." That was always the answer Atobe got for that question if it wasn't just a bewildered look that Atobe was listening to German opera, himself. Most of his musical collection (or rather, that which saw any great number of playtime on his mp3 player) was either classical or opera; he couldn't stand popular music, most of the time, particularly j-pop or American bubblegum pop. Oh, and the boybands. Whoever thought the concept of boybands was a good idea ought to be drawn and quartered. "Though I suppose even if you did, your grandfather likely does not."

"Wagner's Die Walkure," Tezuka said, giving Atobe a quick look. German opera had been unexpected. Then again, this was Atobe. Perhaps he should have expected it after all. "But I most prefer Beethoven, overall." Maybe Rammstein hadn't been that far off. "Grandfather prefers Japanese music." It was the source of some interesting discussions, this musical difference of theirs. "Yourself?"

Everyone likes Die Walkure, Atobe thought, amusement playing on his face. Though few could readily identify that it was Richard Wagner or furthermore pronounce the name properly. Perhaps Tezuka spoke a bit of German... or was just careful of his pronunciation. "Wagner is my favorite - particularly Tannhäuser, but it is more for the story than the music. I can identify with the protagonist." But he would rather not launch into the explanation of his love for that particular opera; especially with so little time between then and when they would be arriving at the Ryuhana gates. "I'm also rather fond of Der fliegende Holländer, but I'm afraid that makes me only one of many who are." But Beethoven... that did seem a bit more like Tezuka than Wagner. "When it comes to Beethoven, I've always been quite fond of Moonlight Sonata."

Tannhauser? If Tezuka recalled correctly, it involved redemption through love and a dilemma in which Tannhauser would be damned either way. An interesting choice for Atobe. "Beethoven wrote a great deal of works full of grandeur and epic majesty," he said slowly. "But his Ninth Symphony stands head and shoulders above even those."

Though Tezuka and passion had until now not been something Atobe would put in the same sentence, he still found himself asking, "Are you passionate about music?"

Passionate? About music? Tezuka cast a quick glance at Atobe, and then returned his eyes to the road. "Define passionate."

Speaking robotically, Atobe replied, "Having, compelled by, or ruled by intense emotion. Or so Webster would likely tell us." He found himself wondering if the Webster joke would be completely lost on Tezuka... Oxford probably would not have been funny to him, either. Atobe really did need to learn to stop using turns of phrase that did not translate well if one did not grow up with an English dictionary in the household.

"Had I wished for the dictionary's explanation, I have an electronic one in my briefcase," Tezuka said with just the slightest touch of dryness. "Define what it means to you, Atobe-kun."

"Ah~n?" That was an interesting request, really. Passion was something that Atobe valued highly in others - he held great respect for anyone who was truly passionate about something and often even found it very attractive. "I suppose you could say passion is... that spark." He had no better way of explaining it, really, other than a spark - a twinkle... that particular look in someone's eyes when they were talking about something they loved. "Or a glint. That's how it manifests on the outside. But to feel it is to be alive. To me, there's no point to being alive without passion - nothing to fill you up." He put one hand to his hair, smoothing down the flips at the end of his hair, though they bounced back as soon as the hand passed. "Webster is much more concise than I am."

"More concise but less telling," Tezuka said. The way Atobe had recited the definition from the dictionary and the way Atobe had given his own interpretation of the word had been incredibly different. "Some people have less demonstrative forms of passion. The sort that inspires a life-long devotion, for example." And as for music? Was Tezuka passionate about music, in the sense Atobe seemed to want to be? Was he passionate about hiking, or fishing? How about his family, or Kinoko?

If passion was wearing one's heart on one's sleeve--and it seemed to Tezuka to be a somewhat integral part of Atobe's description--then there might not be anything Atobe would call passionate about Tezuka's enjoyment of Beethoven. How was one to define the sort of love that led one to devote oneself to it, or to make time for it when there was none to be made? Did it have to be a head-consuming sort of thing that turned reasonable, rational beings into emotional fools?

"In your sense, perhaps not," Tezuka finally said, answering Atobe's earlier question. He might, perhaps, be occasionally an emotional fool, but it was not something he was proud of.

"I beg to differ, Tezuka-san. That spark is always there - even in 'less demonstrative' forms. You just need to know where to look." Atobe shifted in the seat, now regarding Tezuka as the scenery had become quite familiar - not that Tezuka's face was not, by this point, familiar. Where one looked for such a spark in Tezuka, Atobe did not know - he suspected it was his eyes or the corners of his lips that would twitch up into faint smiles on occasion, or so he had learned earlier that night. He did not believe Tezuka to be a passionless person, in any case... or even as stoic as he would have Atobe believe.

In Atobe's all-consuming sense, perhaps Tezuka truly was not "passionate" about music. But did it inspire life-long devotion in him?

Smiling and looking away, Atobe simply fell silent. He leaned to his left so he could put some of his weight against the door, resting his temple on the window and gazing out at the passing street.