He found Atobe sitting on the bench alongside one of his numerous private tennis courts. Not many people were allowed access to this area, but Tezuka had been given his own key, and an invitation to come any time he wished. He didn't come for tennis this time, though; he came for Atobe, specifically.

The other teen was sitting quietly, staring across the clay field. But he wasn't dressed to play, and he didn't have his racket. Atobe had not come here for tennis either. In dress slacks and a smart-looking jacket, with a fashionable cap covering his newly-shorn head, he had obviously come here for thinking, not playing.

Neither spoke as Tezuka sat beside him on the bench. They enjoyed each other's silent presence, until he reached up and plucked the cap from Atobe's head. His fingers rubbed through the short little strands that had already started growing back; it felt like velvet. "It doesn't look bad," he said finally.

"Of course not," Atobe answered. "Ore-sama is beautiful no matter what."

They were silent again as Tezuka continued to run his hand through the soft tuft remaining of Atobe's hair. He decided it would look really cute when it grew out a little more and began curling, as Atobe's hair was prone to doing. The unbidden image of Atobe dressed as and looking for all the world like a Roman sculpture came to mind, and he smiled.

"Well I'm glad you're so happy about this," Atobe bit out.

"I'm not."

"Why not? Seigaku won. Again. And your little brat got to put his hands on Ore-sama's hair."

"I said it doesn't look bad."

"I lost!" Atobe snatched back his cap and threw in back onto his head, tilting it ever so slightly for style. "I shouldn't have even been playing him. I should have been playing you. It's you I should have lost to."

And Tezuka realized that was what Atobe was really most upset about. Not about his hair or even that he lost - these were things he could handle. But that they couldn't play each other, that Tezuka avoided playing against him, that hurt him the most. That was what Atobe had wanted, but hadn't gotten.

"Echizen needed to play you."

"Like Hell he did."

"You were the only one capable of helping him grow."

Atobe huffed. "I don't care. I should've played you."

Tezuka sighed, knowing that when Atobe wanted something, he would bitch until he got it. He wasn't used to being denied. "There'll be other chances," he replied softly.

They were again quiet, for a long stretch of time. Together they sat, watching the sun sink until it disappeared behind the fence surrounding the court, taking the heat of day with it. As the sky grew darker, the air turned colder, and Tezuka put an arm around Atobe's shoulders for warmth and added closeness, and Atobe leaned into the touch, resting his head on Tezuka's shoulder. His free hand found Atobe's, and their fingers intertwined. They sat like that for a long time, and Tezuka could feel the frustration slowly ebb away.

"It was fun though," Atobe said at last, and Tezuka gave his shoulders a squeeze. "But next time it had better be you."

"We could play right now."

"I don't feel like tennis right now."

"Aah."

A moment later, Atobe stood up and faced him, wearing a grin that quickly put Tezuka on alert. "I do have something we could play though," he purred.

Tezuka put up no resistance when Atobe took his hand and led him back toward the house.