Theme: #15: perfect blue
Note: Legal drinking age in Japan is, as far as I know, 20.
It’s not that Tezuka is anti-social, or even that he doesn’t like crowded places. It’s not that he doesn’t like being watched. He has perfect social etiquette, his politeness and quiet nature able to carry him through almost any situation; tennis tournaments have made him used to being watched by supporters, scouts, and fans; Echizen has been watching him for years.
It’s just… well, night clubs were never really his thing.
“Fuji,” he says, and then sighs when Fuji turns, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows in that I can’t hear you over the music, sorry, what did you say? way that people always use in night clubs. When Fuji leans closer to him, he shakes his head; Fuji doesn’t need the excuse of being in cramped situation to touch his arm, or brush his fingers across the back of his hand, or any of those other touches Fuji likes to use when he’s bored and decides Tezuka is his new source of interest. Fuji pulls away, almost pouting, and Tezuka goes to hand in his coat.
He doesn’t like this, but at least he’s with people he knows. He lets out a sigh of relief when he spots Momoshiro waving at them from across the room, the gang of them squeezed into a couch and chairs around a table. He’s pleased to see that Kaidoh looks more than a little uncomfortable, dismayed to find Inui surveying the cocktail list with interest, and relieved to see Oishi looking at the alcohol with his usual worried expression. This is not a situation he ever thought he’d see any of them in, to be honest, but, then, Fuji and Eiji are very persuasive as a team.
Something cold presses against his hand; he turns to find Fuji with a glass in his hand and a smile on his face. “Good health, Tezuka,” Fuji murmurs, still smiling, and Tezuka glares because that’s the last thing Fuji should be wishing him when he’s stuck in the middle of a club with music echoing in his ears and a headache starting behind his eyes.
He sits, squeezing in beside Oishi, who gives him a sympathetic smile. Tezuka takes a sip and grimaces; he doesn’t drink more than an occasional sip of sake for a very good reason – alcohol does not equal a good tennis career. Oishi suddenly smiles and nudges Tezuka, inclining his head towards Momoshiro, who’s openly appraising the female population passing them by, his blush thankfully unnoticeable under the lights whenever his interest is returned with smiles and lingering glances. Tezuka, however, seems to be the only one noticing the dark looks Kaidoh is throwing at Momo, and something suddenly occurs to him.
Before he can think about it further, he suddenly blinks and shouts to Oishi, “Where’s Eiji?”
“Eiji?” Oishi shouts back. “I think he went out dancing, or something, you know how he is. Look,” he adds, pointing, “there he is – oh.”
Oh is one word to describe it, Tezuka thinks when he follows Oishi’s gaze and realises what has made his friend turn pale. Eiji is dancing, of course, his acrobatics making him stand out even in the gyrating crowd, but there’s nothing that could prepare him for the sight of Echizen dancing beside him, body moving surprisingly well for someone who hates dancing as much as he claims to. Noting his bright eyes and flushed face, Tezuka can only deduce that he’s been drinking.
He immediately turns to look at Fuji, knowing full well that Fuji can read the suppressed fury in his eyes and expression. Fuji smiles, walking over with another drink; he sets it down on the table and leans over the back of the couch, winding his arms around Tezuka’s neck. “See something you like, Tezuka?” he whispers into Tezuka’s ear, his words perfectly audible even with the music.
“He’s underage,” Tezuka seethes.
“The owner of this place owes me several favours,” Fuji replies, brushing his lips against Tezuka’s neck in a ghost of a kiss; Tezuka twitches. “Anyway, it’s only another few months before he’s legal. Oh, look, he’s seen you,” he adds, drawing his arms away.
Tezuka stiffens, looking over to find Echizen’s eyes on him, glowing. Sweat clings to him, and Tezuka’s stomach clenches when he realises Echizen is receiving more than one admiring glance. He stands up, drink forgotten.
Fuji laughs. “Oh, Tezuka,” he says sweetly, eyes open and gleaming, a perfect match for the blue lights burning overhead.
“I’m taking him home,” Tezuka says flatly.
“Really? Oh, you mean in a sensible context," Fuji amends when Tezuka glares at him. "Well, I don’t think that’s what he intends, at all,” Fuji muses, placing a hand on Tezuka’s back and shoving him forward onto the dance floor into Echizen’s path.
*coughs* I have, uh, a few more drabbles set in this 'verse that I can't post because the labs are closing in five minutes. Shall I, ah, post them tomorrow? *whistles*