Urban Hymns

Shishido/Atobe. PG
2007 | 660 words.

“Now if you can call my mother, that’s number two on speed-dial.”

-

“This one?” Shishido asks, showing him the red cellphone.

Atobe glances up from the pile of applications he’s been reviewing all afternoon and gives him a mildly annoyed look. “I said silver, Shishido. Are you colour blind?”

The outraged glare shot his way is almost enough to make him crack. Atobe hides the small grin creeping up his lips behind a spreadsheet, and signs at the openly smirking Oshitari sitting in front of him to keep it down.

Shishido rummages through the dozen pockets of Atobe’s bag with more noise and mess than absolutely necessary, and Atobe knows he won’t be able to find even his keys in his bag after Shishido is done shuffling everything inside it out of place. Shishido finally brings out a handful of cellphones, and throws it over the papers lying before Atobe with a huff. “Seriously, what do you even need five phones for.”

“School, family, family overseas…” Atobe enumerates distractedly, trying to focus on his sheet.

“Rhetorical,” Shishido interrupts with a dismissive hand wave. “I don’t really care.”

Atobe shrugs and brushes the phones aside to lay in front of him the charts handed by Oshitari. He taps the silver phone lightly to catch Shishido’s attention as Oshitari points him the fields to be filled. “Now, if you can call my mother, it’s number two on speed di-”

The instructions are cut off as the blue cap thrown at his head lands on the table, missing his face by an inch. “Go to hell, I’m not your Kabaji,” Shishido barks from the couch across the office.

“Oh, you most certainly aren’t,” Atobe answers, throwing the cap back at him. “If you were ‘my’ Kabaji, you’d be-”

“You don’t wanna finish that sentence,” Oshitari mutters with a low cough.

“Trust him, you really don’t,” Shishido grumbles behind him. Atobe can’t see him, but he feels the back of his head burning and the hair in his nape itching in a shiver he can barely conceal.

Across the table, Oshitari buries his face on the nearest pile of papers to muffle his chuckles.

Atobe rises with a dramatic sigh, takes the silver phone and crosses the room to stand before Shishido. “Listen, punk, I’m almost done with those,” he drawls, and throws the phone on Shishido’s lap. “Now if you can call my mother, that’s number two on speed-dial, and your mother, and ask them please if I can stay over at your lovely suburban shack tonight; I still have work to do.”

Shishido glances up from under the arms folded over his face, interest piqued. “…stay over?”

Atobe smirks, turning back to the table. “Call already so we can get out of this place and do something more interesting with our Saturday.”

Shishido grunts something and stretches his arms, then reaches for the phone. “And shut up, my shack’s fine.”

“I did say ‘lovely’ didn’t I,” Atobe answers with a slight smile, sitting back to stare at the papers he has no desire to keep reading. Oshitari is smirking at him, the look in his eyes betraying the itch to make one of his usual obscene remarks.

Atobe raises an eyebrow at him and nods at the rest of the phones. “If you’re going to tag along for dinner, use the black one to get yourself a date. I’m not babysitting you all night.”

“And which one do I use,” Oshitari asks, his smirk widening into an evil grin as he dials a number Atobe vaguely recognises. “To tell kantoku we didn’t finish the paperwork because you wanted some romance in the evening?”

The blue cap hits the target square and straight this time, Atobe doesn’t even have to dodge. He gives Shishido a thumbs up as Oshitari rubs the red mark on his forehead, snorting and rolling his eyes at both of them.

Filed under Tennis no Ohjisama |