Heritage [An Atobe Keigo Drabble]

He spurts out nonsense, you realize one day, and it honestly makes you very annoyed.

"Go away," you spit out, eyes narrowing as you shift your tennis bag from one arm to another. You really don't want to deal with him right now. All you want to do is go play tennis—your original plan, before the big buffoon before you decided to confront you, once again, to suavely ask you out on another date. "I don't want to deal with you right now," you remark, waving your hand while trying to get around him.

He moves, blocking you from the tennis gate, and you send him a heated glare. He merely responds with another smirk, his sharp eyes silently telling you that you aren't going to get your way. "Ore-sama does not understand why you are being so stubborn," he says, flicking his bangs out of his eyes. He crosses his arms defiantly, looming over you. "It is not very pleasing."

"Yeah, well," you start, moving once again to the gate—a moot attempt, for his body can easily barricade the entrance, "I'm not exactly a pleasant person." Your gaze flicks up to his face, and you contemplate whether or not slapping him with make him move. Not a smart idea, you decide, for Atobe will not let anyone, whether it be boy, girl, or you, strike him without getting some sort of vengeance. "You already know the answer, anyway." You sigh, running a hand through your hair.

"Everyone knows that you don't mean it" is his only answer. You twitch, annoyance growing with his comment; you were fairly certain that a vein was bulging at your temple.

"I do mean it when I say it," you start, wedging your way between your nuisance and the gate. Atobe lets you, much to your relief (for, if he decided to blockade you again, you probably would have finally lost your temper and lashed out at him), but follows you inside and to the bench. He leans on the fence, the metal groaning under his weight, as you pull out your racket.

"My father dated your mother shortly, you do realize." You sigh again, setting aside your tennis instrument and placing your leg on the bench to stretch. You already know how this goes.

"I'm fully aware, Atobe. And yes, I know that they were our age," you respond with indifference, voice slightly strained from your warm-up exercise.

The narcissist smirks again, watching with amusement. "Then you must also know that Father was captain of the boy's tennis team, and that your mother was the captain of the girl's."

You look up at him from your stretch, pursing your lips. "And you must know that I do know, for you provide this useless argument every time," you say flatly.

Atobe continues like you didn't even speak. "They are not the only ones, you know. It seems as though that there were many captains who date their female counterparts. Only natural, however." A pointed look is sent at you. "Kings are only fit to court queens, are they not?"

You snort, retracting your leg from the bench and picking up your tennis racket again. "We may be the captains of our respected teams," you murmur, fishing through your bag for a tennis ball, "but that is no reason as to why I should date you. Besides," you continue, successfully grabbing a ball and walking toward the wall. You bounce the ball lightly and hit it with your racket, the poking sound familiar and pleasing. The ball ricochets off the wall and you hit it again. "It's just a stupid tradition," you say, voice uneven from your jogging to catch the ball.

Atobe knows that you're finished talking, so he smirks again and pulls himself up from the fence. He looks at your form fleetingly before smirking and shaking his head, walking to the entrance. "You won't be able to continue to avoid me forever, (Your Name)," he murmurs to himself, flicking his hair out of his eyes. "You'll cave in eventually. After all, your heritage says you'll become mine sooner or later."