Archive of Our Own ^beta

Losing to Aiwa comes as a surprise. Not as a surprise surprise, the kind where they’d been guaranteed to win, but more of the we just beat Sannoh, the defending national champion. Mitsui can of course think of a hundred reasons why they lost; it was far too soon for another match, they’d given too much to Sannoh, Sakuragi’s absence drastically limited their game play, and so on, and so forth. Mitsui himself could barely play the first half without feeling like his legs were jelly. Losing should feel horrible, but in all honesty when the whistle had blown and it was time to shake hands, Mitsui had just thought thank fucking god and collapsed once they were off court. 

He needed to sleep for a week.

The team seemed to hold the same sentiments, even if Sakuragi cursed up a storm. But it was simply their time. They’d proven their worth with Sannoh, and maybe that was what they really wanted in their journey to be national champions. The train home was quiet, and no one cried. Mitsui spent the ride looking out of the window with the scenery passing his eyes in a blur, wondering if his bone deep fatigue would ever recover.

It does, in three days. 

By the third day, Mitsui is up and itching to play ball. It’s a disease, almost, that his mind and body demands. He goes to the nearby court and shoots hoops—upward tosses to land clean in the basket, like he’s always known. It calms the thudding in his heart somehow, like a restraint to the desire and frustration to do more. He thinks back to the Sannoh match, replaying their victory. In truth, the close call had been too close of a call that some might call a fluke. To fend well against the strongest team was definitely on Mitsui’s expectations of Sohoku. 

To win? Well.

Mitsui’s always been aware of what their team lacks. Akagi’s strength is foundational, but his speed and flexibility comes second. Sakuragi is of course a novice—even if his progress is terrifying, there are still plenty of holes in his technique. Miyagi is dark horse, but he lacks confidence about moves that work against his height. Rukawa…it’s hard pressed to find a true flaw in this basketball prodigy, but he’s only begun to learn teamwork and his defense could be better. 

For Mitsui himself? It’s obviously his goddamn stamina.

Even though Mitsui finds himself being called to the court time and time again, he wonders if he loves the sport enough to keep on going like this. When he’d heard that Shintai University was scouting Akagi for a scholarship, it’d been like an bucket of ice water poured on his head. Granted, the offer had been withdrawn since they lost to Aiwa, but it made Mitsui realise he only had basketball going for him and nothing else. And if his basketball isn’t even good enough, then…

What is he even doing?

It’s so stupid when Mitsui thinks about the two year long tantrum he threw over his stupid knee injury and jealousy at Akagi and Kojure and Miyagi, and god—if only he’d sucked in his stupid dumb ego and put his head down to play basketball like he was meant to, maybe it would have been him with the Shintai scholarship offer. Maybe it wouldn’t be an echo of oh is that the middle school MVP and it would be yells of that’s Mitsui Hisashi the Three-Point King. Maybe he wouldn’t have a crisis about post high school plans at this moment. His final hope to get into university would be to perform well during the Winter Cup. If he tightened his game and raised his stamina…

Mitsui exhales, zoning in on the hoop, and tosses another ball. It goes in with a little whoosh. He allows himself that smirk as he flexes his fingers. At least his hands hasn’t let him down yet. 

Just as he’s staring at the tips of his fingers, he notices a movement at the corner of his eye from outside the basketball court. A figure in a tracksuit carrying a running backpack is jogging past. What catches Mitsui’s eye is that he recognises the face—it’s Rukawa. Silently, Mitsui watches the other go without calling out toward him; it’s not like Rukawa bothered to stop to say hi anyway. 

Mitsui shoots a couple more hoops before he decides to get some food. In the distance, he can see Rukawa soon to reach the court to finish the lap. Because Mitsui is not completely a cold hearted guy, he waits for the younger at the court entrance. They are teammates after all. Except, Rukawa doesn’t slow down. He simply continues running, passing Mitsui without so much a glance or a word.

Mitsui is pretty sure Rukawa knows its him.

“You punk,” Mitsui curses under his breath, gaze afixed on the fast disappearing back.

But Rukawa has always been aloof (and rude), so Mitsui doesn’t think too much about it. He shrugs and heads to a nearby conbini to fill his growling stomach.

It’s technically off season given that they did not make it into the quarter finals, so there is no training. In fact, Coach Anzai had been quite specific with his advice to rest. Akagi is probably the only one who’s really doing something unrelated to basketball, since he has to gear up for the exams. Mitsui can bet on his life that although Miyagi is back in Okinawa with his family or that Sakuragi is under forced rest for his back rehabilitation, both of them are probably unable to resist not touching a basketball. 

As for Rukawa…Mitsui just saw him running, like the utter nut job that he is.

It’s not just that one time. Mitsui goes to the court every morning because there’s literally nothing else to do on this “rest period” and he sees Rukawa jogging laps around the area. Thinly, Mitsui wonders if he should be the one running instead, since he’s the one lacking in stamina. 

“Oi,” Mitsui calls out when he sees Rukawa run pass him again without acknowledging his presence. “Rukawa!”

At least, his junior does deign to pause and not feign ignorance that he didn’t hear him. Rukawa is breathing lightly, though his mouth is parted to pant. He pulls off one earphone that was stuck into an ear.

“What?” Rukawa asks, like it’s an inconvenience.

“What are you doing?”

Rukawa looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Running.”

Mitsui might have been a little to unspecific with the question. “As in, why are you running? Coach Anzai said we should rest.”

“I’m not playing basketball,” Rukawa points out. “You are the one shooting hoops.”

“So you knew it was me?” Mitsui clicks his tongue. Fucking brat.

Rukawa turns away. “I’m going.”

Mitsui thinks it’s unfair that he is labeled as a troublemaker or the problem player in Sohoku, just because he had a punk phase. Meanwhile, Rukawa is clearly socially inept.

“Oi—“ Mitsui exhales, and for whatever reason, decides to run after Rukawa.

Contrary to his low stamina reputation, Mitsui is still an athlete. He is physically fit; it only really falls apart after prolonged intense activity on court. This means that he can keep up with Rukawa, even if he’s holding his basketball sandwiched between his arm and waist.

“You’re terrible, you know,” he says to Rukawa. “Don’t run away just because you’re scared of me.”

“I’m not scared of you,” Rukawa throws back with a displeased glance. “What do you want?”

“Let me run with you,” Mitsui replies. “I need to build my stamina.”

Rukawa gives him a proper look this time, with a considering expression before he plugs his loose earbud back in. The other doesn’t say yes but he doesn’t say no either, so Mitsui tags along, matching their pace. It’s not too bad for the first ten minutes. They circle around the neighbourhood jogging trail, which is pretty flat. And then Mitsui’s arm starts to ache with his hold on his basketball—really should’ve left it down somewhere—but he suspects that if he asks Rukawa to stop for a bit, the other is just going to run off without him. Twenty minutes in, Mitsui finds that his pace is dragging behind Rukawa’s. Normally if Mitsui has to run for practice, he wouldn’t even be going this fast. 

At the thirty minute mark, Rukawa is at least five meters in front of him. Mitsui finds his lungs are burning for air, and he has to slow his pace to breathe. When they reach forty minutes, Mitsui has to stop with his feet firmly on the ground, back hunched over with his hands on his knees. His basketball has bounced to the ground, rolling towards the edge of the pavement. God, Rukawa is like ten meters ahead, with no sign of slowing. What a monster.

Mitsui slumps himself to the ground to take a rest. His legs are cramping, much like how they felt at the end of the Sannoh match. Ugh.

“Mitsui.”

Rukawa towers over him with an expressionless face. Mitsui jumps at the call, not expecting Rukawa to have turned back for him. And also— 

“It’s ‘senpai’ to you,” Mitsui wheezes. “Kids nowadays have no manners…”

“…Sakuragi calls you ‘Mitcchi’.”

“Because he’s a punk,” Mitsui rolls his eyes. As if Rukawa doesn’t know first hand what kind of personality Sakuragi is. He’s going to call Mitsui whatever and Mitsui can do nothing about it. “I’m older than you by two years.”

“Three.”

“What?”

“You’re older by three years,” Rukawa states. “Are you going to continue running?”

Mitsui heaves another breath before shaking his head. “Can’t do anymore.”

Rukawa only snorts. 

Before Rukawa can leave him in the dust again, Mitsui asks, “How long more are you going for?”

The junior checks his watch. “Thirty more minutes.”

“Yup, no, I’m done,” Mitsui declares.

This time, Rukawa does leave him in the dust. If Mitsui has to admit, he’s never really liked running, or any kind of physical conditioning. He simply likes to shoot hoops. The euphoria of a successful basket is something Mitsui will never get sick of. This is what Mitsui thinks of when people ask him if basketball is fun—yeah, it’s fun as hell to score. 

But he thinks maybe it’s a different thing to someone like Rukawa who trains non-stop for the excellence of the sport, like doing all these extra stamina exercises that aren’t necessarily basketball techniques. Maybe only the truly obsessed are like that, like the Sannoh players. Maybe these are the people who really love basketball, enough to suffer for it. 

Maybe it turns out that Mitsui doesn’t really love basketball, else he wouldn’t have dared to waste his time being a punk out of spite. Maybe he would be trying harder to run like a mad-man, past his lung capacity until he’s crying and puking his guts out.

He’s different from those who live and breathe it. Different from those who think of nothing but it. 

Different from people like Rukawa.

If the Winter Cup is Mitsui’s last shot at his future, Mitsui doesn’t want to say that he didn’t try. Grudgingly, he sees the point about running. He knows why Rukawa runs. During the Sannoh match, they’d never been pushed to that kind of limit before. It’s irritating as hell to know that they could’ve scored more, could’ve been at the top of their game, could’ve perhaps won with a larger margin, if they hadn’t been so crushed under physical fatigue in the second half. Mitsui thinks he could’ve at least contributed a lot more to the last ten minutes of the match if he’d just had the strength to play, rather than to rely on his teammates to pass him the ball.

He joins Rukawa for the other’s daily runs. He doesn’t actually know what time Rukawa starts, given that Rukawa is already on his pace when he passes the basketball court that Mitsui frequents. Mitsui joins him there, with no word or nod of greeting from the younger. It’s fine—Mitsui doesn’t expect his asocial teammate to change his ways. 

They run at the pace Rukawa sets. It’s tough as hell, but Mitsui simply makes it a goal to just run for a bit longer everyday. For two and a half weeks, Mitsui is forced to quit early, watching Rukawa disappear onward. Then, he finally makes it to the end of where Rukawa stops his trail, which is apparently…at Rukawa’s house. Granted, Mitsui is like twenty metres behind when he gets there, but he gets there nonetheless. It’s a pretty house. A spacious single storey with a garage beside it, plus a manicured garden out front that stretched to a backyard with half a basketball court and a hoop. Rukawa seems to be waiting for him by the gate, doing some cooling off stretches with a towel around his shoulders. 

As Mitsui pants to bring himself back to reality from the exhaustion, Rukawa swings his gate open. There is no outward invitation, but the gate is left open, so Mitsui drags his feet after him, making sure to close the gate behind him. Normally Mitsui isn’t so bold to assume, but he is dying of thirst and he will make Rukawa give him some water before he leaves. He echoes a greeting at the main door before slipping off his shoes.

“No one is home?” Mitsui says more to himself as he steps in and takes a look around.

The first thought that comes to Mistui’s mind is that Rukawa comes from a pretty well off family. If the house exterior isn’t clue enough, the interior is a dead give away. It’s very traditional, with the polished wood, tatami flooring all over, and various calligraphy pieces decorating the walls. Mitsui has a vague thought of Rukawa in one of those haori outfits that would fit the scene perfectly.

“My parents are at work,” Rukawa’s voice comes from a direction of another room, which turns out to be the kitchen when Mitsui gets there. 

He’s surprised when Rukawa tosses him a chilled can of Pocari Sweat. “Thanks.” 

He cracks the can, savouring the first sip with a long pause, until it gets kind of awkward with Rukawa simply drinking from his own can in dead silence. 

“…Do you have anything to eat?”

Rukawa’s faintly scowls. “I wasn’t planning on feeding you.”

“Well, it’s lunch time and I’m here already,” Mitsui grins. 

Rukawa sighs like it’s a personal affront before he opens the fridge. He scans the neatly arranged shelves before taking out a head of cabbage and some raw sliced beef. It takes a moment to realise that Rukawa is preparing to cook.

“You’re blocking the rice cooker.”

“Oh, right,” Mitsui jerks, giving way. “Um,” he feels kind of bad now. “I kind of meant that we could order something in. You don’t have to cook.”

Rukawa ignores him. 

“Well, suit yourself,” Mitsui says. “Do you want me to help?”

Rukawa is washing his hands under the tap. “Do you know how?”

“Not really,” Mitsui admits—he’s always had his mother or sister prep dinner. If they’re out, he’d just buy a takeaway. 

“Then don’t bother me,” Rukawa replies bluntly, pointing to the kitchen door.

Mitsui troops out. There’s nothing for him to do in the meanwhile, so he wanders the house. Most of the doors are closed, and Mitsui has enough sense to not pry them open. That means he has no idea where is Rukawa’s room, which would’ve interesting to see. He mostly admires the decorations around, and then at the trophy cabinet placed against a wall. It’s littered with medals and trophies with Rukawa’s name on them, starting from grade school. Mitsui suppresses his low whistle of admiration—and also the more bitter taste of jealousy. He turns away before he focuses too much on the 2nd Lead Scorer, Kanagawa Province inscribed on the newest medal. 

A veranda at the back of the house oversees the mini basketball court. Mitsui lets himself smile at the familiar sight. He didn’t bring a ball with him, but there are plenty stacked in a bin in the corner. Mitsui can’t move more than a slow walk, but he can still shoot. It’s all he’s got, anyway. He’s not sure how long he tosses the ball, but after one particular shot where the ball drops away from him, he looks up to realise that Rukawa is sitting on the verdana floor watching him.

“It’s done?” Mitsui asks, cocking his head when he shuffles over. “You could’ve told me.”

There’s a bowl of steaming hot rice top with stir fried beef and cabbage waiting for him. Rukawa is busy eating his own bowl, pretending like he didn’t hear Mitsui, or that he wasn’t watching Mitsui specifically, with the way his eyes are still on the basketball court. Mitsui is famished, so he eats his meal within five minutes. Surprisingly, it’s pretty good. Really good. Or maybe Mitsui is just hungry as fuck. He’d never pegged Rukawa as the type to cook his own food.

“It’s good,” Mitsui says after emptying his bowl. “Thanks.”

Rukawa only chews and swallows his last bite.

Mitsui sighs. “Seriously, you have to open that golden mouth of yours, someday.”

“Let’s play.”

“Huh?”

Rukawa piles the empty bowls on top of each other, putting them to aside. “Basketball,” he clarifies. “One on one.”

Mitsui must have some sort of expression on his face that relays his disbelief. “We’ve just eaten. And we just ran like ten miles.”

“So?”

“So my legs can’t move,” Mitsui stares. 

“You still can shoot hoops,” Rukawa says, like that was enough.

“Ugh,” Mitsui runs a hand through his sweaty hair. “Is that what you do everyday? Run in the morning and play basketball until it’s time to sleep?” Rukawa sends him a look that seems like a 'don’t you?'. “Basketball’s fine, but not with a marathon in the morning,” he replies to the unasked question. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“I want to be the best,” Rukawa answers shortly, like it explains everything.

Maybe it does, and maybe this is why Mitsui is not allowed to feel jealous of Rukawa’s talent until he’s put in the same amount of effort.

“It’s not like I like running,” Rukawa continues with a huff in his tone. “Are we going to play or not?”

But when it comes down to it, Mitsui is also a basketball obsessed freak. “Fine.”

Although they’re on the same team, they haven’t had that many chances to play against each other, except for those senior versus junior matches. They certainly haven’t really played one on one. On the court, Rukawa is gracious enough to let him have the first handle on the ball. His legs and butt muscles are screaming, but Mitsui gets into position while Rukawa hovers close, looking ready to tackle if it comes down to it. His bare feet tingles on the warm ground.

Mitsui moves. He feints a right but bounces to the left. Of course Rukawa is not fooled so easily, so he doesn’t get his clear direction to shoot. Back and forth, back and forth, Mitsui pushes up against Rukawa who pushes back. It is true that Rukawa isn’t known for his defense, but that’s because he simply outshines in offense. He’s still a good defender, knowing how to read and block openings. Their stalemate lasts a bit too long for Mitsui to fully catch his breath, and he loses the ball. As it goes through the hoop courtesy of Rukawa, the other simply stares at him.

“It’s not like you.”

Mitsui exhales hard. “I told you I’m tired as fuck.”

“So am I,” Rukawa mutters as he goes to retrieve it.

Mitsui spies the younger, suddenly noting the fast rise and fall of the other’s chest and the sweat beading along his neck. Mitsui’s been a bit too caught up with his own condition to see that Rukawa isn’t as steady as he seems to be. Huh.

When Rukawa throws the ball back to him, Mitsui decides to fuck it. He immediately tosses it into the hoop, which goes down beautifully without barely a sound. 

Rukawa purses his lips, annoyed. “…I wasn’t ready.”

“It’s my specialty,” Mitsui tries not to smirk. “We’ve already started, haven’t we?”

Rukawa’s eyes narrow. For the next twenty minutes they go at it—Mitsui gets Rukawa’s arms, elbows, hands, legs all up into his as they grapple to control the ball. Mostly, Rukawa wins, by the other’s greater stamina reserve and (sometimes) technique. Other times, Mitsui wins by his sheer stubborn force of will and (just a little less, sometimes) technique. There’s something thrilling about scoring a three-pointer against Rukawa Kaede while the other watches the ball go through the hoop helplessly. There’s also something not quite bitter proud awe inducing when Rukawa lines up a perfectly elegant layup that makes Mitsui hiss in frustration.

At the end of twenty minutes, they both lie down on the ground, calling a temporary pause to catch their breath. Mitsui is absolutely not keeping score (his ego is not so unbreakable). 

“How long have you been playing basketball?” Mitsui asks.

The silence after it is long enough for Mitsui to wonder if he’s just going to get ignored again. “…Since I was six.”

“You started really young, huh,” Mitsui notes. It seems unsurprising, somehow. “Do you love basketball?”

Rukawa snorts. “What kind of question is that.”

“An easy one,” Mitsui counters. “It’s just a yes or no question.”

Rukawa sighs. “…I love winning,” he says after a while, with a serious expression. 

Mitsui blinks. “But not basketball, specifically?” 

“It’s the same isn’t it?” Rukawa scowls.

Not really, Mitsui thinks, but maybe in Rukawa-logic, it makes sense. He decides to ask something else. “What if you lose?”

The reply is immediate. “Then the game hasn’t ended.”

Mitsui barks a laugh. What an egoist. 

“When the game ends it’s not for you to decide. When we faced Sannoh, if Sakuragi hadn’t scored the last basket, we would’ve…”

“I passed the ball to that idiot,” Rukawa retorts. “For him to score. And we won.” 

“I’m just saying, what if, you know,” Mitsui murmurs. “Anyway, we did lose to Aiwa terribly—“

“They’re not that great,” Rukawa says over him. “Sawakita was better than any of them.”

“And we still lost,” Mitsui points out.

Rukawa scoffs, looking away. “The team lost. I know I didn’t.”

Mitsui wants to take offense at that, because he’s included in that team, but honestly he’s just too physically tired to.

“Why are you even asking about these things,” Rukawa glances at him curiously. “…Are you having a crisis?”

Mitsui would throw the ball in the other’s face if he had it within in grasp. “No. Shut up.”

“…It’s not like you to give up.”

It’s a different thing. Mitsui has his own brand of stubborn. He doesn’t give up until the end of the match. But after the end of the match, he accepts the loss. He lives in reality. It’s vastly different from the world that Rukawa lives in, where he defines his own fantasy rules of winning.

“What you even know about me, punk,” Mitsui can’t help but retort.

“You can shoot.”

Mitsui rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I’m the middle school MVP who’s name no one remembers—“

“I remembered,” Unexpectedly, its a sincere answer. “When I came to Shohoku, I was going to beat you first,” Rukawa says calmly, like he’s addressing the weather. “But then you weren’t around.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Mitsui puts his face into his hands. “If I’d known how much I’d lose wasting my time like that—“

“You haven’t,” Rukawa states, sounding annoyed. “Senpai, you whine a lot.”

“Hey—“ Mitsui reaches out to smack him, but it ends up more as a friendly pat with the little force he has left in his arm. “…Huh, you actually called me ‘senpai’. That’s nice.”

“That’s what you wanted,” Rukawa says bluntly.

“Well, yeah…but you don’t really listen to anyone,” Mitsui scratches his cheek.

“I don’t listen to idiots.”

“So I’m not an idiot?” Mitsui presses with a grin.

“You’re barely above Sakuragi,” Rukawa mutters. “Anyway, if you don’t want to play anymore, go home.”

What a fucking monster. Mitsui feels his vision swim when he staggers to his feet. He waves his hand at the other. 

“I’ll go home. But this is not over. The game hasn’t ended yet. You didn’t win.”

“Sure,” Rukawa says, and it’s probably condescending. “See yourself out.”

There’s still a week more before Miyagi, the newly minted captain of the basketball team, calls them back for pre-term summer practice. Mitsui is slightly annoyed that Miyagi gets to be captain of all people, but then Mitsui is a third year so it would make no sense for him to succeed the role, and the first year regulars (Sakuragi, Rukawa) are of very typical personalities that would struggle in a captain role. Within that week, he continues to meet Rukawa for runs in the morning, then basketball after at the other’s house. Rukawa’s parents are never home, not even when it’s a weekend. Mitsui doesn’t ask—after all, he’s not that close to Rukawa to pry about his family life. 

He’s mostly there for basketball. They do talk about other things though, being in forced proximity. 

Mitsui learns that for such an asocial personality, Rukawa has both Sendoh’s and Sawakita’s numbers in his phone. Apparently they text; the chat log with Sendoh is full of memes (from Sendoh) and the occasional ‘let’s play’ requests (from Sendoh too), while Sawakita’s is all about very specific and niche old basketball tapes. 

Mitsui learns that despite being on a team together, they don’t have each other’s phone numbers. He rectifies that, much to Rukawa’s disinterest. 

Mitsui learns that Rukawa has obvious likes and dislikes, shown through his actions. The things that he eats, the clothes that he wears, the routine that he keeps.

Mitsui learns that Rukawa’s quietness is not about being rude on purpose. He simply doesn’t like to talk. The words he says aren’t intended to hurt either; he’s just blunt. (And can be a bit of an unintentional asshole with the ego he holds.)

Because of this, Mitsui also learns that Rukawa’s stoic facade is not at all intimidating and if he bothers Rukawa enough, the other will respond.

Like for instance:

“You have a surprising music collection,” Mitsui comments when he scrolls down Rukawa’s playlist on a retro iPod. It’s full of English titles, which Mitsui is not fluent enough to read that quickly. “Which ones do you listen to when we’re running?”

Rukawa makes a swipe for his music player, but Mitsui holds it out of reach, anticipating the move. He’d been curious about it for a while now, but Rukawa always seems to tuck the iPod deep into his pockets. Today, Rukawa had carelessly placed it on the table when he went to cook lunch, giving Mitsui his chance to snoop. 

Rukawa scowls at the miss, setting down the plates of zaru soba before making another grab. Mitsui dodges successfully.

“Eat,” Rukawa snaps. “And give that back to me.”

Seeing that Rukawa is so insistent, Mitsui reluctantly hands it back. “I haven’t seen one of these in like, ten years.”

“It was a gift,” Rukawa mutters, fingers whirling around the circle keypad like he was checking if Mitsui messed something up.

The iPod is in pristine condition despite it’s age, so it’s obviously well taken care of. It’s obviously treasured. 

Mitsui winces. “…I should’ve asked. Sorry.”

Rukawa sends him a brief look that’s hard to read. “Here,” he abruptly holds out the iPod into Mitsui’s face. “This is what I listen to.”

Mitsui takes the music player back in surprise as Rukawa turns to sit down and eat first. He plugs in one earbud, taking a seat opposite the other. Before he can put a noodle in his mouth, the opening beat of the song blasts, and it’s so familiar.

Oh baby, baby— 
Oh baby, baby—
Oh baby, baby, how was I supposed to know—

Mitsui laughs. Oh, he knows this song, even if he can’t sing the words. His sister used to be absolutely obsessed with it in her teens. He grins as he reads the artist name from the iPod screen. 

Britney Spears.

When Mitsui scrolls down, there are a lot of songs under the name. He’d never in a million years guessed that Rukawa was a fan.

“It’s not that funny. If you’re done if you can give it back,” Rukawa snaps defensively.

Mitsui holds the iPod out of reach just in case the other reaches to take it back. He lowers it when Rukawa makes no move to do so. 

Show me, how you want it to be— 
Tell me baby, 'cause I need to know now, oh because— 

“I like her songs too,” Mitsui says, humming the tune under his breath. “The tempo is pretty good for pace.”

Rukawa refuses to acknowledge his words, focusing on his soba.

“Mai roni—nassu isu kiru—rin mi—,” Mitsui sings, badly on purpose. He senses Rukawa jump at the sudden volume, and snickers under his breath. “En ai—ai massu konfessu—“ 

“Senpai!” Rukawa yells, sounding pained. “Stop, please stop.”

Mitsui dissolves into further laughter, almost choking on his own spit. Rukawa tosses him a glare, and weeks ago Mitsui would’ve received it with more caution, but now it just prompts further giggling. Rukawa swiftly leans over to yank the device out of Mitsui’s hand, causing the earbud to rip out uncomfortably with no warning.

“Ow!“ Mitsui sniffs, rubbing his ear. “I was just teasing,” he complains. “It’s cute that you have a gap moe.”

“A what?” Rukawa frowns, but it seems that he doesn’t really care that much about knowing what it is because he jabs in the direction of Mitsui’s uneaten plate. “Eat. We’re playing in ten minutes,” he states before he stalks off to the kitchen with his empty dish.

Mitsui eyes the disappearing back for a bit, shaking his head. “I take that back. You’re so not cute,” he mutters under his breath. 

He does, however, continue humming.

When I'm not with you I lose my mind— 
Give me a sign— 

Hit me, baby, one more time.

When Mitsui asks Rukawa if he could accompany him to buy a music player, he expects Rukawa to decline. He isn’t sure if Rukawa is actually angry at him for teasing him about his music tastes, but Rukawa agrees, so he can’t be that mad. Mitsui's reasons for getting a music player are these: One, when they run, Rukawa simply tunes him out with his earphones in. It’s maddening that Mitsui cannot do that without a music player of his own. Two, he used to have a similar habit of listening to tunes while mindlessly shooting hoops—until he broke his walkman accidentally out of anger during his knee injury period, and he hadn’t bothered to replace it when he was out being a bad boy. Three, Rukawa’s iPod blossomed a small want in his chest. It was so nostalgic to see one of those again, and it was cool.

So, instead of their morning marathon, they take a train to Yokosuka. The ride there is kind of awkward, because it’s the first time that they’re hanging out for reasons unrelated to basketball. Luckily, it’s a short one, and the shopping district is overwhelmingly busy, loud enough to make noise for both of them. Mitsui leads the way to the electronics store, peering at the gadgets on display. He’s not much of a shopper, so it surprises him that there are so many to choose from.

He looks to see whether there are any iPods, but of course, the model has been discontinued for years. The alternative is a very pricey looking smartphone from the same brand.

“Shame they don’t make iPods anymore,” Mitsui mutters, grimacing at the price. “Maybe I should look online…”

“You don’t need an iPod to listen to music,” Rukawa inserts the obvious. “Just buy something else.”

“But it’s cool,” Mitsui says. 

Rukawa only raises an eyebrow. “So are you buying anything?”

They didn’t take the train all the way to town for nothing. Mitsui views the selection, eyes almost crossing with number of brands he doesn’t recognise. The store is crowded enough that the sales staff are already occupied with someone else, so there isn’t anyone in the close vicinity, to give him advice. Mitsui tugs Rukawa by the edge of his baggy shirt.

“Hey, what do you think about that one?” he points.

It looks relatively unobtrusive as a black rectangle, and more importantly, it’s cheap.

Rukawa looks at it as requested. “That’s not a good one,” he says after some thought with no further elaboration. “What size are you looking for?”

“Um, like this big…” Mitsui makes a gesture with his hands, but Rukawa just stares at him.

“I meant the size of the storage,” Rukawa says dryly. 

“Oh,” Mitsui coughs, embarrassed. “I dunno…how big do you think I should get?”

“The bigger the better,” Rukawa says immediately. “Or you could get one with an SD card slot for more memory. What’s your budget?”

Mitsui rattles off a number that Rukawa seems to judge. “What? I’m not rich,” he defends. 

Rukawa sighs. “With that amount, you have two choices,” he says, walking down the aisle slowly until he stops to point at one of the music players. “This one is…decent. Mid-size storage, long battery life. The bass isn’t so good, but it’s not that a big of a deal. The other option is this one,” he moves his finger. “It’s lighter, larger storage, but the battery lasts half as long. It depends what you want. For you, I would recommend the second one, since you don’t run for very long. It’ll last well enough for a couple of days without a charge,” he pauses when he notices Mitsui is simply watching him. “…What?”

“…I think this is the longest monologue I’ve ever heard from you.”

“Che,” Rukawa scoffs. “You asked.”

Mitsui scratches the back of his neck. “I asked for company, I didn’t know you were a tech whizz,” he says, turning to look at the one Rukawa recommended.

“I’m not a tech expert, it’s just logic,” Rukawa mutters. “You can read all the specs yourself there.”

Mitsui squints at the small description printed next to the gadget for a moment. “Well. I trust you. I’ll get this.”

It’s remarkably efficient. Mitsui gets the attention of a staff and pays for a new one in a box. He deposits it in his backpack, feeling accomplished but also somewhat lost that they finished the errand in less than fifteen minutes. 

“Where should we…—“ he starts, but then Rukawa is walking off on his own in some direction and he hurries to catch up.

They end up in a sporting goods store. Of course. Mitsui’s not against it, and it’s certainly the kind of store that he goes to the most. It suddenly hits Mitsui that Rukawa probably agreed to come because he wanted to buy some stuff here for himself. Of course.

“Are you looking for something?” Mitsui asks as they head to the basketball section.

“Not really,” Rukawa mutters, but he does gravitate towards the display of shoes on the wall.

“Air Jordans, huh,” Mitsui says, following Rukawa’s gaze. “Another one for your collection?”

They’re looking at an Air Jordan 5, the exact model that Rukawa has on his feet albeit in different colours.

“It’s comfortable,” Rukawa replies, suddenly turning to look at him. “You should get one.”

Mitsui only snorts. “I can’t afford Jordans,” he says, picking up his feet. “That’s why I wear Asics. They’re good enough for me.”

Mitsui’s off white shoes with red stripes may be simple, but they do the job well enough. Besides, after spending on a new music player, he has nothing left over to buy a new pair of shoes. Rukawa turns back to take the Air Jordan he was looking at to try it on the bench. Mitsui finds it a bit weird considering that Rukawa is literally wearing the same model on his feet, so there is no need to try on for size. Mitsui sits next to him, and his idle gaze lands on the shoe that Rukawa had taken off.

“Hey, you’re the same shoe size as me,” Mitsui comments, surprised when he aligns his feet against it.

“I’m not giving you my shoes,” Rukawa says immediately, earning an irritated shove.

“I wasn’t asking!” Mitsui huffs. “I’m just saying. You’re a bit taller than me, so I thought you would be bigger.”

“Shoe size has nothing to do with height.”

“Sure it does. Look at Akagi.”

“He’s big everywhere, he doesn’t count,” Rukawa says. “We only have a three centimeter difference. It’s not that obvious.”

Mitsui pauses at the very specific number. “…How do you know my exact height?”

Rukawa just looks tired at the obvious. “Ayako-san took our heights before the Toyotama match,” he says as he takes off the shoes he was testing. “I’m done. Is there anything you want?”

Mitsui shows his empty pockets in return. Rukawa goes to pay for his new shoes. Thirty minutes since they came, they’ve finished two chores. What efficiency.

When they exit the store, Rukawa seems to have a specific direction that he wants to go again, so Mitsui tags along. It’s interesting to watch what catches Rukawa’s attention. It’s subtle, but his gaze lingers when something catches his eye. Mitsui looks at the the store front of the shop that Rukawa is heading towards to, recognising it as a pet shop. Instead of going inside it, Rukawa loops around it, coming to a stop behind the alleyway. 

Mitsui doesn’t really know what to feel when Rukawa squats down to pet a cat sitting on the pavement.

“…You come here often?” Mitsui asks, bewildered at how Rukawa opens his bag to take out a can of tuna.

“When I buy stuff,” Rukawa answers.

The cat is a white one with orange and black spots over its face. It’s affectionate to Rukawa, rubbing its furry little head on his legs. Mitsui squats and holds out his hand, earning only a curious sniff before the cat returns to rub on Rukawa impatiently as food is placed on the ground. 

Mitsui smiles at the scene. “You could keep a cat.”

“My parents don’t like pets,” Rukawa says. “I will when I move out.”

“Move out?” Mitsui blinks, startled at the sudden information drop. “Where are you going?”

“America.”

“What?” Mitsui thinks he stops breathing. “What about the Winter Cup? You’re gonna ditch us?”

Rukawa gives him a weird look. “I’m going to America for university,” he says. “I intend to be the best in Japan before I leave.”

“Oh,” Mitsui sighs, putting a hand over his heart. “That makes much more sense.”

“…You’re going to miss me, senpai?” Rukawa asks. 

It’s almost like he’s smirking. That brat.

Mitsui flushes. “Your skills,” he snaps. “We finally have a good team here, and if you leave you screw that up,” he mutters. “Though, who are we going to replace Akagi with…”

Once the cat has its meal, they go for their own. Rukawa brings them to a MacDonalds. Mitsui comments that after seeing Rukawa cook for so long, it’s surprising that Rukawa would eat this sort of stuff. A fancy restaurant would suit his taste better. Rukawa says that he’s trying to be considerate to his broke senior. Mitsui grumbles, because he really doesn’t have money to spend on a restaurant. They eat their burger and fries in silence.

When they take the train back, it’s nearing to late afternoon. A whole day without basketball, what an accomplishment.

“Hey,” Mitsui nudges Rukawa before they part ways at the station. “It was nice to hang out.”

Rukawa just looks at him.

“You could say ‘I agree’ or something,” Mitsui sighs at the lack of response. “Whatever. I wanted to ask, can you lend me your Britney CD?”

Rukawa looks confused for a moment before that eases into something more wary. “Which one?”

Mitsui shrugs. “Whichever’s your favourite. It’s going to be part of the running playlist.”

“Fine,” Rukawa nods. He watches Mitsui wave and turn to walk off for two seconds before he calls out. “Where are you going?”

“Huh?” Mitsui whips around in confusion. “…Home?”

“My home is that way,” Rukawa points behind himself. He pauses. “…We’re not going to play?”

“….”

“….Whatever—”

“Goddammit,” Mitsui curses, storming back. “One game. One game,” he emphasizes. “Best three out of five.”

“Are you sure?” Rukawa snorts. “I tend to score the first five shots.”

“Shut up—“

The first day of training back at Sohoku is surprisingly lax. Miyagi’s in charge, taking on the new responsibility with ease. Granted, the main problem child (read: Sakuragi) is still at rehab, so practice flows with no disruptions. They run basic drills since Coach Anzai is not around. Mitsui itches to play a game, but most of them disperse right after the practice slot, saying that they have plans for the summer. 

“I’m shocked you’re not dead yet,” Miyagi says to him while they’re washing their faces at the tap. “Normally you look like you want to die after running a lap.”

“Fuck you,” Mitsui says, because that’s an obvious exaggeration. “I did some stamina training the last couple of days, that’s all.”

“Huh,” Miyagi makes a considered noise, and probably would say more if Rukawa hadn’t turned up and loomed behind him, causing him to yelp. 

Rukawa ignores the commotion, holding out a rectangle paper bag. “The CD you asked for.”

“Huh? Oh,” Mitsui takes it dumbly, remembering that he did ask for a music CD. “Thanks.”

Miyagi’s gaze shifts suspiciously between them. “…You guys are friends now?”

Are they? Mitsui finds himself staring right back at Rukawa, who says nothing in response. The silence hangs awkward enough that Miyagi makes a noise in the back of his throat.

“Seriously, what the fuck happened between you two? If you dare fight on my watch—“ he begins threateningly, but the effect is slightly ruined due to Mitsui and Rukawa towering over him.

“No one’s fighting!” Mitsui snaps. “What are you even worried about?”

“May I remind you that you’re the one who punched me first,” Miyagi snorts at him. Anyway, I’m gonna go, unless you guys wanna play a round?” Miyagi hedges, but Mitsui shakes his head. “Fine. See ya.”

Even though Mitsui refuses a game with Miyagi, he ends up back at the court  alone with Rukawa, who bounces a ball in thought. 

Mitsui raises his hand for a ‘come at me’ gesture. “I’m feeling good today. Do your worst.”

Rukawa bounces the ball one more time. “…Your sole is breaking apart,” he says. “Your shoe,” he elaborates when Mitsui simply blinks.

Mitsui raises his left foot and finds that Rukawa is speaking the truth. Fuck. He’d thought his shoes would’ve held out longer, considering he just replaced this pair like four months ago. But then again, he’d never used them so intensely as he has in the past month.

“I win,” Rukawa says, walking off court as Mitsui hops to inspect his broken shoe better.

“That doesn’t count!” Mitsui shouts after him. “I can still play without them!”

A pair of shoes gets tossed in his direction. Mitsui blinks at the white exterior red interior Jordans that land within reach. Rukawa is on his socks, unzipping his bag to bring out another pair of shoes—the ones he bought at the sport store the other day.

“…Are you lending me your…shoes?” Mitsui has to spell it out, just to be sure.

“We’re the same size,” Rukawa cracks his neck after pulling on his new sneakers. “Hurry up.”

“I told you I wasn’t asking for your shoes,” Mitsui says. “Also, you just sweat in them, it’s disgusting.”

Rukawa comes to physically pull Mitsui’s broken shoe off his foot. Mitsui struggles, not really sure why he’s fighting childishly with his junior over shoes. Unfortunately, Rukawa manages to throw Mitsui’s Asics to the other end of the court.

“If you lose you’re going to whine that it’s your shoe,” Rukawa says, shoving the Jordans at him. “Put them on.”

“I don’t whine,” Mitsui grumbles under his breath, pulling the shoes on.

Like he said, they’re warm, due to the fact that Rukawa has been wearing them. Mitsui squirms at the thought—it just feels so weird. But, they are comfortable, and they fit Mitsui’s feet like a glove. Mitsui does a short jog around to test the fit. He can kind of understand why Rukawa wears this one model and this one only.

Rukawa tosses him the basketball when he gestures for it. Just for the hell of it, he stands at the three point line, and shoots a hoop. Yep, still got it.

“That doesn’t count,” Rukawa warns.

“That was the opener,” Mitsui corrects, grinning. “Come on, monster rookie.”

Rukawa bares his teeth. (It’s his smile.)

Mitsui was not exaggerating when he said he didn’t have money for a new pair of shoes at the moment. Not enough for a brand that will last anyway. There’s no point buying those shitty sneakers that will break after a week of use. So, Mitsui ends up borrowing the Jordans for an indefinite amount of time. Miyagi has absolutely everything to say about it the next day when Mitsui turns up for practice with those shoes.

“Dude,” Miyagi snickers at him. Mitsui is thankful both of them are early without the others chiming in on the teasing. “If I didn’t know better, I would say that Rukawa has a crush on you.”

“What?” Mitsui hits him with just reflex. “Don’t be disgusting.”

“I don’t hate you anymore, but I would absolutely never lend you my shoes,” Miyagi professes. “Shoes that I’ve worn. Just worn. It’s weird.”

“That’s what I said,” Mitsui crosses his arms. “We were playing a match, and he didn’t want me to “whine” about a handicap or whatever.”

“Uh-huh,” Miyagi snickers again. “What was that thing he gave you?”

“A CD. I asked for it.”

“And…how do you know he has it?”

Mitsui squints. “Why do you want to know?”

Miyagi shrugs loosely. “When I think about it, I know nothing about that kid. In fact, the first time we properly spoke was before the Sannoh match. It’s absurd,” he laughs. “I’m pretty sure he barely spoke to you too. So, it’s just surprising to me that you suddenly seem close with him.”

“I just hung out with him after the Aiwa match, that’s all,” Mitsui says. “Did some running, played some basketball.” And went to his house, ate his food, went shopping together, had lunch together, like a d—

“Huh.”

“He’s not a bad kid.”

“Huh.”

“Just spit out what you want to say,” Mitsui sighs.

“It’s nice,” Miyagi says shortly. “I was thinking we should do more team bonding stuff, since we’re pretty much all…you know,” he gestures vaguely. “Rukawa was the main person I was worried about, because he’s such a recluse. It’s good to know that he can come out of his shell.”

“…That sounds like such a captain thing to say.”

“I am the captain, you idiot,” Miyagi kicks him. “You should call me captain, by the way. In fact, I’ll make it a club rule.”

“Over my dead body.”

Miyagi ignores the dry retort. “Ayako said we should plan something. What’s a Rukawa activity that doesn’t involve basketball?”

Mitsui still finds that hard to answer. “Why are you fussing like a mother? He can make friends on his own. He’s buddies with Sendoh and Sawakita.”

“Really?”

“They text. Well,” Mitsui thinks. “A lot of it is one-sided from the other two, but it’s an ongoing chat.”

“And you know this because…?”

Mitsui elbows him. Hard.

“Ow,” Miyagi rubs his arm sourly. “I’m just sayin’. You know a lot about him. Rather,” he wrinkles his nose. “He lets you know a lot about him.”

“We’re just friends,” Mitsui puts a word to it, if it’ll get Miyagi to stop prodding.

“Fine, whatever. He’ll have a good time at the All Japan Junior Camp then. I was planning to get him to record—“

“Wait, what did you say?” Mitsui grabs Miyagi’s arm in shock. “The All Japan Junior Camp? He was chosen?”

“Uh, yeah, why?” Miyagi squirms at the hold. “Dude, let go. It hurts.”

Mitsui immediately releases his hand. “Sorry,” he mutters, but his head is spinning.

All Japan Junior Camp? Rukawa was chosen? This is the first he’d heard of it.

“…I take it that Rukawa didn’t tell you?” Miyagi starts awkwardly. 

“No, he fucking did not tell me.”

After all those weeks of running and one on one matches, he’d thought Rukawa would tell him something like that. It’s even basketball related! Maybe it’s a minor thing, but Mitsui is irrationally furious that he learns about this from a slip up by Miyagi. Rukawa would’ve known he was chosen for the camp during the entire time that they were running and playing basketball together. 

“Maybe he was gonna?”

“When does it start?” Mitsui says over him.

“I suspect he’ll leave at the end of the week,” Miyagi says. “…Uh, are you okay?”

“What?” Mitsui laughs, and inwardly he cringes at how hoarse it sounds. “I’m fine. It’s not like he has to tell me about it or anything. I’m just…surprised.”

“If you say so,” Miyagi says dubiously. 

It turns out that it’s not exactly fine when Mitsui’s first reaction is to grab Rukawa by the front of his shirt when the other arrives.

“Mitsui—“ Miyagi starts warningly, but Mitsui ignores him.

“When were you going to tell me?” he demands. “The All Japan Junior Camp.”

Rukawa looks a the hand on his shirt and then up at Mitsui’s face. “…I was going to.”

“When? Now?” Mitsui scoffs. “Or the day before you leave?”

“…”

Mitsui scoffs again. “I bet you were gonna text me on the train. Better yet, maybe after I called to yell at you. Or even better yet, you’d probably ignore my call.”

Rukawa’s expression is uncomfortable. “Why are you angry?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mitsui throws it back.

Mitsui can’t understand it. Why would Rukawa keep this from him? It’s not like Mitsui would be angry that Rukawa was chosen. Rukawa was chosen for his ability on court, which he demonstrated. Mitsui wasn’t, because he was the one lacking. He knows and accepts this, even if its bitter. Did Rukawa think he couldn’t handle it? They’d been playing basketball together so much, and not once did Rukawa ever stop to think it would be a nice piece of news to share?

He guesses they aren’t really friends after all.

But then, Rukawa had told Miyagi?

Goddammit.

“Okay, okay, time out!” Miyagi shouts, swatting Mitsui’s hand to make him let go of Rukawa. “There will be no fighting in my tenure! You two, go outside and sort this out,” he pushes at both of them to get out of the court. For a small(er) body, Miyagi is strong enough to physically push two reluctant bodies out of the door. “You’re not allowed back in until you kiss and make up!” 

The door slams shut. 

It opens again. “I meant that figuratively!” 

It shuts.

“Well?” Mitsui crosses his arms. 

Rukawa thumbs the strap of his backpack in silence.

“Back to your golden shut mouth again, I see,” Mitsui mutters. “You know what? Forget it.”

Before Mitsui turns to open the court doors, Rukawa grabs the back of his shirt. “Senpai,” he says. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Mitsui stills. 

“My parents want me to visit some relatives there, before the camp starts,” Rukawa continues, hand releasing the slack on Mitsui’s shirt. “I didn’t tell you yet because…” he exhales quietly. “…I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Mitsui purses his lips. 

Rukawa looks angry, but at himself. “…What difference would it make, anyway?” He says instead. “It’s not like it’s goodbye forever.”

“That’s not the point,” Mitsui retorts. “Getting into the All Japan Junior team is a big thing,” he says. “Friends tell each other stuff like this. Come on, you lent me your fucking shoes,” he stares at his feet. “Why was this so hard?”

When Rukawa keeps his mouth shut, Mitsui feels so tired of all this. Seriously, he thought he’d finally broken some barriers past the walls Rukawa keeps, but apparently it’s not enough. Without a further word, Mitsui turns to let himself back into the court once more.

And once more, Rukawa catches the back of his shirt. 

Except this time, Rukawa does more than tug his shirt. He also pushes Mitsui back against the door, shoves his arm against Mitsui’s chest, and presses their mouths together.

Mitsui’s brain exploding into full blown confusion and panic is an understatement. He freezes for the  entirety of the three second kiss, eyes wide and hands pressed uselessly against the door. Rukawa’s lips leave him with a gentle exhale. At this distance, he is suddenly aware that Rukawa has ridiculously long eyelashes.

For the next ten seconds, no one says anything.

“…Miyagi said figuratively,” Mitsui manages, words thick on his tongue. 

Rukawa still has him pinned against the door. “Senpai,” the younger looks annoyed. “I didn’t tell you because it hurts.”

“W-what hurts?”

“My chest,” Rukawa says bluntly, and he still sounds angry. “I didn’t know what to do about it. So I didn’t tell you.”

Mitsui stares. 

Rukawa drops his arm with a hard exhale. “You’re blocking the door.”

Mitsui can only look on dumbly as Rukawa gently pushes him to the side so he can enter the basketball court like he didn’t just kiss Mitsui on the fucking mouth. Dimly, Miyagi’s ‘so you guys kissed and made up?’ call passed over his head, including Rukawa’s short ‘yes’. 

“—Mitsui! Mitsui?” Miyagi comes to physically shake him. “What are you zoning out for? We’re starting.”

“Huh? Oh.”

Mitsui is barely conscious throughout practice. He inevitably gets hit by a ball to the face from being so distracted. As Miyagi nags at him while he lies on the floor, dazed from the impact, Rukawa comes to kneel by his head, peering over his face.

“I’ll take him to the nurse’s office.”

“Yeah, let him lie down for a bit. I dunno what’s up with him,” Miyagi says. “…Did you guys really make up?” 

Rukawa already has Mitsui’s arm slung over his shoulder to prop him up. “I did.”

The nurse’s office is empty considering it is not term time, but it is open for their use of the beds. Rukawa sits them both on the edge of one, letting Mitsui automatically curl his hand over his face where the ball had hit. 

“…This is why I didn’t want to tell you,” Rukawa suddenly says.

“You didn’t tell me shit!” Mitsui retorts, groaning. “Why did you—why did you…do…that?”

“Senpai, don’t be an idiot,” Rukawa says bluntly.

“Yeah?” Mitsui snorts. “Maybe I have to be one, if you insist on never saying what you mean!”

Rukawa grabs Mitsui’s shoulders so abruptly that Mitsui thinks he’s going to be kissed again. Instead, Rukawa faces him with a direct glare.

“I don’t like the thought of being away from you. So I didn’t tell you,” he practically snarls. “Is that clear enough for you, Mitsui-senpai?”

It kind of sounds like Rukawa….

…has a crush on him?

Seriously? What the fuck. 

Mitsui is going to punch Miyagi in the face for jinxing it.

“I…I….” Mitsui manages, grimacing. “…You don’t like me,” he says, like he’s trying to convince himself. “You—…”

“I cook you food,” Rukawa stares at him. “I let you into my house. I went out with you,” he continues to list, which, Mitsui would argue are very normal friend things, right? Right? “I gave you my shoes.”

Okay, okay.

“But—…“

Seeing Mitsui flounder, Rukawa turns away. “The camp is for three weeks. When I come back, I want an answer.”

An answer to what?

“I’m going back to the court,” Rukawa says before he simply ups and leaves.

Mitsui is left with a bigger headache then before.

Hit me, baby, 
One more time.