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Rin is leaning against the wall, pulling his shoes over his feet when his mother appears in the hall, bathrobe pulled tight around her waist, her feet shoved into a pair of too-small slippers.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you?” She yawns, stray locks of hair slipping out of her ponytail.
Rin sighs, reaching for his suitcase. “Ma: we’ve been over this,” he says, his fingers curling around the handle, but not tightening; not just yet, “just – go to work, okay? It’s fine. Thank you, so much: but it’s fine.”
“You just got in from America,” his mother mutters, “and here you are – off to boarding school in Tokyo almost as soon as you walked through the door – ”
“Mother,” Rin feels his shoulders drop, “I’ve been back for a week: and besides, I’m here for the boarding school in Tokyo, remember? – look, I’ll call you, okay? I’m going to miss my bus.”
His mother chews her lip and looks as though she wants to say something else, but decides against it, shrugging her shoulders, instead, and nodding, as if to say off with you, then. She follows him to the door.
“Be safe,” she calls, when he is half-way down the steps, “I love you!”
There is a hitch in her voice, and Rin stops, at the end of the drive, hefting his backpack, the suitcase coming to a shuddering halt at his knees. She is standing in the doorway, hair mussed, wearing a tired smile. She waves, when she sees him look back.
Rin feels the corners of his mouth curve upward, almost involuntarily. “Bye,” he says, and raises a hand, “love you too.”
***
The first time Rin sees Haruka, is at the gym after classes are over on his first day at his new school, and Rin has just walked in through the double doors to see a dark-haired boy jump, fake, and sink a three-pointer into the basket, all the while standing just behind the midcourt line: and then Gou appears, seemingly materializing out of no-where, dark red ponytail bouncing across her shoulders.
The boy is obscured from Rin’s view. Rin focuses on Gou, in an attempt to avoid following him with his eyes.
“Niichan,” Gou exclaims, and she curls her hands around Rin’s arms, tilting her head back and smiling up at him. She’s starry-eyed, the way she’s been every time she’s looked at him since they were little kids, and a sudden surge of affection pools in the pit of Rin’s stomach and he smiles back, almost inadvertently, in the face of her, “you came, after all!” Rin can almost hear her unsaid I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away (despite your moaning and grumping and complaining).
“Guess you know me too well, huh,” Rin tells her, casting a surreptitious eye around the court. The black-haired boy is now talking to another player – or rather, listening to the other player speak. Rin can make out olive-green hair and an open, nice-guy grin.
“You’re going to be surprised,” Gou says, a frank note of glee in her voice, “we’ve got some really, really good players.”
Rin says, “yeah?”, and finds himself smiling, again, when Gou nods, her eyes sparkling. “Okay,” Rin drops his chin and gestures towards the center of the court. “Who’s that guy?”
Gou follows his gaze. When she looks back, her eyes are wry, the corner of her mouth pulling up into a crooked smile, and Rin notes, with an irrational surge of belligerence, that there is a smug quirk to the set of her eyebrows.
“Oh,” she says, and decidedly crosses her arms, “that’s Nanase Haruka-senpai. He’s our shooting guard.”
Across the floor, Haruka abruptly looks up, and Rin realizes, belatedly, that he’d been staring, openly, and he looks away, but not before his eyes meet Haruka’s startlingly blue ones. It is only for the fraction of a second: the briefest of moments, but Rin feels a sudden jolt spark at the base of his spine.
Is this what it’s like, being struck by lightning? Rin thinks, and turns back to Gou, who is saying,
“Mikoshiba-buchou – he’s our captain: he plays power forward and niichan, wait till you see him dunk – he’s incredible – ”
Rin nods and hmms in all the right places, but tunes her out, mostly, in favor of mentally berating himself for being such an idiot and what do you think you’re doing, Matsuoka - ?
-and when he looks up again, he finds that Haruka is looking back.
***
Joining up, Rin discovers, isn’t much of a hassle at all, thanks in part (in full) to Gou.
She flashes a smile at the captain, a tall, red-haired, gold-eyed senior a hand’s breadth (in shoulder) away from being a giant (as far as Japanese high schoolers go) and says,
“Buchou, this is my big brother Rin,” and Mikoshiba practically melts – for Gou, that is; Rin gets a friendly but put-together smile, a nod and a teasing,
“Can’t talk for yourself?”
Which, of course, prompts Rin’s best, most terrifying stony-eyed glare (Mikoshiba’s grin does not falter, however, and Rin is impressed in spite of himself) and a,
“Matsuoka Rin. If you’re gonna give me crap about my name I’ll repay you in full on court. – 177cm, 68 kg: and I can play any position.”
Mikoshiba’s grin widens, revealing canines rivaling Rin’s own. “Gotta love kids with attitude,” he says, and nods towards the center of the court. “Get yourself a practice jersey and step up. Let’s see your moves. Ryuugazaki!” This last is a shout directed at a blue-haired player running through basic dribbling drills across the floor. “Get over here: you’re playing one-on-one with Matsuoka!”
Ryuugazaki stumbles and nearly drops his ball. “Matsuoka?” he asks, adjusting his glasses with the width of his hand. Mikoshiba claps Rin across the shoulders.
“Yeah – Matsuoka,” he says, “and just so you know, boys, you’re playing for forward. Winner gets a spot in the starting lineup.” He crosses his arms, as if to say impress me.
Rin takes a deep breath, rolling his shoulders, sizing up his opponent. He and Ryuugazaki are about the same height, and have similar builds, too, but Rin’s got a feeling that Ryuugazaki’s rather green, and won’t last if pressured enough, and Rin’s good at giving people pressure.
“Niichan,” Gou tugs at his sleeve, “here’s your jersey,” and she hands him a folded-up bundle of net fabric. It is a garish shade of yellow. Rin, pulling it over his head, hopes the team’s actual uniforms are a more tasteful color.
The court is clear; the other players have gathered to the side, to give them space, and Rin walks over to the center, a little swagger in his step, cracking his neck once he is in place. Intimidation techniques. Rin’s always loved putting on a show – and besides, the game doesn’t start with the tip-off, but with the arrival of the players on court.
He is pleased to see Ryuugazaki’s got fight in him; he’s facing Rin with his chin up and a steely sort of determination in his eyes, no semblance of his earlier clumsiness in the steady fingers wrapped around the girth of his basketball. It’s never any fun, beating a weak opponent.
For a moment, neither of them move. Rin can hear his heart pounding in his ears, an anticipatory burst of adrenaline coursing through his veins, the rhythmic thud-thud of Ryuugazaki’s dribbling the only sound in the gym:
And then Ryuugazaki dashes forward, towards Rin’s left, crossing the ball over to his right; Rin smiles, hard, and pivots on his left foot, ending squarely in front of Ryuugazaki and cutting him off.
Ryuugazaki feints, this time, towards the left again, but the point of his foot gives him away; Rin is ready for him, crowding him backwards, away from the basket.
He can see a muscle twitch in Ryuugazaki’s jaw; Rin hears him take a deep breath, through his nose, as if to calm himself, sweat dotting his brow. Rin’s own breathing is calm, steady, shoulders relaxed. Ryuugazaki flounders, for a moment, apparently hesitant: and then he seems to throw caution to the wind, attempting a straight drive past Rin – and Rin lets him go, over the line and into the lane, moving up to defend as Ryuugazaki straightens out of his jump shot.
Rin blocks it with the palm of his hand. The ball rolls to a stop just inside the sideline.
“You let me take that shot,” Ryuugazaki is breathing hard. He reaches up to adjust his glasses, and Rin shrugs.
“Wanted to see what you’d do,” he says, and decides against remarking on Ryuugazaki’s apparent lack of imagination.
The game resumes, and Rin is gratified to discover he was right; Ryuugazaki’s attempts at scoring are progressively more desperate as he tires, gaps opening up in his defense:
His left side is wide open, Rin notes, and wastes no time cutting in and stealing the ball, exhilaration sparking in his stomach despite the ease of the steal as he makes off, down the court and towards the basket.
There is a little skirmish, under the basket; Ryuugazaki comes in to block, and Rin, with a nod and a smile to dramatic irony, pushes past him with the same cut-and-dash Ryuugazaki had opened the game with, and slams the ball in to the hoop, one-handed.
He hangs there, suspended for a moment, before dropping to the floor in a low crouch.
Ryuugazaki is giving him a wide-eyed stare.
“You haven’t been playing long, have you?” Rin runs his fingers through his hair, lifting his fringe off his damp forehead.
Ryuugazaki shakes his head.
“Yeah, I thought so.” Rin gives him a smile. “You’ve got yourself off to a good start, though. Thanks for the game, Ryuugazaki-kun.”
Ryuugazaki says, “-it’s Rei,” and then immediately looks panicked, as if he’s said something he didn’t mean to; there is a burst of high laughter from the sidelines, and, out of the corner of his eye, Rin can see a blond-haired kid doubled over, clutching his stomach.
“Okay,” Rin says, “thanks, Rei,” and he walks over to where Mikoshiba is standing, on the sidelines, arms crossed over his chest.
Mikoshiba gives him a considering look. His eyes are a deep gold, Rin observes, and is surprised he didn’t notice earlier.
“You let him past you,” Mikoshiba states.
“What of it?” Rin says, “I made sure he didn’t score, didn’t I?”
“Bit of a wildcard, aren’t you?” Mikoshiba’s grinning again, a flash of white teeth scissoring across his face. “Well, I’m a man of my word: so congratulations, Matsuoka, and welcome aboard the regulars.”
There is a flicker of movement, in Rin’s peripheral vision, and the heavy weight of someone looking directly at him, and Rin knows, without looking back, that it is Haruka.
***
end.