Work Text:
“Oi, what’re you doing tonight?”
Rukawa turns his head twenty-five degrees to the right, where a mass of red hair is swaying. Its owner sits with his legs beyond him, pointed towards an endless ocean, eyes set directly at the world beyond the infinite boundaries the two of them had ever known. He looks almost peaceful like this.
“Getting a quick check up with a sports therapist. I want to make sure I’m not straining myself for when I go to America.”
It’s a lot of words. Rukawa isn’t used to saying so much at once, never has been. Lately they come easier, when the salty air sits heavy between them like this.
“America, huh... you’d better not be thinking you can beat this genius that easily.”
Rukawa looks down at Sakuragi once more, his eyes set back on that horizon. Somewhere beyond it lies their dream. Their dream. Rukawa bites his tongue and takes Sakuragi’s practiced words with grace. There’s more important things to bicker about.
“Idiot,” Rukawa mumbles. He crouches down, squatting by Sakuragi’s side. They’re a few feet away, but the distance between them has never felt smaller than the early mornings when they’d sit out just like this. “Why were you asking?”
Sakuragi traces basketballs into the sand. They look more like deformed blobs from Rukawa’s vantage point, but they bring a half smile to his eyes anyway.
“Yohei and the boys came by yesterday. They made stir fried udon, and I’ve got way too much left over.” Sakuragi leans back carefully, always making sure to pay attention to his back. “I can’t eat it all myself. Not ‘cause it’s bad or nothing, I just don’t have much of an appetite right now. Must be ‘cause I’m such a genius I only need half the shit everyone else does. Nutrients and shit.”
Rukawa blinks. “What do you want me to do about that?”
Sakuragi narrows his eyes and scoffs, visibly ruffles. Rukawa’s eyes catch onto how the space between his eyebrows crumples. It’s cute.
“Oh my fucking-“ he looks Rukawa directly in the eye, but the animosity in that look has long floated off far away, “I’m asking you if you want to eat dinner at mine. Seriously dude.”
Sakuragi’s ears are pink. They clash with his hair.
“...Hm. Yeah. Sure.”
Rukawa’s are pink too.
“We arent friends or anything ok? Its just convenient this way”
“Mm.”
Rukawa looks out at the bright, angry, setting sun. Even it can’t bring peace to the loud cheers blooming in his chest. Louder than those of nationals, louder than the NBA, louder than anything Rukawa had ever experienced.
“Oi you stupid fox, say something!”
He doesn’t, simply stands up and pats off the sand from his knees as Sakuragi complains. When he turns around and offers Sakuragi his hand, the other man’s cheeks clash with his hair again. The grip is warm and calloused, sweaty but strong. Rukawa doesn’t pull Sakuragi up and into a hug. He doesn’t push him down and straddle his waist. He doesn’t press his lips to the bright pink and red. Instead he gives himself to Sakuragi, lets the man use him as a rock, hoist himself up with his own strength and Rukawa’s stability.
Sakuragi keeps a hand on Rukawa’s hip. Rukawa keeps his hand on Sakuragi’s back.
It’s only momentary, but as they walk home they don’t lose that connection. First palm to palm, then pinkie to pinkie, and finally the brushing of hands.
The sun sets, reds replaced with cool black and glittering stars. Had Sakuragi been romantic maybe he’d point them out, but Rukawa was no better. The only thing he’d ever comment on was the state of Sakuragi’s home.
(Still the two of them bicker, play, fight. The things that happen that night are for them to know. The things that happen that lifetime are for them to know.)