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In his third year he was made captain not because he was the most ideal person but rather because there wasn’t anybody else left to compensate for Imayoshi’s previously steadfast lack of human empathy. Beyond the second years, nobody trusted Aomine, and Sakurai’s leadership was questionable at its very best. So truthfully speaking, Wakamatsu’s number 4 jersey read more along the lines of a farcical shot in the dark made by Harasawa-sensei than any sort of real compliment. Not that Wakamatsu himself minded, all that much. He bought a pair of night-vision goggles to go with it instead.
Aomine wore jeans after school, and continued to miss as many practices as he could hastily stuff down his pockets. Wakamatsu called this bluff by striking up amicable conversation with Hyuuga Junpei (albeit reluctantly), his efforts rewarded at the end when he secured a practice match with Seirin in July. Within two weeks Aomine was arriving earlier at the gym than anybody else on the team. There were probably less roundabout ways of catching Kagami Taiga’s attention, but Aomine had basketball and basketball had always had Aomine.
“I think you’re silly to have thought he wouldn’t come,” Sakurai told him, in between bites of his lunch. They were sharing their lunch break together today, outside the gym doors and on the quieter side of the lawn. “Aomine-kun, I mean.”
“Heh,” said Wakamatsu. “You think Imayoshi would’ve been proud of me?”
Sakurai answered earnestly. “If you’ve got anybody to thank, it’s probably Kagami-kun.”
“Is that right.”
Sakurai, contrary to Aomine’s successful reformation, was turning into a regular nuisance. As the newly elected vice-captain, he followed Wakamatsu around dutifully and became more attentive to this quiet outlet of diligence than Wakamatsu could have imagined or given him credit for. It was probably just an ass-kissing tactic–really, what else could it have been? Wakamatsu didn’t like to make inferences about ulterior motives. The sun was still too warm on his back.
“…You’re staring at me again, Wakamatsu-senpai,” said Sakurai, at this point. He had the nerve to blush. “I-Is it my bento? I’ll make you one tomorrow too, if you’d like. I make one for Aomine-kun too, so it’s not much trouble at a–”
“Stop making them for Aomine,” Wakamatsu interrupted him gruffly. “You’re spoiling him too much.”
After a moment of consideration, Sakurai spoke up. His voice was small. “If it’s what Wakamatsu-senpai wants, then I’ll stop.”
“Why’s it got to be what I want?”
Sakurai shook his head. He didn’t meet Wakamatsu’s gaze. “Because. I-I’ll listen to you.”
“And what exactly do you want, Sakurai?”
Another pause. Sakurai snuck a glance at Wakamatsu quickly, and seeing no visible emotion on his captain’s face, he reached forward, his fingers trembling a bit, and put his hands on Wakamatsu’s shoulders. Sakurai’s grip was soft and strong–it reminded Wakamatsu of the way he looked when he was clutching a basketball. And then he did the unpredictable. He leaned down and pushed a soft kiss into Wakamatsu’s mouth.
“…So that’s what you want.”
“…”
“Funny. Thought you always had a thing for Imayoshi.”
“I-I just like basketball captains.”
“What the fuck, so if Aomine was made captain you’d do this to him too?”
“N-No, I’m sorry, I don’t mean it like that!”