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The basketball misses the hoop for the thirty-sixth time that day. Jyuto frowns, wipes his brow, and waits for the crow of laughter to die down before turning to sigh at Jiro.
"Was that really necessary? It doesn't get any funnier after the nineteenth time… not like it had ever been from the beginning."
Jiro jogs to retrieve the ball. He'd skipped class early and was just chilling with his buds at the public basketball court, shooting some balls and shit -- until a police car rolled to a stop and out came a well-dressed cop.
"Heard some teenage hooligans were making noise around here," Jyuto had said. To which Jiro had fired back, "Fuck around and find out," but by then most of his friends had dispersed. Psh, lame-os.
Jiro dribbles the ball casually, an easy grin stretching his face. As if they should be scared by Jyuto, the guy who's been giving him driving lessons for the past month. Who gives him advice when nii-chan can't, when it comes to real world stuff like job interviews and taxes (Jiro isn't quite at the taxes part but hey, better to get a headstart). And who acts condescending and yeah he kinda is but mostly the dude's pretty lame but not in a bad way. Most of the time, at least.
Jiro dances easily around Jyuto, bypassing his meager defenses to execute a flawless layup. He snickers at Jyuto's grumpy frown. Yeah, he's looking pretty lame right now.
When he turns to pass the ball to Jyuto though, his intuition flares up again -- Jyuto… there's something's goin' on with the dude. It might be the careless way he's thrown his suit jacket off, sleeves rolled up messily in the evening heat, when by all means every action he takes is calculated. Or it might be the skewed glasses he hasn't bothered to fix even though he's downright neurotic about shit like that.
Yeah, Jiro's learned a lot about Jyuto in the last few weeks, and his brain's alerting him that something ain't right. He watches Jyuto clumsily dribble the ball, eyes trained on the hoop just like Jiro told him to for his thirty-seventh free throw, even as an exhaustion that goes beyond physical makes his movements sluggish. He shoots.
The ball pings off the hoop. Jiro is too far away to stop the graceful arc it takes straight towards Jyuto's head. "Uncle Iruma, watch out--!"
Crunch!
Jyuto makes a garbled sound. It'd be more funny if he didn't stagger and nearly fall onto the concrete. Thankfully, Jiro rushes just in time to catch him.
"Yo," he shakes him, "cop dude? Bro, are you okay? Bro??"
Jyuto makes another graceless noise. "Ffff… urguh." His broken glasses barely hang on to the bridge of his nose.
Jiro struggles to get him to a nearby bench, propping him up to sit. He keeps slumping to the side, so Jiro slides next to him as support.
If there was any humor in this situation it's definitely gone now. He hasn't been saying any real words for a few minutes, and Jiro notices how the sweat hasn't stopped pouring down his forehead. Is he overheating?
He spots his backpack and, upon rummaging through it he finds a water bottle. Thank you nii-chan, he sends up a quick prayer and unscrews it, holding it out.
Jyuto doesn't respond. Thinking quick, Jiro splashes some water on his face.
"Hnnngh…"
In his panic Jiro accidentally splashed a bit too much and now Jyuto is soaked. The lack of reaction, however, is even more concerning.
"Hey," he shakes him again, harder this time, dread building, "you got a concussion or something? I dunno how to deal with that. Oh shit oh shit oh shit...!"
“S…”
Jyuto mumbles something. Jiro leans closer. “Didja say something? Please, stay with me man!”
“Sama… toki… Shut up…”
Oh no. Oh jeez, he is really out of it. There has to be something seriously wrong with him. In the middle of googling 'can you get a concussion by getting beaned in the head with a basketball' Jyuto sits up and snatches his hand.
Jiro jolts, almost dropping his phone. Well, sitting up is generous. The hand that's clutching his wrist like a lifeline is the only thing tethering a wavering Jyuto to this world; glossy eyes stare up at him, and he focuses vaguely somewhere on Jiro’s hair.
“S’matoki,” he says again, “shaddup your pretty mouth ‘fore I shut it up with… with… Fuck, I dunno…”
Jiro blinks. It's all the time he has to react before Jyuto begins again, "Sa-ma-tooooooo-ki! The guy's soooooo pretty and for what? Nothing! Absolutely nothin's going on inside his head, 'cept a constant rage boner. And Riou, god, I can't take him anywhere. He loves fuckin' up perfectly normal things! Ugh...
"Why can't they be more like Rosho?"
Abrupt silence after that last sentence. It's said so forlornly, however, that it captures Jiro's attention. His breath catches at the pitiful look on Jyuto's face.
"Because," Jyuto speaks again, and this time he's nearly mournful, "they aren’t Rosho. And I… I don't want Rosho. I want Samatoki."
Whoa. "I want Samatoki. Fucking Samatoki. And I fucking-- I want fucking Riou, even if I gotta eat goddamn spiders for the rest of my life. ‘Cause if it brings a smile to his face, well, guess I'll have to suck it up.”
Is he delirious? He must be, because he’s got on this dopey smile that he’d never be caught dead with in public. It’s a good sign that he’s talking and relatively conscious, or something. Jiro read that on the internet once.
“You do have them though?” Jiro says, haltingly, because he’s still having a hard time wrapping his head around the thing they talked about in the car last time, with the open relationships and all.
“Noooooo,” Oh Jyuto is really getting into this. He turns a complicated look to him, flickering through a multitude of emotions. “Noooo, no no no no noooo. I like Rosho, ya know? Like him tons. He’s super smart. Like suuuuuuuuper smart. Like, we had a whole ‘scussion in the park ‘bout World War Two and the moral-whatevers of consumerist culture and the role it plays in… in… fuckin’ over whoever’s not American, I dunno, I forgot.”
He sighs. That complicated look melts into wistfulness -- the type of wistfulness that comes after mourning something.
But what could he be mourning about? Jiro thinks hard but his brain is unable to come up with an answer. His heart, however, instinctively knows, as he watches Jyuto stare at the setting sun, its twilight accentuating his sad smile. “What are you saying, Uncle Iruma?”
Jyuto blinks slowly. “I love Rosho.” Sighs again, this time with finality. “I treasure him and the love he gives me. And I love giving it back. However… we’re both holding back. We know it too. He’s never gotten over Sasara and I’m… I’m madly in love with my stupid, incomprehensible teammates.”
He doesn’t sound so out of it now, confessing his true feelings to Jiro in an empty basketball court in dusky gloom. He shakes his head. “You’d think Rosho would be a perfect match for me. He’s smart, an ideal partner for my intellect and poise. Able to find a tasteful humor in every kind of situation. Kind, so very kind to me…”
No, his eyes are clear now, no sign of a lasting concussion as he quietly pleads, “Why can’t I be satisfied with what I have now, Jiro?”
Adults are supposed to have their lives figured out by now. But what Jiro sees in front of him is a conflicted man, who has all the people he wants but can’t decide where to commit. Jiro has to take a brief moment to turn away and think to himself, with wide eyes and steepled fingers: this relationship stuff sure is a headache.
From behind him he hears Jyuto sneeze. "The hell, Jiro… Why did you ever think pouring water down my face was a good idea, ugh…”
Jyuto is more alert, thankfully, but definitely peeved. Jiro smiles sheepishly and hands him the nearest dry cloth, which happens to be Jyuto's suit jacket.
He groans, but still takes it to wipe the remaining moisture off his face. The broken glasses lay in Jyuto’s lap, but Jiro still pulls his hat down. The gravity of the situation dawns on him, making feel the need to say something to comfort Jyuto. Even if it ends up wrong at least he can say he tried. “Hey. You know, if you an’ Sensei and MTC can get together, maybe you can work it out after all? It seems like y’all are on the same page.”
Jyuto peeks out from the cloth. “You think so?”
His eyes are barely visible, and he looks so small on the bench. They shine briefly with a childlike hope. Jiro swallows and does his best to nod reassuringly. “Yeah. It seems like all yer wires are, uh, crossed to put it simply. Nothing inherently wrong with that, jus’ gotta untangle ‘em. That’s all there is to it really.”
He shrugs, not meeting Jyuto’s eyes. “I mean I-I feel like I’m dumbin’ it down a lot ‘cause I don’t really know how this stuff works, ya know? You can tell me to fuck off if I’m wrong. Hell, y-you just seemed like you were dying for someone to cheer you up and you’re not a bad guy! That’s not much to ask for right, to be happy-- urk!”
Jyuto launches forward to give Jiro a hard hug. Strong hands hold him in place as he buries his face in Jiro’s blue jacket. He sees shoulders shake with laughter. Then he lifts his face, and boy, the jacket must be really bad at absorbing moisture because Jyuto’s cheeks are still wet. And the open gratitude… oh jeez, Jiro can’t deal. “Oh man, you’re still loopy. How hard did that basketball hit ya, huh? C’mon, up we go.”
“W-where are we going? Ah, my glasses--”
“You ain’t going anywhere with your glasses outta commission,” says Jiro. He throws an arm around Jyuto’s shoulders, holds his wobbling form up, “I’m gonna drive us home.”
“To Yokohama??”
“No, that’s too far. And after the last time we were on a highway... We’re crashin’ at my place. ‘S nearer anyway.”
He takes Jyuto’s silence as hesitation, so he adds on, “Don’t worry. I’ll tell my bros to lay off you. They know you help me out. They’ll respect that.”
Jiro flashes him a smile, to reassure him he’s telling the truth -- and the silence he thought had been worrisome turned out to be…
“Thank you, Jiro. Then I’ll leave the rest to you.”
Jiro starts up the ignition smoothly, whirling to tell Jyuto -- who has his eyes shut in the passenger seat, suit jacket laid out on top of his torso. He’s completely relaxed; he meant it when he relinquished responsibility. Jiro’s not gonna wreck his car.
He trusts him with other things too: his life, his relationships, his troubles, his ups and downs -- all to Jiro. Together, they get on the road home.