Work Text:
“Mit-chan?”
It’s been a while since Mitsui last saw Hotta, and he knows the gang still hangs out at this spot. Hotta has an ice lolly in his mouth, wrapper crumbled and stuffed into his pocket.
“Yo,” Mitsui nods from his position leaning against the wall of the alleyway next to the conbini. “Where’s the rest?”
Hotta bumps him with his wrist in greeting.
He shrugs. “They bought a game recently. It’s summer.” Too true, there’s nothing fun about being a delinquent during the summer if there are no rules to break. “Thought you were at practice?”
“It’s ended.”
Hotta slides down next to him as they squat against the wall. “So what’s up?”
“I haven’t seen you in a while, so,” Mitsui says, but he looks distracted. “…Let’s go karaoke.”
“What? Now?” Hotta munches on his ice, breaking it in half. “I don’t mind, but…”
“My treat,” Mitsui insists, tugging his arm. “Come on.”
Hotta follows. Although Mitsui regrets bumming off for two years, he doesn’t regret that he’s friends with Hotta and the rest. Sure they are known to be a rough gang, but they are good friends. They’d never once pressured him to drink or smoke or do actual bad things, like the kind of things that he’d go to jail for. They simply messed around with fighting, and nothing really happened on the scale of hospitalisation except that one time with Miyagi. That, was wholly Mitsui’s fault. He was the one who instigated it. Even the second time, with Tetsuo—the other had been there to support Mitsui. He wasn’t an adult that was purposely messing with high school kids.
Mitsui sighs, wondering if his past sins can ever really be forgiven. Coach Anzai is gracious and an angel, so of course he takes Mitsui back. But the rest—Akagi, Kogure, and Miyagi, especially Miyagi…he did ruin the latter’s life for a while. It’s sometimes weird that they chat like friends nowadays, and Mitsui never really stops waiting for the ball to drop.
Ah wait, didn’t Rukawa get injured in that second fight too? No fuck, he wasn’t supposed to be thinking of Rukawa. He came out specifically to not think of Rukawa.
“Mit-chan, the karaoke’s here,” Hotta hooks his finger at the back of Mitsui’s collar when he walks past it without stopping. “What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing,” Mitsui says too quick for it to be just nothing. “Should we call the rest? I can book a room for a couple of hours.”
“I thought your mom was restricting your pocket money,” Hotta’s eyebrows furrow.
Ever since he got into that first fight with Miyagi, he’d been iced out with his allowance. If Mitsui had to admit, his family is quite affluent. His father holds a high position in a big company, so he’s well paid. Mitsui’s had the kind of childhood where he could get anything he wanted, and thankfully he wasn’t that of a rambunctious child. He was mostly obsessed with basketball. It was only when he was rebelling as a punk did he go overboard with his spending, throwing money at karaoke while playing truant. His mother saw the credit bill and immediately confiscated his card. Now, he only gets limited cash for food. Admittedly, he’s not the best with budgeting, so it’s no surprise that he runs it out quickly during the week. He hadn’t been lying to Rukawa about his empty wallet.
Goddammit Rukawa.
“My shoes fell apart the other day,” Mitsui says, unconsciously kicking his heel on the ground. He’s wearing the Jordans—shut up, he just hasn’t gotten around to replacing it. “She gave some money to buy new ones and it’s more than I need. It’s all good. So? How long shall we stay for?”
Hotta gives him a look. “…Just the hour,” he says to the girl at the counter. “Just two of us.”
They get shown a small room by a disinterested hostess, who closes the door behind her once they indicate they know how to work the machine. Mitsui puts his feet up on the couch, grabbing the remote to flick through the songs.
“If you want something eat, you can just order,” Mitsui says passingly. The indicator on the screen drops with every button he presses, and when it comes to B and inevitably Britney Spears, he starts pressing it down harder. It selects the option. “Fuck,” he swears. “No, no, no, go back, go back—“
“Mit-chan,” Hotta’s voice echoes into the microphone, causing Mitsui to yelp.
“Oh shit, you scared me!”
“Something’s up with you,” Hotta continues into the mike. “Let’s talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Mitsui mutters. “—Wha?” He blinks when the screen shows its song selection, transitioning into the music video.
Oops! …I Did It Again
“Why did you chose this song?” Mitsui demands, lunging for the other remote that Hotta was toying with. “I was looking for something else!”
“You don’t want to talk, so let’s sing,” Hotta grins. “I like this song.”
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
“I think I did it again—…I made you believe we're more than just friends—” Hotta croons as he follows the katakana lighting up in colour. Another time, Mitsui might be impressed that Hotta’s pronunciation is better than his. “Oh baby, it might seem like a crush….but it doesn't mean….that I'm serious—“
This time, Mitsui wants to bang his head against the TV. On screen, the blonde singer belts out the tune while Hotta is snapping his fingers with the beat.
“Mit-chan, why are you here if you don’t want to sing?”
'Cause to lose all my senses—
That is just so typically me—
“Please, just change the song,” Mitsui begs. “Please.”
Hotta eyes him for a moment before he presses a button on the remote. The music immediately stops, plunging the room into silence.
“I didn’t know you have a thing against Britney,” Hotta says.
“I don’t—…” Mitsui exhales. “It’s not about Britney.”
It’s not about Britney, but he’d been listening to Rukawa’s CD, and, you know, Rukawa lent it to him, and it’s so catchy, it totally helps when he’s shooting hoops mindlessly, but not, you know, helpful at all that it all started with Rukawa—
“Then it’s about…?” Hotta prompts, but all he gets is a shake of the head. “Something happened at practice?”
“You could say that,” Mitsui mumbles.
“If it’s too much, you should tell Miyagi to back off,” Hotta suggests. “You guys did well at the Inter-High. There’s no need to rush it, is there?”
“What?”
“You’ve been pushing yourself,” Hotta says. “Have you even rested? Since you got back, you’ve been busy all the time.”
Mitsui freezes. Well. He’d been hanging out with Rukawa—who he is not supposed to be thinking of right now!
“It’s not like that, Norio,” Mitsui sighs. “I was just…playing basketball. Recreationally,” he adds. “It wasn’t training. Training just started last week.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“There’s no problem—“
“Mit-chan,” Hotta sounds tired at this point. “I’m going to call Tetsuo-san, he can beat it out of you—“
Mitsui growls, tacking Hotta before the other can take out his phone. They grapple on the couch. Mitsui hisses when he gets a knee in his stomach, but he also does manage to pry the phone out of Hotta’s fingers and almost throws it across the room, if not for Hotta grabbing his wrist tightly.
“If you break that, you’re buying me a new one.”
At the threat, Mitsui reluctantly lets go. He knows he’s being childish. He knows Hotta has noticed something is up with him, and indulged him to go to karaoke when in fact he really doesn’t want to sing at all. He knows Hotta could really beat his ass if the other wanted. He sits up, pulling his feet on the couch too.
“Have you ever been kissed by a guy?” Mitsui throws it out there.
The answer is a deafeningly awkward. “Uh…no?”
“I guessed so,” Mitsui mutters under his breath. “Ugh, fuck. Fuck!”
Hotta lets him throw a small tantrum for a bit. “…Have you?”
“Have I what?” Mitsui’s voice is muffled by his knees.
“Been kissed by a dude.”
Mitsui wails. Sort of. He makes a low whining noise of frustration. Fuck Rukawa. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it. I mean, who would, if their junior, who has a well-earned reputation for being a one track mind on basketball and basketball only, just randomly pinned him against the door and kissed him and then sort of…confessed?
Mitsui ends up telling Hotta most of it. The initial meets. The running. The friendly basketball matches. The Britney CD. The shoes, that he’s stupidly still wearing. And, well, the kiss. To Hotta’s credit, the other simply listens without an expression.
And then he just says, “Seems like he likes you. What’s the problem?”
“That’s exactly the problem!” Mitsui bursts out, nearly tearing his hair out. “Rukawa is—….he is…he’s a basketball freak!” Hotta absolutely does not comment on that hypocritical statement. “How can he like me? If he’s jealous of my three-pointers I can understand that, but he—he—he kissed me!” The voice goes quite shrill. “I’m a guy! Does that mean he’s gay? And he wants some kind of answer when he gets back? Answer to what specifically?” he groans. “What the fuck am I supposed to do?”
Hotta reaches for the intercom and orders them two cokes and a plate of fried chicken wings. Mitsui spends the next fifteen minutes stuffing his face with food just so he can never revisit his embarrassing outburst again.
Hotta slurps on the coke. “Feel better?” he asks after Mitsui eats like seven of the wings rapidly.
Mitsui shakes his head vehemently.
“…I don’t understand why you’re freaking out,” Hotta says finally, ignoring the ‘I’m not freaking out’ protest. “If you don’t like him, just turn him down. It’s not like you’ve never been confessed to before.”
It’s true that Mitsui have had girls come up to him to give him love letters. Well, it’s only two, really. Mitsui was the middle school MVP, of course he drew some attention. But Rukawa is not like the girls. For one, Rukawa is blindingly male. Moreover, Rukawa didn’t seem to be the type ever bothered by romance. Mitsui knows Rukawa has a fanclub within the school, and some of the girls even regularly come to watch their matches, but he’s never even sent them a glance. Secondly, they’re friends, even if the title was late given. It’s not like Mitsui can ever go back pretending that Rukawa didn’t kiss him, or that he didn’t tell Mitsui point blank that he likes Mitsui near him. Thirdly, they’re in the same team, which builds on more reasons why this never should have happened. They’re the starting regulars. If their dynamic is off, it’s going to affect their play. Fuck, Mitsui will never get anywhere in the Winter Cup. He was stupid to think he still had a chance to shine.
Hotta slaps him behind the head, earning a strangled cough.
“W-what did you do that for?”
“You’re spiraling.”
“I wasn’t—“ Mitsui tries to deny, but its futile. “…Fine. I am.” He pauses when a thought comes to mind. “You don’t seem shocked or anything. About, you know, that a guy….” He gestures helplessly.
“My lil bro has a boyfriend,” Hotta shrugs. “It’s trendy now.”
“Huh,” Mitsui goes back to worrying his thumb under his teeth. “It’s not like I’m gay or anything, you know?”
“Then turn him down.”
“But it’s Rukawa,” Mitsui tries to explain. “It took weeks for me to get chummy with him. What if I…break his heart? What if he hates me? What if he quits the team? Then it’ll be my fault—”
“Surely you’re not going to kiss him back because you pity him,” Hotta says dryly.
“Of course not!”
“You can kiss him back if you like him.”
“What?” Mitsui’s head whips up so fast he earns a cramp.
“That’s an option, you know,” Hotta stares. “You’re wearing his shoes.”
“Fuck!” Mitsui cries. (He will absolutely reject any recounts from Hotta about this dramatic breakdown later.)
“Mit-chan,” Hotta looks far too relaxed at this scene. “Look, if you’re confused, why don’t you just call him and talk it out?”
Hotta gives reasonable advice, but Mitsui absolutely will not take it. He does have Rukawa’s number, but it’s not like Rukawa’s texted him or anything since the other left. In fact, their chat is completely empty, seeing that they’ve always just met up at the basketball court in the morning at the exact same time, or made their plans the day before. He sighs, pocketing his phone. He’s never agonized about something like this to this extent. It’s embarrassing.
Truth be told, Mitsui knows he can simply tell Rukawa no. That he doesn’t feel the same way. Or whatever question Rukawa had posed in his cryptic words, which is presumably ‘do you like me too?’. He hesitates because he thought he’d gotten to know Rukawa pretty well, well enough to read Rukawa’s micro-expressions and his moods. It turns out that he knows fuck all, because Rukawa apparently likes him.
That he cooks lunch for Mitsui because he likes him, that he invites Mitsui to his house over and over again because he likes him, that he riles Mitsui up into playing game after game to keep him close, because he likes him. That he goes out with Mitsui on shopping trips, showing Mitsui things about himself. Or that he gives Mitsui a two hundred dollar pair of sneakers that Mitsui somehow can’t bring himself to take off.
It’s confusing as hell.
Mitsui tries to think of any reasons why Rukawa would like him, but he mostly comes up blank. Is it his rugged face? His dashing personality? Rukawa has never mentioned anything about his appearance, and Rukawa has told him he whines a lot, so it can’t be it.
It puzzles him.
…Maybe it’s Mitsui’s skill on court?
Hah. Who’s the one at All Japan Junior Camp and who isn’t? It’s clear to see.
“Oops, I,” Mitsui murmurs under his breath. “—did it again….I played with your heart, got lost in the game.” He’s going to kill Rukawa when the other comes back for ruining his head with the Britney playlist. “Oh baby, baby—…Oops, you think I'm in love, that I'm sent from above—“
“Are you singing?” Miyagi disdainfully interrupts the hoop record Mitsui was counting until he got interrupted.
The ball bounces on the rim, landing near the Miyagi’s feet, who picks it up. Mitsui had come to practice like an hour in advance because he wanted to shoot baskets alone. But turns out that he’s not the only one obsessed with basketball, like Mitsui should’ve anticipated.
Miyagi slicks on his wristband and steps on court. “One on one?”
Mitsui shrugs, getting into position.
“Was that Britney?”
Mitsui blinks at the abrupt question, but he scowls when Miyagi just shoves past him in his stupor and tosses a layup into the hoop.
“I wasn’t ready,” Mitsui protests, but Miyagi is smirking.
“You’re on court,” Miyagi says as they crowd back to the middle. “No, really, was that Britney?”
“Yes, sheesh,” Mitsui grumbles. “What about it?”
This time, he’s paying attention to how Miyagi tries to slip past him. He blocks, using his height as an advantage to press and try and steal the ball. Miyagi pushes at him, annoyed.
“Was that the CD Rukawa lent you?”
Again, Miyagi dribbles past him, even managing a three pointer at the line.
Mitsui snatches the next ball. “What’s it to you?”
Miyagi sighs, straightening up. “You’ve been acting weird since he left.”
Mitsui scowls. For the sake of it, he throws the ball where he is towards the hoop—it gets in. Miyagi rolls his eyes.
“The ball didn’t hit you that hard,” Miyagi continues. “Are you still fighting with Rukawa?”
“Give it a rest,” Mitsui huffs, bouncing the ball between his hands. “Didn’t you want a match?”
For the next thirty minutes, they play without speaking. For a smaller build, Miyagi is fierce on court. Maybe he has to be, to survive. Miyagi’s known for his dribbling, and it’s vastly annoying when he’s got hold of the ball, because it’s difficult to get him to let up. In turn, Mitsui takes all the shots he can get once it’s in his hands, relying on his muscle memory to score without even taking the time to aim.
It’s a good game, much more fun than the drills they’ve been doing during official practice. As they sit at the corner after chugging down water, Miyagi kicks his feet.
“Still wearing the Jordans, I see.”
“What the fuck is it to you,” Mitsui snaps, perhaps much more aggressive than necessary.
“You wanna go at it?” Miyagi threatens, but his tone is calm. “Dude, seriously. You threw like three shots yesterday, all of which I know you can do in your sleep. You also let me feint like five times just now. Are you sick?”
“I’m not sick.”
“Right.”
Mitsui drinks nearly half his bottle before he says, “…This is not something I wanna share with you of all people.”
“Okay.”
“I mean, it’s not like we’re friends.”
“Okay.”
“And I did punch your face, and put you into hospital—“
“I was hit by a car,” Miyagi interrupts blandly. “You’re not that strong to send me to the hospital. Mitsui, for fuck’s sake, just tell me.”
Mitsui curses Rukawa one more time. “…Ever had anyone confess to you?” Miyagi moves to hit him on the shoulder. “Ow, what the hell?”
“What kind of question is that?” Miyagi bursts at him, scowling. “You know I haven’t!”
“How the hell would I know?”
“It’s obvious I only have eyes for Ayako—“ he starts, but then he suddenly realises he’d raised his volume and clamps down. “I mean,” his ears flush faintly. “It’s not like I keep it a secret.”
“You don’t,” Mitsui mutters, bland.
“Then?” Miyagi hits him arm again.
“It’s not the same, is it?” Mitsui hisses. “Maybe some other girl confessed to you before.”
Miyagi scoffs. “I’ve been rejected like twenty times,” he says, grumbling a bit. “Anyway, what’s your point? Someone confessed to you?”
“…Something like that.”
“And?” Miyagi presses. “Are you just saying that to brag? I’ll seriously punch you if you are.”
“No!” Mitsui groans, putting his head into his hands. “It’s. It’s about Rukawa,” he spits out. “That day, when you sent us out of the court, he…” he trails off.
Then remembers he wanted to punch Miyagi for jinxing it. He takes a swipe at the other, knocking the side of Miyagi’s head.
“The h-hell?!”
“It’s your fucking fault!” Mitsui hisses. “Why did you have to say that?”
“Say what?”
“That we had to k-kiss—and make up!”
“It’s just an expression?” Miyagi frowns, and he reaches to shove Mitsui back, just because. “You’re so weird today,” he says, a tick underneath his eye. “What, were you gonna tell me that Rukawa kissed you or something?” he snorts.
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…R-really?” Miyagi’s face is doing something where his eyes bulge out. “Rukawa? Really?”
Now that’s the kind of reaction Mitsui expects, not the one he had from Hotta.
Mitsui makes a frustrated noise. “Just fucking kill me.”
It’s quiet for a few seconds, where Mitsui wallows in both embarrassment and misery. Then Miyagi laughs. Like full on hysterical belly laughing, where he wheezes for air. Mitsui tries to kick him, but Miyagi just continues to laugh while covering his eyes that are tearing up.
“It’s not that funny!” Mitsui snarls, hating that his face warms.
Miyagi bursts into another around of giggles. “Oh my god, he really does have a crush on you,” he grins wide. “I was right!” Before Mitsui really does punch him in the face, Miyagi takes a full breath to exhale. “…So. what’s the problem?”
Mitsui grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him vigorously. “What. Am I. Supposed to. Do?!”
“Uh…kiss him back?”
“No!”
“Mitsui,” Miyagi pries his fingers off. “I don’t know what’s happened between you two, and I don’t really need to know the details, but if Rukawa throws the ball into your court, you should give him a straight answer. Else, it’s kind of rude, you know,” he states with surprising seriousness. “It’s takes guts to confess.”
Vaguely, Mitsui already knows this.
“If it’s bothering you that much, obviously you have some type of feelings towards him too,” Miyagi continues. “Which, again, I really don’t need to know,” he reiterates, although he does send Mitsui’s shoes a pointed look. “Just sort it out.”
“It’s not that easy to ‘sort it out’,” Mitsui protests, mimicking Miyagi’s tone at the end. “He’s not a girl. I’m not into…guys.”
“Yeah? Then just tell him you’re straight.”
“But—“
“But what?” Miyagi cocks his head. “Are you bi-curious?”
“What?”
“You know,” Miyagi gestures vaguely. “Like you never questioned it, until now. If Rukawa was a girl, would you say yes then?”
“It’s not just that,” Mitsui deflects. “He—we…I thought we were friends. It was nice, actually,” he admits. “He’s fun to hang out with, and yeah, I…care. About him. That’s why…if I reject him, then we can’t be friends anymore, right? It’s ruined.”
Miyagi scoffs. “You’re just imagining your own outcomes. Rukawa might react differently from what you’re thinking.”
“If Ayako rejected you—“
“She did reject me, thanks for asking,” Miyagi snarls, baring his teeth. “…And we’re still friends, right?” he crosses his arms with a huff. “I haven’t given up on her, but I respect her choice. What’s the big deal?”
“Miyagi…” Mitsui stares. “You’re actually a pretty good guy.”
“Of course I am! Anyway,” Miyagi glares. “If you’re worried about hurting Rukawa, I’m pretty sure it’s more awful to waffle on your decision,” he pauses. “You and Rukawa, huh. I feel like Hanamichi might explode because it’s too weird for his brain to handle.” There’s a devious mischievous grin beneath it all. “I can’t wait to see it.”
“…There’s no me and Rukawa,” Mitsui protests.
“Fuck, I hate indecisive jerks like you,” Miyagi dusts off his pants as he stands up. “It’s time for practice. Get your ass up. You can whine about Rukawa later.”
“I wasn’t whining—“
Is it indecision?
Mitsui tosses in bed at night, because his brain refuses to give it a rest. Two weeks have passed since Rukawa left, so there’s only one week left before he has to face Rukawa. He’s still not entirely sure what he’s going to say. Hotta and Miyagi hadn’t seemed to think it warranted this sort of anxiety inducing panic and stress. If he doesn’t like Rukawa, he can just say no. It’s simple. It should be simple. Mitsui’s never looked at another boy and felt an attraction. He’s never given a thought towards kissing, dating, or whatever, with a boy.
It’s just never come up. He’s always known he liked girls, had some crushes on pretty ones, and of course, jerked it off to porn on his phone. And yet when he thinks of Rukawa, on that day that Mitsui was pinned to the door, he had terrifying felt his heart skip when their mouths had met. In fact, whenever he thinks about the kiss, his chest gets too tight and it becomes hard to breathe. Mitsui doesn’t want to admit that he liked it. But he remembers how Rukawa had looked at him through his eyelashes, expression vulnerable for a split second.
He’d seen that Rukawa wanted it. Desperately.
It curls heat in his groin. It makes Mitsui think that maybe, maybe it could work. Rukawa’s objectively attractive, even if Mitsui’s never really paid that much attention to it before. He knows other people likes Rukawa’s face, his pale skin, his fit physique. Mitsui could like that. And Rukawa’s personality is not something Mitsui dislikes either. Rukawa has his cute sides, like his fondness for cats, or his music tastes, or his odd indulgence to Mitsui’s prodding.
Ugh, Mitsui is basically talking himself into it, isn’t he?
I don’t like the thought of being away from you. So I didn’t tell you. Is that clear enough for you, Mitsui-senpai?
Rukawa never said anything like ‘I like you’, but his words were clear. It’s hard to mistake it for anything else. It’s almost like Rukawa said,
I will miss you.
It’s only a three week camp, and yet Mitsui can’t help but check his phone messages, just in case. It’s of course blank at 3AM in the morning. The backlight of his phone screen is harsh against his eyes in the dark, but Mitsui scrolls down to Rukawa’s number.
He could text. Or call.
But if Rukawa is the one to miss him, shouldn’t Rukawa reach out first? Mitsui turns off his phone screen and flops it back onto the table beside his bed. Stupid Rukawa. If it were Mitsui—Mitsui wouldn’t do these things by halves. He would’ve been it abundantly clear what he wanted and what he expected Rukawa to do.
Not like the unsaid question that he’s supposed to answer.
Mitsui screams silently into his pillow.
This is worse than his graduation crisis.
“Oops, you think I'm in love—“
Whoop. The ball goes in the hoop, barely even touching the net.
Mitsui taps the ground with his feet, fiddling with the next ball under his fingers. “That I'm sent from a…bove—“
Whoop.
“I'm not.”
Whoop.
“That.”
Whoop.
“Innocent.”
Whoop.
Mitsui does a little victory groove as the imaginary beat in his head plays, mostly to celebrate the spectacular form he’d showed all morning. He woke up bright and early to get to the outdoor basketball court, the one Rukawa and he used to meet, since he was feeling so jittery. It’s the day Rukawa is meant to come back from camp, and Mitsui needs something to keep him distracted. Actually, Rukawa never did set a time and place for them to meet, so the next time they’d see each other would be at Sohoku practice, which would be in two days.
Mitsui is an idiot. He relaxes when he realises he wouldn’t have to deal with it today.
Of course, fate has other plans, because he jumps when he notices the figure leaning against the steel grating surrounding the outdoor court.
“Christ!” Mitsui swears, fumbling the ball out of his hands. “How long have you been standing there?”
Rukawa, of course it’s Rukawa, with his sports bag over his shoulder, looks back at him. “Since your last five.”
Mitsui flushes. “Why didn’t you say something?”
Rukawa puts down his bag and walks towards him. Mitsui tenses, feeling like a predator is slowly circling him. Rukawa simply comes up to face him straight, where Mitsui is suddenly very aware of their three centimeter height difference. Or has Rukawa grown taller in his absence?
“I didn’t want to disturb you,” Rukawa says. “Your form is beautiful.”
“A-ah…?” Mitsui stutters at the unexpected compliment. “Thanks?” his face warms. Rukawa’s never said anything close to that! It throws Mitsui off a loop. He clears his throat. “…When did you get back?”
“Just.”
“What, you didn’t go home yet?”
Mitsui peers again at the bag Rukawa was carrying. It is bigger than the one Rukawa usually carries to practice.
Rukawa simply continues looking at him. “One on one. First to hit five.”
This basketball freak. Mitsui snorts, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his arm. He sees Rukawa’s gaze following the action, but ignores it.
“Are you sure?” Mitsui can’t help but tease. “I could shoot five before you get to me,” he demonstrates a perfect shot right over Rukawa’s head before he finishes the sentence. “Just like that.”
Rukawa’s eyes narrow as he goes to retrieve the ball. Mitsui vaguely wonders if it was a smart move to egg Rukawa on like that. After all, Rukawa just came back from a training camp from hell.
“Senpai,” is all the warning Rukawa gives before he lunges with the ball.
There must be something that Rukawa has been doing at the All Japan Junior camp because he’s even more sharp and aggressive than usual, giving absolutely no way to Mitsui who desperately fights to get the ball. Their shoes squeak across the ground, Jordans against Jordans.
A floater.
A hook shot.
A pull-up.
God, Rukawa is showing off. That brat.
Mitsui pants, winded at how Rukawa seems to dodge him with so much ease. This monster has gotten even better in such a short amount of time.
But the game hasn’t ended, and Mitsui is not about to give up just yet. In their next round, he can predict Rukawa’s moves better. Seems like Rukawa had been practicing some specific things that he used to lack over the past few weeks, and Mitsui has always known Rukawa’s weaknesses on court. He steals the ball by his fingertips, whirling around to get his balance. Rukawa is immediately on defense, body shoving at Mitsui, like how he so easily shoved Mitsui against the door.
Mitsui is prepared for it, this time. He steps into Rukawa’s space, almost close enough to consider it a foul. Even in basketball mode, Rukawa makes an unconscious jerk back at the sudden proximity. It’s enough for Mitsui to break from his guard and he flicks the ball upward with his wrist.
Whoop.
Rukawa makes an annoyed noise. “…You cheated.”
“I did no foul,” Mitsui says, hiding his grin. “It’s not my fault that you’re conscious of me.”
“You cheated,” Rukawa repeats, frowning.
Mitsui simply bounces the ball for the next around. Rukawa watches it bounce twice before he snatches it out of Mitsui’s hand.
“If you cheat, then I can too,” Rukawa says, suddenly looming forward.
Oh, he’s going to kiss me, Mitsui distantly thinks as he freezes still. Except, Rukawa leans close, close enough for their lips to touch if it was just a few millimeters more. Rukawa has his gaze intensely on Mitsui, watching his every expression with the not-kiss.
“Mitsui-senpai,” Rukawa murmurs. “I want my answer.”
Mitsui swallows thickly and turns his face away. “…You didn’t ask a question,” he deflects, but Rukawa grabs him by the cheeks. His grip is strong. “Rukawa—“
Mitsui squeezes his eyes shut, because Rukawa’s going to slam his mouth into his, isn’t he?
“You’re not being fair, senpai.”
Mitsui cracks one eye open when Rukawa does not, in fact, kiss him.
“What more do I have to do?”
At that, Mitsui feels his heart twist. Rukawa is looking at him like he’s genuinely troubled, like he’s hit a dead end in a game that he’s losing. Mitsui should feel bad, and he does feel bad, but also he feels terrified at the gleam in Rukawa’s eye. Rukawa is not the kind of person to back down when he’s losing—no, Rukawa is the kind of person to go at it until he wins.
That’s when the game ends.
Against this kind of ego—…Mitsui gives up.
“To clarify,” Mitsui swallows, cheeks still squished between Rukawa’s palms. “You like me.”
Rukawa stares at him before he nods, like he isn’t sure if Mitsui wanted him to respond.
“And you want to…ask me out?”
Rukawa’s eyes dart about in thought. He shrugs eventually.
“What? That’s not it?” Mitsui feels his heckles rise. The fuck. “Then what the hell is your question?”
Rukawa lowers his head a little.
“…Do you still…want to be around me?” he spits it out slowly, hiding his expression with his face angled away.
Mitsui feels his breath hitch, because he’s never heard anything so…so…ugh. While he was agonising over whether Rukawa was trying to date him, he’d never thought that Rukawa hadn’t even considered that far. Rukawa was simply wondering if they were okay, if Mitsui still wanted his company, if Mitsui…didn’t want to avoid him, after learning all that.
Mitsui loses this game, for real.
“Rukawa,” Mitsui murmurs, clasping the other by the nape and pulling him close. “Of course I do. What kind of person do you think I am?”
“…Miyagi-senpai said that you were troubled.”
“Miyagi—what?” Mitsui makes a mental note to punch Miyagi. In. The. Face. “Don’t listen to him. I was fine. I’m fine.”
Mitsui is suddenly aware that because he’d pulled Rukawa close, Rukawa’s hands are now at his elbows. They brush on the underside of Mitsui’s arm, making him shiver. When he looks up, Rukawa turns his cheek to kiss him on the side of his mouth. Mitsui jumps, but Rukawa’s grip has tightened and holds Mitsui still to press the kiss in.
Even if it’s not the first time, it makes Mitsui’s head spin again. “Rukawa—“
His protest slips into mute when Rukawa kisses him harder. And by harder Mitsui means that he forcefully pushes their lips together, where Mitsui feels like they’re going to bruise, until he manages to push Rukawa off for breath. He scans their surroundings quickly, and is at least mollified that it’s empty.
“You can’t just do that whenever you like!” he hisses. Rukawa’s eyebrows furrow, and Mitsui is slightly worried that Rukawa takes it as a challenge. “Look, unless we’re dating, you can’t just kiss me whenever you want!“
“Then let’s do that.” Rukawa states immediately.
Mitsui despairs. “It doesn’t work like that!” he snaps. “Dating is mutual! Just because you want to, doesn’t mean I want to!“
“…Miyagi-senpai said that you were thinking about it.”
Fucking hell. Mitsui will put that shorty’s head underwater.
Mitsui’s jaw tightens. “Y-yeah, okay, I was thinking about it, because I thought you—…I thought you were asking about that! Which you weren’t, apparently,” he mutters under his breath.
Rukawa looks like he’s struggling to follow Mitsui’s complaints. “So you thought about it.”
“I—“ Mitsui snarls, mind in a mess. “…Maybe,” he allows, cheeks flushing pink. “I thought you were serious, so I gave it a proper think.”
“I am serious.”
“I meant serious about going out—“
“What’s the difference, senpai?” Rukawa sounds impatient now. “I want to be around you. I want to be around you all the time. At the camp, I only wanted to see you. I kept thinking about you,” he says, to which Mitsui rightfully shuts up with a reddening face. His hands clutch at Mitsui’s hips. “How much more do you need to think about me, Mitsui-senpai?”
Mitsui is sure Rukawa is completely missing the point, but maybe he isn’t. Maybe he’s hitting it in the bullseye, at the point where Mitsui has been missing.
“…I did think about you too. Too much, maybe,” Mitsui admits finally, uncomfortable. He doesn’t want to lie. He missed Rukawa’s company. And the kissing—well. He can…do that. “Rukawa,” he sighs, feeling stupid for saying this, “Dating a guy…this is a first for me. I’m not…used to the idea…”
“I haven’t either,” comes the blunt reply.
“Right,” Mitsui chews on his bottom lip. “Well. I can…try,” he manages. “I just…the um, physical part is a bit…” he grimaces. “Just, let’s not go too fast on that yet.”
Rukawa considers his words. And then he bumps his mouth with Mitsui’s again, but for only a chaste second this time, before walking off to retrieve his bag in the corner. Mitsui unconsciously touches his lips, heat steaming his ears at the casual affectionate action.
“Senpai, let’s go,” Rukawa calls from the gate of the court.
“Huh? Go where?”
“Home,” Rukawa says simply.
It’s so like Rukawa to just decide for them, without even asking Mitsui if he wanted to come over.
“Are you going to cook for me?” Mitsui looks away to hide the smile growing on his face. “I missed it.”
If Mitsui had turned his head, he’d have seen Rukawa looking in the other direction, with a red tint to his cheekbones.
“…Hn.”