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Mitsui dragged himself out of the shower.
They had won against Ryonan, they had qualified for the national championship, yet he was feeling like shit. And thanks fuck , he said to himself, you literally collapsed on the floor, you damn idiot .
“Kogure leaves me for twenty minutes and I can't even remember that one has to drink if he's sweating…” he muttered to himself while evaluating the doability of those ten steps that he had to take to get to the changing room’s common area.
“You have to get out of here somehow, if you don't want Gori to come and get you and scold you again,” he said, then he dared.
Shit, dehydration was a total bitch. Everything was spinning, the world seemed to be crumbable, as if its consistency wasn't the right one.
“Ehi, Mitsui,” a shaky voice called, “How do you feel?” Kogure was still there, sitting on a bench, and Mitsui thought that maybe he was waiting for him; his heart gave an extra beat of protest that almost knocked him out again. He would have to stop getting all excited for the things he was thinking; or, at least, he should keep them for when he was sane in body and mind.
“Well, I feel like I'm both drunk and in hangover,” he answered, “What are you doing, still here? I heard Gori saying that you were going away.”
“I told him that I had forgotten something.” Kogure said, barely raising his head in that shy gesture that was a part of him to look at Mitsui. A barely perceptible glance that still burned like fire.
“Did you want to make sure I could stand up on my own two feet?” Mitsui asked before he could bite his own tongue. Damn bad tongue.
Kogure gave him that shy smile that could defrost snowmen at the North Pole: “No… or better, not only,” he looked down abruptly, as if he had said more than he would have liked to. Mitsui left the wall he was holding onto to launch himself on the bench where Kogure was sitting. With an immense act of courage, he held out a hand and put it on his knee: “Hey, Megane-kun… what’s the matter?”
Kogure didn’t answer for a long while; Mitsui didn’t dare to get away nor to interrupt the contact, and the last conscious part of his dehydrated mind thanked whoever was in charge that it was hot enough that he wouldn’t have to worry about getting a cold, even if he was still half naked.
Then, Kogure held out the hands that he had been keeping firmly against his belly; they were visibly trembling.
“I can’t stop trembling,” he said, and his voice was also reflecting the spasms of his hands. Mitsui hesitated, then he held out his arms; as if he had been just waiting for that, Kogure turned a little bit towards him and let him hold his hands.
Mitsui did hold them, not caring about the fact that they were cold and sweaty, he held them firmly and caressed his palms with his thumbs. Kogure inhaled a wet breath, and Mitsui grabbed his wrist with one hand; with his free arm, he hugged him.
“What happened?” he asked, softly.
“I don’t know, it’s…” Kohure huffed, “Everything, I think. The national championship, the coach being sick, the game…”
“Coach Anzai will get better,” Mitsui said, brushing his back with his hand, “Everything else is pretty damn cool, don’t you think?”
“I think that I’ve tried to pretend to be the coach and I failed,” Kogure answered.
“Come again?” Mitsui asked, pushing himself back a little bit.
“I let you in the game even though three of you were collecting fouls, I didn’t notice that you were unwell, I couldn’t prevent…”
“Kogure-kun,” Mitsui interrupted him, “You know that we won, right?”
“Yes, but we could…”
“If you’re going to say that we could have won better, I’ll get angry, so mind what you say.”
“Mitsui-kun, when I saw you collapsing, I…”
“Oi,” Mitsui went, taking his face with both hands, “You're aware that I’m eighteen years old, right?”
“What do you mean?”
“That I’m almost an adult, if I’m a shithead you’re not obliged to remember me how to stay alive,” Mitsui said with a smile, “I mean, it’s not like I started playing yesterday, alright, I’ve been off the court for a while, but not remembering that I have to drink water… that’s the basics, truly.”
“But that’s exactly because I know that you won’t remember, I…”
“Kogure. Kiminobu.” Kogure finally looked up into Mitsui’s eyes, at the sound of his own given name; his eyes were starry, behind his slightly misty glasses.
“Kiminobu, you gave your best. And you were magnificent.”
“I… you don’t have to tell me that just to make me feel better.”
“Good, because that’s definitely not what I was doing,” Mitsui answered, then he put his hands on his shoulder: “Do you want to know how I was feeling during the match, without Anzai on the bench?”
“How?” Kogure asked, even though it was clear that he was afraid of the answer.
“Lost. I kept thinking that soon he would call for a time-out and explain to us what the fuck we were supposed to do, then I turned around and he wasn’t there, and I kept having this intrusive thoughts telling me that it could be forever, and I kept telling myself that it wasn’t so, that he just has to rest for a few days and then he’ll be back, but nothing, it didn’t take hold.” Kogure nodded, listening; he agreed, of course. Mitsui suddenly realised that Kogure had been given the hardest role of them all. They had the game to focus upon, they had to be in play, they had to run, score, prevent Hanamichi Sakuragi from murdering someone, while Kogure was just standing there near the bench, physically feeling the coach’s absence, with Ayako consulting him and the gigantic, tremendously heavy burden of having to somehow make up for Anzai not being there.
It seemed like they had all silently decided that Kogure would have played as the coach for the day, during the match that meant either their elimination or their triumph, and he didn’t even had the masochistic pleasure of being able to think about his own physical tiredness: just the weight of the responsibility, and the fear that his team mates would blame him if he made a mistake.
Not that anyone would have dared to, Mitsui thought as he distractedly caressed Kogure’s cheekbone with the back of his hand: the silent agreement wasn’t a dodgeball match with an unaware player. They had put Kogure in that role because he was the only one they would trust as a coach.
“But then I saw you, standing there, ready to jump, talking to Ayako and the boys… and I could see that you were panicking, yet you stood there, you didn’t run, you didn’t scream, you didn’t cry,” he said.
“The whole prefecture would have mocked me,” Kogure said.
“I’m pretty sure that Fujima would have reached you to scream a little bit together.”
“Oh, stop it.”
“No, I won’t,” Mitsui replied, “If I were you, I would have freaked out ten minutes in, you know this, right?”
“Mitsui, I was freaking out ten minutes in,” Kogure protested.
“I supposed, but you didn’t show it! Listen…” Mitsui grabbed his hands again, “I know that it seems like we gave you the dirty job, but Kimi-kun…” Kogure jumped, and Mitsui with him. But he couldn’t leave his main speech to say sorry and to explain things that weren’t even clear to him in the first place.
“No one else would have been able to do that as well as you did,” he finished. He wanted to yell something and run, half naked as he was, to the farthest point of Japan and then swim until he met penguins. Kogure wasn’t answering and Mitsui was about to freak out.
“I didn’t do it well,” he eventually said.
“You can’t be an expert like Anzai sensei, but you were there and you gave us the support we needed.” Mitsui replied. If he had to spend three days convincing him, he would have.
“But I…”
“Listen, can you imagine Akagi being in your shoes? He would have lost his patience in thirty seconds and he would have pulled Hanamichi off the court, we wouldn’t have had a pivot and we would have finished ten minutes later for manifested inability.” Kogure let out a tiny muffled giggle.
“Or Miyagi, he would have said yes to everything Ayako said, you know that he’s such a nice guy but when she’s in his field of view he becomes a thirsty idiot with zero brain cells.” Kogure giggled again, louder.
“We wouldn’t be here without you,” Mitsui went on, “And you know.”
“Do I?”
“Yes you do. And, for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you.” Kogure finally looked up, with a movement so brisk that Mitsui jumped.
“What… did I…” he stuttered.
“Really?” Kogure asked.
“Really. Stop doubting yourself.”
“How?”
“I was kinda hoping you’d find out first and tell me,” Mitsui joked, even if just partly. Kogure smiled, a sweet and warm smile that knotted Mitsui’s stomach.
“I’ll let you know, but don’t wait for me too soon,” Kogure whispered.
“Can I… can I tell you one thing?” Mitsui asked. Kogure’s hands moved into his, intertwining their fingers.
“Of course.”
“You’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”
“Hisa-kun…” Mitsui’s heart jumped so hard that he had to stop a moment to make sure that he wasn’t going to vomit it.
Kogure sniffed: “At the next game, can you remember to drink more? For me.”
“For you, I think I can,” Mitsui answered, wrong-footed.
“Because seeing you there on the floor, collapsed, I…” Kogure stopped, then he leaned forward and put his forehead in the recess of Mitsui’s shoulder, who lowered his head to caress him with his chin.
There in the empty changing room, with the sun that was finally beginning to set, Mitsui realised how much his life had changed since the fated day when he had broken into the gym with Tetsuo, Norio and the others, since when Kogure had shown an unsuspectable courage. Everyone else had just insulted him at random, told him to stop, Hanamichi had, as usual, spat some bullshit and thrown hands, and Mitsui hadn’t cared enough to not answer with arrogance.
But when Kogure had spoken and he had slapped him in response, it had seemed to him that he had just committed a sacrilege. And his words, “Mitsui, it’s time to grow up” were still echoing in his head.
And something else had changed: the feeling that for so long had lived in his heart, even if this was the first time he realised it. He had, at first, loved Kogure for the way he was making him feel.
Having him around on court, feeling his excitement for having Mitsui in their team, a bit later knowing that he would visit him at the hospital bringing his favourite snacks, it had all been a balm to Mitsui’s ego. And after that, in those dark years without basketball, to see him tremble and change sidewalk, to know that Kogure was afraid of confrontation, had made him feel stupidly big, idiotically adult, like a kid putting on his dad’s suit jacket and playing pretend.
But now .
Oh, now it was different. Now that Kogure, for once, hadn’t had the time to worry about him.
Mitsui realised, and the knowing almost crushed him, that he didn’t look for Kogure so to have someone who was head over heels for him: he had foolishly thought that he was enjoying the sensations that he seemed able to awaken in Kogure, while he was the one trying to move something inside his mate; it wasn’t the search for an illusory dopamine, but the sometimes spasmodic attempt to heal the fear and suffering that he knew were a constant on Kogure’s brilliant mind.
“ Oh ,” he let out.
“What?” Kogure asked, raising his head to look him in the eyes.
With no hesitation, with not a single thought, Misui said: “I understand, now.” Kogure shook his head and frowned, a mute request for an explanation.
“I thought you had a crush on me,” he said, and Kogure’s hands had a nervous contraction in his, “But it’s me who loves you.”
“...what?” Kogure’s voice came out like a peeping sound. His cheeks were red, his mouth a delicate “o” of astonishment, his glasses had as usual slid along his nose.
With a caring gesture that was hiding a caress, Mitsui pushed them back on.
“It doesn’t matter if you don’t love me back,” he said, “It just matters that I can make you feel a little better, even if only for a few minutes.”
Kogure took back his hand from Mitsui’s grip; Mitsui felt like dying. Flaming soul my balls, he didn’t feel less small and helpless than Simba trying to convey a decent roar at the Cemetery of the Elephants.
Then, Kogure’s hands grabbed his knees.
His face got closer, enough to blur, and Mitsui closed his eyes so as not to succumb to vertigo. Then, Kogure’s lips, soft and wet, so different from Mitsui’s, thin and chapped, gently brushed his.
A delicate, chaste touch, almost insignificant in his smallness, that however had the power to flip Mitsui’s whole world, throwing him into a vortex of sensations that were so strong that he felt like being thrown into space, where he was now travelling at the speed of light, while stars and planets zoomed beside him.
And, above all this, a single thought: “He’ll stay! I’ll have one more day to make him happy!” Mitsui bent forward and once again captured Kogure’s lips, which were already running away, shy, and held them for a little bit more.
Then, with a subtle smooch that seemed to echo in the empty changing room, they parted.
Kogure’s chestnut eyes were shimmering, and were wide for the stupor; Mitsui thought that he probably didn’t look any better.
“I’m not good at this kind of thing,” he said, his voice hoarse for emotion, “But would you like to be with me, Kiminobu-kun?” Kogure answered with an explosion of stars.
Mitsui recalled having heard, maybe from Kogure, that there was a theory about some kind of a reverse black hole, a consequence of them: white holes, agglomerations of matter too dense not to collapse on themselves, that burned for a few fragments of a second while they exploded, pushing the matter that they had so busily accumulated towards the farthest corners of the universe.
Like this, Mitsui thought, Kogure’s smile was: an indescribable, blinding light, so rare and unexpected to be almost impossible to witness.
For a second, it seemed to him that even if he never found a real purpose in his life, he wouldn’t have minded: just being able to cause that smile was enough to make him feel like a successful man.
“Yes, I want to be with you, Hisashi-kun,” Kogure said, his voice trembling with emotion. Mitsui smiled back, and remembered what scientists think happens after the explosion of a white hole: the matter, so violently pushed, slows down after a while, it starts floating, and sometimes picks up other matter. What would become, then, those particles gathering? Planets, stars, asteroids, comets… Mitsui grabbed Kogure’s hand and kissed it, knowing one thing only: whatever they would become, he was looking forward to it.
“Now you can scold me if I don’t drink enough,” he said, to lighten up.
“I already do,” Kogure answered, then he gave into a slightly hysterical giggle.
“And I can buy your forgiveness with a kiss,” Mitsui went on, bending forward to pay his fee. But Kogure stopped him: “You get dressed first,” he said, “I’ve already kept you here enough, if you get a cold it’ll be my fault.” Mitsui got up and went to his locker, almost jumping. The past hours’ weakness seemed to have vanished, leaving just an uncontrollable energy. He quickly put on his briefs and socks, then took out a bundle of fabric that, somewhen, had been a pair of trousers; he put them on, and with the side of his eyes he caught Kogure gently looking away, a bit blushed. Maybe he was coming to terms with the fact that, in the future, they both might desire to see, maybe even touch, those body parts that Mitsui had just covered up; he held back a sting of desire.
Kogure seemed to know, or maybe he was in the same situation, because when Mitsui emerged from the basketball club’s t-shirt he found Kogure staring at a breaking line on a tile of the wall.
Mitsui got to him and hugged him from behind, putting his arms on his shoulder: “Well, if I do have a cold tomorrow, you’ll buy my forgiveness snuggling,” he whispered.
Kogure looked back, his lips still curled into an incredulous smile, and said: “You know, the more we talk about this agreement, the more I like the conditions.”
“So it’s true that I’m a lucky bitch,” Mitsui joked, swaying and bringing Kogure with him in his movement; Kogure laughed and turned around in his hold.
“You’re not the only one,” he said, lifting up his face to kiss him, “Truly.”
“MITSUI! Are you still here, are you okay, I didn’t see you at the bus stop and…” Norio stopped abruptly, and Kogure and Mitsui, still holding each other, their hands in the jam jar, stopped with him.
“Excuse me, I was kissing my boyfriend here,” Mitsui said, torn between the temptation to beat him up and to just jump from the window and get lost forever.
The silence grew heavier, then Norio yelled: “How was I supposed to know? The last time I saw you, you seemed ready for your own fucking funeral!”
“This doesn’t mean that knocking is outdated, look, my mother’s right when she says that you’re rude!”
Norio rolled his eyes and grimaced. Then, in the same rough tune, he said: “Come on, let’s go. If we walk fast, we’ll manage to take the last train.”
He held the door open, while Kogure and Mitsui grabbed their bags; passing by him, Kogure made a timid smile, and Norio patted his shoulder.
Mitsui got a violent shove, instead, that raised another wave of meaningless protests.
And, in the dying light of the most wonderful, most tiring day of their lives, Kogure and Mitsui walked towards a shared future, escorted by the most unlikely knight.