Overview:
In which Akashi, after having lost for the first time in his entire life, silently craves for comfort (and receives it in a way he has never imagined).
Story:
The ride home is cold and quiet. Rakuzan's record is finally broken. Rakuzan—the strongest high school in terms of basketball—has been overcome, and not just by any other high school, but by a mere rookie whose basketball team only took shape two years ago.
Sitting opposite Rakuzan's captain inside a limousine, Sakura isn't sure whether she's pleased Seirin put up such a great fight and finally crushed the reigning emperors, or dejected that the team her boyfriend leads has to experience defeat before they finally wake up from their twisted sportsmanship.
"I really like Kuroko-san," she says, trying to bait her companion into conversing. She has only sat with him in this outrageous car once; on the last day of exams before winter break when walking home would have meant getting frozen before she's even halfway.
Tonight she could have insisted to go on foot. The icy precipitation has stopped, and accumulated snow has been shovelled aside. When they'd gotten off the shinkansen line after two and a half hours, however, and the rest of the Rakuzan players had dispersed, she realized an additional twenty-minute walk would only prove more taxing than refreshing, especially for Akashi Seijuro.
He hasn't uttered a single word since they exited the stadium after the awarding. She even half expected him to ignore her, and she wouldn't have minded. Truth be told, it wouldn't have shocked her if he had decided to return to Kyoto without his teammates. Without her.
But he had smiled at her as soon as he saw her by the entrance gates, taken his place beside her as they trudged towards the station, and held her hand to balance her as they wedged out of the crowded train.
Looking at him now—head hung, arms crossed, lids shut—she can sense that beyond the pensive mood, his defeat has actually done him more good than harm. Either that, or she's just being too optimistic. She decides to experiment.
She picks up from her previous statement. "He and Kagami-san are a killer tandem."
Silence.
"And Izuki-san is not even half the point guard that you are, but he was able to play his cards perfectly at the most crucial moments. Do you know he is also vice president of Seirin's School Life Guidance Committee? And that he's a math genius? Makes me wonder if point guards are inherently keen and have a natural inclination towards governing bodies."
Still no response.
She persists, varying her language a bit. "Even Captain Four Eyes was able to pull off his own four-point play towards the end. Mibuchi-senpai looked positively murderous."
Not even a twitch of muscle. Darn.
She heaves in a breath, deciding she no longer cares. It is to her advantage though that she's in the mood to chat, even if it's mostly one-sided—for now, at least. The way he treated her after the games has her convinced that even in his foulest mood, Seijuro can remain cordially nice. He will acknowledge her eventually.
She looks up to an imaginary cloud above her head. "I do find it quite disheartening that Kiyoshi-san now has to take some time off. I swear he could have disjoined his knee there and still pushed through with the game. Doesn't help at all that Nebuya-senpai only became even more merciless. Well," she catches herself smiling at the thought, "Seirin's center is the Iron Heart for a reason, isn't he?"
The more she talks about the Seirin boys, the more she becomes mesmerized by their team spirit—something she has always considered vital in team sports but one she couldn't seem to find in most line-ups since the Interhigh. She doesn't really bother attending games Rakuzan isn't playing in but she did witness the Winter Cup quarter and semi-finals, as well as most of Seirin's matches in videos. (Mibuchi seems fond of inviting her during replays, if only so he can see how his beloved captain behaves around his girlfriend—to his disappointment; Akashi Seijuro is simply flawless as a gentleman, with or without an audience).
"I have to admit though," Sakura shifts in her seat, wondering why they haven't reached their destination yet, "you scared the hell out of that first year when he was put on you. Seirin's coach is a cute and clever chick but man, she can be frightening, too. Say what, do you think I can also be a coach?"
A low chuckle finally bubbles out of Seijuro's lips. Slowly, his lids roll up, and when his gaze settles on her, she nearly screams. She couldn't be certain of it earlier when the Rakuzan players were still around; she pointedly avoided lingering glances on their captain. But now that she and he are alone to themselves, there is no doubt. A different air has cloaked his character, and his eyes have transformed completely.
Unlocking his arms and sinking more relaxedly in his side of the limo, Seijuro finally speaks. "It makes me glad that you enjoyed yourself earlier. And forgive me for my silence, Yanagi. I've been devising a new routine for the veteran players. All thanks to Kuroko, I believe we can maximize each other's potential more fully in our next practices." His eyes narrow when he sees the surprise painted all over her face. "What's wrong?"
"Are you...?" She blinks repeatedly. "Did you just call me Yanagi?"
"Would you rather I call you Sakura then?" He smiles playfully. "Or did you have an endearment in mind?"
Her face instantly heats up. She rummages her brain for a decent reply, but she is speechless. There is no mistaking it now; Seijuro's entire personality flipped. Or more like, a second Seijuro has emerged from within his subconscious. Or is it the other way around?
Seijuro straightens in his seat, leans forward, and reaches for her hands. "Are you cold, Yanagi? Do you want something warm to drink? The boys were too tired to grab something on the way home, and I know you haven't eaten before the games. We can share a late dinner if you like."
This is madness. Seijuro's kindness is not something foreign to Sakura. In fact, she has always found him exceedingly affectionate, sometimes to an alarming degree—no human is supposed to be too close to perfection. But this—a strange sort of gentleness and concern emanating from the Akashi Seijuro not because it is expected, nor is it because it's just how he was raised up to be, but simply because she is his girlfriend—this is undoubtedly a first.
"Have you lost your voice, love?" He presses the back of his hand to her neck, assessing her temperature and causing a jolt in her heart rate. "Should I take you home?"
But isn't he taking her home? Out of impulse, Sakura whips her head towards the window and peers through the tinted glass. If they aren't on the way to her house, then where are they headed?
"Calm down, will you?" Seijuro laughs, and when he does, Sakura sinks back in her seat, adopts a blank expression, and concludes she's in a dream, which only makes him laugh even more. "You're not dreaming, Yanagi. I'm not kidnapping you, either." He laces his fingers through hers and brings their intertwined hands to his lips. "I do wanna show you something."
They were, in fact, headed for Rakuzan High.
The halls leading to the sports building are deserted but adequately lit. When they reach the basketball court, Seijuro unzips his uniform jacket, dribbles a stray ball off the floor, and breaks off to a play. Too smooth, with no hint of the energy he expended all throughout the day. After three half-court shots, he finally slips out of his outer sweats, and goes all out in his spare jersey shirt and shorts.
As far as Sakura understands, there isn't much of a difference between how he played in the finals earlier and how he is playing now. Nothing except the glint beaming in his eyes and the smile curving up his lips. It's as if a spirit has possessed him, in the form of another Akashi Seijuro, a freer soul and one filled with mirth. She's watched him numerous times during practice before, on the bleachers, over the second floor railings, by the entrance doors. Each angle has left her in awe, every move of every player presumably an outcome of his refined judgment. The inborn talent he has honed through the years has become formidable. But until tonight, she never thought she could see him up his game a few more notches higher, like perfecting an already perfect play, simply because it is now graced with joy and passion.
Completely overwhelmed, she waits until he pitches in another three and bends down momentarily to gasp for air before closing their distance. He doesn't look up as she stands before him.
"I have missed this," he says raspily. How odd, for wasn't he in an official game just hours ago? "And I can't wait to play with the others again. I'd have to gain their trust one more time, though. Do you…" He rises to his height, evens his breath, and locks gazes with her. "Do you trust I can do it, Yanagi?"
Those words are her undoing. She grabs the collar of his jersey, pulls him down, and brushes her lips against his, slowly and gently, as if one wrong move may shatter this man's brittle inner being.
Never before has she initiated a kiss, which makes her awkwardly conscious of her actions. But Seijuro, being the perfect gentleman that he is, senses this and takes matters into his own hands. He coils an arm around her tiny waist and cups her nape to return her kiss. Lovingly, like she's the most important person in his life. Ardently, as though he's never kissed her before. Delicately, almost beseechingly, as if they've reversed places and he's suddenly at her disposal.
When they pull apart, Sakura ignores his slick skin and throws her arms around his neck. His warmth holds a promise of brighter, better days, not just with her but with the team he treasures so much, and the sport he has loved for years.
"You can and you will, Seijuro," she whispers into his ear, ignoring the backflips being performed in her stomach. After all, within her arms is still the absolute. She tightens her hold. "I can't imagine you'll fail this," she says, "especially not when your heart is at its purest. I don't think you've lost to begin with, because I know, deep inside, you're still victorious. All of Rakuzan trusts you. The coach trusts you. Your teammates trust you. I," she emphasizes the syllable, "trust you, and I think you ought to give yourself more credit." She releases him at last, collecting his hands and grinning up at him.
His eyes are shadowed and unreadable. In her own heart she wishes her words will be enough. This guy, despite his overwhelming confidence, has a strange tendency to beat himself up in the face of quandary.
Seijuro rests his forehead against hers. The resigned smile adorning his lips is to die for; it almost makes her cry. "Thank you, Yanagi."
"And if it's not too much," she says, cheeks flushed a shade darker, "I think I prefer you calling me Sakura."
His smile turns devilish. "Is that so?"
Embarrassed, she is going to take it back, but his mouth is on hers again. A lingering peck, long enough to make her weak in the knees, short enough to leave her yearning for more.
Footsteps suddenly echo around the court, pulling her away from Seijuro's hold. She turns around to the three Uncrowned Kings padding along polished floor.
"As expected, Akashi is always a step ahead." Hayama's incisors are gleaming in the dim illumination.
"I would have come here straight from the station if I weren't so hungry." The glorious burp that follows is proof of Nebuya's sumptuous dinner.
"Gross." Mibuchi flips his hair before turning for the redhead. "Well, I might have prioritized my beauty rest if not for Sei-chan's episode towards the end of the game." He grins prettily. "I kinda want more of it."
All that Sakura wants is to dine with Seijuro and finally retire the day. A quick glance at him tells her he wants the exact same thing. But of course they know better.
With a few nods, Hayama and Nebuya seems to have teamed up against their captain and vice captain. Mibuchi can't be any happier. As the three of them switch on all the lights and fetch basketballs, Seijuro walks Sakura towards the double doors.
"This will be quick," he says, "but my chauffeur can take you home if you want."
She shakes her head in negation. "I'm not easily bored, remember? Besides, I wanna cook for you tonight. I'll ask Nakamura-san, your chauffeur, to help me buy the ingredients. And by the time you're finished, he can drive you to our house and then we can eat."
Seijuro raises a brow. "Are you luring me in, Sakura?"
Flirting has never been among Sakura's limited roster of social skills, so every time his boyfriend throws her anything even remotely coquettish, she can only shrink in embarrassment and turn into an overly ripe tomato.
It makes Seijuro cackle in amusement. He pauses by the entrance. "So, I'll see you in awhile?"
Face still warm, she nods and hastily scuttles for the opposite direction. Only three steps into the cold and something stirs in the pits of her stomach. She's been dating him since the beginning of fall and yet she still isn't used to his gentle—albeit fluffy—advances.
She doesn't know where the courage comes from, but by the next second, she has whirled around and stomped back towards the court. Seijuro must have noticed her change in course, because he faces her instantly, totally innocent of her intentions.
In one fluid move, Sakura flings one arm around Seijuro's neck, cups his cheek with her free hand, tugs him low, and kisses him fully on the lips. It is an excruciatingly life-changing five seconds.
She can only keep eye contact for as long as it takes her to say, "I'll see you, too." She immediately steps away and swivels around, dizziness beginning to consume her.
She doesn't dare look back, aware that apart from Seijuro's awestruck eyes, three more stupefied pairs are gawking at her retreating figure.
(c) shigesho