A/N: This story is from around September 2008, when I was apparently recovering from a writer's block. (Hue hue hue.) The A/N's and everything else that follows are from the original upload. I have edited this to a limited extent. Still dedicated to Night Strider, of course.
Standard disclaimers apply.
Rating: Undecided
Summary: Inebriation can cause one to misapprehend a situation completely, and often in a ridiculous manner. So when Mitsui finds himself drunk and in an imbroglio, or rather a mysterious situation, he is determined to get to the bottom of it. MitRu-ish.
Note: This story is dedicated to Night Strider, who encouraged me to keep writing despite my state of utter despondency and disappointment in the Slam Dunk category because of its deadness. So whether you choose to review, or not - it doesn't matter to me. All that matters right now is that I've realized that I can never get tired of writing.
Misapprehension
Hisashi Mitsui wasn't exactly the last person you'd find at a bar, imbibing all the known kinds of alcohol and getting insensately drunk, for he engaged in iniquitous activity such as this very often in the days when he was part of that infamous gang of his. But after he had promised Coach Anzai to change for the better, his presence at the local bar had become scarce. And everybody was happy, because they thought Mitsui had indeed changed for the better. Mitsui himself thought the same. That is exactly why a bystander, were one present now, would be more than surprised to find Mitsui gesticulating to the waiter to bring him his third mug of beer. The obsequious thing obliged; and pretty soon Mitsui had emptied that as well. He was about to shout out for another, when he realized that a heavy something had dropped itself into the seat opposite without so much as a warning.
Mitsui's vision was already clouded, and even through a squint he could focus only enough to make out that the occupant of the seat so mentioned was male, about his age, and taller. It became rather difficult for him to process the entirety of the other person's existence, and hence the delay in reaction from him. Even while he was formulating a preamble to conversation, the soporific aroma of ethanol reached his nostrils, accompanied soon after by a dull thud on his table, which could only mean that a fourth mug had been delivered. He was distracted now. He stretched an unsteady hand out and groped for the ear of the mug; and just when he touched it, he felt it moving away.
"Enough, now."
It was the stranger. His voice rang a distant bell in his memory, but he just couldn't place his finger on whose it was. It could've belonged to anyone: a schoolmate, a neighbor, or even a member of his old gang.
Mitsui groped once again for the mug, but much to his chagrin, the stranger held it farther away.
"I say, give it back," he said, pronouncing the words with great difficulty, as if his tongue had been attacked with a local anesthetic.
"It's bad for you," said the stranger in his cool manner.
"Give it back," repeated Mitsui, as if he hadn't heard what the stranger had said - he had, but his brain had by that time degenerated to the point where he could process only one primitive thought at a time, and that one thought right now was, How could he get back what was rightfully his?
"I won't," replied the stranger, and Mitsui began shooting his hands out in random directions - wherever he thought saw the mug. But the stranger, much lither than he was, and definitely a lot more sober, kept holding it out of his reach. And Mitsui's temper was rising visibly. His eyes were blood-shot and his face was flushed. Beads of perspiration rolled down his forehead, and his teeth were clenched. His breathing was heavy, much like that of a predator being driven by its pray to the end of its tether.
"Give it back, I say," said Mitsui, his voice rising in pitch and volume. By this time, he had attracted the attention of most of the customers present at the bar.
The stranger, meanwhile, said nothing; but judging from the gulping noises, he was finishing the beer himself.
"You thief!" yelled Mitsui. "You filthy, son-of-a-bitch thief! Stealing my beer, you motherfucker!"
There was a dull thud, indicating that the stranger had replaced the mug on the table.
"I haven't drunk much," he said plainly. "Only about a third. You can drink the rest."
Mitsui didn't need telling twice. With a bizarre smile on his face, he grabbed the mug in both hands and drank as if he had been thirsting for a century.
And with that he passed out.
"Where am I?"
Finding himself lying down in a bed, Mitsui rose, and groaned on finding that his head seemed to weigh as much as several anvils. As he rose, he felt something fall off his body, and that something turned out to be his bed covers. His, yes - the bed he was in was in his bedroom.
"What time is it?" he groaned, looking around his room for the wall clock, whose location he simply couldn't recall. When he finally spotted it, he saw that it was 2 p.m.
"Holy shit!" He made to jump out of bed, as if that dramatic cry would aid him; but his attempt failed miserably when he realized that all he could achieve in the way of getting out of bed was a feeble spasm. "Hell, am I feeling bad!"
He placed a hand to his own forehead, and then traced the contours of his face down to his neck before stifling a groan of consternation.
"I'm am sick!"
What was he to do? He couldn't recall the last time he had even been sick, much less how he had tended to himself. Oh, how living alone sucked!
He clutched his hair in both his hands, and shut his eyes despondently. He could clearly hear his heartbeat, and the rhythm calmed him down to an extent. He opened his eyes slowly and inhaled deeply.
"I'll take this one step at a time," he said resolutely, carefully removing his covers and stepping cautiously out of bed.
He walked unsteadily to the bathroom, his head becoming heavier with each step, and his breathing increasing proportionately.
He turned on the faucet of the wash basin, and let the cool water run over his hands for a while before splashing some on his face. No, 'some' was hardly adequate considering the magnitude of Mitsui's predicament. He knew he was on the brink of passing out, and couldn't afford to make a mistake. It took a lot of strategic thinking and calculation for a person suffering from a hangover to wash his face.
A couple dozen splashes later Mitsui realized adequacy. And he also realized what he was wearing.
"Hello, what the fuck is this?"
It is but natural for someone to be shocked beyond his wits when he realizes that he is in pajamas, when the last thing he remembers changing into is a pair of jeans and a denim shirt.
"How...?"
And then it all came back to him. The bar, the booze, and the boy. And the last thought in particular made Mitsui shudder as if he had stepped into the Arctic naked. He remembered passing out, if such a thing could be remembered. His memory blanked out at the point the boy returned his fourth mug of beer to him.
The idea that the boy had brought the unconscious Mitsui to his house and changed him into his jammies was very plausible and equally disturbing, for Mitusi found his laundry, including his underpants, in a corner of the bathroom. Disturbing for someone who has been wont to change his own clothes since his fourth birthday.
"Who the heck was that boy? Was I just dreaming? Did I get drunk and sleepwalk here and dream about a tall, sexy - uh - well-built hunk changing me out of my clothes and seeing me, uh, in the nude?"
The mere thought caused him to feel hot with desire.
"What the fuck? What in the name of Sakuragi's motherfucking dick is going on with me?" he yelled in exasperation at the irrationality of everything, barely able to resist the temptation of banging his head on the mirror.
He vaguely remembered the stranger's appearance, but he had been far too inebriated to focus. But the little that he had seen seemed so fucking familiar to him.
"Okay, all right. Calm down, Hisashi, there's no hangover a hot cup o' coffee can't get rid of, and no memory a refreshing walk can't get back."
Mitsui seemed fairly optimistic when he said this, but he had failed to account for the fact that the microwave had gone kaput last week, and the midday sun would doubtless be far from refreshing. All this only exacerbated his mood; and when he returned, he was desirous of tearing his apartment down to rubble. In such a situation the cold coffee he turned to might have proven effective; but since Mitsui had timed its ingestion wrongly, and there wasn't anything cold left, he was forced to content himself with a cold shower.
He was sniveling furiously when he got out of the shower, and supposed that there wasn't a single clinical thermometer that could record his temperature without literally blowing its top.
"Go fuck yourself senseless," he said when he heard the telephone ring.
The caller, whoever it was, seemed very persistent and desperate to reach Mitsui. He let them call five times before obliging them with an answer.
"Fuck you, hello," he said irascibly, deciding that he wouldn't care if it was a mousy fan of his or his own mother.
"Sempai."
Mitsui could recognize that 'Sempai' anywhere, even if weren't accentuated by that low, cool voice.
"Rukawa?"
"Yes."
"Why the fuck did you have to call now? I had to walk all the way here to the telephone."
A pause. Then, "I'm sorry. I didn't know."
"Fuck you, Rukawa, you ignorant, ignorant dweeb."
"I'm sorry, Sempai."
"Fuck, why the fuck did you fuckin' call me? Tell me, for fuck's sake!"
"I wanted to see if you were all right."
"I'm fine, thank-you-very-much, now if please, you could fucking ask me before you called it would be really helpful."
"How would I do that?" Rukawa asked innocently, shutting Mitsui up completely.
"Uh, how would I know? Send me, uh, an email or some other shit. Hell, don't tell me the first thing that came to your mind when you wanted to find out how I was doing was the telephone."
"But it was, Sempai."
"Sheesh, Rukawa, you're the thickest fiend I've ever met."
No answer from Rukawa's side.
"Why did you call again?"
"To ask how you were feeling."
"Well I'm feeling fine. I was feeling fine until you called and forced me to answer the phone. Now I'm all effin' fucked-up, so once again, thank you very much, Rukawa."
And Mitsui hung up before poor Rukawa could say anything, marching back into his bedroom.
And then a thought struck him like a bolt of hot lightning.
"Wait a minute," he said, pausing in his strides, "how did he know I was unwell at all?"
For another two days Mitsui convalesced, sitting around in his apartment, not caring about the classes he was missing at school. And then the third day came, and the third day went, and Mitsui simply stayed at home for the heck of it, not really feeling up to facing his dumb teachers' invidious comments after having gone through one of the worst hangovers he had ever had.
But a time comes in every person's life when he feels that he just can't live on without breaking the monotony of his life. Such a time came in Mitsui's life - specifically on that day - but it wasn't strong enough to compel him to get his ass down to school.
But there was another force - a stronger force - that did the trick, and that force was curiosity. He wanted to get to the bottom of things, and badger out of Rukawa and his foxily sly yet stupid head how he had come to know of his illness.
The first thing Mitsui did when he reached school was to barge into Year 1, Class 10 and do what others earlier had done, but whose consequences had scarred them for life. Other half-witted dopes, that is. He marched into the classroom, resisting the temptation of sticking his middle finger right into the indignant math teacher's face, and heaved a sleeping Rukawa clean off his chair and dropped him onto the floor with a sickening thud.
"Wake up, you bastard," he said.
Rukawa's eyes fluttered open; and when he realized that he was on the floor, staring at a familiar pair of legs, he was naturally a bit disoriented for a few moments.
"Sempai?" he said, glancing up.
"Come with me, Rukawa," said Mitsui sharply, and Rukawa could only oblige.
Once they were safely outside the classroom (the teacher having been subdued by two simultaneously shot glares from as many well-built basketball players), Mitsui cornered Rukawa against a wall and stared deep into his eyes, as if just the act could cause Rukawa to spill his deepest, darkest secrets.
"Tell me, Rukawa," said Mitsui, metallic ire ringing in his voice, "when you called me up yesterday, you mentioned something about me having been sick."
"I didn't mention anything," said Rukawa, maintaining his composure. "That was the reason I'd called you."
"Quit prevaricating, you great ball of slime, and tell me how you came to know I was sick."
"You were drunk, Sempai," said Rukawa matter-of-factly.
"Incidentally, I was," said Mitsui; "but how the fuck were you to know that unless that tiny brain of yours enabled clairvoyance?"
"I saw you, Sempai."
"I pretty much gathered that already, Rukawa, because I'll be darned to the depths of friggin' heck if I ever caught you gossiping."
"I saw you, Sempai," Rukawa repeated.
"You've said that already, you oaf, now will you please, please, tell me where in fuck's name you got those stupid eyes of yours to see me?"
Rukawa might have wanted to point out that the adjective 'stupid' could hardly be used to describe 'eyes', but not being particularly fond of elliptical conversations, he got straight down to the nub.
"At the bar where you got drunk, Sempai," he said.
"Wh-What, what, what? Wait a minute now, you say you were at the bar where I was, uh, dining?"
"Yeah."
"And that you saw me, uh, drinking?"
"Yeah."
"Well, WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU DOING THERE, HUH, YOU DIMWITTED PIECE OF LOBSTER SHIT?"
"What do you mean, Sempai?"
"I mean, what the fuck were you doing there, you dimwitted piece of lobster shit? Following me around? Stalking me, I daresay?"
"No, Sempai. The bar was open."
"So it was, and if it hadn't been open, HOW THE FUCK D'YA THINK I LANDED MY FRIGGIN' ASS THERE IN THE FIRST PLACE?"
"I mean I just walked in."
"Fuck, that's how they all end up there, you retarded pig!"
"You don't own the place, Sempai," said Rukawa with dignity; and if 'indignation' could be compared to fire, Mitsui was practically a conflagration.
"IF I DID D'YA THINK I'D EVEN BOTHER ASKIN' YA ALL THIS SHIT AND WASTING MY FUCKING TIME?"
"Sempai, you're too loud."
"I'm sorry, Rukawa," said Mitsui sardonically, "because I wouldn't be yelling my head off for the past ten minutes if that thick skull of yours could comprehend even a bit of what I've been saying to you."
"You're the one who's not saying it, Sempai."
"Fuck, I'm not, Rukawa, you retard, how could I when you and I both know it's a snowball's chance in hell for you to understand anything exceeding the standard A, B, C's in complexity."
"You haven't even tried yet, Sempai. And I know big words, too."
"I wouldn't give a fuck if you knew big words or if your first name were 'Britney'."
"I saw you at the bar," said Rukawa, thankfully getting back to the point.
"Yes, Rukawa, I've pretty much gathered that already, seeing as you've said it a GAZILLION TIMES as of now!"
"I was there."
"Oh, really? Because I thought you were sitting in America and using your CCTV to spy on dear ol' me."
"And so was the rest of the team."
And thus Mitsui's acrimonious rampage reached a dead end.
"The whole team?"
"Yes, Sempai."
"The whole team?"
"Yes, Sempai."
"You don't say...?"
"Yes, Sempai. And now you're the one who's constantly repeating things. The whole team, get that?"
"You mean the whole team?"
"Yeah - the whole team. We saw you from the window, and went inside to check on you. "
Mitsui swallowed mechanically.
"So Rukawa," he said, his tone unnaturally amicable all of a sudden. "At what point exactly did you see me molest my digestive system?"
"When you were molesting your digestive system, Sempai."
"Which is?"
"When there were already three beer mugs on your table."
"Aha!" said Mitsui jubilantly.
"What is it, Sempai?"
"So you were there when I was drinking my last beer!"
"Yes, Sempai."
"So you must have seen that stranger try and stop me from drinking it."
"Yes, Sempai."
"Just as I thought. Rukawa, you're a sly one. Very clever."
"What do you mean, Sempai?"
"Getting me drunk so I would pass out, and you could take me home and change me into my pajamas because you wanted to revel at the sight of my naked body. Who would have thought you would ever do something as perverted as that?"
"It wasn't me. It was Ayako-sempai."
The End