A/N: The Long Fall of Prose and I are collaborating on this fic.

-Kaiser Washington


Chapter 1

He gouges glee, his classmates observed; with time ever standing still he protruded like a thought against the earshot of his teacher as the latter spoke about immaturities, and, ironically, of time – "Punctuality is obviously not in your dictionary," the imposing man starts, "… you've never failed to arrive late. I'd be the happiest man on earth if you told me you finished the assignment I gave last week."

Mitsui shakes his head.

The other grins, seemingly malevolent as he rejoins, "I thought as much. That leaves me no choice but to punish you. Tell me, good 'ole Mitsui, what kind of reinforcement would you prefer?"

The blue-haired, however, only got past his grin; he stares unblinkingly, trying to reveal hindsight with his eyesight fixed to the front row. He's smiling, he jumbles his thoughts, he's been infected like dung.

He grimaces next, and impetuously runs out of the classroom, slamming the door behind him. All but embarrassment is lost within the classroom, almost to the point of amusement for the seniors. The running Mitsui nevertheless finds the noise harrowing, sick in the head.

"The defining moment in human evolution," he smugly hisses.

"What?"

"Them," he points out. Laughter overhangs the canteen; his classmate cannot tell if he is talking about the History class assignment they were given a week ago, or if he is just horsing around like he usually does, always incriminating to the point of hilarity, and, ironically, of ignorance.

"Who are you talking about?"

He bites his sandwich. "No one," he smiles.

A sophomore walks past them, graciously walking. "Dry to dust," he jeers.

His classmate rejoins, "Why do you hate them so much? You're probably just scared of them." He taunts him.

"Scared? Why should I be?" the shooting guard replies haughtily.

This was more or less the cadence he followed everyday. He will bark, his friend will notice, and the swagger that he will mouth soon concludes to entreat that their heads be left kicked in. He has nothing to lose, he remembers, he hasn't encountered them anyway, not that he intends to do so – the discomfiture he would inevitably incur would doubtless be too much for him to bear.

"What do they look like? I mean, what do they do?" he would ask Kogure.

"What do you mean 'what do they look like'? They look exactly like you of course!" the brown-haired would often reply to tease, which proved to be quite a match against his friend's howl.

Why is it that he never bites anyway? the vice-captain would ask himself.

"What're you thinking about?" Mitsui interrupts, who is sitting across from him. The morning sun entirely withered its freshness away as the orb clears the thick white clouds and burned ceaselessly on the plains of the Shohoku High School. Everyone has started to come out from their classrooms and Mitsui can notice the pace at which these people come and ago, and while it doesn't have any relevance to his train of thoughts right now, he has nothing in his mind's eye.

"Mitsui, did you finish the History report that Sensei assigned us last week?" Kogure asks. "He teaches your class as well, so I'm sure he must have given you the same assignment."

Mitsui grins sheepishly. "Well, he did assign it to us," he says, "but I haven't done it. Heck, before you reminded me—"

"You weren't even aware," Kogure finishes with a sigh. "It's the same old story, isn't it? What excuse are you going to make? You can't use that my-dog-ate-my-homework excuse, since it's so clichéd that not even an infant would buy it. Plus, you don't have a dog."

"But he doesn't know that," Mitsui points out. "And how could you even think I'd use something as boring as that as an excuse? You've probably never forgotten to turn in an assignment, so you wouldn't know how to lie your way out of a situation like this."

Kogure smiles lopsidedly. "Well, that's true."

"And anyway," Mitsui goes on, "you're talking to the master of lies. What makes you think I couldn't come up with something that's both believable and cool?"

"You're right," Kogure says. "Knowing you, you'll probably have a thousand excuses on the tip of your tongue by the time it's History class for you."

"Not yet," Mitsui says. "But I'll definitely come up with one. Don't worry."

"When is your class anyway?" the other asks, looking at his watch.

"Right after the lunch break."

"Oh," Kogure says. He pats Mitsui on the shoulder. "Good luck then," he says, earning a nod from Mitsui. "I think I'll be going now. Akagi said he needed to discuss some things with me before class started. See you at practice." Kogure says, walking away in the direction of his classroom.

Mitsui swivels. He spots two boys at the corner of his eye, probably juniors… It's not their break yet, he muses; it's probably his teammates cutting classes.

He walks to join the escapade.

"Hey, guys—" A bead of sweat rolls down his face. They pierce him with their stare, apparently strangers to him.

"You know…" he stammers, noticing their hands. He pauses with a sigh, trying to look for the right words to use. "You know, you really shouldn't… hold hands like that."

"Why not?"

"People might think… people might, they might think that you were, uh…"

"How benign. What if we are?" the other finishes, completing his thoughts; Mitsui was afraid he'd say that, who then started dumbly at them.

He walks away with a jarred compulsion towards silence.

He now looks straight into the mirror of the washroom; his drenched face tore itself asunder in his reflection as his eyes begin to redden. He sweats profusely, unbeknownst to him, and the collars of his shirt started to dampen, too. What divine intervention must it be to punish him with such dishonor? He then wipes sweat off his brow with the back of his hand; it was growing harrowing.

The fact that he had a mounting arousal down his crotch wasn't helping him one bit.

tbc.