Disclaimer: I do not own Slam Dunk; Takehiko Inoue does. The song featured in this fic is not mine either; it's originally from Dashboard Confessional.
So this is how it feels when they say, "you should've seen it coming" he thought. His confidante, if there was one, could just shove it to his face over and over until nothing is left of it but a flat and shiny surface. Be that as it may, he had no one to share his troubles with. He never told anyone and, besides, he had already composed a series of reasons to prevent him from going that way, enough to fill an entire notepad in fact. He gazed at his reflection only to see someone whose uneasiness could push the clouds to blanket the sky and join him in his sorrows. At this rate, if he would just retain that facial expression, he could very much be easily suspected of brewing suicidal tendencies.
Hisashi Mitsui was going to spend the night again staring at the ceiling as if it bore a cryptic message waiting to be decoded. How could a feeling so profound, so real, and so devoid of malice and stain be gone in an instant? She wasn't everything a boy could ever hope for nor was she a catch. But in time, she became that someone who set the standards of what he SHOULD want. She showed him what it was which he really desired and the things that could potentially and actually make him happy. She taught him contentment, above all.
Yet now there he was, more awake yet more alone than he had ever been in the entirety of his seventeen years of existence, whereas he was about to graduate from high school, had friends who knew no bounds of concern, had parents who nourished him with praises and affection in spite of the grief he had cost them only months before, a girlfriend who intended nothing more than his happiness, and, above all, an achievement he would cherish for as long as he would live; competing in Japan's National High School Basketball Tournament.
So vivid was his recollection of his team's winning glory that he could remember every shot they fired, every teamwork they orchestrated worthy of sportsmanship award, every sensation sent by the fiery spirit that welled upon them all to stretch the struggle against Sannoh High to real victory, and the indescribable feeling of conquering the nation. The celebration that ensued, where every embrace confessed of various secrets which had grown ripe from months, even years, of whiling away unspoken in their hearts, seemed so yesterday to him. Most memorable was the moment when Sakuragi fired the winning shot, which killed all audible sounds in the stadium. With that, the entire team understood that their names would someday grace the records of Japan's Basketball History.
Ryota Miyagi couldn't have been more blissful in knowing he had just fulfilled a promise he made more than a year ago, that he would make Ayako happy to the full extents of his abilities, even in the lack thereof. Looking at the beautiful manager and knowing her sole happiness depended on the team's success, saying she was having the time of her life at that moment would have been a criminal understatement. The seniors, Akagi, Kogure, and Mitsui, were to exit their high school basketball careers, proving once and for all that none of what transpired in the stadium would have been possible in their absence. And the rest of the team tasted what it was like being part of something this big. Their sentiments couldn't have been translated into better terms than "I love this team".
She was there with him all along, not always physically near but present nonetheless. They had it going for two years, which started right after he took a bitter break from playing ball. He only needed her at first; of course it would have been impossible to get by piles of neglected home works and juggling school hours and riding with his gang without her help. To be indebted to someone to such length and not feel a slight tinge of gratefulness in return would violate every rule written in the book of love and affection. And Hisashi Mitsui was only human. That was the story of how he first became acquainted with the four-letter word.
It was indeed almost comically peculiar that no sooner than he rejoined the basketball team and reignited his love for the game did he suddenly feel all other sentimental and obligatory attachments to anything which did not concern basketball slip away. Somehow, a huge chunk of his being was habitually socially dependent. So with his feelings for her ebbing away bit by bit like a lonesome wood drifting away further from the shore until none of it was invisible, he veered his affections towards his teammates. Oh how he enjoyed throwing nasty quips at Miyagi and Sakuragi, reliving old-time immature discords with the other two seniors, savoring the praises his inferiors would time and again shower him, and, above all, sparking brief conversations with Kaede Rukawa. He gained more satisfaction from this than anyone would have ventured upon, for drawing a mere six-word answer from the freshman would unquestionably send the senior smiling for hours on end.
...
Kaede Rukawa was not the type who would trouble himself with solving the puzzles of the day's events lying awake in his bed. He would rather wait for the pieces to kindle a life of their own and put themselves together to produce the picture. But a peace of mind presented itself as an impossibility, what with Hisashi Mitsui, aka his Royal Jockness of the Jock Monarch, going out of his way to walk him, the Ice Prince, on his way home when the former could have saved one hour of walking time had he gone straight home instead. The freshman wondered if somehow, under the same big sky, the senior was being bothered by the very same thoughts which had been haunting him for weeks now. If only it was that easy to embrace the implications of being treated to coffee after practice sessions and Gatorade during practice breaks, sitting with him on lunch time, waiting for him after dismissal so they could walk together to the locker room and from there to the stadium, and if it couldn't get any stranger, walking him home…
Sure, the Ice Prince could dismiss all these as nothing more than being friendly, but not without second thoughts.
It sure made him utterly uncomfortable when the senior first asked him with a pure look of concern to be careful on his way home. But no later than a few days after that it had become a routine that even Rukawa himself was telling the senior the same thing whenever they would part. It was all weaving into something inevitable before he could actually realize that their exchanges were treading a greater depth of seriousness. It was all too absurd to accept yet too gripping to let go of. Yet he knew better than to feed his emotions. He never really developed a tangible sense of affection toward Mitsui, because allowing himself to establish an attachment like that would only spell heartbreak.
He loves her, he thought. Not as much as he loves basketball, but below that slot is her name.
So Kaede Rukawa, in slight remorse, still managed to sleep without serious difficulty.
...
Hisashi Mitsui found himself recalling that day almost two years before when he locked himself up his room. A moment of disturbance, even a knock on his door, would ruin his concentration. He plugged his guitar in the amplifiers, took it in his arms, and sat in front of his keyboard. It was the right time to immerse himself into an intensely contemplative state, for songwriting and composing melody were never a joke. It took him days to bring the melodies altogether, and before he considered composing the actual lyrics he immediately took off to Hotta's place to exhibit his accomplishment. His friends/band mates regarded Mitsui's composition as 'bordering on disgusting perfection'. Not that they were merely kissing his ass; it was indeed a wonderful piece. By the end of the day, the percussion and bass accompaniment were completed to blend impeccably into Mitsui's work of genius.
She found him under the elm tree, chewing on his pen and with a notepad on his lap. "I'm not much of a lyricist but the melody can definitely make up for what's lacking in these words", he told her. "Is this song for me?", she asked him. He just looked at her. The question, simple though it was, immediately summoned him to think, 'what was it that made him create the piece in the first place?'. Nothing. It just kindled up a match in his head, sprouting from no particular inspiration. There was passion in him in the process of composing it, but it didn't occur to him to dedicate it to anyone or anything. "Yes" he told her, fully aware of the absence of truth in his word. He knew very well how little the lyrics spoke of their story. Come to think of it, we never overcame anything more challenging than solving algebraic and trigonometric problems together, he resolved. It didn't fit, and it never would.
But now, every syllable, every beat, every rhythm the song evinced as he played it in his head meant more to him than anyone would have initially thought. The words, the tune, everything about his song, he knew, was too pervasive to bear any connection to the plain, bland, and featureless relationship he shared with her…and too applicable, in an expanse beyond his understanding, to what he was feeling for him.
...
Mitsui was to play this song in front of a large audience at the seniors' farewell party after the graduation and passing of obligations ceremony. The entire basketball club was present to honor the seniors' permanent departure from Shohoku High.
Weeks before, Mitsui requested Miyagi to back him up with the bass accompaniment and background vocals, which the sophomore accepted in immense delight with images of Ayako's face in utter admiration materializing from his thoughts. Mitsui was to be the lead vocalist and lead guitarist while rhythm guitars and drums were to be handled by Tagano and Himura respectively of the Shohoku band club. Some girl, also from the band club, sampled a good rendition of the song with violin accompaniment. It seemed that everything was to go smoothly.
By now, the graduation rites were performed and the new team captains of each athletic team had been named. After the soft and tearful exchanges of congratulations and farewells, fireworks went shooting up the sky, further illuminating the cloudless sheet of streaks of orange and blue. In time, he stage was set up; it was time for the after-party and time for Mitsui, Miyagi, and the other three members of the band club to kick it. It was also the first time the senior would sing in front of a thousand spectators.
They faced the audience, and the moment Mitsui hit the strings announced a deadly silence among the watchers. There was a catchy tune about every rhythmic reiteration but, in entirety, it was a song for the desolate. It was perhaps suitable for the occasion, what with the eventuality of the graduates walking down separate paths sooner or later. Most of all, it spoke of the singer's sentiments.
On the front row was his girlfriend and not far beside her was the basketball team, all beaming in pleasure of what they were hearing. She beamed at him in sheer admiration, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. But he—he minutely surveyed the crowd, and never once while he sang did his eyes fall upon her. Instead, he steered his head to the guitar's set of frets and purposed never to release his gaze from it until the song dies. But such conviction went out the window after having earlier spotted the raven-haired boy among the crowd.
"Stolen"
We watch the season pull up its own stakes
And catch the last weekend of the last week
Before the gold and the glimmer have been replaced,
Another sun soaked season fades away
You have stolen my heart
Invitation only, grant farewells
Crush the best one, of the best ones
Clear liquor and cloudy eyed, too early to say goodnight
You have stolen my heart
And from the ballroom floor we are in celebration
One good stretch before our hibernation
Our dreams assured and we all, will sleep well
You have stolen
You have stolen my heart
I watch you spin around in the highest heels
You are the best one, of the best ones
We all look like we feel
You have stolen my
You have stolen my heart
Ever and again when he would hit the chorus, a forceful pull would disengage his gaze from his instrument and would fasten his eyes on those two blue orbs which had been locked on him the moment he held the microphone. If anyone possessed the right amount of understanding to decipher the meaning behind those stares, he would've right away uncovered the unlovely truth.
"He wrote that song for me", she would say with conviction over and over.
The song ended with an eruption of whistles and thunders of applause. Ryota Miyagi's visible veins threatened to pop as he asked Ayako's verdict on his superb performance. Mitsui thanked him and the rest of the band and immediately searched for Rukawa. But his girlfriend wrapped him in a gentle embrace before he could take any action. He didn't feel the slightest urge to return the affection, for his eyes were too busy wandering wildly in search of him for whom his heart was beating. He found his retreating back, squeezing between miniature gaps in the sea of people. So he's going home, he thought.
He was rescued by Miyagi, who pulled him out of everyone's earshot.
"Go after him", the younger boy advised calmly, but sternly, before the senior could ask anything.
"What?"
"Tell him; tell Rukawa."
Miyagi's mention of the name stirred him awake. "Ryota-how did you-?" he couldn't finish,
"Your eyes, the lyrics, your actions, gestures, everything; they gave away too much. Now go before you screw this up." This time, impatience had infiltrated his tone of voice. His message was clear, and the mighty contrast between their personalities surfaced more evidently as they went on staring at each other. If Mitsui had the will or conviction equal to Miyagi's, there wouldn't be a need of being told of what to do. They were both unpracticed with such situation, for the younger boy also still had not revealed the expanse of his feelings for Ayako. But Mitsui suspected that if they were both thrown in the same bowl of dilemma, Miyagi would be able to get out of it score years before he could figure out the first step in escaping.
He had always scarcely aimed at success in most of his activities, except basketball, but this opportunity, he thought, was not worthy of the application of his meek principles. In full respect of Miyagi's good intentions, all he managed to return was a blank stare, then an awkward nod.
The senior traipsed across the jam-packed field and managed to catch up with Rukawa a few yards outside the gate.
"Kaede"
Rukawa knew the voice too well. He stopped dead on his tracks.
"Sempai"
"I—I wrote that song." The senior was struggling to catch his breath, and his mouth was in absolute incoherence with what his mind wished to speak.
"I know"
"Of course you don't! I mean-"
"I know"
"You know what?" Mitsui asked in annoyance as if it pained him to release the simplest of syllables.
Rukawa heaved a deep sigh, turned his head to the right, and spoke without looking at him,
"It's for me. It's dedicated to me."
The setting sun and the mood it evoked was not enough to convey all the emotions, thoughts, or anything at all that was going on inside the two boys.
"Yes… for you."
Rukawa turned to commence his departure. Mitsui traced his lonely steps back to the ensuing celebration at the Shohoku High's football field.
-END-