"I must express my respect for all of you. Not a single one of you lost the will to fight until the end. But you fell short. Sleep now, veteran kings." Akashi had said. He hadn't meant it as a taunt, but the words swirl around my brain. Takao is tired – who wouldn't be – but he stays by my side, acquiescing to my arrogant demands that we try to fix the weakness in our no longer secret weapon before tomorrow's game.
If I can't take a pass from my right because of a hereditary disposition to favor my left hand, I must try every other possible direction. Shot by shot, we have a shaky beginning on a new move in which Takao stands between me and the basket and passes to me head on. I will not fail Takao – I mean my teammates – again. We switch to extreme angles and the whole time I hear Akashi's laughter in my head.
"…become cold-hearted…" he had said. He accused me of losing because I believe in my teammates, trust them, love them… but he is wrong and I will prove that by holding steady to my convictions.
The senpais will be gone after tomorrow, retired from high school basketball life, leaving only Takao and I behind from the regulars. There will be new people to trust, bonds to form, friendships to develop… but right now there is one person who matters above them all, the bowed-shouldered boy who practices with me long into the night in preparation for a game whose outcome is already assured. No matter what, I am determined to win the third-place finish after today's upset.
"Shin-chan, how many more shots are you going to take tonight? We need rest before tomorrow's game. I'm exhausted," he whines, frowning. Without his trademark smirk he looks older
"Once more, and then I'll be satisfied," I tell him. I could do this all night, and I probably would if he wasn't here to reign me in.
"For an even one hundred." He nods and bites the inside of his cheek. I cannot tell what he's holding back, but after ninety-nine combination shots tonight, we are both past our limits. Takao aims for my hands, already set in a shooting position. The pass comes and connects, but there is blood and sweat mixed into the texture of the leather as one of the calluses on my left hand breaks open. Normally, I would have stopped by now, but over and over again Akashi's words join the other nasty voices that live in my head. The ball slips off my fingers and misses spectacularly.
"Shin-chan? What – ?" he asks, complaints and fatigue forgotten as he sees the tears trailing down my face.
I can't stop now that it has started. I thought I'd cried them all out this afternoon, after he failed to console me in the hidden labyrinth beneath the stadium on our last march from the court.
I let my left hand fall to my side and the blood drips off my palm and mixes with the salty tears on the practice gym's floor. I take my glasses off with my right hand and rub at my eyes with my forearm. I open my eyes to see his blurry form in front of me. He touches my arm with some hesitation, but when he sees the blood, he drops to his knees and rips off his shirt. He uses the soft material to blot away the blood and inspect the damage.
"Did you know?" he asks, his voice gentle. I do not deserve a shadow as fierce and protective as Takao.
"Yes," I croak out the word.
"You can't do this to yourself. It will do Shūtoku no good if you injure yourself beyond repair. What would I do without you?"
"Survive," I whisper.
"I don't want to just survive anymore, Shin-chan. I want to live victoriously. I survived when Teiko trounced us in middle school, and I'll survive losing to Razukan by sixteen points. Sixteen points! Ha! That's nothing we can't surmount, nothing we can't improve upon for next year, so you'd better get your shit together, Shin-chan, because we've still got a game to play tomorrow. Kaijō is waiting for us and will expect our best."
He gets up suddenly and leaves me clutching his bloody shirt; the voices in my head insist that he's not coming back. He's had enough of my selfish, egotistical behavior, he's sick of me… but then he returns, just as quickly, holding the first aid kit. He bullies me back to the bench, pushing me bodily when I don't respond.
"Please sit, it will be easier on my knees that way," he says and I comply. Why shouldn't I? He's done everything I've ever asked of him, from pulling me in that damn cart, to helping me track down my ridiculous Lucky Items, to… and all these things after his humiliating defeat to me in middle school. What if he decides to transfer to Razukan? The evil voices in my head laugh. He's followed his rival before and become a better player because of it. What if he abruptly decides that Akashi would be a better partner than me?
Sitting next to me, Takao cradles my left hand in his right like it is a sacred, fragile object, not the filthy, traitorous appendage that it really is. For a second his tenderness makes it hard for me to breathe. The calluses of his hands are in different places than mine – mostly centered on his fingertips – and they scrape across my skin, leaving a trail of tingling nerves firing in the wake of his touch.
Fingertips… since that moment when I failed to put my fingertips to Akashi's last shot, I have done nothing but berate my inadequacies. If I had been taller, stronger, faster… but Takao, as always, knows my thoughts, even when they are unclear to me.
"Stop punishing yourself, Shin-chan. We share the blame. We should have anticipated that he would find a weakness, but now that we know what it is, we can fix it."
I can't answer.
"This'll hurt," he warns as he cleans the broken callus with an alcohol prep pad. It hurts, but I am in such a panicked state that I cannot make a sound. What would I be without Takao? What could I be with him? I should tell him how much he means to me, but my tongue is paralyzed. I haven't drawn breath for too long.
"Besides, you did everything you could. You had your lucky item, you tied your shoes in the right order, and you practiced more than anyone. If I had complained less and worked a little harder –"
"That's ridiculous! You work longer and harder than anyone else on the team," I counter. The pain in his voice makes me so angry that I inhale even with my anxiety, but in my rush to comfort, all I've done is scold. We are doing a lousy job of comforting each other; arguing back and forth will net no gain.
"I allowed you to do this," he says staring at the mess of my hand. "We've played the hardest game of our lives and instead of insisting you rest and recover, I allowed you to shoot again and again, until you've damaged your hand."
"When did you become my keeper," I scoff. "As if you have any say in what I do with my body." As the words leave my mouth, I know how contemptuous they sound and how ungrateful. He doesn't deserve my ire. I'm only mad at myself, both for the injury and, as a byproduct, hurting Takao. He performed beyond my expectations; I should tell him that I truly acknowledge him in the way he's been craving for two long years. How could I not? But I don't want him to think that I'm only saying it to make him feel better.
After he is satisfied with its cleanliness, he applies ointment to the wound, and then places a square of gauze as padding before wrapping it. He continues, wrapping each finger – better even than I do – and I begin to feel faint.
"You have to breathe, silly Shin-chan. This isn't the end for us. We survived this loss, but next year… next year, we'll make Akashi eat those words. And when he offers to shake your hand…," he says, his smirk reaches his steel-gray eyes and his shoulders straighten. "…when he offers to shake your hand, you'll snub him." With the return of his grin, he looks years younger and he's once again the boy I've come to rely on so heavily.
"Next year, I will shake his hand, because he will be forced to acknowledge our strength."
"In the meantime, promise me that you will stop this self-flagellation, Shin-chan. If you hurt yourself, you hurt me, too." He pats the last bit of tape down on my index finger and moves on to the thumb.
"Such foolishness."
"Then I'm a fool for Shin-chan." I am as bad at translating social cues as I am good at three-pointers, so I have to study his face for signs of sarcasm. His face flushes and he looks away from my scrutiny. He's extraordinary.
"You're…" the words evaporate off my tongue as he secures the last bit of tape.
"Don't get all sappy on me, Shin-chan," he says with a sing-song cadence. His hand tightens on my wrist.
In these moments when we are alone, things seem so clear. It is only the noise of the world – both in my head and externally – that confuse me. Takao is my shadow, mine, and that feeling of possession robs me of breath again. When did it change from merely tolerating Takao's presence to desiring it?
I flinch when the door opens; we hear the roar of the crowd cheering for the Serin versus Kaijō game and Taichou enters.
"What are you doing? We're all waiting for you to go to the stands."
I pull my hand back from Takao's lap and it stings with the loss of contact.
"Yes, sir, Taichou," Takao quips, throwing off a quick salute. He jumps up and makes for the door; I follow him, knowing that without him…
A/N: This was written for the Theme Writing Challenge on The Hostile Takeover Forum where I am the co-admin and one of the mods. Come join us! topic/147309/129887768/1/Theme-Writing-Challenge