Warnings: Mush. Lots of it. Oh, and there may be yaoi hints if you squint and tilt your head.
Pairing: RuHana (non-yaoi)
Rating: PG-13 for swearing and situations.
Disclaimer: Fanfic denotes a certain lack of involvement in the Official World of Takehiko Inoue's Slam Dunk. *yawn* I need sugar.
Notes: This is a continuation of the Identity Crisis stories, and the third of the Ore Wa Tensai Sakura trilogy, and will only make sense after having read after Last Chance (and the stories set before it).
Ore Wa Tensai Sakura: Mine
Part 1
by Annie D
the_80s_chick@lycos.com
As the door swung open, the tiny bell fixed at the frame tinkled softly. In stepped a tall figure, dressed in a heavy trenchcoat suitable for winter (although that was not the season at the moment) with a sorely out of place floppy brown hat that almost fell over the figure's shaded eyes.
"Hm."
The man behind the counter looked up at the arrival. "Konbawa."
"Letters?"
"Just the one." He passed over a white envelope.
"Hm." The figure took the envelope and brushed off imaginary dust from it.
The man behind the counter, who owed a private mailing service, had been through this routine many times in the past months. The man in the trenchcoat, who still refused to give his name, would give him a letter to post, and it was always addressed to a Sakura at the North Kanagawa University. A week or so later a reply would come back, and it was always addressed to The Kitsune.
Both letters would have no return address or distinguishing marks, although the one that arrived would sometimes have the drawing of a tiny sakura at the corner.
Nothing that suspicious really, since he'd seen even shiftier folk pass through those doors, but the way this particular client handled the letters tended to pique his curiosity.
He cleared his throat as the trenchcoat man turned to leave. "I was just wondering…"
Although the other was wearing shades, he was undeniably giving a sharp glare that said, Don't.
He bowed. Privacy was his business. "Gomen."
The figure left, signalled by another tinkling of the tiny bell.
"I was just wondering why you're taking longer to reply the letters lately."
*****
The man in the trenchcoat slid the envelope into one the numerous of pockets within his jacket, then walked along in long strides down the street. He kept his head low, walking with what would seem nonchalance, but it was with purpose. He didn't have shifty business, as one dressed like that usually would be, but he was in a hurry.
Eventually he arrived at his destination, which was a rather posh apartment building. He lifted a hand to greet the guard who opened the gate to let him in. In the main doors into the lobby – which was always eerily quiet – up an elevator and to his apartment.
After locking the door he removed the trenchcoat and hat.
And it was a pity he had to wear the heavy stuff at all, because underneath was a rather attractive man, although in a cold and point sort of way. He had height, well-defined shoulders, a fit bod, and a face that rarely smiled but somehow still managed to make people at least pay attention. A fraction of those would swoon.
Hmph. Like he cared.
What he did care about was the envelope, which he opened quickly but delicately, taking care not to rip the paper more than he needed to. Inside was a blue-tinted letter with some ridiculous patterns bordering the edges, and the writing was clear if not a little messy.
It read:
Rukawa
If you think that by telling me you've played against those American players that I'd get all upset and be jealous of you, then you're wrong. Hah! I saw you on tv, but I won't say anything about how you played, because your ego is bad enough without other people helping inflate it.
Thanks for the concern, my flu has gone away, I went to see the doctor like you said but there wasn't really much point anyway, like what I said. I'm much better, anyway. Don't get dizzy at all, or anything.
The university team's doing pretty well here, the last game was pretty great, although Micchy fainted again – he denies it of course, said he was just a bit tired and only closing his eyes for a moment. Bullshit, he's such a weakling, although Ochiai says that he's still important because of his three pointers or some other nonsense. Hah.
My team's still struggling a bit to my managing. Haruko says it's because they're scared of me, but I don't see what's there to be scared about. I'm thinking of buying a paper fan, you know like the one Ayako used. Haruko says I only need to use my Killer Eyes, but I want them to play better, not die from terror.
Oh, the spring break is coming soon. At first I was thinking of going home, but my mother's busy with her new boyfriend so I think I'm just going to stay here. Koshino's going home, and Haruko's planning to go off to Tokyo with a friend for some architecture thing they want to check out. And Kogure's coming to visit, at first he was going to stay in our apartment but since the girls are leaving, he and Mitsui are going to stay in their place upstairs, so I guess that just leaves me and Akira again.
That's it for now. Can't wait til your next letter.
Miss you lots
Sakura
Rukawa looked at the side table of the seating area, where propped
up in a simple frame was the only picture he had of Sakura. It was the
both of them at some forgettable mall or the other, holding hands. She
was grinning a little uncertainly, he was… doing an impersonation of an
expressionless statue (his speciality).
That was the last time they had seen each other. A damned two and a half months ago.
He had just been so busy since joining up with the All-Japan. He was no longer of High School level, and he had to perform if he wanted to stay on, so that meant training, real games, flying all over the place and (what he hated most) publicity.
All that had taken its toll on his freedom. Rukawa had only managed to see Sakura that once by using precious little time between connecting flights at a pitstop in Kanagawa, where he had quickly put together what was, depressingly enough, their first date, and the first time they had seen each other since the kiss on the beach.
Grand total of time spent together: 74 minutes.
At first things had been awkward. She had found her shoes the most interesting things in the world while he had done the quiet thing, wondering whether it was appropriate just to grab her and kiss her senseless. They had settled on getting a snack, had chatted a bit (a very little bit) before he had been paged to inform him that it was time he leave for the airport.
She had seen him off, and they had shared a brief kiss before parting again. Actually, he reflected, it wasn't even a kiss, it was a pathetic little peck.
Then there were the letters. They had promised to write, true, but when Rukawa had finally gotten the stationery and sat down to write, he had no idea what to say. He had managed to scramble a few words together, but they sounded so… impersonal. He wished he could do poetry, or at least boast a better vocabulary.
Sakura's letters were hardly better. She, too, seemed to have a problem in writing, and he could just imagine her frowning as she struggled to get her pen to scribble something across the paper. She had probably head-butted quite a number of items and/or people during her attempts to write.
He had tried calling her once, but that was hardly an improvement. The three-minute conversation was as drab as their letters. And so, over time, the letters were becoming… rarer. More difficult. It wasn't as apparent from Sakura's side, as she could always blab meaningless nonsense, but when it came right down to it, there was no real substance.
How can I tell you how much I miss you? Rukawa buried his head into his hands. How can I tell you that these past six months without you have been hell? I have basketball, yes, but it's NOT ENOUGH. I need to know that you miss me as much as I miss you.
His coach was pushing him, the team was pushing him, his imminent superstar career was pushing him. He had once hinted to Sakura about quitting again, but the letter that had come back was full of so many BLOCK LETTERS and exclamation marks!!! that he was for once grateful that it was on paper medium and not deafening audio.
I've got my career. This is what I've wanted, and you say this is what you want for me, too, Rukawa thought, gazing at the picture. But I want you, too. He clenched his fists.
It angered him that hundreds of miles away, the girl he loved was probably upset that she hadn't seen him in ages, and that he was getting so busy that the letters were becoming even scarcer, and that his teammates and interviewers and photographers saw more of him then she ever would, and that at the rate things were going, the basketball star that he was would eventually reach a point too high in the sky for even her to reach.
But what worried him was that she wasn't thinking about all of that.
His eyes focused on a particular word in the letter. Akira. It didn't make things any easier that that guy was her apartment-mate. Sure, she had assured him that there was nothing going on between them and that Sendoh was only a friend, but the fact of the matter was that Sendoh was (1) good-looking (2) a good listener (3) the one that had taken her first kiss (4) spent many many more hours with her than he did and worst of all (5) was on a first name basis with her while he was still getting letters addressed to "Rukawa".
You write that you miss me, but do you *really*?
He looked at the thick clipboard on the table, which was his schedule. It was packed, as always. His eyes then moved to the calendar. Spring break was just under two weeks away, and on one particular day there had been written in huge letters: SA Match. That was a major game, and he had to really perform on that day, which meant intense practice from now till then.
He looked down at the letter again.
Calmly, he put the blue piece of paper down and reached out a hand to grab the nearest paper item, which happened to be the day's newspaper. He scrunched it up before meticulously tearing it to little bits.