Mitsui has never seen Sendoh with his hair down before.

Mitsui has never seen Sendoh with his hair down, without those gravity-defying spikes reaching up towards the sky. He almost doesn't recognize him when he passes by the court one shockingly hot summer day. He almost doesn't recognize him, but he sees how fluidly Sendoh moves about the court, how instinctive and effortless he is, how the ball is a part of his body and how there is art in his movement. This is how he recognizes the Ryonan boy, because Sendoh speaks the language of basketball and Mitsui is fluent.

Mitsui has never seen Sendoh with his shirt off before.

Mitsui has never seen Sendoh with his shirt off, and he wonders to himself as he stands at the chain-link fence, watching silently, do I look that good? Have I ever looked that good? Because Sendoh is tall and slender and finely, so finely muscled, and there is beauty when he twists and his stomach ripples. Mitsui has seen plenty of naked men, but there is something about Sendoh that sets him apart.

Mitsui has never played a match against Sendoh before.

Mitsui has never played a match against Sendoh, but Sendoh spots him and asks if he's busy and Mitsui replies no, not really, and Sendoh says well, let's play, then. And Mitsui opens the gate and shuts it behind him, drops his gym bag on the ground, strips off his own shirt. Soon the gel in his hair melts away, and he feels nothing but the asphalt beneath his shoes and the slick warmth of Sendoh's back where he's got his forearm pressed up against it. He feels a tempo start in his heart and he feels Sendoh match it, and they dance, sweat-soaked bodies slipping around each other, breath damp on shoulders and necks when they come together and pull apart and come together again.

Mitsui has never lost track of the score before.

Mitsui has never lost track of the score, but he knows this time it doesn't matter because it wasn't points Sendoh was after. They sit panting on a bench when they're both tired, leaning elbows on knees, sucking down sports drinks, silent, admiring each other. After a while Sendoh says hey, wanna play again? Mitsui looks over at him, at the new tan that's appeared over his skin, at those long biceps he'd like to have, and thinks of the score that isn't.

Mitsui says yes.