Warnings: Err... embellishing? But that's what fanfic's all about! This ficcy can be taken as yaoi or non-yaoi, since it all depends on the reader's point of view.
Rating: G
Disclaimer: The grand Inoue-sama / He drew basketball boys / He marched them up to the top of court / And he marched them down again.
Notes: Oh man, the ending of the manga screams for fanfic extension. I'm sure someone's done it before, but hey.
Dedicated to: That lady at the counter of the bookstore where I bought my manga, because she did not bat an eyelid when I dumped books 20-31 all together on her counter to pay.
Peace Offering
by Annie D
the_80s_chick@lycos.com
The letter seems smaller than it really is when in Sakuragi's large hands, but that doesn't prevent him from holding it in an almost reverential manner as he brings it as close as possible to his eager face. Tiny and neat feminine handwriting stares up at him.
Next week I'll write to you another letter to report the basketball team's progress. That'll be my number one priority.
A faint blush tinges Sakuragi's cheeks, and he grins stupidly while mumbling to himself, "And of course I'll reply…"
It's been a quiet afternoon in the little spot on the beach Sakuragi's adopted as his own, not that he's complaining – quite the opposite, in fact. He doesn't have much free time in the first place, what with his physiotherapy taking up long hours of each day, but his precious few free moments are always spent here, at the beach where he'd sit with his legs stretched out on the sand, facing the sea (a must!) and this time round, reading a letter from Haruko.
But the letter isn't the only thing in today's routine that's different. A faint tap/step sound approaches his sanctuary, this particular noise that made by feet meeting sand in a relaxed jogging repetition.
Sakuragi tilts his head away from the letter to identify the perpetrator of the sound: he spots jogging feet clad in sports shoes, attached to long pair of legs encased in track pants, limbs ultimately belonging to… Bloody hell. Sakuragi's eyes immediately drop back to the letter.
The team training for the All-Japan is almost over, Haruko's words read. He'll be returning to the team soon.
Of course Haruko would add a little information on the kitsune in her letter. Shuddering in encased rage, and fingers almost forgetting their place as they clutch the letter, Sakuragi lifts his eyes to glare at Rukawa – who in his usual arrogance has broken the sanctity of his beach spot. "All-Japan…? No way."
There is no moment of recognition in Rukawa's eyes as he glances at Sakuragi, but he does mutter a soft, "What?" There is another pause, as though finally registering Sakuragi's words, and then he yanks open his windbreaker, revealing a basketball jersey clearly emblazoned with the words JAPAN. That done, he turns and starts to continue his jog route along the beachline.
As in any disagreement, Sakuragi must of course have the last word, so he shouts at Rukawa's retreating back. "Japan?! Damn you, Rukawa! You were chosen because the tensai wasn't there. That's the only reason…"
This last phrase illicits a response, which is that Rukawa stops. He does not turn, but straightens up and slowly tilts his head up as though to look at the sky, allowing the sea breeze to mess up his dark locks.
Somewhere a timer starts counting down, as it has always done in these moments of delicate balance in the infamous Sakuragi-Rukawa rivalry. One word or one gesture has always been all that it's taken to start a fight between them. The mechanisms have long since evolved away from simple dislike or distrust, into something almost as comforting as routine.
One word or one gesture is all that's needed to start anything between them.
Sakuragi tenses up, wondering what sort of comeback the kitsune would make this time. What will it be? Will it be a distasteful proclamation of "do'aho"? Will it be a dispassionate "yare yare"? Or will he just walk off without caring, leaving Sakuragi to shout pointlessly at his back as he so often does?
Perhaps it doesn't matter that the last time they had seen each other was just after the Sannoh game, taking the team picture that was never published. Perhaps it doesn't matter that the last shot, the winning shot, was a success because Rukawa had finally passed to him in that crucial moment. Perhaps it doesn't matter that that final pass was a show of trust between two people who had known nothing but distrust longer than they had actually known each other.
Their relationship had always been clear, from the very beginning. Sakuragi hated Rukawa, Rukawa hated Sakuragi. All actions and words would be in conjunction with that central dogma.
But still... In that moment, the final heartbeat of the Sannoh game, something had happened. Something nameless that threw all the rules to the wind. It did not even count as a few seconds, but just a breath of time: eye-contact, the pass, the shot, the score. In memory it's always longer, stretched out by the infinite nameless sensations and emotions that spill through.
Both of them remember that moment in the exact same way. The heart of the storm, calm and quite like the focus point of all the turmoil that had been the rest of the game. There had been a feeling of indescribable bliss in that fingertip of time as though that moment was what they had been waiting for.
It had been a perfect moment.
They were indebted to each other for the creation of that perfect moment, although it would be difficult to judge whether they were aware of that or not. Sakuragi was already disturbed by the fact that he had felt like nothing but an explosion of gratitude as soon as the final shot went in, but there weren't any words he could offer Rukawa at that moment. Only a high-five. Received. Returned. That gesture spoke volumes.
It only remained to figure out what it spoke volumes of.
So the stillness of then is reflected in the now, as Sakuragi watches Rukawa standing with his back still to him. Perhaps they don't understand the enormity this single response will have on their relationship from now on. Or perhaps they do. The gauntlet's been thrown down. It's up to Rukawa to pick it up.
But a third voice breaks the moment. "Sakuragi!" Somewhere a timer screeches to a halt.
Sakuragi turns his head to see a nurse pointing at her watch. "It's time to go," she says.
The moment is gone.
Sakuragi folds the letter before standing up slowly. He braces a hand on his still-injured back and shuffles across the sand toward the nurse. A simple turn of his head, and he's effectively forgotten that Rukawa's still standing there.
"It's going to be more difficult today," the nurse tells him.
"Heh heh, really?" Sakuragi half-laughs as he approaches her.
"I'm not kidding," the nurse says. "You think you'll be able to handle it, Sakuragi?"
"Hahaha! Don't ask stupid questions," Sakuragi says. Of course, he's the tensai. He can do anything.
As they walk away, the tap/step starts again in the background to signal Rukawa continuing his jog. As for Sakuragi, he's already walking away down the path. And so they move in opposite directions. Symbolic?
Faintly, Sakuragi starts humming his theme song. He knows there's no time to waste. Basketball's waiting for him. The team's waiting for him. And be sure, he'd return to them, better than ever. He lifts his head to flash a random tensai smile to the sky as he imagines the reception awaiting him when he returns home and—
"Oi, do'aho!"
A moment lost can always be found back if you take the initiative.
Tensed stillness returns as Sakuragi slowly turns around to acknowledge the speaker. Rukawa's on the pavement, not ten feet from where he's standing, a trail of sand marking his turnabout route from the beach. They look at each other, as always neither confusion nor uncertainty in either's expression. But there is a difference in Rukawa's eyes, and that is a minute lack of arrogance.
"You going back to the team soon?" Rukawa asks.
"Of course!" Sakuragi says, jerking a thumb to his chest. "The tensai will recover quickly and make a great comeback! Heh heh." What little suspicion had been in his voice disappears with his laughter.
Rukawa nods once, then slowly turns to look at the nurse. "He's my… teammate. Make sure he gets better quickly. We need him."
The nurse nods, looking somewhat bewildered. "Yes—yes. Of course."
Sakuragi's grinning now. "So you admit you need the tensai, eh kitsune?"
Rukawa's eyes narrow into slits. He turns his back.
"Hahahahahahaha you admitted it! You admitted it!" Sakuragi laughs, pointing an accusing finger at his rival. "Rukawa finally admits the importance of the tensai… Ore wa tensai… Tensai…"
Rukawa sighs. "Yare yare…" And he jogs off, not once looking back. But a careful observer might notice a slight lighter step in his pace, just barely noticeable.
On the other side, Sakuragi shoves his hands into his pockets as he turns back around and continues walking down the path.
Significant or not, the impact of this moment and its few words remain to be seen. You can't erase or undo what has happened between them, and even less can you plan what will happen next. Too many factors line and decorate, so no clear path is lain out.
But it would be true to saying that the central dogma of the Sakuragi-Rukawa relationship is about to be re-written.
FIN