Observation 5: The titles sound like they were ripped out my ass. "Nostalgic Familiarity", really?
Observation 6: My OC character is fucking annoying. Rather than killing her on the spot, I'd just change her personality a bit.
Observation 7: EVERYONE is too OOC. Yep, it's not just Rukawa.
Observation 8: I am currently lying on the floor like a salted slug. That's about as graphic as I am shameful.
Observation 9: Where is Sendoh? WHERE IS SENDOH FREAKING AKIRA?
Chapter 1
It was a staring match. Brown on blue. She is defiant.
But no one can win a staring match with the sky.
It is curious, to say the least. One moment, the unquestionable, unconquerable supremacy of the sky infuriated her, made her feel small and insignificant. The next, the same supremacy made her feel safe and secure, basking in its ever-present stability.
It doesn't matter what she feels about it. The sky would still always be there. With the sunlight, so peaceful and warm—
COLD! She jerks away as an ice-cold hand suddenly grips her forearm. Her gaze tears away from the sky blue and meets cobalt blue eyes instead.
"Rukawa, that was NOT funny!" she exclaims as the other smirks. Without missing a beat, her hand flies across Rukawa's cheek.
As he struggles to recover, Rukawa mumbles, "I'm sure that slap must have broken at least a couple of school regulations…"
Her satisfied smirk matches his former one. "And you, my dear Ice Prince, will under no circumstances tattle me to the administration."
Rukawa scowls, then snorts in disgust. "One day I just might."
Even as he says this, the so-called "Ice Prince" lies on the rooftop with his arms under his head. He's about to snooze off when her voice pierces the silence.
"Ever wondered if the same sky covers the WHOLE world?"
"Are you ten years old, or ten months old?"
The next slap elicits a colorful curse which any organized religion would argue a fourth grade student should not dare speak.
"I was just asking for a decent start of a conversation, dammit!"
For a few moments, the silence retakes the air. It is not an uncomfortable one. She has just about forgotten the question when Rukawa answers.
"Well, no. I don't."
"Okay," she nods. "But you know what, my mother said before that even if we're far away from each other, we will always be together. Because we are under one sky. And that alone will keep us in touch."
"That's a load of bullshit."
He expects a third ringing slap, but instead is met by a raised eyebrow. "What isn't a load of bullshit to you?"
"The sky will not keep people together. But it's always there. It's just always there, wherever you are."
He turns back to the sky and closes his eyes, so he misses the small smile creeping on her face. Yanagi faces the sky as well.
"My thoughts exactly."
His thoughts are somewhere else.
They are there. The boredom stinking from the parents, who'd really rather be with their friends, girlfriends or even colleagues. The excitement radiating from each kid, climbing and swinging and laughing in a way that somehow makes him ache.
He is here. In his sweaty red and white jersey, his muscles warm and taut, with his loyal companion and weapon of choice, a basketball, in his hand. All that he could ever need.
All that he could ever need.
This—this is everything he wanted when he was one of those kids. He didn't want a score of friends. He didn't want un-divorced parents.
He still doesn't wish for such things. But sometimes he wonders if he knows what he really wishes for.
"What's that?"
The sudden intrusion almost makes him jump. He turns around, and finds a boy about five or six years of age standing across the court. Rukawa gives the kid a once-over. Soft brown hair cut close to his head, with extremely large doe brown eyes staring defiantly at him.
A strong sense of déjà vu washes over him. He pushes the thought away.
What is he supposed to do in this situation? Right, wash his hands off the kidnapper role. "Where's your mother?"
The boy's chin juts a little, his jaw twitching but still refusing to look away. "She left."
Okay. Now what?
"What's that?"
Rukawa's gaze falls to the ball in his hand. "Something I'm not sure you should get yourself into."
"No one tells me to do nothin'," the boy cheekily shoots back. "You gonna teach me?"
Rukawa almost rolls his eyes. Apparently, this kid takes no shit from anyone, but has no problem commanding random strangers to do his bidding.
This is hardly his...cup of tea. But Rukawa feels a new kind of warmth in his body as he nods and the boy comes over, about to play with him in a basketball court his father himself had built in the local square.
It's been a while since he has sweat this much. Which is surprising, since he has been in a lot of more sweat-inducing places than an air-conditioned office. He fiddles his car keys with his trembling fingers. He turns his swivel chair round and round, like the kid he used to be, or more accurately, the kid he's always been inside his smothering coat and tie.
He sighs. He might've been a delinquent, a good-for-nothing, just another soulless drone in the adult world. But Hisashi Mitsui is not a coward. That's one thing he knows for sure.
Only, he's not so sure anymore.
Oh, screw it. He punches the numbers without thinking and sets the phone on loudspeaker mode.
"Hello. May I talk to Ayako please?"
"Mitsui-sempai!"
For a second, the combination of dread and excitement collapsing on his chest holds Mitsui unable to speak.
"Mitsui-sempai, how have you been?"
How has he been? How has he been? She has no idea. How could she, when she has heard nothing from him for the past ten years? And he can't start explaining now. He can't think of an answer that would not make Ayako wish he hadn't called her again ever.
"How have you been, Ayako?"
"I'm fine. How long has it been? Ten years? How did you manage to find my number?"
Mitsui pauses. He looks up the ceiling, as if the right answers are there. They aren't. They're in the speech he has memorized even better than his own address.
"I just traced it down. So, where have you been all these years?"
"Still in Kanagawa. I had a fashion boutique built here. I guess I'd always be a small-town type…"
Mitsui could not mistake the hesitation there. But he doesn't prod, because he doesn't know how the next bit of casual information, said in her voice, would fit around the new life he plans to build.
"How about you, Mr. Junior High MVP?" Ayako asks back in a teasing voice.
"Well, I got a little lucky…did a few car-tinkering with the right people and now I just bought into a business here in Tokyo."
"Wow! Congratulations!" Ayako almost shouted in utter disbelief, which would offend someone except that her enthusiasm overrides the shock. "Hmm…who would think the former basketball player slash street punk will get so rich when he grows up?"
Mitsui tries hard not to think of what this basketball player slash street punk has lost along the way. He has no right to complain.
"And Kogure's actually with me," he hears Ayako's breath hitch in surprise. Trying to abolish all inappropriate thoughts, he continues, "He's still neck-deep in his MBA though, so he's stuck as my right-hand guy. How about the others? I lost Akagi eight years ago."
"Me too," she replies softly. "I heard Rukawa already pursued NBA. I miss them…"
Mitsui almost slips and says, "I miss you, too." He contemplates banging his own head on his desk. 'Get your shit together, Hisashi fucking Mitsui.' Trying not to sound too suspiciously eager, he says, "How about a reunion for all the Shohoku team members?"
Ayako does not hesitate. "Well, Sakuragi and Yasuda are still here in Kanagawa so..."
"Home."
Ayako pauses. "Eh?"
"I'm coming home," Mitsui grips the phone harder, and closes his eyes.
'Home.'
His legs carry him forward, as if the thought alone fuels his steps. He just has to pass by the park and pick up his rugrat. He has to pass by the…but it's fine. He'll just look right ahead and walk straight ahead but of course he won't be able to resist glancing, just once.
And so he sees his son. The kid is alone. Megumi is nowhere to be seen. Anger rises inside him. 'Why—'
Then he sees.
He sees his son standing a few feet away from a basketball hoop, an orange basketball in hand. He is poised to shoot, in an off-kilter but determined pose.
His reverie dispels quickly. He gets across the court in several long strides and the boy turns to him, happiness lighting up his brown eyes. The man's eyes do not match the sentiment. He grabs the ball from the kid's hands and throws it away. He kneels on eye level of the child, and gripping his shoulders tight, he firmly reprimands, "You will never do this again. Never, do you understand?"
The clarity in those eyes doesn't fade one bit. "What's wrong with basketball?"
"What's wrong with you, do'ahou?"
Sakuragi Hanamichi's head whips towards the speaker's direction.
