Chapter Three

When he opened his eyes the next day, bright afternoon sunlight was already filtering through the gaps in the powder blue curtains. His body acting on auto-pilot, he exhaled, turning away from the intruding rays, and sitting up, before swinging his feet over the side of the low bed. He glared at the clock with narrowed eyes. 9AM. He had over an hour before he was due at the studio.

The aches in his muscles had subsided, which if anything was an indication of the success of his work-out the night before. Along with that fulfilling realization however, flashed the details of the previous evening.

When Rukawa had opened the door to go outside and catch a breath of fresh air, the first person he had seen was the last person he had ever expected to see, at least, in the situation at that time. To say he had been stunned was probably an understatement. It was only after the redhead's exclamation that he had been galvanized into acting his role. Luckily, Hanamichi had bought it.

Then again, it was an easy thing to trust your eyes, and to follow logical reason. After all, who would believe that the calm, cool captain of the Shohoku basketball team was a dancer? Let alone a cross-dressing dancer? He almost smiled inwardly to himself, but stomped down on the sentiment abruptly.

About a year ago, when he had decided to train other parts of his body that were not honed by basketball, dancing had seemed ideal. It required a completely different set of muscles, and would not only test his coordination and adaptability, but also be a whole new challenge that was out of the usual sporting spectrum. The only problem had been that he did not want anyone to find out that he, Rukawa Kaede, was learning ballroom dancing. After all, he was a male, with a male's pride!

The solution that had presented itself before his eyes when he walked past a lady's boutique had not seemed ludicrous or any such thing at that time. One, he would get his learning done under a disguise, and two, he could afford it. What was there to think about?

Needless to say, when he had finished his advance course a few months earlier and been recruited as a basic teacher, he had given in to honesty and told Mrs. Takuhiro the truth. She had been shocked, but he reassured her quickly enough that he had not disguised himself out of deceit or malicious intent, explaining the situation instead, which to his chagrin, seemed to amuse her for days on end after that. She had promised to keep his identity as it had always been, and he trusted her.

And it had worked. No one had ever realized that Rukawa Kaede was a ballroom dancer, and an accomplished dancer at that. He had recognized some of his female schoolmates, and his schoolmates' parents at the studio; others were mothers mostly, and the occasional unwilling husband, but none of them had ever pressed the issue of his identity. It was taken for granted that dancing came more naturally for girls, and which sane female of Shohoku High School would even give breath to the thought that Rukawa was a cross-dresser?

He had thought that his cover was blown the second he had seen Hanamichi on that doorstep. Another second later and he knew that though it wasn't the case, it was going to come pretty damned close. The matter of the redhead recognizing the similarity despite the hair extensions, make-up, dress and earrings was proof enough.

Considering all things, it was definitely ironical.

It was funny, but when he had overheard Hanamichi telling Mrs. Takuhiro about the annual prom, and known just why the boisterous power forward had appeared behind the front gate of a recreation club set in just about the most inconspicuous neighborhood around, his immediate reaction had been to laugh. Thankfully, his practiced control had saved him from giving himself away then and there.

But speaking of the prom, he realized he had forgotten all about it. God knew there were truckloads of girls (and guys) out there waiting to throw themselves into his arms, and that single thought proved itself to be a devastatingly effective turn-off.

Now, by cruel karma or twisted fate, he had to teach Hanamichi Sakuragi how to dance.

It'll only be, at the most, two weeks. Just to prom night. It's that simple.

Yes, Rukawa Kaede was determined to go through this trial set before him, and emerge victorious.

*** ***

As Hanamichi walked in the door, reaching up to tug self-consciously at the collar of his gray polo shirt, he could have sworn he felt eyes on him. Then again, those same eyes could be clearly met if he would just dare to look up. As it was, he kept his gaze lowered and focused instead on the pair of slim feet encased in what looked to be nothing but a myriad of straps.

Oh. Dancing shoes.

"You're late."

That voice again. His head snapped up before he could stop himself, and he met the carefully neutral gaze of his instructor.

It's not the fox, it's not the fox…it's not the fox!

He laughed nervously, running a hand through his hair, and then squeaked into silence when he realized that Ruiya was not taking the bait. It took him a few moments more to realize that firstly, she was just his height in those heels, and secondly, that those slim, shapely legs had moved away from him to the other side of the room.

Oh my god. I am –not– noticing the legs of someone who looks and acts exactly like Rukawa Kaede! And who doesn't like me one bit! I don't like her either! I don't!

Ruiya Setsuko freaked him out. Not that he would ever admit it.

With disturbing clarity, Hanamichi watched as long, slender fingers tapped quickly and professionally on the radio, turning a few buttons here and there. She wore a knee-length, cream colored dress today, and a black sweater, too large for her, hung from her shoulders. As he mentally hit himself for staring, she glanced over her shoulder at him, and he had to strain to catch her question, spoken in that soft, low voice.

"What dance would you prefer to learn first?"

He blinked, not comprehending. "Huh?" Were there so many dances to be learnt?

*** ***

Half an hour into the lesson, and Rukawa regretted the vow of persistence that he had taken just earlier that morning.

Since Hanamichi Sakuragi clearly had not even the slightest idea of ballroom dancing, Rukawa had decided that they would simply have to begin with the most basic of dances: the salsa. He had never given private lessons to anyone from Shohoku before, and if there were anyone he would have expected –not– to come under his charge, it would have had to be Hanamichi. Safe to conclude that he was already having enough trouble worrying about keeping up his pretense and yet…

Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that a salsa could look this bad.

"Like this?" the redhead asked, grinning from ear to ear as he hopped, rugby-style, from foot to foot, only the barest resemblance to Rukawa's own steps coming through, and even that was giving grace.

It's all right. In my short teaching career so far, surely I have learnt patience, learnt forgiveness. Surely I have cultivated tolerance, and most definitely have I nurtured diplomacy.

"That is absolutely disgusting."

Hanamichi stopped in mid-hop, a wounded look on his face. "Well, that's why I'm the student, Ruiya-san—"

"Ruiya-sama to you," he couldn't stop himself from snapping.

"—and that's why I'm paying to learn!"

One, two, three, breathe…one, two, three, breathe…

"All right," he exhaled slowly, walking to the radio and re-starting the song. As he waited for the first strains of Ricky Martin to fill the room, Rukawa walked towards Hanamichi, pretending not to notice as the redhead backed away, eyeing him warily. He ignored the look of panic on the taller boy's face, stopping one arm's length away and then reaching out to seize the terrified student's chin.

"First rule, don't look down."

He held Hanamichi's head in that position, then moved his hands deftly down and pushed the redhead's shoulders back, noticing absentmindedly that said shoulders were broad and well-muscled.

Well, now. We certainly seem to be getting distracted.

Rukawa had never had a personal cause to spurn at Hanamichi, unless it was that seemingly sheer stupidity that the younger boy always exuded around a certain ex-captain's sister. If anything, his automatic retaliations had emerged from his personal opinion that this gangster was not fit to even play alongside him in basketball. Yet, years and injuries past, cheers and tears considered, he supposed that his occasional jibes and more frequent disdain had been spruced into…well…a friendly enough direction. This observation of Hanamichi's chest however, was most certainly new and even more definitely alarming.

Maybe dressing like a girl for so long has made me think like a girl.

"Second rule, always stand up straight. Think tall. Yes, like that. Now keep that posture."

He stepped back into his original position, about a foot from Hanamichi, just as the music began to fill the room, echoing off the walls with the pulsing, sensuous rhythm of the Latin salsa. Rukawa Kaede was determined that He. Would. Teach. Hanamichi. How. To. Dance. If. It. Killed. Him. He held out his left hand, trying not to roll his eyes again at the redhead's suspicious look towards the proffered limb.

"Shall we try again?"

God, give me strength.