Rediscovery

Disclaimer: I don't own SD boys, Inoue does. The events that follow are not included in the original plot but enjoy anyway.

Summary: A contemptuous, observant and paranoid Rukawa suspects that Mitsui's gay, and in the process gets the surprise of his life. One shot. No particular pairing.

One line's not mine, it's Cervantes's.

Warning: language not suitable for…people.

'Thanks for nothing, Kuwata. You just added another nice turnover on our side. Tell me, did you honestly think I could outrun that shitty pass?'

'Sorry, sempai. I thought Kogure-sempai would catch it in case…'

'In case what? In case heaven lends you some frickin' common sense?' The royal all-time bully scoffs at the freshman, cut-and-dried for a hot fracas in case the other gives retaliation in any kind.

'Mitsui, I'm sure it was just a slight miss.' Kogure intercepts. 'Let's get back to the game.'

'Slight miss? What in the world are you saying? We're tons of points behind and there's only 30 seconds left…'

'Keep your cool, it's not going to be on the records. Let's go.' Kogure says. It's a common knowledge that he'd be there to smooth out the rough edges; there's the pacifist megane for you.

Fearing to lose self-control once again, Mitsui lets it slip. From my line of vision, I could see his face while it sops with a certain kind of bile; it actually reminds me of my grandma's menopause. Perhaps even with the sort of arrogance that's way exaggerated. That's how he blows his fuse, and that's only the pre-implosion part, mind you. He may not have intended to betray most of his anger, but it seems very much that his temper won't outlast the afternoon. I was enjoying his hostility awhile, appreciating him just throwing that childish fit, but it's starting to grate on me lately. He thinks he fucking gave birth to the world when he's angry. I'm not exactly sure what the rest think of him; a palsy-walsy team mate or a slightly tolerated acquaintance, whichever, neither works for me. I suppose he and I will never end up on each other's invitation cards; and needless to even point out, I can accept a million phone calls every day and rest assured that none of them will be from Mitsui. It's people like him that make me think the world should start ending, just for the sake of shutting him up. Maybe he was born with a strange grudge on everything and anyone living. Don't bother to ask if he ends up in some calaboose or what for manslaughter.

'Game's over!' Ayako blows the whistle. 'White 68, Blue 79.'

We won, typically; with the crappy way Mitsui's playing, even Magic Johnson couldn't have saved their arse. No matter how much one appreciates quality over quantity, it remains undeniable that Mitsui didn't play the role well. And just to show it, he himself couldn't manage his own team's rotation. Even his three point attempts barely reached half of his average, and he was supposed to carry his team! Yeah, tell me more about it. Just like running off and leaving the shipwreck behind for the others to deal with it. If he'd name the scapegoat, it better be him. He's possibly that chapfallen and wishing to get away from here, to pack his stupidity and trawl away with it. Had I been in his shoes I wouldn't feel otherwise. I languish back on the bench, look for some untouched bottled water, and swig it in a matter of seconds. The victory isn't that flattering since I have to share it with some red head primate. All my twenty-four points greeted by a less than warm welcome. Oh well.

'I'm a genius basketoman!'

Yeah Sakuragi. I almost wish we didn't win.

I run my eyes to my Shohoku team mates with a vague intent of satisfying me with the losers' soreness. That of Mitsui should be the bruiser; damn, I can't wait to see how sour that old has-been will take this. I see him now sauntering away from the center. He's a mess, even his hair is discolored; but his face is obscured by the distance. Anyhow, I'm certain it looks bitter; like how anyone looks if a bunch of kids beat the crap out of him in a shooting game. He drops himself on the far end of the side court. His skin's really scarlet this time. I suspect he'd been up to some bad blithering with someone again. Should explain why he's fucking late for practice again, though nobody asks why he could get away with it time and again. Maybe Akagi likes him or whatever. He being a senior is just wide off the mark; as far as I know, anyone can be punished irrespective of what year he's in. Maybe Akagi really likes him; what other reason should there be if he tolerates Mitsui's nihilistic attitude to the team? Damn Gorilla. I was late 20 minutes on my first game rehearsal one time, I believe that was around June, and my penalty was to sweep the motherfucking floor three days straight! The justice system in this team is just plain lovely and lovable.

'Assemble!'

Speak of the devil. The Gorilla wants another drill, I bet.

'Form a double file. We're running 20 laps! Go! Go! Go!'

The team gives a knee-jerk response. Sets of feet shuffle around the court, including mine; Captain mounts ahead and starts to count '1, 2, 1, 2…' like a damned broken record. Can't he fucking count? I mean, count seriously and make it go up to three at least? We begin to jog. Off to one side I can get a good view of Mitsui. I can tell he's pretty calm right now. He's beside his pal, Miyagi. I bet Miyagi knows everything about him; why he acts so skagged everyday, why he has putrid manners, why he's such a fucking arsehole. And I have to commend Miyagi for putting up with him at times like this and not doing the right thing like ramming a knuckle on his face.

We finish twenty laps, which reminds me, it's time for my favorite part of the day. Shower. It's the only time I could be me, when I can be clean and prim again after those long grinding hours. And it also means calling it a day. We gobble to the baths, each hurrying to come first and be served first. Somebody has gone ahead of me and I have to sit on the eggs before my turn. I decide to wet my bedraggled face in the faucet while waiting. Miyagi is mumbling gently to Mitsui just near the door. My ears perk up automatically; the sophomore seems to be soothing the senior.

'Forget it.' Ryota says.

'But I don't want to, Miyagi…'

'Get a grip, Mitchy, it's a common problem. Thinking about it is asking for another shit of a bother. I know it sucks but it doesn't mean everything's fucked. Look at you, you're a great athlete. Why would you let things like that affect your game? You've been in a salty mood on day's end, the whole week in fact, and it's all because you're letting yourself go away with it. Pull yourself together, man.'

'Pull myself what? I've been trying to but she has to fucking remind me every time we pass by the corridor. She thinks she's so high and almighty because she fucking dumped me, me of all fucking perfect people?'

Mitsui's really releasing it now like a scupper. Like he has the authentic cheek to do that; I'm pretty positive he left out self-degrading details of this dump story. But well, there this goes: He got dumped by some frumpy cunt who's dumb enough to shag him. The monologue-ish way of breaking it sickens me and reminds me of nothing but a throwaway self-ridicule whose very motive is to fish. Hell, every cretin more or less knows that the likelihood of Mitsui listening to anyone is close to nothing, anyway he has his gigantic ego to listen to. Thus rendering it unnecessary to open up right from the off.

I twist the faucet open and the water gushes out accompanied by a seemingly oppressive noise. The pair throws me a particular look which sooner tells me that they've been interrupted. Mitsui pouts his lips accusingly, telling me plainly that I have intruded on something privy, important and serious; his life. On the contrary, I think he's overrating his importance; I think his life is an open book of hilarity and contempt and is no more than a big joke. Take that, Mitsui fucking sempai.

'Would you mind?' Mitsui shifts the bite to me with an obvious intention, I can tell, of making me feel persona non grata. Would I mind? By light years, ya complicated bloke.

I didn't do him the courtesy of answering back; I just stare back at him with glacier eyes as Miyagi shakes his head.

'It's just Rukawa, Mitchy. He's nothing. He doesn't give a fuck about this; it wouldn't be much of a difference if we have a toilet bowl in his lieu. Anyway, where were we?'

Mitsui seems to have a put-on waterworks now and much as I hate to use the phrase, well, as if.

'Ryota, I'm dead. So dead I can no longer die. My ego's all I have left and…'

They continue to talk as if they were in a shrink parlor with Mitsui tattling in rat-tat-tat like a complete sonofabitch and Ryota leashing out empathic or sympathetic (I don't know which) remarks to the other; and I continue to linger like a fly on the wall that scavenges on their conversation and with time frozen in my hands. In a matter of moments, I start to feel that I'm not really there; more like, I have become their environment. Miyagi spraffs away in a manner with such gentleness not natural in him. He probably sympathizes with Mitsui for real, and the livid Mitsui begins to be lambent, peaceful and really tired of not getting over. I can tell from the way his voice slows down and how gruffy it sounds the next moment.

A cubicle is announced available. I have to move off the terrain and leave these 2 here. They stop talking, at long fucking last; in that way I wouldn't miss anything crucial. They are joined by Sakuragi who's eating his chop alone even after everyone has got his fill on the win or loss.

'Wasn't I amazing, Mitchy, Ryochin? We got you starters. Nyahahaha!' He explodes in a simpering caricature of himself.

'A wonderful news to dispatch. Yeah, you were great and you won, all thanks to Rukawa.' I could hear Miyagi say outside my box.

'I second that. And man, I sucked big time. Argh, stop harping it, will ya?' Mitsui adds, still not released from the Mourning Central.

Nevertheless, yeah. That's what I've been dying to hear, Mitsui sempai, go admit to yourself that your game's garbage; losing to us when Sakuragi's on our side should be enough concrete evidence.

Akagi's really upset about our grades. So upset he's gone obsessed with transforming us into honor students; the passion being derived ex necessitate rei, yours truly. And I should say it aggravates him to death that all his four starters got fuck-ups for marks. But I have to give it to the principal for being the biggest bitch. He's threatening to ban us from the basketball club if we don't get grades (he doesn't think the crap we had for grades should be called decently as such). If his motive is to make Akagi frowzy he probably succeeded in it more than he'd ever know. Akagi's scholastic ideas are really lined up in this strict principle of order that guarantees perfection or near it, and he has every drop of intention to infect us with it. Now he has teamed up a group of tutors to educate 'these lunkheads', us, in his house the whole week everyfuckingday. By this time, excitement seems to be the last façade on display.

I'm in danger of flunking four subjects which I have no memory to name. It's probably math and English and others. I could just admit that I have some mental condition that symptomizes borderless idiocy at any rate, that it's an insoluble problem in my case, but I can't take class extension after basketball practice. I'm sure as day follows night that this is going to kill me faster than I get something to my head. And now I'm here with 4 of my team mates plus Ayako and Akagi's sister; the latter's my tutor. Our lesson is conducted in the dining room while the others are on their own business in every part of the house.

'Rukawa, wake up. My brother's going to be mad if he sees you like this.' She's saying to me. My eyes are drooping quite heavily now and I got my head resting on the stone-hard dining table. The whole room's a twirling vision of its former self and I could feel a slight touch shaking me back to the waking world.

'Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.'

Whack!

'Go back to your lesson!'

I rub the back of my head and look up. Out of nowhere, Akagi's face contorts in anger. 'You won't sleep or go home unless you answer the exercises Haruko gave!'

'Brother, he's just maybe tired--'

'He's not tired. He's just dumb, he probably forgot to bring his brain along. Nyahahaha!' Sakuragi appears out of the blue.

Whack. 'Go back to the room, Sakuragi. Have you answered your own exercises?'

'Uh, no.' And the red head saru swoops swiftly upstairs.

'How's Sakuragi doing, brother?' Haruko asks.

Akagi takes out a canned Coke from the fridge. 'He's learned something, no longer thinking and solving equations through his ass. What about him?' I'm quite sure he means me.

'He's,' Haruko pauses, looking nervous. 'He's still trying.'

'Better not stop at trying.' Akagi says and disappears to the portal.

Haruko turns to me. Her hue has become more crimson-like this time and she's smiling apologetically.

'I think we should go back to where we started. You probably don't remember those anymore, do you?' She says.

'No, I don't.' Now it's push or pull. I decide on the former, being too overwhelmed by the larger considerations.

Just when I thought I've reached farther in the road of academics, I learn that there's still a long way to go, with all these stuff she's forcing on me I'm quite surprised my head's not yet nipping. By the time it hits eight, Haruko decides that I may pass the quiz tomorrow. I don't know if she's just pulling my leg or what; she's probably gone dotty of repeating the same thing twice over and absolutely gives up on me. To be fair though, I have understood some parts of the subject, which causes me to re-evaluate my chronic aphasia for school-related things. And I owe that to her. She's not bad after all and as crappy as it sounds, I feel like a huge jerk for cold-shouldering her all the while. Satisfyingly spent, I excuse myself to the living room, saying that I need a more comfy stuff to lie down on. It occurs to me in shock that Kogure's tutoring Mitsui there. From the other end of the room, by the breakfast table, Ayako's instructing Miyagi with an almost religious passion, very much carrying on with the same determination she always has in encouraging the team. Miyagi, on the other hand, looks thoroughly into it, which gives me the notion that everything's coming up roses between them. He fancies her, I suppose. Meanwhile, Mitsui and Kogure are slumped on the floor with their elbows on the short table where notebooks lie open. I surmise they have to go through all lectures just to stuff a bit of something inside the scapegrace's head.

'I'll take a nap.' I tell them, nodding at the three-sitter sofa bed across them. I am reaching the exhaustion where I rightfully deserve a let-up and up to now, I never knew how tedious mental activities can be.

Mitsui and Kogure continue as I stretch myself on the bed. They don't bother keeping their volume down; they go on speaking as normally as before. I realize that at best, I can roughly sleep this way. I want to ask Haruko if I can stay in her bedroom but she's now nowhere in sight. Reluctantly conceding to the fact that I'll be deprived of another rest, I settle to listen to Kogure and Mitsui's conversation.

'Well, yeah, that's the stereotypical and ignorant point of view. But it isn't the principal conflict of the story. It began when a plague started coming down upon the city and the sight-seer told Oedipus to search for the one who killed Jocasta's husband.' Kogure tells him. 'By then, the tragedy of the story unfolds and it is answered why Oedipus is the epitome of a tragic hero.'

'Uh, let's see, is it because he punished himself in the end?' Mitsui says in a soon-to-be-crazy-of-all-this-shit tone.

'Yeah, that's part of it. But it's primarily because he did everything he had to run away from his destiny and still in the end, got stuck with it.' Kogure answers.

'Oh, I see.' Mitsui says. 'How about you, Kiminobu, do you believe in destiny?'

A silence seeps through as my musings fill the air and the wandering moments. Even their respiration seems still and if not for the mechanical sound of the rolling ceiling fan above us, my mental ramblings will have been exposed. I have a feeling it's a question Kogure would rather ignore; it's too silly and passé to lend a thought to. But maybe, just maybe, there are some things that won't be clear enough no matter how many words are put to them, and this may well be among the lot. And me, do I believe in destiny? The silence persists and when I'm quite sure Kogure will change the subject he says, rather awkwardly,

'Er, I, say, I don't really know. I guess I'll have to wait for it or something and then see if it works for me.'

'Will you try and look for it?'

'If I feel like, maybe.' Now Kogure sounds exasperated. 'Listen, let's focus on the dénouement so we can all go home satisfied. You are doing quite well by the way.'

'Thanks.'

He's flirting, that's what. He's seducing you and sniping at your vulnerability, Kogure. He's…wait a minute, did I just come up with a scoop? Hisashi Mitsui? Fucking quee…? Sure they were sitting closely when I crashed into them moments ago, they were like this close and their arms were brushing against each other and underneath the table their hands were probably entwined and--and now, since I'm not looking, they're most probably—making out? No! It's a stupid thing to do here or in anywhere else—even in a solitary dark tower where no one's watching. Wait, wait, I could still hear them talking, they couldn't have their mouths locked together if that's the case. But what are they talking about? All I can piece out are snatches. Have they, by any chance, put a sequel to their flirt-o-rama? Damn, public display of affection should be a crime punishable by life sentence and, and gay people like Hisashi Mitsui are so…zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

I have just been from a battle of dreams and wakefulness with neither, as I'm willing to bet, ready to accept defeat. I have lain there for several minutes, initially for the purpose of regenerating through a little nap and ending up with a grim prospect of nosing around. I tried to withstand this damned narcolepsy until I felt like swimming in the air with my arms paddling along, but they grew weary of it and I fell nowhere, utterly lost in dreams. Thus I can't say I have stitched things together quite fine and I'm still lost for answers. One thing I'm sure though, Mitsui's a poof. I know the words I heard then were being somewhat simulated into the ones in my dreams but, well, they couldn't possibly just come from me alone; I knew Mitsui had tried to enchant Kogure and he's fucking queer. I could just tell by the way he phrases out his dialogues, by the way he bundles into him closer and closer. He was being the closet-romantic by his tone. I got loads of evidences to corner his ass; his quick tempered shit and all that jazz are just a decoy to cover him up. It's all enough. Let alone being ditched by a poser-hag he called his girlfriend. My guesses all hit home.

Miyagi's the one who shook me up. It is now nearly ten in the evening. The Akagis see us through the exit and me (though still presently wobbly), Mitsui, Kogure, Ayako, Miyagi and Sakuragi brave the night home.

'I still can't see why the Kitsune ended up in Haruko's care.' Sakuragi pipes after the door closes behind us. We stride through the shadowy pavements of the streets. I notice that the only source of light at this time of the day is the stars, which is why I have difficulty seeing how smug the saru's face is. Anyway, I can't care less, and I won't say I'm sorry for him for enduring painful hours with Akagi. If truth be told, the satisfaction is empowering.

'That's not it, baka. You just had to be supervised by Akagi himself 'cos you're such a hard nut to crack.' Mitsui starts. 'Hey guys, wanna go to the pub for a drink? Just Sprite or something.'

'Uh, curfew.' Ayako says. 'I mean, well, I have a curfew.'

'Well that's too bad. Does that mean Ryota's not coming too?' Mitsui teases.

'You're goddamn right I'm not.'

'That's fine. Sakuragi?'

'I'm broke. But if you can make some few adjustments...'

'Don't keep your hopes up then. What about you, Kaede?'

He's asking me out. Or make that, he's including me to his roster, which may mean anything, just anything. He even raises the stakes by referring to me with my first name. I put on a vague deadpan of a face as he starts to liberate impatient gestures. He's like that; knowing that you're hesitant, he'll go exploiting you further. He wants to flirt and bring out the faggot in me because he probably needs to share his faggotry with somebody, because if he doesn't; he will be living in a reality that's fading away, where he'll be coerced by the environment to pretend. And he can never do it alone. I can feel his thoughts, their rhythm; they are almost palpable in the space between him and me. Have a drink with him, is that what he said? He's using an ancient skullduggery on me, a stupid technique which doesn't have the innocence it tries to mean.

'No.' I say with the least agreement to decency. I may have wanted to chill out with him just to satisfy the conditions of my suppositions, but the risk is, I have to admit, too great to take. I can't play the daredevil anytime, can I? So yeah, I've dissolved and therefore salvaged the situation.

'Fine, then. Kogure and I shall go, anyway he's the best to have in tow.' Mitsui declares faster than Kogure could say yes. They are truly an item, those two.

'I feel better, thank you. I thought I'd be more distraught than ever if I see her with somebody else. Then it just came to me; what a wonderful riddance. I've never possessed this kind of single-mindedness before and it's a good sign.' Mitsui smiles at Miyagi; they mean the fag-hag who threw Mitsui out. I can't figure out how he's gotten over her, unless I consider Kogure's role as his saving grace in this drama play.

The practice hasn't started yet and I'm here with the freshies trying to glitter the floor. And what a glamorous career I'll make out of its upkeep. Miyagi and Mitsui are slouching on the side court, quite in position where I can get good results from and hear clearly what they're chatting about. It's also a little bit weird that after the one week hell of extra classes at the Akagi's, Mitsui has abated his tardiness to which he has been so consistently faithful before.

'That's good to hear and good to see you in optimum behavior. But the joy of it all is cleaning the red marks out of our class cards.' Miyagi says. He has a point; I, too, feel extremely lighter these post-flunking days.

'Yeah, and receiving praises from the lady love, I suppose?'

'Mitchy! You're making me…' Miyagi sustains a fit of giggles. I do agree that he's scored with Ayako though. She really is proud of him. 'Mitchy, how does it feel getting to practice on time?'

'Absolutely great. I mean, my efforts finally paid off and now I'm starting to get the credit I deserve. I have to say it was a bug to me and Kogure to have a one on one study each morning and another one after class. It was a mighty huge hassle and I have to say too that I'm indebted to him big time. And let's not hear out the details of the embarrassment I've suffered.'

The mop I'm using suddenly stiffens just as my ears start to feel really dilated, and here he is making his I-just-tripped-the-light-from-the-cesspit debut, all-smiles for success. I haven't known anything about Mitsui's early extra lessons with Kogure and how daft was my hindsight not to notice that Kogure was late too most of the time, and along with Mitsui for that matter? I normally attributed those odd occasions to coincidences and nothing more, and seeing that I was too narrow-minded to bring forth meaning to those circumstances, I begin to feel like a genuine wreck. Of course, that should satiate the riddle of Akagi's tolerance of Mitsui's diurnal tardiness. So much for making a gay man out of our captain. I look at the floor below and it dawns on me that I've been mopping the same spot the whole fucking time. It's now so lucid and shiny I could see my defeated expression frowning back at me, almost mouthing out words to tell me that I've fucked up. But for what?

I wonder if these counter facts leave enough of something to make him queer, still.

My team mates start to appear one by one. We begin to assemble to fill out the practice routine; stretching, practice match, twenty laps. I didn't do well; I honestly have no appetite for the game and needless to say, we lost. It may be that I'm making so much of a nuisance of what I've just discovered but it's also as much as feeling how bad it is to have my expectations decrease in seconds. I feel blank, like an empty canvas that anyone can paint on, anyone can laugh at. It's time to hit the baths.

I have a feeling that even taking a nice, long shower wouldn't wash away this umbrage which I have taken from nothing, no one in particular. All cubicles are occupied and I have to stand outside. I choose the place in front of the leak. Mitsui is standing in front of me.

'You look awful.' He tells me very casually and starts looking at me in a sizing-up, concentrated manner. That's exactly the same thing I would've told him back then, when he was still so radged somebody actually had the audacity to downplay and ditch him.

'…' I don't say anything, with no excuse for silence other than not wanting to talk.

'And you played like a royal amateur back there, no offense, but you blew it out.' Mitsui says. I can't tell whether he's taking pleasure in pissing me off like this or he's just being frank and unknowingly guile at that. Whatever it is, his face roughly executes malice.

'…'

'What's bothering you, Rukawa? I doubt it should be anything else when we're all supposed to be delighted for chucking our way out of failing.'

I raise my eyes to him. I can simply cut the chase and say 'you'. But he's gone there even before I do.

'Is it me?' He lifts up his brow and gives me a telepathic look. 'I've been wanting to know why you always look at me in a certain inquisitive way. I don't mean to be presumptuous in any case, but lately you're getting on my balls; you're looking at me almost to the point of stalking me and I feel uncomfortable. Would you mind?'

'Mind what?' I grumble. My blood begins to run cold as the feeling of getting waffled in the middle of 2 frictional forces eats me up. He's found me out, no question. Damn, it's so hard to talk to someone about the weather when you've gone this personal.

'Mind stopping it, that's what I mean. And…mind telling me about all this useless guff.'

I'm facing a stark dead end, in here and beyond; nothing left but to tell him…

'You're gay, Mitsui-sempai.' I blurt out and finish with double determination. It's not a query, not a confirmation, but a mere declaration of how I perceive him. Or how I saw him until my grounds grew feeble, until this day seized the opportunity to refute me almost completely.

He sneers. For the first time I see that stubbornness in his look that wouldn't do to budge or to distract. His expression is so elusive, so fleeting that I can't possibly catch or even touch it. I now can't tell what's happening and what's not but there's him, seeming desensitized for all I know or care. The sound of falling water inside the shower boxes amplifies and bounces through my eardrums. I can hear the multitude of droplets as they skoosh out of the hose, tumble through the air, collapse on the tiles and slither down the sink. I can hear the wind, my team mates whistling and crooning privately inside their stables, I can hear my heart thumping irregularly and I can feel danger. I prepare myself for a blow, anticipating his fist against my cheek. I will stand up to him. If he can't take the cascading weight of reality, then it's his fucking problem.

Nothing comes.

Repulsed, I roll my eyes back to him. He doesn't change his position which shows that he took no movement to advance all the while. He just purses his lips and gives his look the signature sarcasm it wants. This he does with utmost reserve.

'Am I now?.' He chuckles sforzando, lets it subside, then, 'Sorry to disappoint yah, pal, but you've grabbed the wrong end of the stick.' And resumes hee-hawing.

I squint back at him, failing to see the funny side of it. It's strangely pathetic to see someone roll laughing at his own joke.

'I'm every bit as a fucking male as Miyagi and Sakuragi. I'm not going to murder you for that; if you don't believe me, what's the point of forcing you? It would just be another time-wasting, energy-squandering brawl that can't make both sides come to a fucking understanding. And besides, you're not much of an issue to me. I can go by every day with you practically invisible and unfamiliar. If my relationship with Kogure is the root of your hocus pocus, carry on. Kogure and I are really, plainly just what we are; close team mates. Now you know, why don't you start crediting it to your genius, Mr. Private Investigator?' Mitsui pauses and grabs the towel on the wash. 'I repeat. I'm every bit as a male as Miyagi and Sakuragi. You probably are not. A bit of advice—free of charge--give it a thought and ask yourself why you should nourish so much interest in me.'

Touché.

I dish out those sockdolagers as they seem to cut me in half, grinding me to face-down embarrassment. To believe that is to destroy all arguments, but maybe those arguments didn't exist to begin with. Having made his point he marches out on me, dismissing the conversation just like that, to never remember. And he seems to continue to be there like a lamp that doesn't die out. At the same moment, some cubicles are emptied and the solid silence seems to gently fall apart. I get a drowning sensation all of a sudden with all the backdrop reducing to a vertigo. In a self-loathing, half-blindsided mood, I take his rede and give it a thought myself;

I learn that I've been in love with him all this time.

END

A/N: Done. This is criminal, I know. It really ends that way. I'm really, really sorry. I can't make them get goo-goo at each other and all that.

On a final note, my distaste towards Rukawa's character has obviously been captured, in that case, forget it. I'm not going to welcome flames for that BUT any other gripe (like if you think the story is utter crap) would be acceptable. Reviews would be nice, likes.

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