Two Less Crazy People in the World

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

A/N: Buckle up, you're in for a long ride. This chapter is so long it'll probably make you puke. I couldn't figure out where to cut it so I just let it go in one chapter. Sorry.

Chapter II

He has trudged half of the way to Kanagawa Bay when he noticed that his other hand where a bucket should be dangling from was empty. He remembered that he left his bucket in the garage and he really had to get it because otherwise he would be stuffing the fish he'd catch in his lunch box. Gross, he remarked, and turned around to retrace the path, walking stolidly, going through it not without nonstop profanities slipping out of his lips. His face was another matter, contorting in such a way that'd scare the daylights out of any passerby who bumped into him. The weather's on the bearable side; an opaque gray shade paints the clouds as the sun seems satisfied with just hiding behind them for the greater part of the afternoon. It's without a doubt a good day to fish.

In due course he reaches his home. He hefts up their garage's shutter and finds the silver pail standing forlorn just beside the cleaning mop. 'Here you are, you crazy shit-ass, you…' He mumbles, attributing words to the pitiful thing which he only usually gives to people he can't stand to be with for a minute. He grabs it by the handle, feeling as sure as hell that he can rupture anything, and for some outlandish reason, begins smashing it on anything inside the garage. 'Damn, why do you have to mess me up on the first day anyway?' He blares, swinging his arms in every which way and only stopping when everything's just as badly shaped as an egg splat against a wall. Thankfully most of the stuff in there are on their way to the junk shop.

'Hisashi, what's wrong?' His mom comes running down the steps with an anxious look on her face. She hasn't asked her son how his meeting with Dr. Kuwaku went yesterday, perhaps fearing that the doctor rejected further sessions with Mitsui again. Not again, she tells herself. 'Son, what's going on? Is something wrong?'

'Nothing that suicide won't cure.' Mitsui replies. It fascinates him that his mom will act first-timer shocked when time and again he never fails to go ballistic--just like this, even when the cause is as petty as a misplaced sock. She's supposed to be too used to it now. If she would only stop mourning for something her son never had, sanity that is, perhaps everything wouldn't be half as bad as it is. Or is it just her idea of denial? Of shying away from the ugly reality that her son is dead hopeless? And yet she's always, consistently been wistful that at times Mitsui's starting to believe it isn't just a façade. Sometimes Mitsui just gets the feeling that she wouldn't run off even if it kills her to stay by his blow-outs. And that's what makes him cling to her wishes, that and nothing else.

'Goddamn, I'm having a bad start.' Mitsui says. He's still panting from the havoc he just invoked from the top of his head. He drops the pail and rod on his side. Mrs. Mitsui's gaze falls on said fishing equipment and Mitsui's odd clothing that consists of a pair of knee-length shorts and that white run-of-the-mill T-shirt that's already slathered in sweat due to his one minute long tirade.

'Are you going somewhere, Hisashi?'

'Yes, I'm going fishing and it's going to take back my sanity.' He says, picks up the rod and bucket and makes a dash for the gate. He begins to wonder why everything he's been doing for the last few weeks is solely meant to retrieve his psychological soundness. And yet, there is nothing colossally wrong with him at all, is there? He's just a kid going through certain complicated stages; nothing awry in that. Yes, he probably sees red more frequently than the rest do but yeah. He's mighty fine.

Mrs. Mitsui emits a low 'oh' and wishes her son good luck. Mitsui raises one hand, expressing his thanks, and disappears to the sidewalks.

It's all gone like hell's broken loose and I haven't even started. I haven't even caught a single fish and I'm already looking like mess coming from an untidy kitchen. Bleak bitch of a day, Mitsui thinks. With a brimful of hot temper to quell, he ambles past the road on the way to Kanagawa Bay, one of the most famous fishing spots in Japan. Several hours earlier, Doctor Kuwaku phoned in to inform him of the address of the store (called 'Hooker's') where he could get fishing equipment 'at half price and twice the quality'. Mitsui was a little surprised as he was already dead set on slurring over Kuwaku's advice and erasing his existence on his mind for good. He had already made up the things he would say to his mom should she ask about the details of the meeting, and Doctor Kuwaku he didn't even consider going back to again. Basically it just shocked him almost no end that the doctor should be so thoughtful. None of his past shrinks had bothered to check out on him before. Kuwaku probably remarked that Mitsui failed to inquire about fishing when obviously he hasn't gone into one his whole life. That loony, Mitsui said as he slammed the phone down. He went to the shop just a few minutes after breakfast. He couldn't tell whether the things it sells are cheap or expensive as he he's never seen a fishing rod's price tag before. The salesclerk asked him if he was going to get a fishing bucket too but he remembered that they have a cleaning bucket at the house and might as well use that. 'I already have one.' He lied and cashed the bills.

He is welcomed by the lovely sight of Kanagawa Bay just when every little thing seems to point out to anyone's lucky day. Not for Mitsui whose string of bad luck already had its start at the run early in the afternoon. Forgetting his bucket, shit, it makes him want to knock his head with it. He does a survey of the area, marking potential spots where he may have a fortuitous experience of catching the most impressive, largest mackerels. Despite having been in the place countless of times before, he has never done an in-depth observation of it, and now as he does so he surprises himself by the sincere awe he's feeling; the place rocks alright. It's most possibly because he was too busy trading mean jokes with his gang to ever take the slightest notice of his surrounding. The air is rather thin; he can see the shapes it makes as it cuts through the blue surface of the water, forming snake-like curves on it. Very few people are about though some of the old men Mitsui made fun of before are present. He continues walking, his toes sinking on the sands with each step, and stopping only when some conducive spot catches his eye. Finally, he sees a protruding rock out of the water just a few feet away from the shore. He can't have chosen a better spot than this; it's just large enough to accommodate 2 people at a time and elevated enough to keep any fishing guy from getting doused by the angry waves. Perfect, he smirks. Rod slung on his shoulder and pail hung up on his left arm, he approaches the rock as part of his legs becomes submerged in salt water.

After surmounting himself up on the rock, he bends double on top and spins the dial on the rod to release the nylon. It actually comes with a manual but his patience, or utter lack thereof, causes him to put it aside and rely instead on his instincts. After minutes of fiddling with the device and volumes of obscene phrases, Mitsui finally gets the thing turning. He begins to attach the hook at the tip, finding it the easiest part of the process. This done, he raises the rod and swings it to the water, the nylon thread sinking beneath the bubbled waves.

Mitsui waits. And waits. There's sweat all over his nape and a roar inside his head. Once in a short while, he will change position, scrunch up his shoulders against the wind and transfer the rod from one hand to the other and prop his chin with the free hand. His patience begins to drum out of him in large quantities. The passage of time never stops and not one fish tugs at the rod. Nothing. No fish is dumb enough to see what it's up to once it bites on the hook. Why, the hook looks intimidating enough for anyone as tiny as a playful fish. No wonder.

'This is shitty! This is unrealistically shitty!' He shrieks amidst the tender roars of the waves. He tries to keep his voice low, almost succeeding, only to shudder with rage. Before he can catch a hold of himself he catches him conjuring the nylon back with a flip at the dial and snapping the rod into two. It's so brittle he doesn't even have to use half his arms' muscles to break it. 'I'm never going to fish again!' he goes on, matching the loudness of the suddenly-angered seas. He stands up, glares at the fish-less bucket beside him and kicks it with all his might. It clunks once and torques off away from Mitsui, there disappearing to the bottom of the sea where it's targeted to be. Honestly, he would've made an excellent soccer player. 'Motherfu—'

'Are you alright?' A voice, low and sounding concerned, rings behind Mitsui.

'No.' Mitsui spins around, wanting to do to the person the same thing he just did with the bucket. 'Just what the hell are you here for?'

'Why, to fish. I go here every other day.' The person smiles and his very white even teeth shine brightly. He gently sets down his fishing rods and fishing bucket. Mitsui remarks that the guy's fishing bucket is the same model the salesclerk tried to coax him into purchasing a while ago.

'You!' Mitsui groans. Sendoh Akira, of all uninteresting people. Not even in his rarest nightmares has he gone sharing his moment of recuperation with this guy. In fact, he doesn't want to share that moment with anybody at all.

Mitsui stares at him. Sendoh's hair begins to dance with the wind, the unvaried-sized spikes seeming alive with everything else. He's donned in white T-shirt, like Mitsui, and light blue PJ's that give Mitsui the inkling that he torpedoed his way here straight from his bed.

'Why are you looking at me like that?' Sendoh asks, his smile lingering on his movie-star face.

I'm looking at your idiocy, Mitsui feels tempted to say. On second thought, not worth my fucking spit.

'Nothing.'

'Do I look weird or something?'

'No. You look fine.' Damn, why does he have to harp on that? The bundle of nerves.

'Thanks.' Sendoh smiles even more widely. 'You Shohoku boys look good too, you know. Except for the captain. He reminds me of an infuriated Uozomi.' And his sentence is followed by a hearty titter that makes Mitsui cringe in no time flat.

Mitsui gapes at him, his eyes enlarged by sheer bewilderment, his breath stifled. Sendoh's words shoot out the same moment everything—the waves, the seagulls, the hum of winds—seems to quiet down. How guys look isn't (never!) a subject of conversation for two varsity hunks. Why is Sendoh saying such morbidly immoral things? He asks himself, not caring anymore if the question makes him a shameless hypocrite or an obnoxious moralist or both. Mitsui ultimately feels his knees weaken.

Sendoh's laughter subsides after several demented seconds. Mitsui, however, still can't get his stooped shoulders off the weight of the shock he just incurred. Jeez, talk about out of this world!

'I'm so sorry.' Sendoh says. 'Anyway, I see you've been fishing too. But you seem to be…distressed.'

'Distressed' is a weak word, 'bloody mad' would suit it down the ground.

'You said it, dude.' Mitsui grunts. 'I've been here full 20 minutes and no fish! Jeez, what a crappy day.'

'Yeah, there are such days. But a no-catch day isn't really that bad. Usually it's the relaxation that counts.' Sendoh says. Mitsui notices the earnest optimism in Sendoh's eyes. He has seen that look many times before, on the faces of his freshman team mates, on his mother's, his teachers', friends', in the mirror.

'Really? I say that's the lamest bullshit for a slopped fishing.' Mitsui sneers. 'Tell you what; I'm splitting and I don't want to fish ever again. Ja ne.' He readies himself to un-board from the rock when Sendoh restrains him.

'Don't go yet. There's still chance. Maybe you should try again—'

'Chance? I just halved my rod and threw my bucket across this sea; tell me where chance comes in trying to fish with my bare hands. Hell, I don't need chance; I need a miracle!'

'Wait.' Sendoh says. 'I have an extra rod here. You can use it and we can put our fish in the same bucket. Is that okay?' Sendoh produces another rod and offers it to Mitsui. Mitsui stares at Sendoh for a fleeting second before clutching the rod from the latter's hands. Wow, talk about impertinent.

'I don't know how to fish, if you must know.' Mitsui says, cautiously settling himself beside the younger boy. He feels crimped next to Sendoh whose behavior--that straight confidence--obviously suffices any suspicion that he's a superb fisher.

'I can see that.' Sendoh replies. 'Here, I can show you how.'

'No thanks. I'd rather learn by myself.'

'Come on now, Mitsui; don't be a stick-in-the-mud. I'm the guy to trust here.'

Guy to trust? We just trashed the hell out of you in the semi-finals and you tell me I should trust you? Who the hell are you to patronize me like a piece of shit anyway? Mitsui gives him a deadly frown. If Sendoh recognizes it, he doesn't show any sign that he does. He just goes on wordlessly demonstrating his educated way of positioning himself and turning the dial and measuring the thread. Apparently he's read the manual. Not only that, he knows it by heart and it makes Mitsui feel outstandingly stupid for getting everything riled up the first time he tried to use his rod.

'What in suffering fuck is that?' Mitsui points at the disgusting little thing Sendoh is tying around the hook.

'Worm. It's called bait. You can't fish without baits, you know. You have to give 'em silly fish some incentive if you want to cook them.'

Can I excuse myself to the bedroom? I'm going to faint. Mitsui tells himself as he watches the pitiful creature struggle between Sendoh's forefinger and thumb. He doesn't mind now if being without a bait is the reason why he couldn't get around to catching a fish. If the worm is all it takes, he wouldn't complain being the worst loser of any fishing tournament there is.

'Shit, man. How can you eat a fish when it just ate that thing?'

'I don't.'

'Come again?'

'I don't get to eat any fish. I just do this.' Sendoh says, referring to the holistic business of fishing. He stiffens his back and bends his arm sideways to set forth the rod onto the water. Mitsui studies him and infers that fishing is the one habit Sendoh, if faced with such dilemma, would find very hard to break. He watches as Sendoh hums melodically with the wind. He seems so serene, so convicted…

'Let me see you do it, Mitsui.' Sendoh says.

Mitsui waggles his head as if to expel the vision he just had from his head.

'What? Touch the worm? No way, man. You do it for me.'

'Uh…alright.'

Sendoh obediently attaches the worm on the hook and gives it to Mitsui.

'Did you see how I did it?'

'Yes.'

'Okay, let's get ready.'

Even if Mitsui did see how Sendoh took care of the process, from the first to the last step, he can't bring himself to focus on imitating him. He just throws the thread as carelessly as his normal I-don't-give-a-rat's-shit self can allow and watches the minutes scroll by before his very eyes. Half his mind is elsewhere and the other half is ranting about how retarded fishing is and how he's losing all hope to win the race against his red-hot temper. His insides begin to turn into jelly as his mind rebels against itself, demanding to know what he's lingering there for.

Another tormenting period of no movement edges away. Neither of their rods has soared up with a fish on its end. The waters around them seem so still, so empty that not even a living shadow beneath them has been seen by either Mitsui or Sendoh. Sendoh stays flippant all the way through. Mitsui can't tell whether or not the blatant absence of fish poses a setback for the wistful Sendoh; he just sits there, hanging on to the damned rod as though someone paid him to hold it for as long as he can. Mitsui hears every individual sound his ears cup in—the waves, winds, birds, Sendoh's breathing, his. But the time never stops flowing, never stops prolonging itself, and it's getting on Mitsui's nerves like nothing else. He may be growing taller for all the criminal amount of time that slips past them. This is transforming into a goddamned circus,he can almost hear his mind reeling.

Not stopping to hesitate upon seeing how intent Sendoh is on his activity, Mitsui pulls back the rod. The peaceful scene begins breaking up a bit.

'I've never felt so stupid!' He howls and stands up. 'Not in all my life living in a moron-dominated prefecture!' He wants to curse himself for his foolishness, impatience and general ignorance. 'I'm going to fucking blow you to pieces!' As if propelled by a certain force, he heaves the rod up in the air for momentum and draws its full length against his bent right knee. It cracks into two before he can detect the frightened 'no' that automatically comes gushing out of Sendoh's mouth. Ah, deja vu. It seems only a minute ago when something like this happened.

'You broke my rod!' Sendoh exclaims incredulously.

Mitsui collapses on his side. He's shaking on his feet and he doesn't know if it comes from anger or embarrassment or fear or all of the above. It happened so fast, the outburst, spinning out of control and engulfing him in its hugeness. He feels scared of what he might've done to Sendoh and to himself during that flash-like limbo of derangement.

'Yeah, I--I thought you just saw that.' Mitsui stammers as he staggers to recompose himself. 'Listen, I can get you a new one. I know a place where I can buy just like the one you lost. Maybe-'

'Never mind. It's alright, Mitsui.'

And there Mitsui witnesses the weirdest thing he has witnessed or has to witness in his lifetime. Sendoh is smiling. There's not a tinge of satire in that smile, nothing that resembles anger or disappointment in him. He pulls himself up and levels his shoulders with Mitsui.

'Maybe we should cool down, you know; grab a coffee somewhere.' Sendoh sighs. 'My treat. What a stale afternoon.'

oooooOOOOOOOOOOooooo

Inside the coffee shop, Mitsui discovers himself unable to respond to Sendoh's kindness. He can't say sorry, not at his expense of course. There were times in the past when he was on the verge of apologizing for something horrible he'd done, times when he could die of shame just by looking at the face of the person who'd been victimized by his rotten temper. But something always got there first before 'sorry' came out and he'd turn around and efface the event from his memory, for good. Now as he sits across Sendoh Akira, a stranger from some other world he can't be familiar with, a person whose name he can't find in his phonebook, the apology stays just behind his throat, moving and hauling itself up, it seems, so it can be heard, because it goddamn needs to be said out loud.

'Sendoh, I'm so sorry about what happened earlier.' And that's as much as Mitsui can manage. For someone who's been given up for hopeless by 4 certified psychiatrists, it's pretty impressive that Mitsui suddenly learns how to treat people the way they deserve to be. Perhaps it's time to reevaluate Doctor Kuwaku and his intractable methods.

'Oh, it's perfectly alright.' Sendoh smiles. For one evasive second, Mitsui sees Sendoh glow pink. 'I used to be so down when I don't get any fish but, you know, it's not really that bad because the place is nice and everything.'

'But you haven't snapped a rod into two?' Mitsui asks. He doesn't know if it's the coffee he's taking that warms him up or Sendoh's smile.

'No.' Sendoh says, sipping his coffee and placing the mug down the table. 'But I've cried.'

Mitsui blinks at him. He's not sure if he heard that right. Did he say 'tried' or…?

'I would cry myself dry at night, gosh; I was thinking if it was because I caught no fish or if it was because of that.' Sendoh says. 'Then I'd still go fishing in the afternoon of the next and forget. Just forget, as though nothing happened.'

'You'd cry because you caught no fish?' Mitsui can't believe it. He himself has cried, many times, but never over a fish! He isn't so jacked up in the head after all.

'Yes, maybe. But I have other reasons. Those days I used to be so constantly depressed I needed so much help. And then I just accepted it, that I have problems and that I was never going to catch a fish no matter what happened.' Sendoh sighs, staring past Mitsui and to the infinite space behind him. Mitsui doesn't know why, but as he looks at Sendoh's face, he doesn't see the shining eyes and the invariably blinding smile, but a canvas of sorrow. 'So now even if I haven't caught one single fish all my life, it's alright.'

Mitsui's jaw drops. So that's why Sendoh doesn't get to eat any fish; he hasn't hooked one! His ears can't be registering all of this bullshit. He looks at Sendoh, trying to read the conundrum on his face and getting nothing out of it but a rise. He trusted him, considered him a genius where fishing is concerned and now he's saying that he's caught no more fish than Mitsui has? What has the world come into?

'Let me get that right.' Mitsui breathes in. He peers over the table and cranes his neck forward as though he were about to tell Sendoh a secret no one besides them should know. 'Do you mean to say that you haven't caught any? Nothing? Nada?'

'Yes.'

'But you said you go there every other day. You even looked like you knew what you were doing!'

'Of course I did. I've read the manual and other books about fishing. I even subscribed to Fishing Channel. If I didn't learn from any of those, I'd be damned.'

'Then how come you haven't caught any?'

'I don't know. Maybe there's really no fish in that spot. Nobody goes there except me and, well, you.'

He's right; there was no one there except for the two of them, at least within half a mile's radius. Mitsui slaps both hands on his head. He stares at Sendoh and sees him for what he is; a perfect sanity remover. Right, he's not going to dignify Sendoh's reply by asking why he doesn't move someplace where there's fish. The answer is quite obvious…

You are one balky, crazy boy. Look, my insanity pales in comparison to yours; hell you sound like you're just done losing your mind. You belong to the nuthouse and it'd really do me any awful good if I tear away from you now. Mitsui's head continues to rattle. Sure, Sendoh's unconventionality is more to be laughed at than to be problematic about. But sure also, hanging around him is harmful to Mitsui's already-messy psychological hygiene.

He stretches up and says, 'My head aches. I think I need to go home now.'

'Okay.' Sendoh gives him a parting smile. 'Would you like to fish again the day after tomorrow?'

'I, well, I---' Mitsui stutters, something he does when he's hiding something he doesn't want to be exposed for as long as the Earth lasts.

'I'll bring lunch. Who knows? We can get lucky this time.'

'Uh, okay. I'll see, alright?' Faster than he can hear Sendoh reply, Mitsui scuttles off to the exit. By this time, his mind is set on erasing the 'day after tomorrow' on his calendar. Just why did he have to say 'okay'? He grits his teeth as hurries down the pavement.

And as fast as he skids off he realizes one thing: he needs Doctor Kuwaku, bad.

TBC

A/N: Alright. So there we meet Sendoh, who obviously has psychological problems as well. Let's see what happens next.