Summary: Haruko's not just a crush anymore; she's a lifeline Mitsui desperately wants to protect. In the chaos of a backstreet chase, maybe the first steps towards becoming the man she deserves are being taken.

THE CHICK MAGNET
by サンテラ

Sweat stung Mitsui's eyes as he bolted down the alley. Another day late for practice, but that was the least of his worries..

The alley stank of rotting food and something fouler. He caught glimpses of those street toughs again: the scarred leader, the tattooed giant, the girl twirling her chain. They were trouble he'd desperately shed, the remnants of a life Mitsui was determined to bury.

Then came her voice, like a breeze in this suffocating backstreet. "Mitsui-san? What's going on?"

Akagi Haruko stood in front of the door of an obscure shop, grocery bags dangling from her arm. Even here, she carried a quiet strength unlike any he possessed.

"N-nothing, Akagi!" His deep voice stumbled as he shoved past her. "You need to get out of here."

"But you're hurt! And why were those people…?" There was a flicker of worry on her face, a sharpness in her usually soft voice that gave him pause.

"They're... listen, just go!"

Before she could protest, the gang's shouts echoed from the street. A raspy voice pierced the air, "Hey, who's the pretty girl? Introduce us to her, will ya?" The others erupted in laughter. "Damn, this basketball star is still a chick magnet!"

A gasp escaped Haruko's lips, her fingers tightening around the plastic of the grocery bag.

Mitsui acted. He grabbed Haruko's hand and bolted, pulling her into a mad dash through the maze of Kanagawa's backstreets. His breath burned, a stitch jabbed in his ribs, but he wasn't running for himself anymore. It was about keeping her safe.

Maybe Haruko thinks I'm an idiot, a corner of his mind thought between panting breaths. Why doesn't she pull away? Why must she think? ...

The smell of fried octopus from a street stall momentarily cut through the adrenaline. Then, a playground appeared. He yanked her towards the colorful plastic tunnel. "In here!"

The tube was torture-cramped and stuffy. He pressed his body against hers, the scent of her shampoo and a hint of worry filling his nostrils. Outside, their pursuers were closing in.

"They're going to find us," he squeezed out, trying to ignore the fact that he was holding her hand way too tightly.

The plastic walls vibrated with heavy footsteps. He heard a snarl, and instructions barked. It felt like a lifetime before the sounds retreated. Finally, he dared to push further back in the tunnel and saw her worried eyes in the dimness.

"I think they're gone," he rasped, shame washing over the relief.

Haruko cautiously crawled out and then helped him up. "Mitsui-san," she began, her voice surprisingly steady, "those people... they're from your past?"

He swallowed hard. "Something like that." He kicked at a stray pebble, and the image of her holding his hand seared into his mind. He needed to tell her the truth, explain, apologize… But the words stuck in his throat.

"We should get going." Haruko picked up her fallen groceries, the gesture heartbreakingly normal. "Coach will be looking for you."

She began walking. He scrambled after her–desperate not just to evade the gang but to keep up with the girl he was starting to realize was much braver than he'd ever given her credit for.

"Next time you see me like that, Akagi, just run back home. I don't want you involved with my troubles. If anything happened to you because of me, your big brother would kill me. I'll be fine, don't worry."

The words felt heavy, a shield he was hastily trying to put between them. Yet, even as he spoke, Mitsui saw a flicker of something in Haruko's eyes. Not fear-it looked almost like...disappointment?

"Mitsui-san... it would be nice... if you could just call me Haruko. After all, I'm younger than you."

Mitsui turned his head and saw a slight smile touch her lips. "Of course, Haruko."

And while that tiny sliver of warmth did nothing to calm his fear, something in the tightness of his chest shifted.

It felt faintly like hope and, perhaps, even the beginnings of trust.

###