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Two rows of shot glasses clattered on the table, the spillover pooling down the glossy surface, almost shimmering under the low lights. Kaede regarded the four people crammed with him into the tight corner booth, squaring the mental image he'd kept of each one from the seventeen years that have passed since Shohoku, superposing them one over the other. They've all changed—he knows he still looks the same. Something about it felt unnerving, as if he'd kept himself in stasis while everyone else his age rode the current of time, matured into their looks, held themselves better, seemed relaxed, maybe even satisfied with the way their lives turned out. Across from him, Hanamichi Sakuragi hovered over the table, swaying flightily and letting some of the strands of his longer hair come loose from the low bun that held them back in place. He never wore his hair long in all the time he'd played basketball professionally, something Kaede passively filed away over years of idle observation. It looked good on him, like he was preparing to settle into whatever little life he must have planned post-retirement. A single brow raised slyly as he gestured to the glasses in the manner of a challenger throwing the gauntlet down.
"Rukawa, match me drink for drink," Sakuragi said.
Kaede looked down at the glasses, frowning. He doesn't drink, he could say, but that was never their style. There was a custom he felt obligated to honor. "What are you, a fratboy?" He muttered instead, playing their game.
"How are you still so uptight, what the hell," Sakuragi whined, pulling at his loosened tie like an overgrown kid draped in a drab monkey suit.
"How are you still a man-child?" Kaede volleyed back, trying not to seem too prim in his indignation.
Beside him, Akagi rolled his eyes and laughed. "This reeks of early mid-life crisis, Sakuragi," he said.
It made Sakuragi swing to his side and pull at Akagi's shoulders, back to being the impertinent rookie riling the team captain up. "Man, you know I didn't get to do this stuff back then," he wailed a little overdramatically, eyes growing impossibly bigger.
The two guys beside Kaede laughed, a riot of wheezes and slapping with him caught in the middle of their synched-up verve.
"No, no, Hanamichi, don't tell me you cleaned up your act when I wasn't looking," Miyagi said, in plain disbelief, waggling his ring-stacked fingers at him. "That can't be true."
"He did," Akagi sighed. "Got surprisingly boring in college, to be honest."
"What could you have possibly been doing with all your free time?" Mitsui muttered, like he was trying to get to the bottom of something. He stared down the parade of glasses, eyes tracing the neat rows with an impassive gaze. Then he turned to Miyagi, who laughed at Mitsui and made a face, tongue sticking out, teasing.
"I had a job, Mitchi" Sakuragi said. "Some of us couldn't be born loaded, you know."
Kaede kept his eyes on his nails, trying not to seem too interested. "Weren't you on a varsity scholarship?"
"Dating is expensive," Sakuragi huffed. "Not like you'd know, you think you're just too good for anyone."
Adamantly untrue, and Sakuragi would know this. Kaede made an effort once, practically a lifetime ago. He frowned at Sakuragi, then at the glasses, not bothering to mask his plain distaste. Beside him, Miyagi groaned and got up. "All right, Hanamichi," he said. "I'll do these shots with you."
Sakuragi waved an arm expansively, shaking his head. "No, no, he's just like this. Rukawa's going to down these with me." He stared Kaede down, determined in the way of a predator animal, quietly menacing as if he could finesse out his desired response with a single look. "Won't you?"
Kaede did not drink—he really could just say that. Instead, he got up, lifted a glass gingerly between two fingers as he sighed wearily. "Fine," he said. It was predictable, but this was their habit—their little dance. Would be a shame to fall out of step now. One night should be fine, he supposed. There were only five drinks; it wasn't like he planned on overdoing it. "After you, dumbass."
Sakuragi smiled, oafish and artless. "That's more like it."
The tequila was appallingly smooth and distressingly agreeable. Around the fourth go, Kaede noted that the effect on him was less intoxicating and more soporific. He felt the hood of his eyes drag heavier, the effort it took to keep them steady on the man in front of him—an absolute buffoon who seemed to have a knack for drawing out his worst impulses—exceedingly trying. On the fifth, Sakuragi knocked their glasses together, the light contact vibrating like electrons crackling through him, prickling under his skin. The guy looked at Kaede teasingly, a mockery of pride that sent a shock of small flares up the back of his neck. A knot formed in his gut. It's been years since anyone worked him up so effortlessly, just like this.
And then somehow, Sakuragi had the nerve to raise a hand up, grinning big like a real shithead. Kaede looked at it, that familiar rictus of haughty displeasure settling into his face as he slapped their palms together hard. Then, he winked at Kaede. Rude.
When he sat back down, a glass of something clear slid from the side over to him. He looked at the hand pushing it his way, then up, a single brow raised in lieu of an interrogation.
"It's just water," Mitsui said, shrugging. "You look like you're gonna need it." He patted Kaede on the shoulder and got up, making an attempt to leave.
An arm shot out from the other end of the booth, pulling at Mitsui's sleeve and yanking Kaede with him. "Hold up, where do you think you're going?" Miyagi said. His eyes widened, seemingly distressed.
Mitsui frowned, yanking his arm. "It's stuffy in here," he said, a low and impatient hiss.
From across them, Sakuragi put his large hand over the table, that big grin he wore sliding down to an apologetic pout. "Mitchi, we haven't even caught up." He shook his head with that comical eagerness that always reminded Kaede of a big dog, goofy and overzealous. It loosened up his hair some, again, framing his face like a bright red curtain. It was so distracting. "Look, I'll get you something if you stay," Sakuragi said.
"What?" Miyagi said, gawking at them now, all offended and doe-eyed. "Hanamichi, get me something too."
Akagi shrugged. "I'll have a beer," he said.
Sakuragi groaned, arms waving around. "Fine, fine, I'll get you all a beer or something," he whined. Then, he turned to Mitsui, still pouting, but with a hint of something else.
"I'll have a soda, thanks," Mitsui said.
With that, Sakuragi waltzed out of the booth, but not before making a big show of turning back around and dipping his head low, a subservient errand boy to his cadre of esteemed masters, who all jeered and motioned for him to hurry, waving their arms as if to push him out of their sights.
Kaede looked at Mitsui, thought of his eyes on the line of shots, that strange knowing look that passed between him and Sakuragi, and decided he had put two and two together. He tried to squeeze out of the booth, elbowing past Mitsui and making the guy yelp.
"I'll help him out," Kaede said with a wave of a hand, not bothering to look back at the rest of them.
As he wove his way through the crowd, something else nagged at the back of his head. Too good for anyone, Sakuragi just said. He thought of their time in Shohoku, the years spent around each other's orbit, the way satellites clashed into planets, pulling at the tides and charging the air. He made an honest effort, he could have admitted, olive branches in the form of one-on-ones in the neighborhood court, white flags in the way he'd adjusted how he played until their instincts synchronized. He was interested, despite all the plans he'd lined up carefully. If impulse won over, he might have even willingly tilted the fulcrum of his own better judgement, just for curiosity's sake, but something else gave him the sense that things wouldn't have worked out. Someone else who seemed ever-present, beating back against the waves of every little push Kaede dared to make. So, things turned out for the best. But the point was that he was interested, and Sakuragi would have had to be willfully obtuse if he hadn't caught even a whiff of it.
Kaede placed his elbows on the countertop and waited, fidgeting with his nails, drumming at the marble, the music in the air feeling more like incoherent noise even as the low beat of a syncopated rhythm matched with the thing nagging at him, lodged into his ribs, knocking around in stuttered thuds.
"You can't carry all those drinks yourself, you moron," he said, easing his mind by settling into habit.
Beside Kaede, Sakuragi stuck out an elbow at his side, still as touchy as ever. "Oh, and you're being gracious? Hasn't your ego had enough?" He laughed.
Kaede kicked back at his shoe, just lightly. "Sakuragi," he started, not knowing where this thread was headed. He thought of redirecting the topic, fishing out the first thing he could from a swirl of misdirects that eddied around his head like minnows coiling in a stream. "You and Mito," he settled for saying, thinking of the man Sakuragi brought with him here, to this inadvertent reunion. That someone else.
Sakuragi regarded him with a strange look, head tilted to the side, wary and calculating. "What about us?" He asked, articulating the words slowly, carefully.
Us. Something about it chafed. Until that moment, the thought hadn't bothered him at all, but now something felt amiss. "Just surprised he still puts up with you," Kaede said quickly, trying to seem unbothered.
He raked his eyes over Sakuragi, with his longer hair, the way he filled out his suit well, the undone shirt and tie underneath. His fingertips absently drummed the counter rapidly, jerkily. Kaede stared and stared, trying to suss something out from a single word, the surfeit of implications it contained. Us. He'd only gotten pulled out of it by the sound of bottles being set down before them, and the one glass, picking three things up and then trying to move past this conversation, past the crowd.
Back at the table, he set down the bottles, then slid the glass over to Mitsui. The guy looked back at Kaede as he popped the straw into his mouth, leaning on the backrest, a cavalier glint in his eye. Like he'd just figured something out.
"Six years sober," Mitsui said quietly, as he put the glass down. "It seemed like you were going to ask."
Kaede wasn't going to. He'd already figured out that Mitsui didn't drink either, he wanted to say, but under the clearer light of context, that hadn't felt right to say either. Kaede didn't drink as a matter of efficiency—one of the many personal choices determined into the regimen that best satisfied the rigors of his whole imperative. To optimize every single thing about his life only in such that it made him better at basketball, the single locus point toward which his whole life surged.
What Mitsui had, apparently, was a problem.
And now the man seemed to be staring back at him, right in the eye. He looked as if he could work his way past the filmy membrane, drawing back the curtain of conjunctiva to observe the cogs whirring inside the machine.
Across from them, Akagi turned over to Kaede, smiling a little as he adjusted his glasses. "Apart from the Warriors, what have you been up to anyway?" He said.
Over the next hour, a cascade of new information washed over the fixed images Kaede had formed in his mind, of the people seated at the table. He learned that post-retirement, Akagi immediately put his history degree to work, now in the middle of his second book, this one documenting the country's Paralympic movement on localized scales, taking him all over Japan. He'd already read about Miyagi's upcoming contract with the coaching staff at Sacramento, which meant they were both living in California, and Miyagi practically throttled Kaede, making him swear that they'd commit to actually seeing each other at least once a year. He'd finally gotten to the bottom of Sakuragi's abrupt return to Japan, and the retirement, even if the guy hadn't said much, had gotten surprisingly cagey, waffling about feeling homesick and somehow ending up telegraphing an air of something else. As if he were carefully lining up anecdotes as a matter of misdirection, which only ended up piquing Kaede's interest. He was hiding something, that much was obvious. And Mitsui… did not actually offer any information about himself, only casually lobbing up asides that spoke of someone well-connected. Mitsui knew important people; that was as much as Kaede could glean before the guy got accosted by Kogure, whisked away into the crowd. That was everyone else's cue to move around, shuffling around the other tables.
Kaede looked at his half-empty bottle, trying to blink the heft of fatigue from his eyes. He shrugged off his jacket, draping it over his shoulders, and went outside.
Yokohama was freezing in the early spring. Outside the bar, pink neon lights flared out like a halo over the pavement, abruptly cutting off in a soft line. Beyond the lights, a dark cluster of shivering trees shook out a couple of leaves. Kaede kept his eye on a particularly large leaf that wafted in the air, taking its time with all the zigzagging, before landing into the light by his feet. Before he could bend down to pick it up, the leaf hurried away, back to the dark like a little coward.
To his side, something began to tick like a steady metronome.
Kaede looked up and found Yohei Mito standing just past the light, cigarette in his mouth, nodding at him and then turning away, keeping his eyes on the far end of the street.
Two years of playing in the same team, and Kaede barely knew Mito outside of the way he played basketball. He turned that thought around in his head, Sakuragi's loyal shadow, someone he had wrapped around his finger so tightly that he'd follow him all the way to every game in freshman year, then the basketball club, and everywhere else after. Something about it rankled, a feeling that radiated in Kaede like fists against his ribs. He looked up at Mito as he put out his cigarette, wanting to get a word in before the man disappeared back inside.
"Mito," Kaede started, not knowing what he was even going to say. "Not going back in?"
Mito turned his head to look at him, then back down at the lighter. He kept fiddling with it, like something ticked him off. "No, not quiet yet. It's all getting too much for me."
Kaede looked back at Mito, then up at the lights, trying to fish out another thought that could distract him from what he really wanted to ask, about why Mito kept hanging around Sakuragi when they were so plainly different, like dissonant keys, incongruent and off. Quick-witted where the other was dim, one neat while the other was a complete mess, inscrutable where the other guy was a wide-open book.
"Why did you stop playing basketball?" Kaede settled for asking.
"I only really joined the team for Hanamichi," Mito said casually, as if that was all there was to it.
"I know," Kaede answered, not knowing what else to say. His mind pulled back, sifting through the sands of time to remember their last game as seniors. The final inter-high matchup, for the national championship. They were a point behind, and Mito's three-pointer clinched the win with only two seconds to spare. Then Sakuragi nearly fell to the floor, still out of sorts from a particularly violent foul that knocked him across the court. That had distracted Kaede somewhat.
"Just a shame, when you were good too," he said. It was the truth.
Mito looked up at him with a cold gaze, measured and precise, as if he were looking at a specimen, eyes steady behind a microscope. It made Kaede abruptly turn back without another word, trying to head back inside.
Then, at the threshold, something stopped him. He caught the sight of Sakuragi at the far end of the space, in the middle of the blur of people, looking right at him for a short moment. Then, he looked away. All at once Kaede found himself caught in the unnerving float of a dreamlike space, the flood of noise like a rising surf battering at his chest, for a fraction of a fraction of a moment. Then he swung around, disoriented, and found Mito looking right at him, a dark look behind his eyes.
His head hadn't caught up, but his feet got the hint. Kaede rushed back inside, looking for another distraction. Before he knew it, he'd had another three drinks, chasing down the heavy pull of slumber that nearly came to him earlier. If he got tired enough, he didn't have to keep making excuses about hanging around, hovering just at the periphery of someone who didn't even seem to notice, too damn oblivious or otherwise distracted. This time, the effect of the drinks seemed to be the opposite, and he was starting to get the appeal.
As he settled into a corner, someone else snuck in, getting into his space somewhat. Mitsui listed back onto the wall, arms folded, huddling into his perfectly pressed jacket. He looked up at Kaede, then down at the glass in his hand, putting on a smile that seemed just a smidge tired. Kaede looked down at Mitsui's hands, and noticed his long fingers fiddling with a large bronze coin that rolled across his knuckles deftly, mechanically, in precise movements. A pianist fluttering out unending arpeggios. The effect was slightly hypnotic.
"Kind of surprised you're still here, Rukawa," Mitsui said. "You always seemed like the early quiet exit kind of guy." He gave Kaede the once-over, with the intent and curious gaze of an antiquarian, appraising some shiny new discovery for faint signs of damage. A little judgy, if Kaede was being honest.
What was there to say? There was a conversation he'd been maybe meaning to have all night, with some oaf who seemed to just take up residence in his mind like he'd put in a downpayment but acted like he already owned the place from time to time.
Then, Mitsui kept going. "I mean, honestly, I would have headed out already. All of this is, you know…" His hand gestured vaguely at the air, flitting manically. "But it's been seventeen years and, when are we all gonna see each other again like this, right?" Mitsui sighed wistfully, then tilted his head at Kaede, like he was waiting for him to say something back.
Kaede looked down at his drink and shrugged. "I guess," he said.
There was that assessing gaze again. Kaede sighed and turned to Mitsui, who was leaning over slightly.
"What?" Kaede balked.
Mitsui looked at him, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I'm onto you."
"I have no idea what you even mean."
"You're hiding something."
It made Kaede scowl, saying nothing. He turned away, perhaps giving out more than he intended to with the overreaction. As he opened his mouth, in some harebrained attempt to smooth over that casual accusation, something stopped him. He watched the coin again, trying to read the inscription at the front, emblazoned in English. Around an imprint of the number six, the words spelled out: To thine own self be true. Something about the words struck at him. He looked up again and realized he'd been caught staring.
"Rukawa," Mitsui said, dragging out the name, like he was still thinking about what to say. "You're really living the life, aren't you?" It was non-sequitur that didn't feel like one.
Kaede looked away from the coin, then up at Mitsui, getting a good look now, in the dark corner, with lights over his unmoving face. The colors warped and wefted, dimmer then brighter, bringing attention the the lines under his eyes, the way his cheeks seemed set deeper, face thinner and more fatigued, the way his hair had been cropped and waxed back, all proper and business-like. Behind the polite little smile he put on, Mitsui seemed quietly aggrieved, like there was something else he'd meant to say. The guy bit his lip and looked away, putting the coin back in his pocket.
"Sorry, I'm not usually a killjoy," Mitsui muttered. "But between you and me, didn't realize that seeing you all right now would make me feel just a little jealous." He smiled again, clipped and polite. They both knew what he meant.
It was strange, Kaede thought, shoring up his memories of Shohoku, sifting them around in his head. Mitsui had turned his life around trying to make up for what he'd done to the team, played every game until his arms and legs caved, made practically every shot he took. Vital to every single one of Shohoku's wins that year. One of the few seniors Kaede actually respected, a smooth shooter with sharp instincts, a natural on the court, with a talent for any position. One of the few players Kaede assumed had what it took to make it far.
"So why didn't you go pro?" He asked, straight to the point.
Mitsui laughed, low and bitter. "I had obligations, just wasn't in the cards for me. I mean, you have to know, right?"
Kaede raised a brow at that. They never kept in touch; that was never his style. What the hell was he supposed to know?
It made Mitsui blink, then laugh again. "Wow, you really don't know, I guess." He dragged a hand through his hair, head shaking in slight disbelief, like this was all funny.
"I really don't."
There was that look again, appraising, assessing, all too knowing. A flicker of the past came to Kaede, of freshman year. Through the veil of blood on his face, after being beaten down by that gang of thugs, he'd watched Mitsui then. Back all those years ago, the rage had blinded him, but time and distance had shrunk it all down, brought it up to the light for clearer examination. Regret in his eyes, a tired look for someone who'd been far too young for it. He had the same look now, too. Mitsui's hands twitched now.
"I'd hate to kill the mood," Mitsui said. "I'll tell you about it some other time." He slumped lower down the wall, gaze blank and lost.
It made Kaede frown, like he'd missed something. Maybe they all kept in touch, and Mitsui assumed that whatever it was must have gotten back to him. He thought of the casual closeness Miyagi had with everyone else, the way everyone acted like Akagi was practically family. He thought of Mito following Sakuragi everywhere, all their lives, all the way here. Something about it ate at him, clawing around his bones like mad, pushing at his heart and lungs. Warping his vision, throttling his mind. Mitsui had been jealous of the rest of them keeping basketball in their lives. Kaede found that, without realizing it, he'd been jealous of something else all this time. He sighed deeply, finished the rest of his drink in one go. Perhaps one more, he supposed. And then it would be time to get the night over with. He nodded at Mitsui and left him in that corner, too upset to look back before heading away.
The words on the coin turned around in his head. To thine own self be true.
He found Sakuragi at the far end of the place, all alone, neck craned up, eyes scanning over the crowd, casting a wide net trying to catch some elusive thing. Kaede walked over like he'd been meaning to go there all along, just a coincidence that he was there too.
"Idiot," Kaede said, in lieu of a greeting.
"Rukawa," Sakuragi said, like he hadn't even noticed. He kept his gaze outward, then slumped back to the wall, giving up. He turned to Kaede and sighed wearily, a little lopsided smile that looked strange on his face. Comfortable. Like he wasn't showboating for a change. Kaede had only ever seen that look a few times, during that odd phase where he'd gotten overcome with the deranged urge to corner Sakuragi, and suggested they pull their grades up together, even if he'd already had other plans, knowing he'd be out of the country by the next year.
"Weird that you weren't being a nuisance in the NBA," Kaede said, trying to find an opening for what he really wanted to ask. If he'd ever consider coming back there, or if he's settling back home for good. Among other things.
Sakuragi shook his head, laughing a little deliriously. "Are you kidding? They pay so much attention over there."
Kaede blinked. There it was again; he was being cagey and vague. "Thought you liked attention."
"Grew out of it," Sakuragi said, like that wasn't strange at all. Something about it didn't make sense. Kaede thought back to the hours that had just passed, the dancing, the talking, those stupid drinks. The man clearly loved attention, practically pulling anybody into his turbulence, with that strange brand of charm that was all his.
"You? Please," Kaede said, with unmasked disbelief.
It made Sakuragi scoff, a hand self-consciously running through his long hair, more of it untied now. So impractical, and distracting in the way it looked good on him, framing his sharp cheeks, curling around that square jaw, resting loosely by his long neck. "What? I can change, you know," he said.
Kaede turned away, not knowing what to say. Like the guy had just blindly thrown a dart on the board of sensitive matters and hit the bullseye. It was agitating. He tried to pick something out from the flurry of things he could be talking about, thoughts rapidly whipping around his head. Like what the whole deal was about being too good for anyone. As if he didn't know. If maybe he wanted to get out of here with him, just to show him otherwise.
Then, Sakuragi craned his neck up again, scanning the crowd distractedly. "Listen, you wouldn't know where Yohei is, would you? It's been a while since I saw him," he said. There was a tinge of disquiet to his voice.
Mito, again. Kaede rolled his eyes and sighed. His jaw twitched, nerves harried down his arms and up his neck, making him feel abruptly upset. Like he might have missed his window. Then he looked up at Sakuragi, realizing he was genuinely worried. "Saw him smoking outside, a while ago," he said. Somewhere in his mind, a little white flag raised up from a lone island, flaring in the wind and feeling sorry for him.
That was all Sakuragi needed. He headed off, stomping past the whirl of activity, making his way outside. Kaede followed, a satellite caught in the pull, hovering just by the threshold. From the doorway, he watched as Sakuragi came over to some people by the side of the entrance. It was Mitsui, hovering over someone who had curled up on the ground like a sad lump of starched clothes.
A laugh bubbled out of the guy on the floor as he looked up. It was Mito.
Mitsui dragged a hand over his own face, pushing a bottle of water and what looked like blister packs of pills at Sakuragi. "Can you take him home? He's so wasted."
Sakuragi bent down and put his big hands on the sides of Mito's face, steadying him. "Yohei, what the hell have you been doing?"
"Hanamichi," Mito slurred, clearly out of it. "Don't ever take me to another fucking reunion." He laughed again, slumping downward, landing on Sakuragi's chest and sighing. "Carry me home."
It made Sakuragi laugh, tender and fond. He kissed Mito's forehead, his cheeks, his mouth. Then he put a hand over the guy's face, pushing him back to the ground. He got up and turned to Mitsui, shaking the him by the shoulders. "Mitchi, what did you do?"
Mitsui patted at Sakuragi's shoulders, like he was placating a tall child. "Look, someone brought me here and I found him like this." The two of them looked down at Mito, who was still laughing, in small broken wheezes that hitched and hiccuped.
Kaede leaned back to the side of the door, watching all of this, regarding the strange curled-up ball of person on the ground, someone who always seemed so put-together and and wound up. Then, Mitsui said something, too quiet for Kaede to hear. Whatever it was, it got Sakuragi emotional, hugging Mitsui until the guy practically got hauled up into the air. Then, Sakuragi bent down and scooped Mito up gently, keeping him steady as they walked out, disappearing into the night. Jealousy stabbed at Kaede's chest, a large hand pulling out the viscera and pushing in a large stone that sank, deep and heavy. To make things worse, he turned back to the view and found Mitsui looking back at him, eyes wide with trepidation, like somehow he'd been the one caught. Odd reaction; he wasn't the one lurking like a creep.
Kaede walked out in quick strides, past the trees, the gate, all the way to the street.
Behind him, Mitsui hurried, jogging up in front of Kaede and getting in his face. "Wait, wait, Rukawa, what did you see?" He said, arms waving up in panicked gestures.
"I saw enough," Kaede said, curt and pained. Enough to know he'd almost made a fool of himself. The feeling battered at his chest, climbed all the way up his esophagus. He kept walking, fighting the pulsing in his head.
Mitsui, the nosey bastard, just kept following. "Okay, but just… don't tell anyone about what you saw, all right?"
That made Kaede stop in his tracks, staring Mitsui down, not bothering to contain the thing that welled up in him, making his eyes widen madly, cranking his lungs overtime.
"Did everyone else know about them but me?" Kaede asked.
That made Mitsui laugh. "Well I mean, I knew, but that's because… wait, what, is it bothering you?"
Kaede balled up his hands into fists. Something wound up tight in him threatened to spring out. "I'm an idiot," he breathed.
A hand steadied Kaede's shoulder. He was leaning forward, slightly, head feeling heavier. He felt his body tremble of its own accord. "Rukawa," Mitsui said, getting quiet. Perhaps at a loss as to what to do.
Kaede gasped out air. "I… I—" He couldn't get the words out.
In that moment, time seemed to slow, suspended in amber, in the way the leaves floated in the air unhurried, uncaring. The ground suddenly rose up to meet him, stopped abruptly by hands catching him by the waist. The air felt coarse and heavy, as if his body started rejecting oxygen.
"Ah, shit. What's wrong?" Mitsui said, his voice sounding like it came from the end of the street.
Kaede closed his eyes. Something welled up in his chest. He bent down, gasping for air.
"Rukawa?"
Suddenly, the ground spun. His throat tightened. He breathed out, trying to shove Mitsui out of the way. He opened his mouth, trying to pull out the thing trying to climb up. Then, on the pavement, something wet splattered. Vomit. Kaede blinked.
Mitsui's hands came up to his face, steady and grounded. He hauled Kaede up, sighing morosely. "Damn, not you too."
A dark haze fell, flooding his eyes, growing heavy in his mind. A flurry of images came to him—a row of shots, a sharp menacing stare that dared him into doing something stupid, a hand held up in anticipation. A vertiginous sensation swelled, and the sense of something massive threatening to bring its hammer down. He closed his eyes tightly, feeling a pull on his arm, hearing a panicked voice.
In the back of his eyes, coins of light danced around and streaked. A city at night sped past from behind a car window, the colors streaking like rainwater. He reached out, felt a hand squeeze at his shoulder, and fell unconscious, letting the weight of intoxication finally settle into fatigue.
--
It was 1995. Senior year. One of those harebrained attempts at putting together a late night study session—all in the interest of being kept on the basketball team, he said. No ulterior motives.
Kaede shuffled the stack of papers he'd kept in a binder—everything he needed for his move to America. Across from him, Sakuragi looked over the study guide, eyes glazing over the worksheets. He tapped his pencil at the table, the uniform rhythm like a ticking clock. Kaede thought of the few months he had left here, in Shohoku, in Kanagawa, in Japan, itching to get a move on and finally start living his life.
"Have you ever thought about what you'd do if basketball didn't work out for you?" Sakuragi asked idly, without looking up. Uncharacteristically pensive at the late hour. His face rested on a propped up fist, squishing the side of his cheek, making him look far younger, deep in thought.
"No," Kaede said. It wasn't even a question—there were no other options for him. "Why would I?" He hadn't bothered hiding the condescension, as if he'd asked Sakuragi if this was his way of admitting he might be a quitter.
Sakuragi shrugged. "I mean, anything can happen, really."
The pencil tapped, measuring the seconds. Pages flipped, like rustling wind, the changing seasons. He kept his eyes on the window, gazing far away—direct, intent, unmoving. The horizon bled gold with signs of the oncoming morning. The air felt colder.
--
Kaede opened his eyes. It was 2013, and he was thirty-six years old.
He squinted at the light, vision stinging, head still heavy. As he patted the heavy sheets around him, he realized he had not woken up in his own hotel room.
In the corner, someone was curled in on the long sofa, a perfectly pressed jacket draped over, covering his face all the way up to his arms. For a moment, Kaede felt the hitch of a terrible pang. And then something hit his eyes, straight from the back of his head, crashing all at once—the wave of a surging headache. The pain made him fall back heavily on the bed, which made the man curled in the sofa shoot up, awake in an instant. Kaede watched him blink irritably, head craning over to the direction of the bed, then looking down toward his stretched out arm, inspecting the silver watch around his wrist.
"Rukawa, it's seven in the morning. Go back to sleep," Mitsui said groggily, waving a hand like he was shooing him away. He slumped back down on the couch, facing the backrest, jacket pulled back over his head.
Well, that was annoying.
Kaede blinked and looked around some more. Now he was definitely awake.
The suite was large, cold, terribly modern and professional. In a word, drab. A wooden console framed a thin television, a clear glass table set before it over a muted gray rug. The far wall was lined with heavy gray curtains, sunlight peeking out from a faint opening that made the light slant right over the bed, warming the sheets some. Mitsui slept on a featureless couch, a deep gray block that sat heavy on the corner. By the side of the bed, a glass of water and a pack of pills waited atop a round wooden table.
"Mitsui," Kaede called, not caring that the guy was trying to get some sleep. "How did we get here?"
"Car," Mitsui groaned, shifting under the jacket, like he was trying to find more room to burrow into. "A lot of vomit. Then you passed out." Then, he turned on his side, facing Kaede, looking weary and a little put upon.
"I got drunk," Kaede said, stating the obvious like a moron.
"Yup," Mitsui confirmed, pulling out a sarcastic thumbs up.
"How come you didn't get any sleep?"
"Are you serious?"
"You said I passed out."
Mitsui sat up now. "Do you know how many people die getting drunk and choking on their own vomit?" His voice was even, but he frowned at Kaede, like he was scolding a child.
No, Kaede didn't know that. He didn't know why Mitsui seemed to take it too seriously. Then, the world tilted, just slightly, pulling him back to the pillows, landing hard. He tried to look up, then thought better of it, bringing the sheets up to his face, blocking the world out of view.
"Seems like an overreaction," Kaede said, through gritted teeth.
He heard a rustling sound, the soft patter of feet on the rug. A weight dropped on the other side of the bed, sheets pulling down. Mitsui held up the pills and the glass of water, shoving insistently.
"Drink these."
Kaede looked at Mitsui, eyes holding as he downed the pills, finished the water, putting the glass away with a petulant bang on the table's surface. "Thanks," he said, terse and irritable. Then, he looked Mitsui up and down, taking in the crumpled dress shirt, the lines on his forehead where the worry creased from his brow. All the other signs of a long, long night. He sighed, facing away, feeling a little sorry now. "Senpai."
It made Mitsui raise a brow, maybe weirded out. He stretched out on the bed, sinking down to the side, facing the wall and squirming a little. He dragged a hand over his mouth, stifling a long yawn. Kaede let his eyes trace the sight, as if he was looking over an expansive vista, with its valleys and folds and jagged edges. A long solid silhouette that he could bring up to the image of Mitsui in his mind from all those years ago—the scars, the knee brace, skin always flush from overexertion. Always exhausted, like he always had something to prove. Kaede lifted a hand up to reach over, maybe check in. Then he turned away, deeply embarrassed.
As silently as he could manage, he got up from the bed, walking over to what must have been the bathroom. Over a counter by the sink lay a single-serve grooming kit—neat, featureless, sealed in plastic. Kaede opened each piece and performed all the motions of grooming mechanically and fastidiously, as was his habit, brushing his teeth, shaving his chin, washing his face. He squinted at the mirror groggily, forcing his vision into sharp focus, from out of the fog of a blaring hangover. At that moment he noticed, with some irritation, that he'd been wearing somebody else's t-shirt all this time. Belatedly, he realized he'd been wearing somebody else's sweatpants, too.
He walked over to the bed, to where Mitsui lay sleeping on his side. Kaede rolled the guy over, shocking him awake.
"What the hell is it now?" Mitsui groaned. He squinted, then blinked his eyes in plain irritation.
"Did you change me into your clothes?" Kaede said. He pulled at the shirt for emphasis, then kicked a knee at Mitsui's toes.
"Damn it, ow," Mitsui yelped. He sat up, tucking his knees over his chest. "You were disgusting so yeah I cleaned you up and changed you, you're welcome." He rolled his eyes, then flopped back down, face mashing into the pillows.
Kaede looked down at the clothes again. They smelled clean and felt soft, the creases sliding off even as he pulled at the fabric, making them look good as new no matter how much he fidgeted over them. Then he looked over at Mitsui, considered the sorry state of him again, haggard in yesterday's suit, feeling the acute stab of shame lodge into his chest. It should have been obvious, should have occurred to Kaede that someone tending to a person out of sorts was not only the kind thing to do, but the natural thing to do. Mitsui was kind to him and he was being an asshole. He wondered if that instinct would have ever come him, and decided he didn't care to dig too deep at this early hour. He turned to distraction, rubbing his bare feet over the carpet, focusing on the texture, counting the number of times his feet went back and forth as it grazed over the loose fibers. Then, he sat back down on the bed, sinking beside where Mitsui's legs dangled a little over the edge, keeping his feet on the rug.
Kaede turned over and faced Mitsui. Then, after a heartbeat, Mitsui turned over to face him too. The guy sighed, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand.
"Fine, I guess I'm awake now," Mitsui said. He smiled at Kaede wearily, a cheek squished slightly into the pillows, looking younger and more than slightly silly. Like he was comfortable. Something about the look made Kaede do his best to school his face into a perfect blankness.
"Let me take you out," Kaede said, too abruptly.
Mitsui only gawked, mouth agape, looking utterly confused for a brief moment. Then he calmed down, brow raised and head tilted, waiting for the rest of the offer.
"To thank you, I mean," Kaede continued, lowly and a touch too embarrassed. "For your trouble, doing all of this."
At that, Mitsui snickered, like he'd just heard something funny. He sat up slowly, then looked down to inspect his shirt, the undone buttons and the pulled up sleeves, the crumpled pants. He reached a hand up to blindly feel at his face, fingertips resting at his eyes as if they could sense the dark circles forming there.
"Okay, well, just let me…" Mitsui said, a hand vaguely gesturing as if that explained the rest.
Kaede watched Mitsui get up, sleepily stumble around a bit, then disappear into the bathroom. Outside, a crow came up to the floorlength window, pecking at the glass like a nosy pest. He walked up to it, leaning over to stare the crow down and see which one would back out first. The crow held its gaze for a beat, then thought better, hopping over the edge instead and flying away like some stalker who'd gotten caught.
A couple of hours later, they sat themselves down into a discreet corner of a discreet place, decked out in solid wood, cast in warm low lights set into modern brass fixtures that floated just under the ceiling in arcs. A brass planetarium of bright orange satellites floating in a broad sweep of mahogany, looking over a sea of tan leather seats. The kind of place that normally wouldn't have let in people who came by wearing a shirt with sweatpants paired, bafflingly, with dress shoes. But these were things Kaede did not consciously consider until much later. Doors were just opened for him wherever he went, and that was the way it was.
Kaede watched Mitsui pick at the greens on his plate, frowning in concentration, like he'd been gearing up to say something. Something about it reminded him of freshman year, the first day Mitsui had come to the gym with his head shaved and his new teeth, an apologetic wideness to his eyes that made him look twelve, and not seventeen. Today, Mitsui had stubble all over his chin and lines around his eyes. It made the whole act a little tiresome.
"Yes?" Kaede said, tilting a head as if to say, what the hell are you doing?
That made Mitsui drop his fork with a clatter. He frowned, lifted up his coffee cup, kept drinking, then dropped it back on the saucer, emptied out.
"Last night I said I'd tell you about… something," he said.
"And?"
"Did nobody really tell you about what happened during the inter-high in your first year?"
It was a long time ago, but Mitsui was clearly worked up about whatever it was, bringing a hand up to his mouth, biting at a nail, looking down with his fingers drumming the table in childish distress. Kaede only shook his head, watching as Mitsui fidgeted some more, trying to stretch out the moment. He looked up at Kaede, straight in the eye.
"Didn't you think it was strange that a C-ranked team got seeded with only double-A teams?"
Kaede shrugged. "If they'd underestimated us, it would have been to our advantage."
"How about the strange calls the referee made in the Aiwa game?"
Kaede frowned. Those calls at the time had seemed biased, enough to rile the team up and throw them off their game, fouling Akagi out and doing nearly the same to Miyagi. But they'd also come from a beating the day earlier, and they were one starter short, with Sakuragi off to rehab. Still, those days were long behind them.
"Mitsui, we lost." That was that.
Then, Mitsui laughed, low and bitter. Clearly upset. "I know, I know. We did, but, there were people involved. In the seeding. In the calls. The foul that almost cost you your eye."
"You're saying the games were fixed against Shohoku?"
Mitsui only nodded and looked away. "Yes. I cost Akagi his scholarship. And Kogure… the things that happened that year were my fault."
"Your fault?"
"The games were fixed because of me."
At that, Kaede looked up, right at Mitsui. He leaned over close, willing the man to turn and face him again. "Mitsui, why would someone fix those games against you?"
Fingers drummed on the solid wood like a steady heartbeat. Mitsui let out a low breath, leaned back on his seat, and turned up to face Kaede.
"I come from an old family," he started.
Right then and there, Kaede learned that Mitsui had come from an old zaibatsu clan, meaning all that time he'd been disturbingly, unfathomably wealthy while he played at being a public school student back in Shohoku. He'd learned that basketball had been a sore point with the family, who'd effortlessly fixed the conditions for every single game Mitsui had been involved in, from middle school all the way to college, confident he'd give it all up if the losses convinced him that he didn't have what it took to go pro. That it all worked—eventually Mitsui hanged his head and toed the family line, playing at being just another company man. Some tired suit who stayed at sleek featureless places and fell into step, letting himself be molded into being the next great cog at the top of an eternally churning machine. Probably where the alcohol problem came from, among other things.
Kaede leaned back and looked away, eyes trained on the finger he traced at the edge of the wooden table, letting all of this sink in. That was all in the past, he wanted to say, but knowing now the ways their lives could have gone, the ways those choices could have easily cost them all their futures, all to ensure that Mitsui was where he was now, it rankled somewhat. He bit his lip, thinking better about saying how he felt about all of this.
Mitsui hunched his shoulders, crossing his arms over his chest, waiting for a response. Like now it was Kaede's turn to share, or something like that.
"How did everyone else react?" Kaede asked, an eyebrow arched even has he kept his gaze pointedly away.
There was an air of wistfulness to the smile Mitsui put on now, in the low slope of his mouth and his sad downturned eyes. He let out a sigh that seemed as relieved as it could get for a man who seemed to be caught on a hook, trussed up in wires.
"Akagi and Kogure were really nice about it," he said. Then, he lifted his hair back a little, turning his face over to show a prominent white scar. "I got this from Miyagi."
Kaede looked at it once, pursed his lips as if to say, that's fair, or yes you deserved that, which made Mitsui narrow his eyes and scrunch his brow, appalled by the reaction.
"And Sakuragi?"
"Oh, well you know him, he gets emotional," Mitsui said, with a little laugh. "Hugged me and felt sorry and all of that, like I was the victim in all of this when, I mean…" he gestured vaguely with a hand again, as if that finished the rest of the sentence.
Then, Mitsui frowned. He looked up, eyes alert as if he'd just remembered something. "Wait, Rukawa," he said, hands suddenly gripping the edge of the table, tense and serious. "You don't remember much about what happened last night, right?"
The seriousness with which Mitsui had raised the question made Kaede's head throb, the ghost of that hangover coming back. His skin prickled, jittery and lit up, turning him into a bundle of nerves in an instant. His eyes widened, which was the only tell Mitsui needed before his mouth opened wide in recognition.
"You do remember," Mitsui said.
Kaede gaped, looking utterly offended. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sakuragi and Mito."
"What about them?" Kaede gritted his teeth, trying not to be too obvious.
Mitsui put his hands on his head, frustrated now. "I mean, nobody's supposed to know about that."
In that moment, a look had involuntarily passed on Kaede's face, a flash of utter fury that had gone away in an instant. He knew what he saw, but the confirmation still felt like someone had taken a swing at his guts, mangling him up a little. It all made sense now, the way Sakuragi hadn't said much about his private life, all that fuss about not wanting attention. It dawned on him that maybe there was a world where things could have gone differently. A version of events where he could have taken the risk and come clean, all those years ago. A life where he didn't spend most of his days by himself and in his own head.
Mitsui looked at him now with a touch of concern that felt utterly mortifying. "Rukawa?"
"It didn't seem like they were making an effort to be discreet," Kaede said, terse and too quick. He rolled his eyes, plainly defensive. "Somebody else could have seen."
"Okay, but why are you so upset about it?" Mitsui whined, pouting like a child.
Kaede waved a hand, trying to dismiss all of this entirely. "I'm not upset about it."
"Well, you seem bothered."
"I don't want to talk about it."
That assessing gaze bore down on him again. Kaede tried to look away as Mitsui stared, head tilted as he rested his chin on a hand, the ticking hand of his silver watch pushing past each second with great effort, thumping loud as the pulsing beat of distress. Then, with the corner of his mouth curling up in amusement, Mitsui looked away.
"I almost forgot how difficult you were."
Kaede said nothing, only crumpling in his seat, overcome with shame and aggravation as he tried to sink his shoulders into the leather. Maybe if he dug hard enough he could shrink into it. He peered up at Mitsui, trying to get a better look from that slanted angle, catching the way his smile seemed tinged with something else. Like all those old torments that should have been long kept in the past came knocking back, wanting in. Over the table, Mitsui's hands fidgeted again, the same movements like when he'd rolled a coin along his knuckles.
"I'll try not to be," Kaede said. He squeezed his eyes shut, deeply embarrassed.
After a quiet moment, he felt a hand reach over his wrist, fingers closing lightly. A thumb brushed over the pulse for the briefest of moments.
"Fine, we don't have to talk about it," Mitsui said.
Kaede snapped one eye open, looking down at Mitsui's hand, then up at his face. "You don't have to feel sorry for me."
Mitsui arched an eyebrow, face splitting into a brilliant grin. "What happened to not being difficult?"
Their eyes met for a moment, then slid away. At that moment, Kaede had felt overcome by an abrupt burst of something like acid burning in the pit of his stomach, chest flummoxed with tangled nerves. He looked down at his wrist and pulled until it came loose from Mitsui's trite little gesture of sympathy, wanting more than anything for all of this to be over. Then, Kaede looked back up again, meaning to throw an irate glare for only a second, instead meeting Mitsui's eyes and realizing he'd held his gaze all that time. The nerves came flaring back, awash with peril.
"This is the longest conversation I've had with anybody in years," Kaede admitted.
Mitsui rolled his eyes, dragging a hand through his hair. "That doesn't surprise me."
Then, Kaede shrugged. "I don't have any friends," he said dryly, as if he could just casually roll that off his shoulders.
"I can tell," Mitsui only said, flashing another grin, offensively coy.
They sat face to face, saying nothing, the low sounds around them clattering like pattering rain. Kaede thought about the stash of old memories of Shohoku he'd kept hidden away like gems in the back of his mind, brought up to the light in long stretches of solitude whenever he'd find himself drifting away on the endless stretch of American highways, the revolving door of living arrangements and game seasons with people he'd only seen as colleagues, around crowds whose faces blurred, people whose language had eluded him for years until resentment and ambition drilled it all in. The last time in his life he'd had any real friends. He thought about their botched one-on-one, the one he'd challenged Mitsui to right after Coach Anzai pointed out that Kaede hadn't been number one in Japan yet, the choice coming to his mind naturally. Mitsui had, after all, once been the best in the region.
"I'd like a rematch," Kaede said, trying not to let any trepidation pass into his voice. This was the only language he was fluent in. The only way he got along with anybody. The only kind of olive branch he could extend. "One-on-one. You can still play, can't you?"
Mitsui only looked at him, head tilted, mouth twisted and curious. Then, he leaned over, with the determined gleam of a predator animal.
"You're on."
By noon, they found themselves in the middle of a small local court, surrounded by a rowdy cluster of gangly kids crowding around the wire fencing, hollering at every attempted shot, every block, every turnover. Minutes passed with the scores still squarely at zero. Yokohama was freezing in the springtime, but their hair had gotten damp, shirts sticky and clinging to their skin. Kaede considered Mitsui's flushed face, the bright look in his eyes, and felt mildly irritated that he'd kept up fine with someone whose entire life revolved around basketball.
One of the kids pulled at the wire, wobbling and clanging at it until he got their attention. "Hey, NBA star, don't let that pleb beat you," the kid yelled.
Kaede frowned at the kid, saying nothing, but Mitsui turned around, mouth agape, looking stupidly offended.
"I'll have you know I beat this guy in a one-on-one before," Mitsui yelled back.
"Yeah right," the kid answered. The rest of his gang joined in, taunting and calling Mitsui names.
Mitsui groaned at them, brow furrowing in frustration. "It's true, you losers," he yelled again. For a moment, it felt like they were back in the Shohoku gym, in the middle of the same one-on-one, Mitsui tricking Kaede as he stepped back and made one of his effortless three-pointers.
"I mean, you did cheat," Kaede said, quietly.
"Look, it's not my fault you weren't paying enough attention," Mitsui whined at him, gripping at the ball hard.
Then, Mitsui leaned over again, moving to the side, dribbling the ball between his legs and backing away, another attempted shot past the line, easily intercepted. Kaede grabbed the ball and knocked past Mitsui, rushing to the other side to jump straight into a dunk. He had no idea how Mitsui got in front of him as quickly as he did. In a split second, the ball slammed into the net, and the two of them fell on the pavement, one on top of the other.
When Kaede opened his eyes, he found Mitsui on the ground, half laughing, half heaving from exhaustion, his breaths turning to raspy wheezes as his shoulders shook. His shirt rode up a little, exposing a thin patch of skin that glistened with sweat, almost sickly gaunt. It reminded Kaede of the way Mitsui looked the night before, shrinking into the corner, with his bronze coin, and that tired look on his face. Bafflingly he’d felt, for a flash of a moment, the swell of hunger as his eyes raked all the way up Mitsui’s long torso, marveling at the way his shirt stuck to his body, the sweat down his neck, the cut of his jaw, the way his eyes seemed like they could shine, from this angle.
"Fine, you win this time," Mitsui said, pulling Kaede out of the moment.
"This time?" Kaede muttered as he stood, reaching for Mitsui's hand.
Mitsui wobbed a little as he got up. "We'll have another rematch soon," he said, keeping a hand squeezed on his bad knee.
Behind the fence, the kids yelled again. "Nice game, loser!"
Mitsui turned toward the gate again, as if all the exhaustion had vanished in an instant. "Don't you twerps have something better to do?"
"It's our court, old guy!"
"It's a public court, kid! And, I'm not that old!"
"You're also borrowing our ball, dummy!" One kid said. "He's so old he doesn't even remember," another added.
"Fine, you can have it back."
Kaede stood still, under the board, watching the group of kids crowd around Mitsui as he tossed the ball back, keeping up a conversation as they huddled around him and jeered good-naturedly. The sky was bright blue, the trees around the park shook from the wind, and Kaede wondered how long it had been since he'd had good days like this.
"How does a loser like you even know an NBA legend?"
"You idiots, we're friends."
Mitsui turned to Kaede, an exhausted smile on his face that went all the way up to his eyes.
In that moment, a faint crescent of a smile had crept up Kaede's face involuntarily. Then, something else overcame him, clawing against his chest, clambering against his sides, flooding static in his ears. He hadn't spoken to Mitsui in years, hadn't kept in touch with anybody, had made no effort to reach out, and barely cared in the first place. He was impatient, demanding, and condescending, on and off the court, moving through a lifetime of empty halls and empty rooms. What would happen to him, a few more years down the line, when his body broke down, past the point of playing professionally? His hands twitched and his knees felt weak. He felt his breaths quicken. His feet began to move of its own accord as his vision began to shrink into a pinhole-thin sliver of light, his instincts gearing up as he tamped down the sudden resurgence of nerves, hysteria bubbling up as he felt his mind skimming the edges of a nervous breakdown. Thunder pounded in his head, the air around him feeling dense, like he’d been breathing underwater.
"Rukawa?"
Behind Kaede, he heard the crowd hushing down, and the too-loud sound of Mitsui's hurrying footsteps. He had no idea how he made his way over to the fountain, did not have the presence of mind to recall how he twisted the faucet open and put his head under the pipe, or how he found himself lying on the concrete bench, a hand pressed tightly over his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut, only faintly hearing feet shuffle out as the kids cleared away, asking what was going on and getting shooed out.
When Kaede opened his eyes, the sky had the yellow gold tinge of a late noon hour. He was still lying on the bench. On the ground, Mitsui sat, leaning over the bench, head resting by Kaede's side. He turned and looked up, giving a relieved little smile as he slumped down some more, his shoulders seeming to give into the fatigue of the long day he’d had.
"You know, I thought you were still hungover," Mitsui started. He twisted over, facing Kaede, keeping an elbow to the side of the bench. "But that wasn't it, right?"
Kaede said nothing, only nodding as he got up, patting the other side of the bench until Mitsui sat beside him.
"Were you having a panic attack last night, too?" Mitsui said, quietly.
Kaede only frowned, keeping his eyes down, dragging the tips of his fingers on the hard concrete edges of the bench, feeling every rough groove and crack. His thoughts turned, again, to the night before, that dark corner of the bar, the coin moving across Mitsui's fingers.
"Senpai," Kaede said. "Tell me about the coin you had last night." He bowed his head down, tucking his face in the cage of his long arms.
After a few quiet seconds, he felt a nudge, and something cold pressing into his hand. Kaede looked up at Mitsui, then turned to the coin in his hand, tracing the edges as he read the inscription. To thine own self be true, it read in the front, with a number six engraved in the middle of a triangle. Behind it, a longer inscription. God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
"I go to a support group sometimes, and you get these as a milestone for every year you make it. Six years sober, like I said," Mitsui started, leaning back with a huff. "My brother told me about the fixed games to piss me off, and I decided maybe I'd see if I could drink myself to death. Lasted for a few years until Norio staged an intervention. Fucked up twice over, if you can believe it," Mitsui said. He laughed a little, somehow looking younger and older all at once.
Kaede thought of the first time he'd seen Mitsui, when he stormed the gym, with his long hair and bruised face. The way they'd all ended up bleeding and worn down by the end of the day. Then, a week later, Mitsui was somehow back in the gym, back on the team, earning everyone’s trust back like he hadn’t tried beating them within an inch of their lives. Making the best out of his second chance. Playing every game until he practically couldn’t get up.
"I can," Kaede said, with a small shrug.
"Asshole."
"You were always so dramatic."
"I can’t believe you!" Mitsui whined. "You literally asked me."
"Was that why you knew what to do last night?" Kaede thought of what Mitsui had said then, about why he’d stayed up all night, wondering if he’d seen something like it firsthand.
"Yeah."
Kaede said nothing, only letting another faint smile crawl into his face, settling there comfortably. The coin felt a little heavier in his hand now. "I’m glad you’re still here."
Mitsui laughed lowly, grunting and shaking his head. "Why are you being corny?" He nudged at Kaede's side, a smile slanting on his face as he jutted his chin. Like he was waiting for Kaede to say something, or share his damage.
Well, this was the thing that friends did. Carry each other's baggage, or at the very least do some form of inspection. Good friends, anyway. Kaede looked at Mitsui again, and their eyes met for a moment, before Kaede turned away, feeling something fracture in him. Then and there he felt a pang of recognition, knowing his abrasive nature was, in its own way, an impulse toward self-destruction. He wondered, if he'd known Mitsui during those years, if he'd have noticed. If he’d have cared enough to do something about it, too. He looked at the coin again, reading the inscription twice over before placing it back into the middle of Mitsui's palm. There was no way of knowing what he'd have done then. No point in getting stuck thinking of all the ways life could have worked out, when everything had already come to pass. The only thing that mattered was the time that stretched ahead of them still, and the choices they’d make from moment to moment.
"Senpai, I'm gay," Kaede said, too quietly. "I've never told anyone."
There it was, mostly. Kaede imagined that finally saying it would feel something like shucking out a stone that sank deep in him, the weight of it put aside and finally letting him live his life. Instead, nothing changed, apart from the seconds passing in the stillness of the day, the cold air breezing around them. Mitsui sat by his side still, which should have counted for something.
For a moment, they sat there wordlessly. Then, Mitsui covered his face, huffing out light breaths that came out in raspy wheezes.
Kaede frowned at him, shaking at his shoulders. "Are you laughing?"
"Every kouhai keeps coming out to me like this." Mitsui kept laughing into his hands, voice muffled by the heel of his palms. "You're all so dramatic."
Kaede elbowed Mitsui's side again. "Asshole."
Mitsui snorted out a laugh, nudging back with his shoulder. He slouched down the bench some more, resting on one elbow, a roguish look in the smile on his lips, the upward arch of one brow. Kaede lobbed back a sour look at him.
"What is it?"
"You've never told anyone?"
"So?" Kaede hissed.
Mitsui waggled his eyebrows at him. "So are you like a thirty-something virgin?"
Without another word, Kaede stood up and stomped away.
"What?" Mitsui called loudly. "Rukawa, this is what friends talk about!"
"Is that what we are?"
"Obviously."
Kaede stopped and turned at that. Maybe they were friends now, if Mitsui had anything to say about it. In the back of his mind, another self-destructive impulse came to him, goading him into ruining it all right then and there. He walked back over to the bench, hauling Mitsui up by the collar of his half-open shirt.
"Would a friend do this?"
For a fraction of a second, their eyes held, until Kaede launched forward and pulled Mitsui into a kiss, close-lipped and violent, waiting to be pushed back, yelled at and turned away. Then he can go back to his same sad life, all overcrowded arenas and terse conversations, empty rooms as he moved from house to house, with nothing to look forward to but the next game, the next goal, the next summit, chasing it all down until he burned out and withered away. Or maybe someone would recognize him, and this would make it all the way back to America, and then his career would be over in an instant. He’d mostly kept quiet because he knew with utter certainty how this could ruin him, how something like this could tear down everything he’d ever built his life around. Then he'd have to figure out what he was really made of. Then he'd have to face what kind of person he was, outside of basketball, outside of the courts, with no easy shots to make.
Instead, he felt a pair of hands coming up to the back of his neck, the mouth against his slowly opening, inviting him to do the same, until their breaths evened out, until he felt the tip of his tongue skimming the seam of Mitsui's lips, along his teeth, finding his own tongue and pressing. A surge of ions flashed and fired around him, down his neck, his arms, sparking small fires in his chest, lighting up the surface of his skin as their mouths and tongues moved, tasting with an eager verve, exploring with a thorough curiosity, moving with a famished pace as if they’d been starving. They stayed there, standing by the edge of the court, under the darkening sky, kissing and kissing for a moment that felt like it went on for longer than it had, clutching each other as the seconds stretched in the way of an overdetermined dream, lost in the haze of something surreal.
Then, Mitsui pulled away, looking up at Kaede with a glint in his eyes. "That was nice," he said.
Kaede let out a low breath, utterly mortified. His heart banged and clattered against the cage of his ribs, wanting out. "You're not upset," he said, willing his feet to move but finding them stuck in place, heavy with dread.
Mitsui reached up, letting his hands cradle the sides of Kaede's face, far too gentle for what he’d been put through. "Was that what you wanted? For me to get upset at you?"
"Yes," Kaede said, truthfully. He snapped his eyes shut, quelling the feeling of nerves prickling at the edges of his mind. "No."
"So, which one is it?"
Kaede looked down at the ground, feeling lost. A flurry of dissonant thoughts hurtled around his head. He wanted Mitsui to take him back to his hotel and pin him down on the bed. He wanted to push the man away and never see him again. He wanted to be wanted. He only knew a life where he’d been left alone. Furious knots of emotion twisted around as he tried to untangle them and say something that didn’t sound crazy.
"I thought things would be easier if nothing changed, for me," Kaede muttered.
Mitsui kept his hands on Kaede’s face, a thumb brushing at the corner of his cheek as he smiled at him wordlessly.
"Like I said, I don’t have friends."
"Well, we're friends now," Mitsui said, as he let go and backed away, resting his hands on Kaede's shoulders now. "You aren't getting rid of me that easily."
Kaede sighed. "A sane person would have told me off, you know."
Mitsui quirked a brow at him. "Do you know how many strangers' beds I've woken up in on the way to rock bottom?"
Kaede pushed him away now, a laugh bubbling out of him for what felt like the first time in ages, light and airy. "Don't sound too pathetic, senpai."
Mitsui shook his head at Kaede, walking with longer strides, childish and silly. He swung around at Kaede, frowning as he leaned over. "What happened to not being difficult, hmm?"
Kaede rolled his eyes, another laugh bursting out of him. "I’ve changed my mind."
They stepped out of the park, side by side into the darkening sidewalks, walking forward with no destination in mind, content to be in each other's company. Around them, the street lamps came to life one by one, faint patches of light guiding the way ahead. Kaede turned to Mitsui, thinking of all the ways this could still go wrong, and deciding none of that mattered right now. He fought the instinct to look back, keeping his sights ahead. They had the rest of the night ahead of them.