Slam Dunk Fan Fiction ❯ An Almost-Tragedy in Two Parts ❯ Rukawa's Trepidation ( Chapter 1 )

Today is three full years of Sakuragi.

Sakuragi is so alive, always on the move, his energy a living bolt of electricity that sparks and threatens to set fire to everything and everyone, dangerous and beautiful all at the same time. Somehow, Sakuragi has stayed near Rukawa for three years, and he hasn't been burnt, not once.

Rukawa can't bring himself to believe it. Each day, he wakes up at the break of dawn and sees the flaming head next to him on the pillow, feels a toned arm thrown possessively across his stomach, feels Sakuragi's soft breath on the nape of his neck and thinks, Has he finally burned me? Is this heaven?

And then he kicks himself for being such a sap, and pulls out from under those lovely limbs and takes a cold shower, not wanting to wake up the spectre in his bed for fear that he would disappear. These showers are always rushed, always quick, as though if he took too long Sakuragi would not be there when he came back.

But he always is. And Rukawa can never stop himself from kneeling at the side of the futon, drinking in Sakuragi's face in the growing sunlight, waiting for something that never seemed to come. His thoughts during this time are chaotic and confused. He knows there is something he is supposed to do, something he is supposed to say, because whenever Sakuragi looks at him, there is longing and sometimes disappointment in his eyes. Rukawa always feels like he is letting him down.

This morning is no different. There is no sunlight this morning, the nights of winter long and torturous. Rukawa hadn't slept at all because Sakuragi had had tears in his eyes after sex last night. He had been thinking about how to make him smile, and realized that he didn't know. After that he'd felt like crying too.

This morning Rukawa brushes a finger lightly over Sakuragi's hand. A porcelain doll he should not change. There should be distance, so that Sakuragi would not crack in his clumsy hands--and isn't that thought ridiculous, considering Sakuragi had gotten up over and over again, countless times, when they had played basketball together in Shohoku.

But Rukawa remembers darkly the last great fall that Sakuragi had taken, the one during the game against Sannoh. The one that broke his smile and nearly his dreams. He had noticed Sakuragi's pain but had chosen to ignore it, sacrificing him for the sake of victory.

What about now? Is he sacrificing him again? For what? What is there that could possibly be won this time?

Rukawa walks over to his drawer and digs beneath his underwear until his fingers come across a small box, no more than two inches long and wide. He walks over to Sakuragi on wobbly legs and sits next to him, watches the play of white morning light across his features.

And breathes, I love you to him as he brushes his lips lightly with his own and then moves to place the box into Sakuragi's hand without waking him.

But Sakuragi shifts in his sleep and Rukawa freezes. Steps back. Sweat springs on his forehead, and he feels like he was just caught stealing the box, instead of giving it.

Rukawa is a prodigy when he plays basketball, his fakes smooth and his shots clean, but he is an amateur when it comes to Sakuragi, who always finds a way to keep him off center, surprised. I can't do this, he thinks, and shoves the box into the pocket of his jacket. Tonight. Tonight. I'll ask him tonight.

Under the doorframe he casts a final glance at the figure laying in bed, and curses himself for being the idiot he always called Sakuragi. Then he closes the door gently, quietly, and leaves the room grey and still, except for a shock of red hair and the slow rise and fall of Sakuragi's chest.

To be continued…