Note: This is an independent sequel to "Substitute" (which was first published in my ancient FFnet account Arachay & also on AO3 under MariekoWest). It may or may not be taken as such.) Also, this isn't new material, but a modified repost of the old story I originally published on AO3 years ago but deleted. I first posted the old version of this on FFnet way back in 2016-11-18.

Warnings/Tags: Yaoi, Shounen-ai, Angst, Fluff(?), SenRuSen, 仙流

Disclaimer: Slam Dunk & its characters belong to its respective owners. This derivative fanwork however is mine.

Story #7:

"I Hate Basketball"

If only I was good with words, I could've told you…

I could've answered all your questions. I could've told you that I was a dreamer, and there was nothing wrong with that, now was there?

Every time we're together, you say it's unfair that you do all the talking while I hardly ever say anything. It's not because I don't want to. It's just not as simple for me to speak my mind.

I like the sound of your voice, and I like how you've perfected the art of conversing all by yourself. You feel trivial and unimportant when you do, but the truth is, I've never really heard anyone's voice so clearly.

You speak, and it's my heart that answers back. And I don't think anyone else has ever been able to achieve that. I really think you ought to know that by now. The mere fact that I'm always right here, listening to you, proves that I like you. Maybe even more than I thought I was capable of, that it scares me. But I would never admit that out loud, so don't count on it.

The truth is, ever since we started "hanging out", a lot of that silliness of yours has rubbed off on me, so don't think it's useless because when I'm alone, and I remember how your eyes light up when you smile without a care in the world… It makes me feel like there are no dark corners in me where that light can't touch. And before I know it I'm smiling silly too. Even if my face doesn't show it, my heart is always smiling with you.

If only you knew, if only I had the courage to tell you.

I miss that smile now.

"Why is basketball so important to you?"

A question I've been asked so many times before. But I didn't really have an answer except that, basketball was all I knew, all I had. So rather than say that and give others the license to pity me, I thought it best to leave the question unanswered. A stupid and rhetorical question was all it was. The answer never being more obvious. Other people can think what they want, but I wasn't ready for them to take that intimate part of me to openly dissect.

That is, until one voice made me hear the question clearer than anyone else's:

"Why the hell is basketball so important to you?"

Your voice seemed to make that question the most important in the world. Like everything was riding on whatever my answer was to it, and yet, it remained unanswered because you made me feel that no answer could ever be good enough.

For the first time I truly questioned myself, racking my mind for an answer and coming up with nothing but doubts, faltering in the very reasons that I've upheld all this time. I wish I had the perfect answer to dissolve all your doubts about who I am and my reasons for choosing to be with you.

I will never forget how your eyes burned with anger that day, how you shouted so loud that your usually soothing voice rumbled within the confines of the gym and shook me to the core. I will never forget the empty feeling in my chest as you walked out on me without another word, without even looking back…

"Why? Why do you keep pretending nothing else matters? Is there truly nothing else more important to you than this?"

I found myself struggling with anger, an anger that I knew too well was nothing but a last ditch effort to salvage what was left of my pride. To cover up what I was honestly feeling. And I despised myself for allowing my heart to feel it. For allowing you to become so angry and not acting with better judgement, for allowing you to walk out in the first place…

Once and always you have truly beaten me, in everything. Utterly. It's futile, isn't it? I could never win against you. You were always two steps ahead, always best without even trying. And if I had allowed myself to forget that fact, I know better now. It's been impressed upon me ever since that day…

The day I watched you take away everything I've ever thought I had…

A sharp pain distracts me from the ball momentarily, and I realize it's your elbow colliding with my chest, as your winning three point shot plunges soundlessly into the hoop.

The very sport I chose to be loyal to, to devote all my life and soul to has betrayed me in the form of this wall. This man. My body impacts the floor and I'm sure I burn my elbows from the friction, but I don't feel any pain; I've gone numb.

"I win."

Even those fleeting victories I thought I had over you weren't real. All this time, you were holding back, toying with me, patronizing me. And it hurt. Somehow it hurt so much more now that we're not just two players from opposing teams on the court anymore, but something else to each other entirely.

A part of me wanted nothing more than to pick myself up from where I'd fallen by your feet and run. Run far away from you and choose to accept this new ruthlessness you've brandished as my reality to keep me from making a fool of myself in front of you any longer.

Instead I hold my own and muster every ounce of pride I have left to look up as you loom over and look down on me, trying to be at level with cold blue eyes. The longer I dared to stare, the colder it seemed to get. I would have shivered if I wasn't already shaking.

"Why the hell is basketball so important to you?"

That question again.

"Why? Why do you keep pretending nothing else matters? Is there truly nothing else more important to you than this?"

Despite my mind practically screaming at me to defend myself, somehow I couldn't give you the pleasure of voicing an answer, and that just made things worse, didn't it?

"You know what? The truth is… I hate this."

That was the last thing I expected to hear.

"I really, really hate basketball. "

What…?

"If going to America will make you happy then go for it, you're on the right track. Good luck. See you around."

You are a liar.

There are things you can't bring yourself to say too, huh?

It was like staring at a light at the end of the tunnel slowly fading away, and my feet aren't fast enough, no, I can't even find the strength in me to stand. It was a feeling so crippling… Being made to dream, to hope, and to be so close to what I truly wanted…

Then you decide to just bring everything crashing down.

I don't remember how I got home. I don't remember lying in my bed, staring at the ceiling in my room, full of posters of basketball players whose names I couldn't remember as well anymore. All I remember is a stinging sensation in my chest that wouldn't go away. It was confusing. This thing we have—or had—going between us. The only thing I thought I had, was something you could so easily steal away. Maybe because I never really had it to begin with. But then it doesn't make sense – how you could take and leave me with less than who I was.

You offered me your hand but I'm not so sure anymore what it really meant to take it.

I won't say I know why basketball is important to me, because in all honesty, I don't. Perhaps I've learned to treasure it out of necessity, but you don't really want to hear that answer, do you? Just like how your questions really don't matter, you just needed to get to me. You just wanted me to level with you. To hear me say something—anything—to remind you that you matter to me more than this game, more than everything else, right?

At least that's what my heart is telling me.

I'm sorry if I couldn't bring myself to say what I truly felt then.

Perhaps basketball was a means to an end. It gave me a way to express myself easily where I felt words would fail me. It was precise and uncomplicated, and it didn't have to be anything beyond that. It really is just basketball. It was.

Until it gave me something to believe in – to focus my energies and emotions on. It gave me a goal and a dream. It made me crave greatness, and gave me the motivation to strive for it. It made me want to be able to fly someday, just like the best of them who have inspired countless players like us.

And then…

It gave me, you.

I still remember the first time you told me you loved me at the Ryounan gym, when we dated, and every single time spent together after that… I don't have many good memories, but the ones with you are the ones I cherish the most. Even if now, I am not so sure if half of those memories were real, and if we still share the same dream, because I've always imagined we would soar together, and it just eats me up inside that I couldn't seem to keep up with you no matter what I did. You're just too good for me, and I'm sorry to disappoint you. And I'm sorry you hate basketball…

Is it my fault?

I wanted you to come with me to America. But I was too selfish to say it; too scared to believe you'd want the same thing. All the while I was hoping you would be happy and excited for me, and that you'd save me the trouble of asking by saying it yourself, that you wanted to come with me. That you wouldn't give it up for anything in the world. Maybe that question still rings in my head because I wanted to ask you the same thing. Why was basketball important to you? How did you become that insurmountable wall that stopped me dead in my tracks and forced me to the ground on my hands and knees? But now, I think I understand.

Basketball was never important to you. It's you that's important to basketball. Because unlike me, you're just one of those people who were born naturally gifted and amazing at what you do.

Maybe I hated you a little for that too without knowing it.

Because you outshined everything else and became the star I wanted to reach.

The reason I wanted to fly.

I guess I underestimated this whole relationship by thinking that you would always understand what I never told you: that my obsession to beat you didn't matter any more to me than simply having the perfect excuse to waste endless hours playing with you until my body was sore. To have those quiet afternoons when I'd wait for you until I fell asleep with a basketball in my arms because you overslept; but when you'd arrive out of breath and apologizing like a broken record, I just couldn't stay mad. At the end of the day, it didn't matter even if you'd gloat to kingdom come when you finally beat me. Or those rare times that I did beat you only to be insecure all the same thinking it only happened because you allowed it. Winning or losing… Eventually it didn't matter anymore, as long as we were together. It's not about basketball anymore, but about you. About us.

That's what you wanted to hear from me, right?

All this time and effort we've invested into being friends and the best of rivals, and even beyond that, I've messed up, haven't I…? Is there still anything left of whatever we had?

I didn't say any of it then, but I've always felt it. More than anything I've ever had.

More than basketball.

…

How many days has it been…? I've lost count. But the stinging sensation in my chest is now a heavy bubble that has been expanding since and threatening to explode.

I wonder if you even remember that today is the beginning of the Japan All Youth Team training camp and how I've been looking forward to this day for the longest time. But when you told me you would decline the invitation, I suddenly forgot why I wanted so hard to be part of this in the first place.

I don't know what I'm doing on this bus anymore…

It's just not the same…

To be able to fly without you.

…

"Hey, Rukawa! Hi there!"

"Ou," I acknowledged insipidly, barely sparing a glance at whoever was calling my name in a way no Kanji character could convey. I couldn't care less. That is until the earplugs of my blaring Discman were carefully pulled from my ears, forcing me to bite back an expletive as I was forced to face whoever this idiot with a death wish was.

"Hey now! You do remember me, right? It's me, Michael!"

Oh. Figures.

I pretended I didn't see the outstretched hand and instead regarded the gaikokujin with a look dripping with disinterest in whatever idle chit-chat was forthcoming.

Michael Okita laughed and kept talking anyway.

I turned away and mentally tuned out everything being said, until I caught one word…

"Th… ga… …gainst Ryonan was unforgettable!"

Ryounan…

In my mind there was only one thing—or person—synonymous to that word.

If this bus was full of great players and we were all headed for the best training facility in the country, why didn't I feel as enthusiastic as I ought to be? But of course, in my heart, I already knew the answer…

Because it's not fair that you're not here too.

You're better than me.

Just then, a voice over the bus' PA system announced that we were about to depart. I turned back to the window, fully intending to fall asleep, no matter how loud Michael Okita blabbed.

There was some slight commotion as everyone settled into their seats and the bus rumbled to life and began to move out of the parking lot. After the vehicle had settled into a steady pace, I let my head slump back into the seat, squeezing my eyes shut and willing my emotions to stay at bay; the half-American chatterbox only bristling my already frayed nerves.

I sighed deeply, feeling like I had literally left my heart behind yet feeling it aching all the same.

"What's up with that Sendoh character?"

My breath hitched.

"You and him are tight, yeah? With talent like his, he's gotta be off his rocker to turn down an opportunity like this! What in the world is Spikes thinking?"

I felt a nerve snap in me, annoyance rising rapidly, and with it, a dozen other equally disturbing emotions I couldn't pin a name on. A retort threatened to spill from my mouth along the lines of: "Yeah, he's off his rocker. You would be too if you were born to be perfect at something you happened to hate." But instead I opted for:

"Is that really your designated seat?"

Knowing full well that it wasn't and hoping against hope that the guy would take a hint.

"Uhh, now that you mention it…" Michael Okita laughed sheepishly, glancing at the name tag fastened to the bus seat. "Hah, it's Sendoh's!"

My heart sank deeper. Great. Sendoh isn't here, so that means… I would have to bear the obtuse American's imposing presence for the entire trip… Maybe even the entire camp. Thanks, Akira… I thought bitterly.

Maybe this was my punishment.

Maybe it would have better if I—

"Oh, wow! Speak of the devil and here he appears!"

My heart caught in my throat and even if I didn't want to, my head turned to look anyway…

And there you were, standing in the aisle, looking at me with an easy smile on your face.

"Did you miss me, Rukawa-kun?"

"How're you doin', man? We were just talkin' about you!" Michael Okita slapped you playfully in the back, before finally turning to leave… "Well, I think Imma find my own seat now, later guys!"

But suddenly, I didn't want him to leave.

I didn't know if I had the courage to face you…

I still didn't know how to say the things I wanted so badly to say…

But before I could even open my mouth, you stared me in the eye hard and suddenly pulled me into a firm hug.

"I'm sorry, Rukawa-kun. Do you think… we can just… forget about what happened?"

I nodded vigorously before I could think, ashamed in the back of my mind that there was moisture on your jersey jacket where my face was pressed up against. My arms just tightened around you in reflex and I didn't fight it… I couldn't.

"W-why…" I whispered softly, fingers fisting in your clothes, feelings of happiness and confusion, relief and anger welling up inside me. I just wanted to laugh and cry and scream all at once. "Why are you here?" I choked as I looked up, searching your blue eyes, "I thought… you hated basketball…"

"I did."

You smiled and leaned in, whispering back just before our lips connected:

"…Until I met you."

The End.

* Otanjyoubi Omedetou, Rukawa-kun! *