"My pain is ugly, Angel Juan. I feel like I have so much ugly pain," says Witch Baby in a dream.

"Everyone does," Angel Juan says. "My mother says that pain is hidden in everyone you see. She says try to imagine it like big bunches of flowers that everyone is carrying around with them. Think of your pain like a big bunch of red roses, a beautiful thorn necklace. Everyone has one."

--"Witch Baby" (Francesca Lia Block)

+ + +

Rukawa dozed in that shadow-realm between consciousness and sleep, hearing the faint creak of the door closing. Shifting position under the light weight of the blankets, he blinked open cobalt eyes to see an empty room.

Unblinking golden eyes met slitted blue ones, which widened in surprise at the weight of the cat on his stomach. One hand reaching up to pry his cat off his T-shirt, Rukawa wondered if he had just imagined Sendoh’s presence by his bed.

Sitting up with his armful of kitten, he looked out of his window. It was a half moon tonight, and the round bright sphere above the brightness of the city lights reminded him abruptly of another moonlit night several months ago.

/"It's truly reflected glory. Literally. But you know that, don't you? One can look at it without flinching, and through its pale radiance, see something of the fiery core of the sun."/

Rukawa stood absently, stroking the warm bundle of fur in his arms as he looked out of his window.

What if things had been different?

+ + +

As was his wont, Sendoh woke instantly, without any hazy transition between sleep and consciousness. Today he was in Rukawa’s house, and the fragrant scent of miso soup was wafting in through the open door.

Rukawa had been in here, Sendoh thought with a start, the image of Rukawa gazing at his sleeping face giving him thoughts that would do nothing for the calmness of his mind when he next faced Rukawa.

The curtains were open, letting the sunlight into the room and directly onto his face. Chuckling, Sendoh took the not-so-subtle hint for him to wake up, sauntering down stairs/across the house to the kitchen.

Leaning against the doorframeuld have made, had made with him.

Some days, Rukawa wished that Sendoh had come to Shohoku. The loudmouth helped, much as he hatn which Rukawa filled out the shirt and loose cargo pants he had on, Sendoh swallowed involuntarily.

/Think of good thoughts, think of… basketball. Ka-Rukawa has improved so much. It feels almost like he’s psychic when we’re on the same team. He always knows exactly where I am and what I’m doing on the court. But then, I know what he’s going to do too – it’s just a matter of whether I’m able to /stop/ it anymore. Even if Sawakita came ‘round now, he’d be hard-pressed to stop him./

+ + +

“Hey.” The smooth baritone of Sendoh’s voice drifted over, and Rukawa lifted his head in acknowledgement, countenance lightening as he saw the utter mess Sendoh’s hair was in.

“I need to go back before school. “

“…”

“Left my Classical Literature text there… it’s the first lesson today.”

“I know. “ /And now you’ll leave again, your distinctive silhouette against the door./ “See you after practice.”

Practice, and Rukawa was distracted again.

He jumped, flew through air that seemed thick as mired syrup and released a shot, his eyes tracing its lazy path through the air as it made its inexorable descent into the center of the net.

Unbidden, Sendoh’s voice echoed at him again, the smiling idiot’s face distracting him sufficiently for him to stumble slightly as he landed again, backpedaling to keep his balance.

And the other idiot was laughing now, the bright clear trumpet of his voice proclaiming to all and sundry that he was a tensai. Rukawa envied him his lack of cares – for the absolute confidence he had in himself, the absolute disregard for the opinion of others as he went about his own loud way.

He turned, stared at the do’aho, as the ball swished through the net behind him.

/“You need to smile more.”/ And that brilliant smile had flashed again, its brightness almost blinding him. /“You’d be prettier.”/

And himself, whacking that spiked head playfully in mock-anger.

Rukawa thought he’d go home early tonight.

+ + +

The house was lit as he came back, and he allowed himself, just for a moment, to pretend that he was ten and that everything was as it was. Then he stepped into the circle of the houselights and out of the illusion, removing his shoes and placing them next to Sendoh’s.

Sendoh had cooked tonight, the distinct smell of melted cheese and cooked tomato mixing together as he took his seat at the table. A sense of déjà vu hit him, as he sat there. Just like that first time they had had dinner together.

“Today’s prac was really silly! I was passing the ball to Koshino, but he wasn’t looking, so it hit him ‘smack!’ on the face!” Sendoh gestured excitedly. “By the time practice ended he had this lovely ball-shaped blue-black on his face.”

Rukawa hnned and nodded appropriately. Sendoh… was always voluble the nights after his training. It was as though the pent frustration of knowing that he would always play at less than he could have raced through his system, making him gesture and talk and talk and talk.

He had seen it happening before, watched that minute frown grow beneath those spikes as the players around him fumbled to catch passes, were too slow for the brilliant plays that Sendoh could have made, had made with him.

Some days, Rukawa wished that Sendoh had come to Shohoku. The loudmouth helped, much as he hated to admit it. Sakuragi’s amazing speed of absorption had almost –almost, but never quite- made up for his inexperience. Fukuda’s growth, on the other hand, had leveled off already, leaving Sendoh to drag the entire Ryonan team behind his own, explosive growth.

He wondered uneasily if the ability to know exactly what Sendoh was thinking was normal.

___________________________

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