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Without A Doubt
by Rali

Disclaimer: If I owned Slam Dunk, well, let's just say it would no longer be for all-ages. ::wink::

I

In the end, he shocked himself by mailing it.

He stood there, in front of the mailbox, clutching at empty air, staring at the gaping black hole down which the letter had just disappeared. It had been a plain envelope, white and unassuming, undecorated, polite. He’d been very careful to make his writing on both the envelope and the letter to be neat and precise. Simple, to the point, with a hint of flirtation, and with more than a hint of feeling, he spent the previous three weeks writing that letter, had torn up and thrown away half a writing pad of predecessors before finally deciding that the letter was about as perfect as it was going to get. He had never been one to settle for near-perfect.

But

Now

He stood there, in front of the mailbox, clutching empty air, and gaped at the mailbox in dawning horror.

Oh, my God, what have I done???

He had to get it back. He had to get the letter back! And he had to do it before the mailman came!

Oh, my God, WHAT HAD HE DONE???

He’d just gotten a hold of the building janitor’s rake and was jamming the metal handle of it into the mail slot in an attempt to widen it enough to get his arm through when he was interrupted.

”Hey, kid, what the hell are you doing to the mailbox?”

He dropped the rake, spun around, and came face-to-face with a half-curious, half-upset mailman.

”…just…nothing! I wasn’t doing anything! Ha, ha, ha, absolutely nothing, innocent until proved guilty! Uh… got to go, extremely sorry, sir!”

Without giving the bemused mailman time to recoup, he pivoted on his heel, snatched up his gym bag, and took off up the stairs as if all the hounds of the underworld were after him, nearly losing his glasses in the bargain.

The mailman stood for a moment, blinking at the abruptly empty hallway, until he heard the distinct slam of an apartment door. Shaking his head with a grudgingly amused, knowing grin, he inspected the mailbox before proceeding to open it and rescue the day’s mail.

”Damned kids and their damned fool love letters… you’d think it was the end of the world, with all their silly nerves”

II

The next three days were absolute torture.

What if he doesn’t read it? What if it gets lost in the mail? What if I wrote down the wrong address? What if he does read it and laughs? What if he just throws it away as a joke? What if he ignores it? What if he doesn’t like me? What if, what if, what if…

Plagued by thoughts like those mentioned all the hours of the day, and beleaguered with nightmares of the possible rejections or outright dismissals, he became a nervous wreck. He misplaced his homework assignments, walked off with books that weren’t his, was late to class, was late to lunch, and called teachers by the wrong names; in short, he walked around with his head in a cloud. The crowning achievement of this stupor was when he was hit by a car while in his state of wakeful unconsciousness a parked car.

His teachers noticed his forgetfulness and lack of attention in class and worried about his health. Perhaps he had personal troubles?

His classmates noticed his missed deadlines and assignments and checked out the windows to see if the sky was raining blood and the sea was boiling.

His friends and teammates noticed his woolgathering and carelessness at practice and fussed over him like a gaggle of mother hens with only one egg.

His best friend just shook his head and sighed.

”Stop worrying, would you?” his best friend barked, exasperated. “You’ve sent the letter, now there, no use worrying until he says something back!”

”But… what if he doesn’t like me?” Just the thought was enough to make him want to throw himself off of a high building. “What if he… what if he doesn’t…”

”Oh, for crying out loud,” his best friend groaned. “Stop whining and be a man! I’m sure he’ll like you, too.”

He’d never been so off before. He was a calm, collected, reserved person. He was a mature, responsible adult with more to worry about than a stupid love letter. He was a man. He was a grown-up. He could handle this. It was nothing! Just a silly love letter, no reason to get so hysterical and he should be ashamed to have let it influence his life so badly.

I am a grown-up. I am mature. I will not let such a silly love letter rule my life. I am a man. I am mature. I will not let such a silly…

III

”Hey, did you hear? That Sakuragi guy from Shohoku is going out with Sendoh from Ryonan!”

He nearly lost his lunch.

Oh-so-nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t a care in the world, he slowly leaned back and listened as hard as he could.

”No way, I heard Sakuragi was out with Rukawa, the Shohoku rookie.”

”You guys are both wrong,” said a third girl’s voice. “Sakuragi has a crush on Akagi Haruko, the team captain’s sister. Sendoh and Rukawa are trying to get his attention, but Sakuragi’s blind to anything but the Akagi girl.”

”Wow, what a drama,” said the second girl. “I wish I were going to Shohoku.”

”It sounds like a TV soap,” the first girl agreed.

”It is a TV soap,” the third girl giggled. “Sakuragi might like Akagi Haruko, but she totally ignores him because she’s got a thing for Rukawa!”

”Whoa,” the first squeaked.

”You’ve got to be kidding me.”

”I am not! Haruko doesn’t even notice Sakuragi’s got a crush on her. And Rukawa totally ignores Haruko, because he’s too busy chasing after Sakuragi! You won’t believe what happens over there at Shohoku. Sendoh and Rukawa had a rivalry going on before because of basketball, but now it’s just crazy. And Sendoh’s always trying these wild tricks to try and get Sakuragi’s attention, like daring him to basketball one-on-ones and inviting him out for a treat after Sakuragi loses. It’s driving Rukawa insane.

”How do you know all this?”

”I’m friends with the basketball team manager over there,” the third explained. “We used to go to the same middle school. Ayako sees everything. We hang out sometimes on the weekends and she gives me the details on the show.”

”Lucky,” the second girl said. She sighed. “Too bad Rukawa’s gay… he’s so good-looking.”

”Sendoh-san is so handsome,” the first one cooed.

”I prefer Sakuragi, myself,” the third girl said. “He’s so cute.”

”Sakuragi?! Ewww!”

He crashed to the floor with an almighty clatter.

In the silence, he picked himself up, righted his chair, picked up his bag, ignored the way everyone was staring at him, including the three gossips, and said, very politely, “Excuse me,” and proceeded to exit the classroom.

”Sakuragi?! Ewww,” indeed!

IV

It was hopeless. He just had to face facts. Why on earth would Sakuragi Hanamichi go out with him? Especially when Sakuragi-san had two very popular (if unwillingly) and very attractive guys like Rukawa-yaro and Sendoh-yaro

Rukawa-san and Sendoh-san, he corrected himself.

Especially when Sakuragi-san had two somewhat popular and supposedly attractive guys like Rukawa-san and Sendoh-san vying for his attention in the first place?

It’s hopeless, he thought, swallowing his despair. I don’t even know what got into me to try in the first place. I might as well give up. No use tormenting myself over the inevitable…

”Son,” his mother called from the kitchen. “If you wouldn’t mind, would you go down and get the mail? It’s about time for…”

FWOOM.

In the kitchen, an attractive, black-haired woman in her early forties lifted her head from the household finance papers and blinked as a tall blur somewhat resembling her son went tearing past her and out the front door. She could hear the footsteps go charging down the stairs.

What the…?

V

A week went by, and still no answer.

He was past climbing the walls… he was clinging to the center of the ceiling and beginning to chew his way through onto the roof.

His teachers had given up on him, now merely hoping that it was a phase he was going through and would, with any luck, get over. His classmates were, by now, used to his newfound talents of clumsiness and forgetfulness, resignedly adjusting to the change as best as they could no one in his class ever sat down now without first checking to see if he’d mistaken their desk as his own. This was after one girl, chattering with her friends and not really paying attention to anything else, had sat down at what she correctly assumed to be her seat and ended up in his lap.

His friends and teammates despaired of his sanity.

His best friend wavered between laughing at him and comforting him.

”I’m sure those rumors were only rumors,” his best friend had said patiently. “I’m positive it was only a coincidence that you saw Sendoh buying Sakuragi lunch and how you saw Sendoh playing one-on-one with Sakuragi for a kiss a point. And it absolutely did not mean a thing that Rukawa came to school that morning holding hands with Sakuragi”

"Will you shut up?!" he’d bellowed, quite out of character, causing more than a few of his teammates to stare at him, fearing that he’d finally gone and lost it.

Oh, yes his best friend was having a lot of fun.

VI

The morning of the ninth day after he’d sent his letter, the answer finally came.

He was on the verge of giving up. Instead of leaving the house an hour early to check the mail, he left only forty minutes early. Instead of crashing through the door and bounding down the stairs, he opened and closed the front entrance in a dignified silence and made his quiet way down the dark stairwell (even if he did make his quiet way a bit faster than called for). Instead of jamming in the key and yanking open the mailbox with his family’s apartment number on it, he peered into the plastic-sheeted slot above the keyhole.

There was nothing there.

He heaved a sigh, feeling a strange weight in his chest. Giving the mailbox one last, gloomy look, he turned and made his unhurried, deliberate way out the apartment doors, not even hearing the apartment guard give him a friendly hello, as he always did.

His shoulders slumped, and his steps were sluggish. He barely stepped out of the way of a honking car in time. Overhead, the sky was just beginning to lighten with morning. Everything looked gray.

Well, he’d known it would happen this way. No use having a sob over it. After all, why would anyone like Sakuragi Hanamichi be interested in…

The weight in his chest was so heavy he thought he just might need to lie down. Depression clouded his eyes.

”Toru, right?”

He froze.

That voice. That belligerent, haughty, arrogant, mind-numbingly lovely voice.

Slowly, painstakingly, hoping against hope, he looked up.

The redhead stood in front of him, leaning against a telephone pole, halfway down a quiet, empty neighborhood block (well, of course any neighborhood block Sakuragi Hanamichi entered was deserted within seconds). He wore his school uniform, the jacket unbuttoned to show a white undershirt and an athlete’s chest, and had his gym bag in a heap at his feet. A half-finished cigarette hung from a full, mesmerizing lower lip. The redhead’s hair was a mess, wild and sticking out every which way.

He’d never seen a more beautiful sight in his life.

”Your first name's Toru, isn't it?” the redhead growled, probably annoyed with the staring. There was something nervous about the way he stood.

”Uh huh,” Toru replied intelligently.

Sakuragi Hanamichi for it was Sakuragi Hanamichi, and not just some beautiful hallucination of Toru’s fevered and despairing brain took the cigarette from his mouth with a casual thoughtfulness and tossed it to the ground, grinding it out with his heel. As coolly as you please, he walked straight up to Toru, found with what appeared to be some minor bother that he had to tilt his head back to look Toru in the eye, and said, “I got your letter.”

Toru thought his heart was about to explode. “Oh.”

”You,” Hanamichi said, as if pronouncing a sentence, “…are one sappy son of a bitch.”

Toru felt his heart shatter. He closed his eyes, willed himself not to break in front of this gorgeous freshman. “Sorry.”

He got nothing in return, not the spiteful denunciation he’d expected nor righteous outrage — just, silence. Finally, unable to bear it and ready to tell Hanamichi that he was very sorry to have been so presumptuous and that Hanamichi would never have to stand the sight of him again, he opened his eyes.

And found a piece of folded paper being thrust in his face.

”Well?” Hanamichi wasn’t looking at him; he was looking at the ground, blindly offering the folded paper to Toru’s nose. “You going to take it?”

Was that… a blush? Was Hanamichi’s face turning red?

He took it, letting Hanamichi lower his arm with a noise of impatience. That was a blush.

The piece of notebook paper was folded many times over, and creased and wrinkled, as if it had been carried around for quite a while. It took a minute to unfold it from its many wrinkles, and it turned out to not be much bigger than his open hand, but what was written on it was very short, and very easy to read.

Maybe I like you too.

Hanamichi

Toru’s stomach did a handstand, followed by a double-flip and a dive into his feet.

He looked up at Hanamichi. The redhead’s face was beginning to match his hair.

”I thought about mailing it,” Hanamichi said, obviously ready to babble nonstop, “but it’s kind of short, y’know, so I thought, hey, maybe I should just give it to him, but I’ve been really busy this week and then I lost your address, and it’s just all kind of…”

”What about Rukawa-san?” Toru managed to get out. His voice was hoarse, as if he’d had it force it past something in his throat, like his heart. “A-and Sendoh-san?”

Hanamichi looked outraged. “Those two! What kind of rumors have they been spreading??? I am not Rukawa’s boyfriend, and I am not Sendoh’s boyfriend, either!!! Is it my fault they won’t leave me alone??? Just wait until I get my hands on them, they’ll regret the day their mothers…”

He stopped talking about then, partly because he couldn’t think of a euphemism bad enough to describe the stupid, possessive, delusional fox and the always-smiling, damned-annoying pervert, but mostly because Toru was kissing him.

I’m kissing Sakuragi Hanamichi, was Toru’s first dazed thought. It was followed immediately by the second: Oh. My. God.

Without thinking about it, he dropped his school bag and his gym bag, and brought up his arms to pull Hanamichi into an embrace. Startled, Hanamichi gave a little jump and opened his mouth to yelp.

OH. MY. GOD.

It was hot, and wet, and decidedly arousing. Toru leisurely explored the yielding, giving mouth pressed to his, savoring every taste, celebrating every touch. His right hand was buried in Hanamichi’s red hair, the left pulling him closer by the waist. He felt Hanamichi’s hands tentatively settle on his arms.

His damned glasses were getting in the way. Without breaking the kiss, he reached up and snatched them off, stuffing them clumsily into his spring coat pocket. He pressed the younger boy as close to him as he possibly could.

Hanamichi tasted… like heaven. There was a hint of cigarettes, that couldn’t be helped, but mostly, it was… strawberries. How could a person taste like strawberries? They weren’t even in season.

Toru laughed through the kiss and Hanamichi pulled back, effectively putting an end to it.

Hanamichi’s face was red, so red that it had to hurt. Toru wasn’t blushing; he was just smiling, smiling as he stood there with his arms around a red-haired freshman on the enemy’s basketball team and feeling as if he were the luckiest eighteen-year-old alive.

He smiled down at Hanamichi, who looked as if he’d dearly like to demand exactly what the bloody hell was so funny, but couldn’t get it out through the blush. They stood there, on that quiet street, listening to nothing and everything, one the most outrageous shade of red and the other smiling as he’d never smiled before in his life.

Then, noticing something, Toru reached into Hanamichi’s jacket pocket and withdrew a half-full packet of cigarettes.

Without further ado, he crumpled it in his fist and threw it over his shoulder.

”Hey, what… what’s the big idea??? That was mine!”

”You’re going to quit smoking,” Toru said, and, releasing Hanamichi, set about retrieving his things.

Hanamichi stood there, gaping at him. “You have no right to make me do that!”

”Of course I do,” Toru said. He smiled again, but it was his trademark I Am the Wise and Responsible Adult Who Knows What’s Best smile, not the I Am So In Love It’s Not Even Funny smile. “I, as the older one in our relationship, have presidential veto.”

”You… you…” Hanamichi’s face went red again, only this time it was with indignation. “YOU!!! How dare you order about the Tensai!!!”

”Let’s go, Hanamichi-kun,” Toru said, walking past the shell-shocked and livid sixteen-year-old. “We’re going to be late for school.”

”GET BACK HERE, TORU!!! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO ORDER ME AROUND LIKE THAT!!!”

It belatedly occurred to him as the two headed for the subway, Hanamichi yelling at him rather loudly and he simply ignoring what Hanamichi was saying and listening to his voice, that he had forgotten to ask about Akagi Haruko. And there was going to be trouble later, regardless, seeing as how both Rukawa-yaro and Sendoh-yaro (Oh, why fight the inevitable?) weren’t going to be happy about this development.

But those were later worries. For now, what mattered was that Sakuragi Hanamichi was his boyfriend, and he knew a great place to go for Western food. Fujima was always telling him that first dates were the most important, and, by God, Toru was going to make it the best first date Hanamichi had ever had! (Assuming Hanamichi had been on dates before.)

Besides… he was the wise, responsible Toru. He knew how to handle himself in any situation. He was calm, collected, and reserved. He was a mature person, a man. And Sakuragi Hanamichi was his boyfriend.

He was Hanagata Toru, a.k.a. Boyfriend of Sakuragi Hanamichi.

Rukawa-yaro and Sendoh-yaro didn’t stand a chance.

-FIN-

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