#slamdunk x reader

For about a year and a half now, it had become a tradition to play friendly matches together. The School Sports Association wanted to use this to encourage exchanges between schools. This year, Kainan had been drawn against Shohoku. Secretly, you were looking forward to it a little. It was going to be a very entertaining weekend.

___ _ _ _

The way he walked toward the water coolers despite there being one significantly closer to him. You pretended not to notice. For you, it was more fun that way.

“Manager,”His voice was low and flat as usual.

You looked up slowly,“Rukawa.”

Kiyota looked personally offended that you knew his name. Rukawa stood there silently for a moment,“…You analyzed our Sannoh game.”

Not a question.

“You noticed?” you asked. He stared at you. That was answer enough. Of course he noticed, it was Kaede...golden boy of the Shohoku basketball club. Rukawa noticed basketball the way predators noticed movement of their prey.

“I liked your rotation prediction,” he said. Kiyota made a choking noise somewhere in the background. You tilted your head slightly,grinning,“Only liked? I feel offended”

Rukawa blinked once, clearly not expecting teasing from you,“It was accurate.”

There it was. High praise, at least in the weird "Rukawa language". You hummed softly. “Then I’m honored.”

He stayed there. Not leaving, not speaking either. He was just standing there. Beside your table with all the conversational abilities of a brick wall.

You waited patiently, curious to see what would happen next. Even though your analysis of the situation had already suggested a possible next step of his. This had become a pattern recently. Rukawa would appear near you for increasingly ridiculous reasons.

Borrowing tape he clearly didn’t need. Or asking for game notes he already memorized. And another time he was standing suspiciously close during joint practices. Once, he even sat beside you for nearly twenty minutes in complete silence while you organized stat sheets.

You’d timed him. Today, apparently, his strategy was staring. It was new, refreshing and it was absolutely no use if you wanted to grow closer to someone you really liked.

“You’re trying very hard lately,” you said casually. His eyes narrowed slightly,“At what?”

It was cute, you thouhgt,“Getting my attention.”

Dead silence. Across the gym, Kiyota sensed drama and immediately stopped stretching. Rukawa looked at you for a long moment,“…Is it working?”

You nearly laughed. Not because it was smooth, because it was so painfully direct. So completely Rukawa. You just knew him so well. And sometimes even you were surprised by the extent of it. He was just so full of blunt honesty, that was delivered with the emotional expression of a housecat.

You rested your chin lightly against your hand,“I noticed weeks ago.”

Rukawa looked genuinely caught off guard,“…Oh.”

“And,” you continued calmly, “I wanted to see how long it would take before you realized I knew.”

Another pause. Then, unexpectedly, the faintest hint of annoyance crossed his face,“You’re mean.”

You smiled properly this time. Kiyota gasped in horror from across the court,“Y/n-SENPAI CAN SMILE?!”

Neither of you acknowledged him. Rukawa studied your expression carefully, like he was memorizing it,“You’re different when you smile.”

“Most people are,” you laughed.

“Hn,”There was that look again. The one he always got during games. Weirdly focused and so full of intent. Rather studying. Except now it was completely focused entirely at you. And to be honest, it should’ve been unsettling. As you didnt like attention that much. But instead, you found it strangely endearing. It was lovely to know that I was seen in that way.

“You like smart girls,” you observed.

"Yes,”No hesitation.

"And you think I’m smart," you teased him further.

“Yes.”

Again, immediate. You tapped your pen lightly against your clipboard,“You’re straightforward.”

“You hate dishonesty,” he defended himself. You paused. Interesting. Not many people noticed things about you. You looked at him more carefully then. Rukawa wasn’t very socially skilled. Everyone knew that. But him being observant? Terrifyingly so. Of course he’d notice.

He watched games down to foot placement and breathing patterns. Human behavior wasn’t that different. “You’ve been observing me too,” you said softly.

“Hn,”A tiny confession from the outside, but a huge deal coming from Rukawa. You looked away first this time, hiding your amusement. Oh he was such a dangerous boy. “You know,” you murmured, “most people try harder to impress girls they like.”

“I am.”

Your brows lifted. Rukawa nodded toward the clipboard in your hands,“I asked Akagi for your defensive notes from the Shoyo match.”

That was actually devastatingly effective, because he understood. Flowers wouldn’t impress you most likely, he figured as much. But valuing your mind? Using your strategies seriously? Listening when you spoke about basketball and what you had to say about it?

That mattered. It mattered to you, so it mattered to him. Also it helped that it was basketball, because honestly what did the boy care about other than his sport. And somehow this quiet, basketball-obsessed boy had figured it out. Had figured you out. You exhaled slowly through your nose,“…That was clever.”

A tiny shift in his expression. It was satisfaction. He was proud of himself. Like he’d just scored. Cute. Very cute.

___ _ _ _

Practice resumed around you both, noisy and chaotic again, but neither of you moved immediately. Then Rukawa spoke quietly,“You’re graduating soon.”

Not a question, but you nodded,“Mm.”

“I don’t like that.”

Your heart betrayed you with one stupid little flutter. There was something unfair about the way he spoke. Simple truths delivered with complete sincerity. You closed your clipboard,“Then you’ll have to make good use of the time left, won’t you?”

___ _ _ _

So the years passed and this silly little schedule remained. Every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday, a folded sheet of paper stayed taped to the fence. Whenever one of you needed extra time, a note would appear: Need thirty more minutes. Competition soon.

Then a day later: Fine.

That was basically an entire conversation between you. Over the years the two of you never spoke more than that to each other. The time went on and you became a dancer. Rukawa on the other hand, became a basketball player. Both of you were frighteningly serious about it. For you it meant getting a scholarship into a good school, for him it was his passion. Neither of you had many friends. And neither of you spoke much. The court became a strange sort of shared territory.

You'd arrive and find a sports drink left on the bench. No note. You knew it was him. The next week he'd find energy bars. No note. But he knew they were from you. That was just how things worked.

___ _ _ _

By the time high school arrived, you could almost predict each other's movements: When it rained, he'd practice under the covered area nearby. When your ankle hurt, he'd silently move his training farther away so the sound of the ball wouldn't distract you. You never thanked each other. You never needed to.

Then one Saturday, everything changed: Rukawa arrived at exactly 3:00 PM. As the schedule said. But the court was empty. He frowned. You were never late. Not once in over ten years. Normally, you wouldn't let him take up any of your precious minutes on the court. But today... you weren't even there, were you?

His eyes moved toward the fence. A single flyer fluttered beneath the schedule: Tokyo Youth Ballet Company Auditions. Today's date. Auditions started thirty minutes ago. For a moment, he simply stared at it. Then he looked at the empty court again.

The silence felt wrong. No tapping of your royal blue point shoes. It was simply too quiet for Rukawas liking. Without fully understanding why, he picked up the flyer. And got on his bike. The theater wasn't far.

___ _ _ _

By the time he arrived, auditions were already underway. The receptionist nearly stopped him before he slipped into the back of the auditorium. The stage lights were bright. Dozens of dancers waited offstage. Music echoed through the hall. Rukawa sat down. Mostly because he'd already come all this way. At least, that's what he told himself.

Then you walked onto the stage. And the world stopped. Rukawa had seen you dance thousands of times: On concrete, on cracked pavement, on rainy afternoons or freezing winter mornings. He thought he knew what you looked like when you danced. He was wrong.

You looked different here. Like you belonged somewhere he had never seen before. The blue point shoes were paired with a matching tutu. It had a golden rose embroidered onto the body, whereas the skirt faded from a dark blue to a white color. You looked amazing, like a godess. Every movement was effortless. Every turn perfectly controlled. The music seemed to follow you, your emotions. Not the other way around. It was like the audience disappeared. The judges disappeared. Basically everything disappeared.

Except you. You shone bright like a beautiful star. Rukawa forgot about basketball for a minute, as he watched you enchant him. When the performance ended, the entire auditorium remained silent for a heartbeat. Then applause erupted. The judges were smiling, like actually smiling. A rare sight in the ballet world.

Rukawa felt something twist painfully inside his chest. Something unfamiliar. Something uncomfortable. Something he couldn't dribble away. Because suddenly a thought appeared. A terrifying thought: She's going to leave. Maybe Tokyo. To get professional training. To build a career, a future. All things you deserved. All things that would take you away from the court. Away from him.

___ _ _ _

The realization hit harder than any loss he'd ever experienced. You got accepted. Of course you did. The results came a week later. The announcement was taped right beside the schedule. You'd probably wanted him to see it.

Congratulations. That was the note he left. The longest message he'd ever written to you.

The next morning, he arrived early. For some reason. Maybe because he wanted one last practice before you left. Maybe because he wanted to avoid you. Maybe because he didn't understand what was happening to him. Instead, he found you already there. Sitting on the bench. Staring at the schedule,"You saw it."

You held up the acceptance letter. He nodded,"Congratulations."

Silence. Then you smiled. A small, cute one. The kind only people who had known each other for years could recognize,"I haven't accepted yet."

Rukawa looked at you,"What?"

You laughed softly. The sound surprised both of you,"You sound shocked Rukawa."

"You got in," he stated, sounding more like a question.

"I know," you laughed at his confusion.

"Then why?," he bluntly asked. You stared toward the court. The same court that had started everything,"Because I'm scared."

That confession stunned him more than anything. You? Scared? The girl who practiced until her feet bled? Who danced through all types of injuries? Who never missed a day of training?

"I've never been anywhere else," you admitted, getting a little flushed. You smiled weakly,"This place is kind of home."

The words settled between you. Heavy. Then Rukawa spoke before thinking. A rare mistake,"You should go."

You blinked.

"If it's what you want,"His voice was quiet, steady. Even though his chest felt like it was breaking apart,"You'll regret staying eventually."

You stared at him. For a long time. Then your expression softened,"You really think so?"

"Yeah."

Silence again. But this time it wasn't awkward. You stood up. Walked toward him. Then reached into your bag. A folded piece of paper.

"What is this?," Rukawa asked directly. "The new schedule," you replied with a soft smile. He unfolded it. Saturday. 10 AM. Court. Winter Break. Sunday. 2 PM. Court. Summer Vacation. Random dates. Random years.

All planned far into the future. His eyes widened slightly. You smiled. A real smile this time,"No matter where I go, I'm still coming back."

Rukawa felt his heartbeat stumble. Then you tilted your head,"Besides."

"What?"

"You'd probably forget to eat if I wasn't around," you giggled.

Rukawa stared. You laughed. And suddenly he realized something. Not at the audition. Not when he watched you dance. Not when he thought you were leaving. He'd probably been falling in love with you for years.

Rukawa Kaede

Dribble. Side step. Dribble. Shoot. Swish. A steady rhythm filled the more or less empty gym. Rukawa didn’t even glance at you when you walked in. He rarely did during practice—whether it was official or just him, alone, chasing perfection like always.

“You’re going to overwork yourself again,” you said, leaning against the wall. No response. Instead another shot. It landed. As always.

“…Rukawa,”you tried again. Sometimes you wondered what had led you to choose this particular person as your lover. Basketball was everything to him. He only ate to keep his energy up; school was just something he had to do, and everything else... well, you had to force him to his luck.

“Go home if you’re tired,” he muttered, already retrieving the ball. Right. That was his version of concern: Straight forward, almost sounding rude.

You sighed, used to it.

___ _ _ _

It wasn’t until later that he noticed. Not from you. Never from you. You had retrieved from basketball and itented for it to stay this way.

Instead he found out from a magazine someone had left behind in the gym. A feature on past tournament MVPs.

Your face was there. More than once. Really big and prominent. The face he grew to like so much....on a page of a basketball magazine...confusion, just pure confusion. You only picked up the ball when you absolutely had to.

___ _ _ _

The next day, he found you. No greeting. he walked torwards you as if he wanted to break up. What the hell was up with him???

He just held the magazine out in front of you,“…This you?”

You froze. There it was. Your “not so little” secret,“Welll…Yeah?!.”

That was all you gave him. Rukawa stared at you for a few seconds. Processing.

Then—it seemingly hit him,“…Why didn’t you say anything?”

His tone wasn’t accusatory. Just flat. Direct. Very him, as always. You shrugged slightly,“Didn’t seem important.”

“…It is.”That answer came immediately.

Silence settled between you. Then Rukawa spoke again,“…Play.”

You blinked,“I...What?”

“Play against me.”

Of course. Of course that was his reaction. He wasnt shocked, no....It was a challenge. Because to him, this wasn’t some dramatic reveal.

It was rather simple actually: You were strong. So he wanted to see it. Maybe beat you, depending on how good you were.

“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered. He was already walking toward the court,“Hurry up.”

This man would be the death of you....literally no patience, hesitation or anything like that. There was just basketball.

You stepped onto the court for the first time in a long while. Your grip on the ball felt… familiar. Too familiar. Rukawa stood in front of you, eyes sharper than usual. Not as your boyfriend. As a player.

“…Don’t hold back,” he said. That was it. No soft words. No careful handling. Because he didn’t see you as fragile. He saw you as competition. And weirdly— That meant more. You moved first. Fast. Faster than he expected. Because for a split second— You got past him.

And that’s when it happened: A flicker and a quick shift. Rukawa’s eyes lit up. With excitement? The game didn’t last long. It didn’t need to.

By the end, both of you were breathing harder, the tension in the air thick—not awkward, but charged. Rukawa straightened, brushing his hair back slightly,“…You stopped playing.. seriously.”

Not a question. A statement. You looked away,“…Yeah.”

“…Why?”

There it was. Simple. Blunt.

You hesitated,“It stopped being fun.”

He frowned slightly. That… didn’t make sense to him. Basketball was everything. How could it not be fun?

“…Then make it fun again.”

You blinked. “That’s it?” you asked.

“That’s it.” Of course it was. Rukawa didn’t overcomplicate things. If something mattered, you kept going. If something felt wrong, you fixed it. Simple. He grabbed the ball again, spinning it once in his hand before tossing it to you,“Again.”

You caught it automatically,“…You’re not even going to say anything else?”

“No.”

A pause.Then—“…You’re good.”

It was quiet. Almost reluctant. But coming from him? Stern, serious Rukawa....It might as well have been a full speech. Did anything change??

No really. If anything, he got worse. More one-on-one games. More “again.” More late evenings in the gym.

But sometimes—When you made a shot he didn’t expect—You’d catch it. That tiny, almost invisible smirk. And honestly? That was better than any MVP title.

Hanamichi Sakuragi

You knew you couldn't keep it a secret forever. Especially not from Hanamichi. He was so curious AND your boyfriend. So the secret wasn’t supposed to come out like this.

“WAIT—YOU WERE AN MVP?!”

You flinched as Hanamichi Sakuragi’s voice echoed across the entire gym,“Sakuragi—lower your voice!”

“NO!!” he pointed at you dramatically,“My girlfriend was some basketball legend and DIDN’T TELL ME?!”

“It wasn’t a big deal—,” you tried to calm down his excitment.

“NOT A BIG DEAL?!” he clutched his head,“I’ve been calling myself a genius this whole time and you’re secretly—”

He froze. Then gasped,“…A rival.”

You blinked,“That’s your takeaway?”

“ONE-ON-ONE!! RIGHT NOW!!,” he demanded. You really should’ve said no. Like, why did you even think about saying yes...?

Five minutes later, you were on the court. Sakuragi grinned, full confidence,“Prepare yourself! You’re about to witness true genius!”

“…You’re unbelievable...you know that, right?”

You moved first: Rather Quick and super clean technique. You slipped past him and scored easily. Silence. You turned— He was frozen,“…No way.”

Then immediately—“THAT DOESN’T COUNT!!”

You sighed,“It absolutely does.”

“REMATCH!!”

The second round went worse for him. When you scored again, he just stared at you—wide-eyed,“…You’re actually amazing.”

It came out quieter than usual. You softened,“…I told you.”

“THIS IS AMAZING!!” he exploded right after,“MY GIRLFRIEND IS STRONG?! THAT MEANS I PICKED RIGHT!!”

“…That’s your conclusion?”

“OF COURSE!”He grabbed the ball again, grinning like crazy,“From now on, we train together!”

“That sounds exhausting,” you admitted with a little smile on your lips.

“It’s an honor!”As he ran ahead, already shouting about beating you next time, you couldn’t help smiling. Only Hanamichi Sakuragi would find out you were a former MVP…and somehow make it about his greatness.

Ryota Miyagi

Ryota found out in the most him way possible. No, not from you. Not from a serious conversation, like it should have been. But from overhearing two upperclassmen whispering: “—she was MVP, like, multiple years—”//“Seriously? That quiet girl?”

Ryota froze mid-step…MVP? What was he even hearing?

___ _ _ _

Later, he found you sitting in the gym, tying your shoes. The big grey ones you loved so much. Ryouta always tried to palm off new ones on you whenever you went to buy some together. But you seemed to love them.

You sat there casually. Too casual.

“…Hey.”

You looked up,“Oh, hey Ryouta.”

He crossed his arms, trying to look normal—and failing just a little. “…You got something you wanna tell me?”

You blinked,“About?”

“…MVP.”

Silence. Ah. So that’s how.

“…Oh,” you said quietly,“That.”

Ryota stared at you. Waiting. You shrugged lightly,“Yeah. I used to play. Thats it really.”

“That’s not ‘used to play,’” he said immediately,“That’s dominate the entire court. For YEARS...”

You winced slightly,“…It wasn’t a big deal.”

He squinted at you,“Yeah, no. I don’t believe that for a second.”

There was a pause. Then he sighed, running a hand through his hair,“…You didn’t tell me.”

It wasn’t accusatory. Just… confused. Did he even know you??

You looked away,“Didn’t think it mattered anymore.”

Ryota watched you for a second longer. Then—He grabbed a ball and bounced it once,“…Play me. Show me that greatness of yours. You owe me...”

You groaned,“Of course you’d say that.”

“What? I gotta see it for myself,” he smirked,“My girlfriend’s been hiding skills like that? That’s illegal.”

You stood up and took the ball.

And for a moment— You hesitated. Ryota noticed. But he didn’t push you. Just spun the ball in his hand and said, more quietly this time—“…No pressure. Just play.”

You moved first: Sharp, just like your muscle memory never left. Ryota reacted instantly—but even he didn’t expect how easily you slipped past him,“…Whoa—”

You scored. Clean. In a dominating way.

He stared at you. A slow grin spread across his face,“Okay… that’s kinda crazy.”

You huffed softly,“Told you.”

“Nah,” he shook his head, stepping closer, eyes lit up,“You didn’t tell me that. In fact you didnt tell me anything....”

There was no jealousy, also no weird tension..He was, well excited. Very much so. Pure, genuine excitement.

“Again,” he said, already ready. You laughed,“You’re not even surprised?”

“I am,” he admitted,“But it’s cool.”

A heartbeat. Then, with a crooked smile—“…Guess I gotta work harder now. Can’t have my girlfriend outshining me.”

You rolled your eyes, but your chest felt lighter. And as you played again, Ryota didn’t treat you differently. Heidn’t put distance between you.

If anything—He just played harder. And stayed a little closer.

He finally understood why you loved those old shoes so much: they were a testament to hard work, passion and love for the sport. They were a testament to your greatness in the sport.

Hisashi Mitsui

Well your boyfriend Mitsui found out the worst way possible about the little secret you tried to keep. He found out publicly. With far too many witnesses.

“Wait—YOU were that MVP?!”

You froze mid-step as someone from another class pointed at you, a magazine in hand. Your photo—unmistakably you—stared back from the page.

And right beside you Mitsui blinked,“…Huh?”

You turned slowly,“…Mitsui—”

“Hold on,” he cut in, grabbing the magazine. His eyes scanned it quickly, then snapped back to you,“This MVP… is you?”

“…Yeah.”

Silence.

“YOU NEVER TOLD ME?!”

You flinched,“Can you not yell—”

“I’M YOUR BOYFRIEND!” he shot back,“I think I deserve to know if I’m dating a basketball monster!”

“It wasn’t important—”

“Not important?!” he ran a hand through his hair, clearly spiraling. “I’ve been out here struggling to get back into shape, and you’re just—what—secretly amazing?!”

You sighed, looking away,“…I don’t play anymore.”

That stopped him,“…Why?” You hesitated,“It got complicated.”

He frowned slightly. Didn’t push you to tell him more about your reasons. He also didn’t joke, as he would usually. He just… looked at you. Then exhaled,“…You’re seriously something else Y/n.”

You blinked,“What’s that supposed to mean?” “It means,” he said, tapping the magazine, “you were this good… and just walked away like it was nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing,”you stated. “I know,”His tone softened—just a little. There was a pause. Then Mitsui suddenly smirked,“…Alright.”

You narrowed your eyes,“Why do I feel like I’m not going to like what you say next?” “Because you know me,” he shot back instantly. Then he grabbed a ball from the rack and tossed it to you,“Play me.”

You groaned,“Of course.”

“What? You expect me to just accept this peacefully?” he grinned. “No way. I need to see what I’m dealing with.”

You stepped onto the court. It had been a while. But the moment you dribbled, it all came back. And Mitsui noticed immediately. “…So it’s like that, huh,” he muttered, eyes sharpening.

You moved. He followed. You shot, clean score. He froze for half a second. Then laughed. Actually laughed,“…Damn.”

It was genuine admiration,“You’re incredible.”

The words came out easy, so full of honesty. You looked at him, a little surprised. “…That’s it?”

“What, you want me to be mad?” he scoffed,“Please. If anything—” He spun the ball in his hand, grin returning,“—this just makes things more interesting.”

You sighed, but a smile tugged at your lips,“You’re impossible Mitsu.”

“And you’ve been holding out on me,” he shot back,“So now you’re making up for it.”

“How?”

“By playing with me,”And as he stepped closer—focused, competitive, but lighter than before—Mitsui looked at you like he’d just discovered something exciting. Something worth chasing.

“C’mon,” he said, tossing you the ball again,“One more. Gotta get them muscles back in shape super star.”

Kiminobu Kogure

It came out quietly—like most things involving you. Kogure and you were more of the quiet type. You’d rather spend a relaxed afternoon in the library than go out partying with the others until the early hours. But as the saying goes, still waters run deep. And in your case, that couldn’t be more true. Because there was something you hadn’t told him yet.

“Oh, you didn’t know?” someone said casually,“Y/n used to be MVP. Multiple times.”

Kogure paused mid-conversation with his friend, blinking behind his glasses as he turned to you,“…Is that true?”

You hesitated, then nodded,“Well....It was a while ago. I thought it doesnt matter anymore...”

Kogure smiled softly—rather thoughtful,“That explains a lot, actually.”

You frowned slightly,“It does?”

“The way you watch my games,” he said gently,“You’re always noticing things most people would miss.”

You looked away, a little embarrassed,“…I didn’t think it mattered anymore.”

He shook his head, still smiling,“It does. It’s part of who you are. I can sense and see that.”

There was no pressure in his voice, no demand—just quiet understanding. Also a hint of curiosity. “…If you ever feel like playing again,” he added, adjusting his glasses, “I’d really like to watch.”

___ _ _ _

It starts small. A water bottle appearing beside you without explanation. A basketball rolling back to your feet after you don’t ask for it. You don’t mention it. He doesn’t either. Instead, you say, “You passed too early. Were you trying to be helpful or just bored?”

And he says,“You were slow.” And that should be the end of it. Except it isn’t. Because when you’re not there one afternoon—when you’ve been sent home sick with a note saying rest or you’ll actually die in the hallway, apparently—the gym feels louder. More chaotic. Less controlled. And Rukawa is noticeably worse.

Not very dramatically. Not enough for anyone to accuse him. Just enough for people who’ve been watching closely to notice.

“He keeps looking at the door,” Miyagi says at one point. “He’s not,” Rukawa says flatly, replying to his friends remark. But he does it again ten seconds later.

___ _ _ _

The next day, you come back like nothing happened. “Wow,” you say, dropping your bag by the bleachers. “You all survived without me. Impressive. Did you have to downgrade the IQ requirement to compensate?”

“Welcome back,” Mitsui says, relieved. Rukawa says nothing. But he’s looking at you. A second too long. Then he turns away. Way too fast.

It’s only later—after practice, when the gym is mostly empty and the sun is spilling in low through the windows—that it slips. You’re packing up equipment, still talking,“You know, I was gone one day and everything fell apart. I think that says a lot about your emotional dependency on me.”

“It didn’t fall apart,” Rukawa says. “You stared at the door like it was going to give you answers to your life.”

“It was just distracting.”

“From what?” He doesn’t answer immediately. That’s unusual. As usual, he always has a clever retort ready. You finally glance over. He’s holding a ball under one arm, eyes half-lidded like always—but not quite as detached as usual. “…You weren’t here,” he says.

“Yeah, I noticed. I was the one not here,” you reply sarcastically, as usual. A pause. Then, like it’s nothing, like it’s just another boring fact he could drop and forget: “It was quieter.”

You blink,“…Are you complaining that I talk too much?”

“No,”Another pause. Longer this time. Then, quieter: “It was worse.”

That stops you. Because that doesn’t fit in the usual categories. Not insult. Not annoyance. Not even indifference pretending to be irritation. Just… honest Rukawa. Which is rather unusual for him to speak of his emotions and thoughts freely. You recover quickly, of course.

“Oh wow. Rukawa Kaede misses me. Should I alert the national news or just tattoo it on my forehead?” He should roll his eyes. He should walk away. Instead, he says, almost absently: “You should’ve come back sooner.”

That’s when the gym goes silent. Not physically. But socially. Like every other person in the room just collectively stops existing on purpose. Miyagi slowly lowers the basketball in his hands. Mitsui looks like he’s trying not to smile. Kogure looks like he’s watching something inevitable finally arrive.

You, meanwhile, are doing what you always do. Deflecting,“…Wow. That sounded like concern. Are you sick? Should I call a doctor? Or is this just your personality malfunctioning?”

Rukawa finally looks at you properly. “I don’t like it when you’re not here,” he says. And then, as if realizing he’s said too much, adds: “Because you’re distracting.”

Silence. You stare at him. He stares back. Like he always does. Neither of you moves. Then you scoff, because of course you do,“That’s the worst confession I’ve ever heard.”

His expression doesn’t change,“…Confession?”