Warnings: Shounen ai. Do not read if you are expecting happiness.
Pairing: RuHanaRu.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Who claims no rights to Dr T's Slam Dunk? Who me? Yes me!
Notes: I think I was high on something when I wrote this, or maybe it was just the lack of sleep. I am usually a happy-happy-joy-joy kind of person, so this fic totally took me by surprise since I have close to zip experience writing angst.
Dedicated to: Famous Amous choc chip cookies that were my loyal companions through times of sleeplessness.
Colours
by Annie D
[email protected]
Colours. Always colours.
Rukawa Kaede was the quiet sort, having believed for so long that words were nasty little things that caused too much trouble and hence should only be dealt with when there was no other option. People passed this off as the nature of the introverted/mysterious type he'd come to embody, but no one had ever wondered why.
No one had even bothered to ask him why.
The reason was, to put it simply enough, that he looked at the world in a different way from other people. Literally.
Rukawa saw the world in colours.
What's so amazing about colours, you ask? Down to the technicality they were merely little pieces of light reflected off various objects and picked up by the lenses of the eyes that sent signals to the brain.
But Rukawa, in all senses of the term, viewed the world in Colours. Not just mere physical objects in the world. The world itself.
Happiness, for example, was a light blue-green-amber hue. Determination was a solid grey-brown. Anger was a sharp shimmering black. Rukawa could see these colours as plainly as how everyone else saw the 'object' colours of the world, which made it extremely difficult for him to differentiate between what he saw, and what the rest of the world did.
It was not only there that the colours were difficult. It was also what they allowed him to see. Guilt was a milky-indigo. Jealousy was a sharp tangy green. Hidden hatred was a black-tinged-prussian. He could see all of it clearly on the people around him, no matter what their mouths were saying or their body language tried to hide it.
He had tried explaining it to his mother once, when he was very young. She had brushed it off as childish fancy. She had been a sickening dirty-green-brown at the time, the colour of disbelief and impatience.
That was one of the many reasons he had chosen silence. He had known he was different, known it for far too long, and it exhausted him. He was sick and tired of people telling him one thing and meaning another. Better be quiet and let them guess what he was thinking, because really, they would never get it right anyway.
But then he'd found basketball. He found that game was always orange in colour. On regular days the court was a soft mellow orange, but in the middle of a heated game it was a glaring bright orange. And during a game all the players also tended to gain the orange hue, letting themselves fall into the game and even though other emotions seeped it, there was always the orange hue that Rukawa had found comforting.
A basketball game, no matter how exhausting or frustrating, was Rukawa's time of perfect peace.
So imagine how angry he was that he hadn't picked up a basketball in months.
The hospital room had no colour, because there were no emotions in the sterile wall, although occasionally some pale blue of sorrow would seep through once in a while. The nurses were mostly a calm aqua or worried yellow-green. The doctor was a metallic grey of professionalism.
But the visitors… They were all pale violet-prussian. The colour of pity.
When they came to visit him, the tree green Ayako, the blue-mauve Miyagi, the stolid brown Akagi, the dark-green-blue Kogure, the sharp avacado Mitsui and the sky blue Anzai-sensei always turned the violet-prussian colour the moment they saw him. They thought that concealed it well behind smiles and reassurances, but even their words were violet-prussian. Occasionally there was the stormy blue of sadness, but somehow that just made it worse.
Rukawa didn't speak to them, either. There didn't seem to be any point.
So he just let them chatter aimlessly around him, unaware of how their very presence was – not to say upsetting, since that was not an accurate description – just killing him from the inside out. He hated the violet-prussian colour, almost as much as he hated acid yellow, which was the colour of lies. Oh yes, there was also a fair amount acid yellow. Especially when they said things like, "Oh, you'll be all right. Up and about in no time. You'll be doing dunks before you know it."
Day in day out. Violet-prussian. Stormy blue. Acid yellow. Always the same. Every day always the same.
Then, one day almost unidentifiable among the routine many he had spent in the colourless hospital, slivers of red seeped through the door.
Rukawa was immediately awake, and he wished he wasn't. The door eventually opened, letting in an aura so strong it encompassed the figure in a cloud of deep, scarlet Red. With a capital R.
If anyone had bothered to ask him about his colour vocabulary, they would have been surprised to find out that red wasn't the colour of anger, which was actually black. Neither was it the colour of love, which was an auburn-tangerine.
Red was the colour of Sakuragi Hanamichi.
Rukawa had been struck by that discovery from the very beginning. He'd never actually seen real red until the day he first met Sakuragi, and he was further amazed that the colour never waned. Ever. When Sakuragi was angry, or happy, or sad, it was always Red. Well, it would sometimes brighten or dim according to his mood, but on the dotted line, he was always Red.
After being confined so long in the nauseating violet-prussian, Sakuragi's presence was a relief that Rukawa could not put into words. And also a relief for a reason other than just that.
"They told me you'd been put in here," Sakuragi said.
Rukawa would have shrugged, but his shoulders were too weak for it. He merely lowered his eyes, wishing that he still had hair to hide behind.
"I'm sorry I didn't come earlier," Sakuragi continued. "I was confined to another hospital, you know, for the thing with my back after it gave out again."
Rukawa nodded. He'd heard about it from Ayako. He was actually glad Sakuragi hadn't been around to see the original degeneration, because he had since become much more resigned and accepting of the fate before him.
Still Sakuragi stood there, watching him carefully and uncertainly. He shuffled his feet a bit. "Ah well, you know, I… I really don't know what to… well, it's like… I can go if I'm bothering you…"
"No. Please." Rukawa looked at him. "I need colour. They're killing me."
"Colour?" Sakuragi frowned.
"Red," Rukawa said, fully aware that he wasn't making sense, but not caring all the same. "I haven't seen Red in a long time."
Sakuragi's hand went up to his head, self-consciously touching his grown-out red locks. "Err, should I be flattered…?"
Rukawa smiled. He hadn't done it in so long he'd just about forgotten how.
Sakuragi tried to smile back, but failed somewhat. "Rukawa… Are you going to be okay?" Even though the words were unsteady, he remained a blissful, solid Red. No violet-prussian, not even a hint of it. Rukawa wanted to hug that Red and never let go.
"No," Rukawa answered.
"Why?" Sakuragi's Red faltered for a moment. "You have to get better. Who am I going to beat on court? There's no one else to challenge the tensai."
With Sakuragi, there was always truth. He never lied, never cheated, never said one thing and secretly meant another. He was always what he put before others. Always himself. Always Red. And a surprising comfort for Rukawa, who had just about given up hope on mankind until that one fateful day on the Shohoku High school roof.
So was it any surprise that Rukawa had fallen desperately in love with him? And was it any further surprise that he hadn't told anyone, or said anything, or done anything about it? He knew he was different, and always would be. They lived in separate worlds. Not even the bliss that was Sakuragi would understand that.
"Do'aho." He coughed weakly.
Sakuragi made a pssshht sound, his perfect mouth curling at one edge into a smirk. "I'll let that past just this once."
Just this once? Rukawa wondered. He looked at Sakuragi, locking the gaze firmly as he spoke. "Don't ever let your Red go out. The world needs you. The world needs your colour."
Again the words were not making sense, and Sakuragi frowned slightly. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't ever change. Ever," Rukawa said, pressing his words. "Not for anyone."
"Why would the tensai want to change?"
Rukawa smiled again. "When I go—"
"—dontyoudarespeaklikethatkitsune—"
"When I go," Rukawa repeated firmly, "Can you please visit my grave once in a while, and just call me kitsune?"
Sakuragi's eyes started to tremble at the corners. "No. Because you're not going to die."
"Or then at least convince my father to put Kitsune on my headstone. Please, Sakuragi?" Rukawa managed a weak little tilt of his head, which could've meant anything from 'I'm just being my usual mysterious kitsune self' to 'I'm a madman on my way to the great big basketball court in the sky, so just do what I tell you.'
Sakuragi held his gaze. Comforting Red, warm and enveloping like a hug. No violet-prussian at all. Beautiful.. "Okay, kitsune. But just because… just because…" He drew his lips tightly together to prevent them from shaking.
Rukawa nodded. He hoped the afterworld had Red like this, even if that meant going in a questionable direction. "Thank you."
Sakuragi seemed briefly confused by this. "But why…?"
And at that moment Rukawa wished with every fibre of his being that Sakuragi would be able to see in colours the way he did. Only for a while. It was terribly lonely living in that world his whole life, and dying there was a tad bit depressing, to put it mildly.
Just this once. Please. I don't want to die in this world alone.
And there was a sound, very brief, like an echo of a whisper.
Sakuragi's eyes widened. He spoke, "Rukawa… You're glowing."
Rukawa raised his eyebrows. "Hm?"
"Colours," Sakuragi whispered, almost in awe. "All around you."
Rukawa gave a little smile and did ambiguous tilt of the head as he nodded in some vague direction. "Colours. I see the world in colours. I wished He would let you see my world for a while. I guess He heard me."
"Colours?" Sakuragi asked. He looked around, eyes wide like a child seeing the world for the first time, which, quite literally, he was. He scampered to the window that Rukawa had never been able to reach and looked out, gasping as he took in the scenery. "Wow… This is the world you see? Like this? It's… it's…"
Different from everyone else. Being different means being alone.
Rukawa was pretty sure he hadn't said the words out loud, but Sakuragi suddenly turned to stare at him as though he had heard.
"What do these colours mean? I see them all around you…"
"Describe them."
Sakuragi squinted as he studied the aura all round Rukawa. "There's this teensy bit of blanket-y purple-ish…"
"Hope."
"Some dark greenish-black…"
"Regret."
"And a lot of pale pinkish-red-orange."
Auburn-tangerine. The colour of…
Rukawa opened his mouth. And closed it.
"What?" Sakuragi asked. "What's that colour mean?" He approached Rukawa. "What does pale pinkish-red-orange mean?"
"Love."
In the old world of yesteryear, where they had been rivals on and off court for reasons too many and too useless to count, Sakuragi's reaction would have probably been shock, disbelief and probably disgust. But they were older now. Admittedly, 'friends' was never a term that could be used between them, but still…
"Oh," Sakuragi said, vying for What-the-Hell-Kind-of-Reaction-is-That of the Year.
Rukawa found that he wasn't ashamed, as he had often thought he would have been. Neither was he disappointed, or angry, or upset, or ready to smash his head into a solid object. He was, strangely enough, at peace. With himself. And with the world.
But then he realised the Red was shimmering uncertainly.
He looked up at Sakuragi, and realised in alarm that tears were streaking down his cheeks. Horrible. Wrong.
Rukawa would have boxed him, had he the strength to lift his arms to do more than flick helplessly. "The tensai doesn't cry."
"Oh, great, now you call me a tensai." The words, however, held no malice. And no violet-prussian. He sniffed a little, then lowered his face.
The kiss was white.
Not snow, not milk, but that of a searing fire. Like the heart of a star, white and blinding.
It would have been romantic to say that Rukawa died instantly right then, in the arms of the one he loved, but he didn't. It would have been even more romantic to say that Rukawa recovered and lived on with the one he loved, but that didn't happen either.
What really happened was that Rukawa died slowly.
The days were long, and each of them sucked out a little bit more of the life from Rukawa's already frail body. It was horrible to watch, but Sakuragi remained by his side. And he noted that Rukawa was auburn-tangerine, with a little bit of red in the mix, all the way to the end, even if the colour flickered a little more each day, as though being erased slowly and painstakingly. And nothing else mattered to Rukawa so long that he had his Red by his side. Day in and day out, as long as there was that comfort, he was all right.
And one day his time finally ran out.
But as his vision dimmed, someone was kind enough to make sure the last colour he saw was Red. The indomitable, irreplaceable Red.
As Sakuragi watched the auburn-tangerine of Rukawa's life disappear into wisps, his general vision of the World of Colour started to wane to be replaced with the usual world of physical colour. His vision was being taken away. So he stood up. And screamed.
"Don't take the Colour away from me! Don't you dare!"
There was another soft whisper, and the vision remained. Sakuragi could still see into that world of colour. He whispered a thank you, just as the wave of sorrow and loss finally hit him between the eyes and the tears came again.
Sakuragi did as he promised, of course. Both the headstone and the visits.
"Kitsune..." The headstone was auburn-tangerine. It would always be auburn-tangerine, as long as Sakuragi kept visiting it every day.
As Rukawa had known, Sakuragi knew that nobody would understand the colours, so he never bothered to explain. He rather treasured that little secret, which was something sacred that he could keep in his heart and no one would know about, and that was a strange comfort in the moments of extreme sorrow.
That world, which had been Rukawa's, was now his. He'd be able to see it the Rukawa did, appreciate it the way Rukawa did.
Or perhaps, he'd just live in it the way Rukawa did. Alone.
FIN