Disclaimer: I don't own SD boys, Inoue does. The events that follow are not included in the original plot but enjoy anyway.
A/N: I just woke up this morning realizing that in all my time writing stupid stories, I haven't come up with a Ruhana-HanaRu fic. And now this idea came hatching on me and I said, why not give it a try? Anyways, enjoy reading...
Warning: Lotsa swearing and some contents are not suitable for young audiences. And ah, this is the most OOC fic in the world, I bet my pulse on that.
Summary: Sometimes even if a relationship is packed with tiffs, even if the other is so annoyed with the other's nonchalance; it's worth pushing through. HanaRu-RuHana.
One shot.
It's been a month since we lit up this fling. Funny thing is, I don't feel anything. Well I get pretty irritable sometimes; frequently dissatisfied by my partner's snob attitude and what he lacks thereof. But besides those gripes, ours is practically empty. Nothing. What we have is anything short of a statement; we're just together and beyond this togetherness is zero. So anyone will wonder why I keep up with this pseudo love life when all I get from Rukawa is a grunt and a nod. He won't even hold my hand voluntarily regardless if we're in a private or public place. But then again, I love the guy to be straight to the point. Perhaps people will say that I'm again lapsing to sentimentality and it's so fucking unbecoming of me. For crying out loud, I'm the complicated red head and I've always been a swain. I can't stand being single and yes, Rukawa is the best I've ever had. Darn, this isn't exactly my idea of a perfect relationship; I mean, who would like anything as colorless as this?
And now I'm stuck fast in this darn old bed with no one to have fun with on a Sunday evening. It should've been Rukawa's obligation to pull me out of this forlornness but for whatever reason, I can't reach him. I've been giving him a ring for 2 hours straight and all I get is the phony voice in that damned answering machine. I know Rukawa's home on Sundays; where the hell else will he be? Remedial classes in Shohoku? Puh-lease.
I get the picture. By know he's just as nothing doing as I am and he is lying like a pathetic paraplegic on his bed. He doesn't answer his phone and he may have a reason for it; he's probably in a state of stupefaction wherein he's goddamn lost in the planet and refuses to hear anything or more likely than not, he's in the process of masturbating and doesn't want any disturbance such as the jangling of a phone. Great. That just gives me an honest clue on how important I am, his boyfriend, to him. Dammit.
Right, I'll remember that and when I wake up the next morning, it will all be just fine. Fine. I'll face him again and probably say, behind everybody's ears, that I love him no matter what; even if he treats me like some mean offensive object with no use aside from impersonating a whipped pup. I'll tell him nothing but the truth, that I love him and he has to love me too at all costs, and stop being an indifferent scab and yes, he will assume a different character starting tomorrow.
Next day.
Rukawa is acting as himself as usual; a pompous dick with the usual I'm-so-high-and-almighty air that he shrouds around himself. He scuds across the court, flaunting his covetous exterior to the whole world. More than certain, he knows very much that everyone's breath is taken away by his graceful majesty. He loves practice sessions even without telling me; I can read that look, the kind which enjoys excessive attention. I know how much he loves it when everyone's dilated eyes are magnetized by his stunning spectacle; it further boosts his bloated ego. I've observed him for so long it seems normal that I've memorized his body language.
And now he pads up for a trail blazing, one hell of a dunk; every eye is drawn out of its socket and sustained ooohs and aaahs ring from the crowd. I can't help but to feel proud; after all, he is mine, technically. Once the ball bounces on the floor and Rukawa lands, I beckon to him. He complies without hesitation and sits beside me.
'Kaede, I was calling you for hours last night and there was no answer. It's either you were deliberately not paying attention to the receiver or you were asleep.' I complain, set my arms akimbo like a mad parent, and curl my brows to a frown.
Rukawa' sweat beads are visibly nowhere to be found on his skin no matter how closely I look. He's a true blue Ice King, no doubt. He stares at me meaninglessly. Again, I decipher that expression very well; blank looks indicate that he is loath to answer. Sometimes, it can also mean that he doesn't understand, or he doesn't remember, or it doesn't matter, or he wants to delay or anything.
'Any explanation, Kaede? I mean, come on; I don't believe there's such a feasible excuse to be out on a Sunday night without your boyfriend. You were at home and you didn't want to talk to me. What the hell is wrong?' I ask for the 2nd time. This time, I'm being more straightforward and the timbre of my voice changes to suggest frankness. He will answer it unless-
'I didn't want to talk.' He says blankly as if he were in some mental aberration and in no mood to get immersed in a heart to heart talk. Then follows a prolonged silence in which my pain becomes more patent. He doesn't care about my needs, doesn't want to talk to me so often, and perhaps doesn't feel half a thing for me at all.
'You didn't want to talk to me? Is that it? Then what's the point of staying together when all you want is this?' I snap. A paroxysm of anger comes building itself inside my chest yet the pain in it is the more prominent emotion. I can't altogether hate Rukawa for his attitude, I just know it. Other than the fact that the root of this quarrel is a little too trivial, something just tells me that I can't peel myself away from Rukawa no matter how inconvenient he becomes. I lank myself deeper to the chair as though a blow just hit me.
'Not that. I just don't feel like talking.' Rukawa says in the same old manner, same never-fading taciturn mood of an Ice King. He doesn't move a whit, instead he steadies himself which seals it that he won't say anything else.
'Don't feel like talking, neh? Damn it, Rukawa. How can I put up with you, huh? You're a---you're one cold bastard. I fucking hate you.' I growl, loud enough to collect anyone's notice. Rukawa retains a vapid face whereas everybody's suspicion has arisen. I get up from my seat with no less relieved fury and brush away to the locker.
I don't bother to look back because I know for sure what I'll see on that foxy face; a plush look of hollowness that tells me it won't change anything, and I know very well that he means to look like that. How can he fucking torment a Tensai like me? How can he even hurt me without effort? What an atrociously vain creature.
Inside the locker room I do everything in a fast forward pace, impatiently packing my stuff as if a disaster would catch up with me if I don't hurry up. I want to get away as swiftly as I can; being with Rukawa under the same roof is enormously cumbersome. A dread inspired by his presence is to be found everywhere and what's so bad is that, it isn't at all hatred. Because I can't hate him and whatever is it that's poisoned the place is something indefinite and eerie. I hate it but I'm still all for Rukawa.
I'm in an emotional fatigue when I patter past the court. I'm feeling remarkably heavy when my baggage isn't even full; it's just stuffed with clothes and a pair of rubber shoes. I take a quick glimpse of Rukawa and there are hardly perceptible signs of regret or perhaps, he's just effecting to look fine. But something else revels in that look; a naïve resemblance to scorn and pity, so insolent that an open, mocking laughter would've been put to shame. Christ, why is he so ineptly frigid like the Antarctic?
I move out of the building, not caring how the surroundings look or what they even think of me. I may be looking like a desultory coffin maker with a funny face. Whatever. I ought to be going home now where I can brood all over it. Damn Rukawa.
At home…
That's it; I'm done reading R.M. de Vries' Boy and Boy; How to Deal with a Break-up utility book, and I've made up my mind. I can't let my existence and the joy of it depend on Rukawa. He isn't the entire world to me; I can find someone or something else. I maybe laxing here more dead than alive but tomorrow I'll be renewed and I won't be hankering for an uppish fox faced someone who treats me like an obsolete toy. I may still love him, ceteris paribus, yet what can I get from loving someone who can't even say 'I know you love me' as an appreciation? And besides, why hadn't I realized before that he's one superficial bore and he doesn't deserve someone as good as I? I mean, look at me; I'm lively, hot, and incomparable while he's tortuously ambiguous for no reason—he's not worth my gibes. Alright, I'm gonna break up with him, I'm gonna undock myself from that scum and I ain't gonna crave anymore for his pretty face. I'm gonna dismiss the fact that he ever looked good for me and I'm gonna ignore him for good; even if he stripped in front of me.
Ring….ring…ring….ring…ring…..
Jesus. I'm in the spiritual act of pondering on my life's climax, who the hell is calling me?
'Tensai here, who's this?'
'Kaede. Sakuragi?'
'Oh, IT'S you. No, Rukawa, I didn't borrow your shirt, I brought my own. So bye.'
'Wait.'
'What the fuck do you want, Kitsune?'
'Sorry.'
'Yeah, yeah, whatever. Bye.'
'Hanamichi, I was sick last night.'
'Who in the fucking hell gave you the authority to call me by my first name?'
'You.'
'Well, yeah. Long ago, once upon a time. Those were the days when I was still a fool, so crazy in love with you. But since I'm breaking up with you tomorrow, you should start calling me Sakuragi-san or if you don't feel like it, call me an asshole. Whatever your wiles insist, Kitsune.'
'…'
'Ok, since you're out of words to say and I'm quite sure you don't have your thesaurus with you, why don't you just click off your phone and wait till I dump you tomorrow? So bye.'
'Hanamichi, I was sick last night.'
'You already said that, I ain't deaf. If you were sick, then why didn't you tell me so?'
'….'
'You just didn't want to hear my annoying voice because you're gypped of me. I swear that's what your throat is dying to say now.'
'I didn't want to worry you.'
'…'
'Hanamichi, don't leave me.'
'…'
'Hanamichi, I'm sorry.'
'…'
'Will you forgive me?'
'Kaede, do you know how much you're hurting me?'
'I said I'm sorry. I won't do it again. Forgive me.'
'How will I know that you won't do it again?'
'I'll tell everyone tomorrow.'
'Tell them what, Kaede?'
'I'll tell everybody in the team that I love you.'
'…'
'Hanamichi, will you forgive me now?'
'Yes, of course.'
'I'll see you tomorrow, Hanamichi.'
'Ok and, Kaede?'
'Yes?'
'I love you very much.'
'Yeah, I love you too, Hanamichi.'
END
A/N: Omigosh. Somebody is so gonna kill me; my neck is on the noose right now and somebody's trying to rip me apart. Please don't ask me why this is such an incorrigible piece of utter crap; I've done some self insert in this and I guess much of me is reflected. Oh my God. I don't mean to offend RuHana-HanaRu fans by this fic's 'suckiness'; honestly I just want to try it. So I'm really sorry if this turns out to be an unforgivable waste of time. Gomen and thanks for reading. Ciao!