Sunday, October 28, 2001 08:37 a.m.

*This is weird. My muses are being weird. Fukuda’s talking weird. It starts out as a FukuJin and suddenly it plunks right down to a SenFuku. o_O (Tchan: HUH?) Blame them. Not me.

**sigh* I can’t write. I’m not happy. Fukuda stopped talking to me again. He’s as bad as Maki. Damn you, Maki. This is all your fault. *whacks the annoying sadist strutting around in her head* You started this entire Slut!Jin trend in my head. ;_; Now Jin’s all miserable banging his head on the same toilet cubicle. And Sendoh’s currently being molested by Maki, thankyouverymuch. And yet Maki still insists to have me write a MakiJin. I swear that man wants everything.

***I seem to love tiles. And bathrooms. And anything that resemble bathrooms. Argghhh. ¾ of my SD fics are set in places that resemble bathrooms.

My teeth hurt. I hate my orthodontist.

*****Comments here.

***********

“Come out. I know you’re in there.”

Silence. Only his own footsteps could be heard, echoing off the tiled walls of the toilet. Fukuda began to seriously consider that Jin really wasn’t in there; he was beginning to feel like a fool. Then there was a telltale click of a stall lock being opened, a shuffling of fabric and the jangling of metal. He breathed a sigh of relief. The cubicle at the end of the aisle opened, and, as expected, emerged the familiar mop of short black hair slicked with sweat, still dressed in playing uniform.

Jin.

“Still locking yourself up after a game?” it was more of an amused statement rather than a question; Fukuda eyed his old comrade curiously, watching the familiar unreadable expression that never once failed to vex him: the smiling mask that hid a complex nature.

“Yes, and you as well, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.

A quiet laugh. “You haven’t changed at all.”

“On the contrary, I have. So have you, Fukki.”

The usage of the old sobriquet caught him by surprise, an endearment long lost which seemed alien to him yet at the same time as familiar as the rough feel of a basketball in his hands. It was a reminder of his past, a past that he intimately shared with the same man who stood in front of him right now. Unforgotten passionate kisses. Soft whispers of each other’s name. Loving hands that caressed him with outmost care. He looked away, hands jamming themselves into his pockets.

An uncomfortable silence.

“Aa. Your playing has gotten so much better, Jinjin,” was all he could utter, being at a loss for words, returning the epithet. Another laugh. “Look at what two years in Kainan have done to you; now you’re Kainan’s mean, mean shooting machine.” It was a lame and pathetic attempt at a joke, he knew that. Both lapsed into another period of silence.

He propped himself up the sink, watching his feet dangle. Avoiding Jin’s eyes. The bathroom itself reminded him of them, back in Junior High. That they had gotten together, as lovers, because they shared the same habit of locking themselves in a bathroom stall after a game. That they had gotten to know each other intimately because of the time they spent there.

Fukuda wondered what Jin was thinking, still annoyed with the fact that he was still unable to read Jin’s face, even after years of being lovers.

“You’ve gotten so much better yourself, Fukki. You were a threat to Kainan today,” Jin replied, his face brightening into a smile. “Looks like Ryonan’s coach has brought out the best in you.”

He couldn’t bring himself to confess to Jin. It wasn’t his coach that made him better.

It was Sendoh.

Saturday, October 27, 2001 10:44 a.m.

Short snippet, this is intended to evolve into a MakiJin, but the actual MakiJin scenes just *won't* come. -_- Maki stopped talking in my head, so everything just ended here. Very short. ^_^ Just trying to get a feel of writing Maki, though failing miserably. o_O

Gah. I'm not particularly eloquent with this one. T_T Btw, for those who've read, this was The Plot Bunny that weaseled itself into my head smack in the middle of CPK. No phone, no pen, no paper. Aghhhh.

Comments here?

***

They were used to it by now, so they pretty much left him alone.

Granite tiles felt cool against warmed skin, quelling the heat that still lingered on suffused flesh. He lay there, prostrate on the floor, staring upwards towards the ceiling. Seeing everything, yet seeing nothing. Breathing in gasps, labored from the physical demands of the past hour.

The rest of the team continued their own flurry of activity: high-fives, slapping towels, changing shirts. The room was filled with their noise. The sight of their captain prone on the floor had ceased to bewilder them, as it had always been his practice after every game. To commune with the floor, to collapse and do absolutely nothing. Quiet; not a word from his lips. The team had grown accustomed to this practice, and had altogether stopped asking Maki to get back up and had stopped expecting a reply, should any of them have questions.

They left him alone; they knew better than to talk to him.

He closed his eyes. Mind blank. Finally allowing the talk and upheaval that circled the locker room to enter his thoughts. It seemed that Kiyota stirred up most of the conversation, arguing in his usual impudent manner.

“That was a close one!”

“Yeah. Who could’ve guessed that Ryonan would give us as much trouble as Shohoku did? Sendoh’s gotten so much better. And that Fukuda chap was…something else.”

“Well, that’s why we’re champion! That’s what super-rookie Kiyota is here for!”

“Cut that out. You know it was Maki who held the game!”

“Ah! But Maki-sempai had a lot of help from me!”

“Well, Jin did most of the helping. Not you!”

“Oh, shut up, Takasago! Where is Jin, anyway?”

“Eh? Jin’s not here? He’s probably off to the toilet; his usual after-game routine. He’ll most likely lock himself there for an hour in the least again.”

Yes, he silently agreed. Ryonan had indeed been close; too close for his own comfort. Sendoh’s newfound ability as a point guard had initially threatened him, but he had risen up to the challenge; quite gladly, for he loved challenges of any kind, and if nothing else, Ryonan’s rising star was a living one.

But in the end he had prevailed. He had proven himself the better.

A smile crept itself to his lips. He raised his arm and covered his eyes with it, succumbing to the inviting darkness and the tranquility it offered. The championship and the ticket to the Inter High were both safely in their hands. He could sleep easy now. Takezato would be but a passing blur.

It stilled. It quieted.

Sunday, October 21, 2001 09:13 p.m.

Oh *my*. There's actually a site called Yaoi Germany? o_O;; I sound stupid, but heck. Have patience with me. It's the first time I saw it. ^_^ It's here, for those interested. ^^ Coooooooool. ;)

Yes, m'dears. I'm bored.

Sunday, October 21, 2001 08:37 p.m.

Three very bad indications that Tchan is very bored:
a) When I'm actually blogging on Pitas because LJ is @#!$ down. Which means I have to type all these html codes just to get my point across.
b) When I arrange and rearrange my new blog layout for November over and over again
c) When I start drawing Slam Dunk - Jin in particular.

Oh no. I can feel something realllly bad coming on. ;) Blah. LJ is still down for upgrades since five in the afternoon. Geez. It's been three hours. -_-

If it's any consolation, I made a little progress on the Roman MitKo fic. ^_^ Only a few paragraphs though, rephrased a bit. I'll post it later, when I have more to go on than a few measly paragraphs. Hopefully a chapter-- it's going to be long. Whee. Miyagi's buying Kogure. ;)

Tuesday, October 9, 2001 07:34 p.m.

Spewing random ideas.

He wondered what Rukawa was made of.

He wondered how he could keep going on and on, shooting basket after basket, never missing a beat. Leaving even the jaws of Kainan's gorilla-coach hanging wide open.

Sweat poured down the sides of his forehead as he panted heavily, chest heaving up and down from the running and action he had been getting since the start of the game; he paused to swipe his hand across his mouth, listening absently to the continuing roar of the crowd, which was still reeling from Rukawa's bold cut-and-shoot method. He could see Kiyota continuing to seethe from the corner of his eyes, having been beaten yet again by the "better rookie", as so people have begun to call Rukawa. He grit his teeth in frustration. He knew how monkey-boy felt.

He looked at the scoreboard. 40-45, Kainan in the lead. Akagi still on the bench.

He hated to admit it, but they needed Rukawa.

He didn't know what else to think; Rukawa had kept the hope alive, the fire within all of them that flickered and wavered as Akagi limped towards the locker, injured. Rukawa had kept all of them going.

Now he had managed to single-handedly bring them closer to Kainan's level, even without Akagi.

He wondered what Rukawa was made of.

Monday, October 1, 2001 08:45 p.m.

Ich liebe Ludwig der zweite, König von Bayern.

October 1, I finally get version 3 of my blog up! ^_^ *happy beam* And I absolutely adore Ludwig, so all of you have to stare at his pretty little face! =D Ahohoho. Still empty. Just archived the older snippets. Probably be coming out with a new snippet / fic when I scrap up the time, and no, it won't be the roman slave fic, as much as I'd love to work on it. -_- Since it's planned to be multi-chapter, I'd rather work on one-shots first. ^_^;