Title: Like Hawks Over Eden
Author: Harmony (Silver Harmony)
Characters/Pairing: Miyuki x Sawamura
Rating: PG
Word Count: Approximately 8,612.
Disclaimer: Not mine, otherwise this pairing would be canon.
Notes: The last two miyusawa fics I posted were quite massive, serious, heavy projects - so I thought it'd be nice to go back to something light and fun and stupid! Hope you enjoy.
Feedback: Very much appreciated, as I need it to improve. Thank you!

…

So, it starts with him being unintentionally trapped in the locker room.

And he's seeing something that he's probably not meant to see. But then again, those two aren't being entirely subtle about it. It's a curious sight, anyway, seeing Eijun's usual boisterous energy and blazing fire momentarily softened into a demure lick of a flame, and seeing Miyuki's hardened outer shell being unexpectedly chipped and cracked into like it's nothing but thin ice.

They're in the doorway of the locker room together; Eijun's got Miyuki closely pressed up against the doorframe, and they're having a temperate conversation in low, lilting murmurs. Haruichi can't hear their words, but he doesn't need to – it's enough to read the story in their bodies: fingertips sliding over the curve of a hip and parted lips moving against the defined angles of a cheekbone, quivering breaths tangling in their chests and thoughtful, placid gazes hazily imparted through the sweep of dark eyelashes.

He hadn't known that the two of them were – well, this, whatever this is. It's just like Eijun-kun to be a complete surprise, he muses, face warming over. At least Haruichi's composed enough that his jaw isn't hanging, because in another universe, it certainly is.

Haruichi backs away a little further, guiltily, around the cornered bend of the locker room. It's probably inappropriate for him to be staring, especially when he hasn't even got a shirt on, but he's finding himself incapable of looking away. He still hasn't wholly wrapped his brain around it.

Either way, though, he wishes that they're not doing this right here and now, because practice has just ended and he'd headed here first to get changed; but before he'd known it, there'd been a stir of subdued but lively voices at the door and Haruichi had peeked around the corner to see Eijun and Miyuki getting quite shockingly cozy without checking if anyone else was inside. Now, he can't move, he can't breathe, and there's no way out, no way that Haruichi can leave. And everyone else will be coming any second now, too.

Both of them surely must know this, but to Haruichi's amazement, it looks like it's possibly the farthest thing from either of their minds. Two teenage boys caught up in the heat of the moment, honestly.

He's at far enough a distance from them that he can graciously call out: 'Eijun-kun? Is that you?'

And they jump a little, vaguely surprised, before they quickly part, which is even more curious – like skittish animals found wandering into new, unexplored territory; there's a mild spark in their eyes and the pink-haired boy suddenly wonders if that's exactly what it is, the thing between them. Uncharted and unfamiliar, but a quiet thrill, and novel in all the ways that they actually want.

Miyuki gazes wordlessly at Haruichi, a silent contemplative scrutiny that makes him squirm a little; Eijun's regard is less penetrating, although there's a rather tense toothy grin stretching over his face. Pale pink drips over the jut of the pitcher's cheekbones, and he rubs the back of his head, answering: 'Ah – yeah, Harucchi! Miyuki-senpai and I went ahead; everyone else should be coming soon! God, I'm dying for a bath.'

Haruichi's mouth bends modestly.

He supposes that where Eijun is concerned, there's never such a thing as subtlety anyway. At least, for now, he's helped spare them from having to come up with awkward explanations; they can preserve their privacy until such a time that they actually feel ready to tell other people about it.

Right?

'What the actual shit,' says Kuramochi evenly.

Haruichi glances over at him with sympathetic understanding. 'I was just as shocked, Kuramochi-senpai.'

The shortstop turns and stares at him pointedly. 'Was? You mean you knew about this? For how long?'

'I – maybe a week?' he churns out, surprised at being so suddenly put on the spot.

However ambiguous the thing between Eijun and Miyuki had been back when he'd seen them in the locker room, it's probably not so ambiguous now, because they're propped against the wall of the building about twenty meters away and they're actually kissing – honest-to-God sloppy, wet kissing – and Kuramochi's face looks thoroughly pinched and tight, eyes narrowed into slits and thinned lips firmly pressed together in unquestionable distaste.

'I just wanted to have a break and a snack,' the shortstop monotones, laying the packaged bun in his fingers down onto the floor as if he's lost all semblance of an appetite. 'All the damn places that they could go to in this massive school, and they had to come here.'

He sounds personally insulted, and Haruichi reaches over and gives him two light, compassionate pats on the elbow.

They've made this spot their own little shared space, he and Kuramochi. They come here, to the indoor training hall, every day after school ends to sit and have a short break before they're due to get ready for the afternoon practice session; Haruichi had seen Kuramochi resting here a few weeks back and had joined him, and they've kept each other company ever since. In all of those days, this is the first time that Eijun and Miyuki's suddenly materialized outside the opposite building – being completely visible through the open doorway of this building like it's supposed to be a tease or something. Like Haruichi and Kuramochi are destined to see them like this.

But they don't look like they've done this much before. There's a youthful clumsiness to the way their noses awkwardly bump and how Miyuki's eyeglasses tilt sideways on the bridge of his nose because he's chosen not to take them off. Like this, their formidable team captain looks nearly sinless, Haruichi thinks. Disorderly and rumpled, with the tiptoeing sensitivity of an edgy stray cat – it's almost hard to believe that he's the same guy who likes to flash those wily smirks on occasion. And Eijun's not any better: the pitcher's suddenly scrunching his eyes up tight, as if it's only just dawned on him that he's making out with Miyuki Kazuya and he can't believe what on earth he's doing, but he doesn't actually want to stop.

'Hyahaha, what the hell is that?!' bursts out of Kuramochi's mouth.

It's hard to tell whether Eijun's in pain or enjoying himself. Probably both. And Miyuki, eyebrows creased and all, looks like a volatile mixture of earnestly indulgent exploration and inexperienced trepidation. They're kind of stupidly endearing, Haruichi muses, smothering the mild threat of a smile behind the clench of teeth. And totally ridiculous.

Apparently Miyuki thinks so, too, because he slowly pulls back, brushing the flat of his palm against Eijun's collarbone, and frowns. 'Can you stop that. I can practically feel your crumpled forehead all the way from here.'

Eijun's eyes slide open, and even with the slightly misty quality in them, his face immediately dons the most unimpressed scowl. 'Don't be a jerk, Miyuki Kazuya.'

'I'm not,' the catcher deadpans. Lean knuckles delicately trail across the line of Eijun's jaw, and he moves forward to give one more kiss, light and soft and very brief, to Eijun's mouth; he follows this with an airy flick to Eijun's bottom lip with his fingertips, like he's nonchalantly shooing away a fly. 'You're wrinkling your whole face like a prune.'

'I – that's—' Eijun's fingers fly to his chin in belated defence, and he indignantly jabs a long forefinger to the center of Miyuki's chest with his other hand, nostrils flaring and gold eyes blazing. 'You're a prune!'

In the whole universe, probably only those two can suck face and somehow manage to argue like five-year-olds a few seconds later. Come on, Eijun-kun, Haruichi thinks, slanting his mouth dismally.

There's a subdued, barely-there disquiet to the way Miyuki shifts his weight, but he gives a calm, bland sniff, and outwardly offers the other boy a flat stare. 'Is it that hard to accept.'

'Yes,' Eijun bites out like he's in agony, digging the heels of his palms into the hollows of his eyes. But then a resigned sigh issues from between his lips, even as his frown stubbornly lingers, and he slides slender hands over the rise of Miyuki's shoulders. 'God, you're unbelievable. But I don't do anything that I don't want to do.'

The entire surface of Kuramochi's face creases like an old, used tissue, and Haruichi's chest cavity unexpectedly prickles with heat and amusement as Eijun leans in to Miyuki and closes the gap between them all over again.

They're about as subtle as being slapped in the face with a fish: kissing and blatantly discussing kissing right there in the open where members of the baseball team frequently walk to and fro, where any of them can walk past at any time.

But Haruichi supposes that at least the two of them look pretty comfortable doing it, and that probably counts for something.

The dugout is unsettlingly quiet.

Which, perhaps, is an unusual way of putting it, because Eijun's currently yelling at the top of his lungs.

But Eijun's the only one making any kind of noise at all, which Haruichi verifies as he takes quick glimpses around him. Zono's shifting restlessly where he's sitting, fists tightly clenched in his lap and a flush blossoming over the tip of his nose. Kuramochi's wordlessly hunched over with his elbows on his knees and his face propped up by his hands, his brows sourly furrowed. Kanemaru's staring a little too intensely at the practice game taking place on the field, like he's trying his best to look anywhere but right in front of him.

Because Eijun and Miyuki are standing at the forefront of the dugout, casually watching the game; Miyuki's resting bent knuckles upon his hip, and Eijun's pumping a fist while he's bellowing loud cheers for his teammates, but they've each got a free hand that's faintly, carefully reaching out within the thin, slight space between them. And, as if they've forgotten that they're standing in full view of everyone – or perhaps it simply doesn't bother them – their fingers are not only loosely making contact, but are also just barely hooked.

Well, kind of. To be fair, it's not actually all that glaring when looked at as a whole, because only their little fingers are touching – feather-light, and scarcely a touch at all, but comfortably layered and coiled regardless: Eijun's is securely tucked under, and Miyuki's is warmly curled over. Two delicate puzzle pieces that fit.

'Oooh! That's the way, Furuya!' Eijun hollers fervidly, flailing his arm. It's unquestionably bizarre, seeing his wild energy bursting out on only one side; his other hand is seemingly set on staying exactly where it is, soft and easy beneath Miyuki's own.

Maybe it's commendable that they're clearly trying to be subtle, fulfilling a secret craving for contact without outright holding hands. But it's having the opposite effect, because judging by the numerous pairs of eyes flickering over occasionally for embarrassed-but-curious glances, as well as the thick curtain of awkward silence hanging through the dugout, nothing in the world can be more obvious. And subtlety is definitely not Eijun's forte at all, so Haruichi briefly wonders why the other boy is even trying, given that everyone frequently tells him this. He supposes that the effort is admirable, though.

'Kominato, you're up soon,' states Miyuki in a level tone. He's pivoting to look over at Haruichi as he says this, but he can only manage to turn partway, because it seems like he's content with keeping his hand exactly where it is, too.

It's halfway to being comical, all of it. Getting close to Eijun must be having its effects on Miyuki, because the lack of subtlety is evidently rubbing off on him. Unless Eijun is a special case with whom Miyuki's had no subtlety at all to begin with. Haruichi's not even sure at this point.

'Yes, Captain,' he answers respectfully, bending long fingers around the curve of his bat, and swiftly getting onto his feet.

The pink-haired boy gives both of them a vague smile as he passes them on his exit from the dugout.

He gets raised eyebrows from Miyuki and a confused look from Eijun in reply.

'… So how come Furuya's here?'

The prone figure curled up on the ground alongside them squirms a little to get comfortable, as if in reply.

'Ah,' says Haruichi in a soft voice. 'He was looking for a quiet place to nap, so I offered for him to come with me. I hope you don't mind, Kuramochi-senpai.'

The shortstop sniffs dully at that, upper lip sloping on one side, and he waves a dismissive hand in Haruichi's direction.

'And why are those two idiots always here.'

The pink-haired boy purses his lips thoughtfully, his eyes flitting beyond the open entrance to the indoor training hall. 'I suppose this is now their favorite place to make out?'

'Then why are we here.'

'Because we were here first, senpai,' answers Haruichi with surprising patience. 'We've always been coming here, so it's okay to stay, even if they've started coming here too. We'll wait until they leave, or at least stop, before we leave. Just like we always do.'

Kuramochi sucks in a deep, slow breath, and raises solid fingers to firmly pinch the space between his eyes.

'We've had to watch this for nearly two weeks. Nearly two weeks of them coming here and macking,' he mumbles. 'What the hell am I actually doing with my life.'

Furuya lets out a tiny, thin sort-of-snore beside them, and Haruichi flashes his upperclassman a sympathetic look. But he knows that Kuramochi is capable of being a stubborn guy; Haruichi thinks it may be quite possible that the shortstop's still here because he secretly doesn't want to lose a battle of wills by abandoning this spot – his spot. Not that the other side knows they're even competing.

And Eijun and Miyuki have definitely gotten better. A lot better. There's a very easy, close familiarity to the way Eijun's fingers tangle in Miyuki's hair, and the way Miyuki's hand teases beneath the hem of Eijun's shirt, slender fingertips sliding over Eijun's skin; the way Eijun sensitively licks into Miyuki's mouth, and the way Miyuki's parted lips close around Eijun's sigh. There's barely an inch of space between their bodies, hips warmly coming together and Miyuki's knee faintly nudged between both of Eijun's own. Haruichi can tell from only a fleeting glance that there's knowledge in the way they touch: they've come to memorize each other's angles, lines, bends. Compared to that first day that they'd come here, they've undeniably grown far more comfortable together – and brazen.

Not to mention there's a keen enthusiasm coupled with all of that, resulting in indecently clipped breaths and noisy, wet smacking that's clearly driving Kuramochi up the wall and making him look like he wants to fling Miyuki through a window. If he doesn't throw himself through one first.

A muted snuffle rises from the general direction of the floor, interrupting that observation – a most welcome distraction, if anything. Kuramochi and Haruichi look over at Furuya as he blearily stirs; the boy blinks a few times in a hazy, half-lidded stupor, and then, at last, tilts his head and fixes a watery gaze upon the spectacle past the open door.

Furuya likely hasn't witnessed that particular scene before; Haruichi's breath catches in his throat, and the entirety of his chest tenses with a mildly perverse anticipation as the pitcher allows himself time to take it all in.

'… Oh,' Furuya finally murmurs, after a pause. 'Okay.'

And mere seconds later, he's unflappably rolling over, curling himself into a snug ball, and already fast asleep again.

The hall falls silent as he stills. Well, as silent as it can get with the all the slick, moist kissing going on right outside, anyway.

'It's alright, senpai,' Haruichi suddenly blurts out before he can stop himself. 'We can't all have it that easy.'

He doesn't even try to fight the miniscule smile that quietly slips onto his face when Kuramochi throws him a stony look.

Despite Miyuki's occasionally questionable personality, he does hold a certain charisma and presence to him, in intelligent eyes and quick thinking and a steady voice, that inspires and motivates the whole team. His plays match, too; he's not a captain who has nothing to show for his leadership. It isn't strange for heads to turn when he's around, so when he sweeps in late to the dining hall one evening, it's almost like he's making an entrance – not that he's meaning to. But there's relative silence while everyone's eating, a little droopy and worn out from that afternoon's rigorous practice, and the moment he walks in, he's already naturally catching people's passive eyes and their attentions without even asking for it.

'Hey, do you have the report ready?' he asks coolly; his eyes are trained on Nabe, who's sitting across from Haruichi. However, he's making a beeline for Eijun – who's seated next to Haruichi – as if it's the most natural thing to him, striding over to Eijun's chair with light, measured steps.

'Ah, yeah,' answers Nabe modestly, putting his chopsticks down. 'I left it in my room, though. Would you like me to go and get it now?'

'No, it's alright. I'm going to go talk to the coach now, so just meet us when you're done eating,' the catcher responds offhandedly. He reaches a hand over Eijun's shoulder, into Eijun's bowl, and croons: 'I'm just going to grab—'

Haruichi nearly jumps when Eijun suddenly moves to smack Miyuki's fingers, his reflexes lightning-fast.

'Can you not?' the pitcher grouses, mouth coiling into an impressive scowl. 'Go get your own.'

'No time,' responds Miyuki flatly, a displeased crinkle to the bridge of his nose. 'Gotta go over some stuff with the coach in a bit. And what are you doing, whacking an upperclassman like that? You sure are rude, refusing to share with your senpai and your captain and your catcher—'

He pauses there, as if the absence of words carries an unspoken sentiment; however, Eijun seems to take no notice at first, because he's quick to spin around in his chair to glance sideways at Miyuki, bristling with indignation. His lips push forward and circle out like a stupid fish, and he's clearly about to protest – but the moment his eyes land on Miyuki's, he unexpectedly stops in his tracks.

A small, quiet sliver of air spills from between the rows of Miyuki's teeth; the catcher watches Eijun with a dusky, heavy-lidded regard, pupils serenely dilating behind the sheen of his eyeglasses.

The stillness and silence that follows is so dense and resonantly heavy that it presses on Haruichi's lungs, smothers his breath. Bodily reflex springs to life and he finds himself actually leaning away a little, because for whatever reason, he's definitely sitting much too close to them right now. It's almost unnerving, the way the two of them aren't looking away from each other; the stirring movement of people slows to nearly a halt – Haruichi hears someone emit a clumsy cough, sees someone else fidgeting dumbly at the very edge of his frame of vision. Eijun and Miyuki may or may not be exchanging a voiceless conversation, but either way, it's indisputable that everyone here can hear it.

In the end, whatever Miyuki's doing, it works. Eijun's gaze thins and wrinkles at the corners, and he finally lets out a heated, irritable sigh.

'I can't believe you,' he grumbles, reaching out to fetch a piece of meat from his bowl with his chopsticks. 'Literally the worst.'

And then, to Haruichi's surprise, Eijun holds out the food in Miyuki's direction, balancing an upturned palm beneath it to keep sauce from dripping onto the floor. In their surroundings, a number of heads lift and turn at the unexpected gesture, too.

It can never be anything particularly good when Miyuki looks the way he does now, a too-calm smile smoothing on one side of his mouth, lopsided and easygoing. Truth be told, he's not always as nasty in his character as basically everyone makes out, but today, he's obviously decided to lap this up like he's thirsty for it. He bends over and leans in, tastefully skating a graceful wrist over the curve of Eijun's spine, and he sedately curls long fingers over the back of Eijun's chair.

'That's generous of you,' he drawls, fulfilment rolling in his exhalation and in the mellow depth of his voice.

Haruichi doesn't even hear anyone breathing anymore. The Seidō baseball team's been reduced to nothing more than an awkward knot of communal tension, and of course, Miyuki's paying it no mind whatsoever. He comes forward a little more, seeming thoroughly pleased, and slowly, temperately, collectedly folds the bow of his mouth around the morsel. Supple lips softly come to a close over the chopsticks; he takes his time, easy eyes fixed upon Eijun's in a flicker of gold-brown – before he leisurely slides his teeth back, back and away along the length of polished wood, withdrawing at last.

Perhaps part of it is due to the fact that this is happening mere inches from Haruichi's face, but he can't help but wonder how this is not the most unsubtle thing in the whole galaxy. Miyuki may as well tangle his fingers into the front of Eijun's shirt and throw him onto the table and have his way with him in front of everybody, and it'll hardly be any different from this.

Eijun's still wearing that prickly frown like a badge of honor, but red blooms waywardly like roses over the tips of his ears, and a taut curl steals into his bottom lip as though he's biting down on it inside his mouth. On top of all this, it doesn't look like he's breathing any more than anyone else in the room is, either; his chest swells full and strained like he's carrying the weight of his entire life behind his breastbone, and his entire face looks generally stretched at the seams.

'… So, uh,' interrupts a small voice. 'Did you only want the statistics tonight or … should I bring along the footage that I recorded as well …?'

Magically, not a single inch of Miyuki's face changes as he turns to look over at Nabe, who's shifting hesitantly in his seat; it's as if there hasn't been a break in their conversation at all. His thumb indulgently moves to trace tiny, lazy circles on Eijun's back, which presumably only Haruichi can see – but something about it must be leaking through into Miyuki's expression, because opposite Eijun, Haruichi can see Kuramochi rolling his eyes so far backwards that his head near-dramatically tilts and moves together with the motion.

'It'd be great if we could watch the footage tonight, actually,' Miyuki replies simply, sounding reasonably satisfied. 'Thanks.'

His space is abruptly intruded into by another slice of meat being waved at his nose; evidently, he hasn't expected a second offering, because a touch of surprise slackens his gaze.

'Isn't that your last piece,' he says matter-of-factly, eyes skimming over Eijun's empty bowl.

Eijun lets out a childish snort at that. 'Well, I can't let my catcher go hungry, can I.'

It's possibly one of the smoothest things to ever fall from the pitcher's tongue, and it's not even being used as a pick-up line. God, Eijun-kun. A pleasant tenderness twirls gentle and low inside Haruichi's belly and a subdued smile demurely flows into the line of his mouth, and Kuramochi doesn't even try to stifle the mangled groan that bubbles in his throat.

Amusement kindles within the warm, earthy flecks of Miyuki's eyes, and he shakes his head in entertained disbelief, uttering: 'Just half, then.'

He moves in once again, fluid and unhurried, and his parted lips unfurl into a small, sparkling grin as he delicately bites off a modest piece of the morsel with his front teeth; he proceeds to straighten up in a single relaxed, lithe movement after that, chewing meaningfully.

'Good. I'll see you in a bit, Nabe,' he waves with contentment, and then swivels on his heel and leaves, hands in his pockets and a hint of liveliness to his stride.

When Miyuki's out of sight, there's a clear mumble of what the hell just happened somewhere down the table and Eijun releases the loudest breath that his lungs can manage, such that it echoes throughout the entire room; and he shoves what's left of that piece of meat into his mouth and starts absentmindedly sucking on it, as if everything that's just transpired isn't obvious enough.

Then again, it's apparent now that those two don't know how to be subtle even if their lives depend on it.

'Your pitches were good,' Miyuki murmurs into Eijun's jaw.

The younger boy angles his lips with interest. 'Just good?'

'Your control's been on point lately, so I have no complaints.'

'Mmm,' Eijun hums, pleasure coloring his voice. He idly twists slim fingers into the back of Miyuki's shirt, and mumbles: 'What else.'

Miyuki's hands brusquely shift on Eijun's thighs, hoisting the other boy a little higher up on his own hips; he warmly leans up to Eijun's ear, traces his mouth over its ridge, slow, lingering, and light as air. 'You should keep your throws fierce like you did today,' he utters, low and smooth and serious. 'It's actually exemplary when it's like that.'

'God,' Eijun breathes into Miyuki's hair, eyes skimming halfway closed as though he can't take much more. 'Say it again.'

How is Furuya-kun even able to sleep through that, Haruichi wonders, calmly glancing sideways at the boy who's horizontally unmoving on the floor next to him. Furuya does sleep like the dead, but at the same time, this bizarre dirty talk can practically wake the dead, too.

'… Is this some kind of weird fetish,' Kuramochi deadpans, mouth slack and eyes dull.

Haruichi briefly wrinkles his nose, and answers finely: 'Eijun-kun always did like compliments. He really, really likes them.'

'I know all about that moron's creepy praise kink,' the shortstop responds with emphasis, all shades of unimpressed knotting into the slant of his lips; long creases unfold over the surface of his brow and his facial muscles are drooping lifelessly, like a crumpled, sopping towel. 'I'm talking about us. As in, why the hell everybody's here like a goddamn audience when we already knew that that was gonna happen right outside.'

'You mean you knew,' Zono corrects him. He's mildly flushed, faint color staining the whole way down the firm bulk of his throat, and an unnatural stiffness coils at his neck and head, holding them fast in place as though he's beyond determined not to turn sideways to take a single glimpse at the doorway. It's too late, though – he's already been ambushed with a spectacular eyeful, because the moment Eijun and Miyuki had appeared, they hadn't even bothered wasting any time getting down to it. 'All Furuya said was that he's been coming here to nap with you guys, so we decided to come along to have our break, too. He didn't mention a single word about this.'

Furuya replies by releasing a snipped puff of air through his nose in his sleep.

Well, it's a fair complaint. Nowadays there are so little moments when Haruichi's seen that doorway without Eijun and Miyuki through it, like a picture frame near-permanently enclosing a sensual art piece, that he thinks he's probably forgotten what that particular section of wall on the opposite building looks like. Even now, Eijun's supported by that same portion of wall behind him, balanced up against it with lean legs closely folded up and around Miyuki's pelvis – they're pressed nearly flush together, bodies lithe and unruly. And at this stage, they're possibly a little too far gone. Miyuki indulgently pushes slender fingertips into Eijun's thighs, graciously messy in the way his mouth slips and catches on Eijun's lower lip; he warmly, measuredly rolls his hips against Eijun's, and Eijun readily answers him with the leisurely movement of his own hips and the curling of wiry fingers into Miyuki's spine. Soft relish paints the sighs that they leave between each other's slightly-parted lips, and they're sliding open-mouthed against one another through the languid motion of their bodies – back and forth, firm and slow, breaths shallow and wavering – to such a point that they're just barely managing to even kiss anymore.

It's a marvel, how Haruichi's developed some kind of resistance to this like one would to bacteria. He still remembers the tender film of heat that had cloaked his face when he'd first seen them exchanging modest, exploratory touches in the locker room. But now, even if their pants start vigorously flying off them right here while they're practically rubbing up against each other, he's sure that he won't even squirm, much less get flustered. At this moment, he's openly, blankly staring at them like he's grown a thick skin for it – so it seems like their lack of discretion's bled over to him, too. Huh.

Toujou tilts his head sideways in curiosity, eyes fixed upon the open doorway, and he skews his mouth. 'Do you think they ever do this on the field?'

'Why are we talking about this,' says Kanemaru thinly, his entire face tightening.

'—Like, we all play on the field and we'd never know what they've done in the places where we're standing. Maybe they've rolled around on home plate while feeling each other up—'

'Why are we talking about this,' Kanemaru repeats.

And out of the blue, a sleep-smothered voice from the floor mutters: '… Yeah, they have done that.'

Furuya's all low-lidded and soft-limbed from drowsiness, but he's undeniably awake, and he's dimly eyeing Toujou with a composed, steady gaze like he knows exactly what he's talking about. Like he knows exactly what he's seen.

Everyone in the training hall stares at him.

Supple leather creaks and displaced air shifts behind him; when Haruichi turns, he's greeted with the sight of Miyuki leaning as far forward as he can in his crouched pose, staring at the section of earth before him, eyes narrowing with focused suspicion.

'Something wrong, Miyuki-senpai?' he questions modestly, fingers loosening from around the circle of his bat.

He's answered with only heavy silence at first. However, Miyuki eventually withdraws and resets into his usual position, calmly shaking his head. 'Just that people are acting like they have something on their shoe when they touch home, so I thought the plate might've been dirty or whatnot. Never mind.'

Zono's off gazing uneasily at his feet while half-smiling about his successful run; the resulting expression is an interesting mishmash that makes him look uncomfortably pleased. Haruichi offers Miyuki a delicate look in response, lips quirking at the edges, and simply shrugs.

'Oi! Miyuki Kazuya!'

The unexpected bellow resounds so thunderously within the otherwise fairly quiet field that Haruichi's ears nearly ring with an echo. But that's really nothing new, where Eijun is concerned; the pitcher's standing straight-backed over at the mound, feet spread evenly apart and cheeks passionately hollowed out, flapping both arms wildly in his effort to catch attention.

'You remember when we were here last week?!' he exclaims spiritedly. 'When we – you know—'

'Moron. Of course I remember,' Miyuki loudly calls back from the catcher's box, forehead wrinkling marginally as if in afterthought. 'What's your point.'

It takes a number of moments before their words sink in, but when Haruichi finally gets it, his face wilts faster than a sagging lettuce. He's here, at-bat, and those two are actually, literally yelling at each other across the diamond. Yelling at the top of their lungs, at a volume where pretty much everyone can hear everything they're saying. Yelling, presumably, about their not-so-secret erotic tumble on home plate that half the team already knows about by now, thanks to Furuya. And Haruichi's standing in between them while this unabashed conversation is going on, like it's some kind of divine punishment.

In the distance, he can see an expressionless Kuramochi plonking his baseball mitt unconcernedly onto his face, as if he no longer has the ability to feel anymore.

'Just the way people are acting today,' shouts Eijun energetically, his full, robust voice booming in the air. 'Do you think somebody saw—'

'Sawamura, there's such a thing as discretion, you know,' Miyuki outright proclaims, interrupting him with a surprising degree of patience. 'Control yourself. Do you not know subtlety?'

Haruichi doesn't even realize that he's giving his captain a flat, dead stare until his gaze is returned with a somewhat questioning look.

'Holy—' rasps a voice somewhere outside, in the distance.

Haruichi's halfway through biting into a rice ball, and Kuramochi's in the middle of playing with his phone; but upon hearing the sudden declaration, they both look up, their eyes automatically darting through the open doorway of the training hall.

Eijun and Miyuki are right outside, jeans unfastened midway, still happily necking and stroking with all the fervent gusto of two teenage boys who can't even get their hands off each other long enough to be aware of what's going on around them, so apparently neither of them have heard anything. Either that, or they don't care.

There's a brief, strained pause before Haruichi hears the faint scraping of light footfalls quickly getting the heck out of there, and fading away.

He never does find out who the mystery person is, but the next morning, Nori has bloodshot, shriveled, sleep-deprived eyes to accompany the docile lost lamb look that he's suddenly wearing on his face – so he has a pretty good guess.

The way that Eijun wails woefully at Kuramochi when he's told to go get drinks for all the upperclassmen will make anyone think that he's being banished from the dorm for all eternity.

It's somewhat understandable, however, because he looks really comfortable where he is, curled up near the corner of the room. He and Miyuki aren't touching at all, but they have been sitting closely side-by-side all evening; they're both indisputably relaxed and content in the way that they're seated lazily against the wall together, slim legs bent in front of them with soft ease, half-watching the movie that's been put on while trading good-humored comments about it in hushed, intimate murmurs. So of course, the moment that Eijun and Haruichi are instructed to go to the vending machine, Eijun immediately shoots out garbled muddles of objections that fall on deaf ears.

Haruichi doesn't miss either the juvenile pout of reluctance or the lingering gaze that Eijun momentarily exchanges with Miyuki when they finally leave the room in obedience.

'Ah, now we're going to miss a chunk of the movie,' the pitcher groans in complaint; his whining fills the evening quietude, and washes over the light scuff of their footsteps against the concrete path. How typical – Eijun truly wouldn't be Eijun if he's not as noisy as ever.

'I've seen it. I watched it with aniki over the break. I can fill you in on what happens,' offers Haruichi mildly.

It doesn't normally take much to bring a sulking Eijun back into a flurry of good cheer. His mouth expands to full on his face, smoothly unrolling sideways into a wide, sunny grin, and he exclaims: 'As expected of Harucchi! So reliable.'

And that's typical of him, too. Haruichi knows that that's just the way he is. Eijun's always perfectly honest, and the type to wear his heart on his sleeve; his feelings are rarely cloaked, and he expresses pretty much everything – openly, loudly, and as truthfully as if he's stripping the cover of his own skin away. Extraordinarily enough, it's probably one of his more charming qualities. And it's most likely the precise reason why he hasn't got a discreet bone in his body.

'So hey, Eijun-kun. You and Miyuki-senpai seemed close in there,' says Haruichi, letting the obvious question stay unvoiced beneath his tongue. It's probably best to tread carefully in what can potentially be a cloudy area, anyway.

The other boy pauses curiously at the statement, but apart from that, he doesn't give any kind of pronounced reaction. In fact, judging by the way his expression turns a little glassy, it's possible that he may not actually have a simple or straightforward answer to that at all, which Haruichi's just now realizing with faint surprise. Eijun appears to mull over it for a fleeting moment; and not long after, he casts a sidelong glance at the pink-haired boy, boyishly puckering his lips into a loose circle.

'You know, Harucchi,' he starts suddenly, an earnest light flowering in his eyes. 'What would you reckon if—'

He abruptly stops there, bare naïvety in his open yellow gaze, and a low hum emits from the back of his throat, as if his mouth's gone dry and his lips can't quite find or form the words. An interesting look blossoms over his lax face; one of childlike contemplation, perhaps, and Haruichi can almost picture gears slowly grinding into movement within that mind of his. However, Eijun ultimately seems to think better of it, because he eventually shakes his head spiritedly, sending dark locks of hair sweeping across the tips of his ears.

'… Actually, I'm not sure what I'm saying. It's okay. Never mind.'

Haruichi tactfully doesn't press the matter further.

Their conversation's probably rooted in fate, however, because at the end of practice the next morning, Eijun and Miyuki emerge from the bullpen with their arms easily slung around each other, animatedly discussing Eijun's pitches in warm, mellow voices. And it's never been uncommon to see Miyuki invading Eijun's personal space – throwing a casual arm around the pitcher's shoulders as he's doing now, or laying a firm, steady hand upon his forearm in encouragement, or patting his back lightly until he writhes with disapproval. However, it is somewhat unusual to see Eijun good-naturedly returning the gesture for once, his own arm idly encircling Miyuki's waist, instead of putting on that usual instant frown that he always wears in response.

Nothing else is out of the ordinary; both of them had practiced today with the same devoted enthusiasm and strength that they always wholeheartedly put into their play. No matter what may burgeon between the two of them, nothing will ever change that about their baseball – Haruichi's seen enough, and knows them well enough, to be steadfastly sure of it. But it's obviously not going to keep extra shared gestures of familiarity unnoticed. Whatever the case may be, they've clearly shown themselves to not be subtle enough for that.

'Must be nice for such a great battery to end up being so close,' Kariba offhandedly remarks, beaming colorfully at them.

Eijun and Miyuki visibly pause in their tracks at that comment, which is completely understandable – at least in Eijun's case. It's that same word, and almost the same observation as the one from the night before. The edges of Haruichi's ears tingle with heat as Eijun's gaze briefly sweeps across to him, but he chews discreetly on his tongue as he looks back, and he doesn't say anything.

'Ah – is that so?' the pitcher manages rather airily. His features paint a portrait of surprise and tension, glossy-eyed and slightly open-mouthed; in some way, he suddenly looks young and vaguely modest and somewhat wakened. Moreover, Miyuki's face is perfectly impassive – a near-flawless blank slate – but his curious stare is as keen and sharp as his usual intelligence, and a slight tautness pulls at the soft line of his mouth, too.

The arms that they've securely draped around each other now appear to be carrying a touch more weight than before, somehow. As if a revelation's slid home, maybe, with as much fluid grace as any player on this team can run with.

Well then, thinks Haruichi, his eyebrows lifting high.

Of course, the result of that apparent epiphany is a nearly-naked Haruichi creeping around only meters away from Eijun and Miyuki, both of whom are also basically naked, because that's the way fate works, he supposes. But he knows that he can't have expected anything that's less wildly ridiculous, considering everything else that's happened.

There must be some kind of animal instinct inside of Haruichi that now blares like a siren whenever Eijun and Miyuki are around. That evening, he's the first one to get to the communal bath after an extended practice; and yet, when he'd heard the familiar pair of voices approaching behind him, their tones low and somewhat cozy, his first knee-jerk reaction had been to swiftly duck out of sight. It's common knowledge by now that those two have no grasp on the concept of discretion at all – even at this very moment, they're openly conversing in front of the doors of the bathing area with barely a crack of space between them and nothing on except for the towels around their waists, despite the fact that they definitely must know that almost everyone else from the team's coming any minute now to join them for a bath. But Haruichi's the one who currently feels like a pervert, furtively slinking about nearby while wearing only cotton boxer shorts, his towel dangling uselessly from his hand.

Then again, it's not like he doesn't already know pretty much every other detail of whatever their relationship is by now. The dictionary definition of walking in on people has already been thrown out the window – apart from that one incident with maybe-Nori, those two are the ones who have been doing the walking in, rendering everyone else helpless to do anything but watch.

So here they all are; Eijun's guiltlessly rubbing the back of his head, his bent arm long and gawky, the bridge of his nose naïvely wrinkling – and he says, 'Hey, so I had a conversation with Harucchi the other day that got me thinking.'

… Don't tell me they're doing this right now, realizes Haruichi, eyes growing wide.

He really shouldn't be watching this, and he knows it. Yet despite the hazy guilt twisting in his belly, his feet suddenly feel as foreign to him as if they've turned into cloven hooves; his bones and muscles aren't moving willingly, and he's completely transfixed. Wow, maybe witnessing all the sorts of things that those two have gotten up to during all these weeks has made him as immune to self-awareness as they are.

'Just, you know, it's been – well, this, for nearly two months or something. And …'

Miyuki doesn't say anything. He's staring at the other boy with sedate patience, calmly waiting, but Eijun's brows furrow and a look of puzzled innocence sweeps over his features, as if he's not entirely sure how to fashion his thoughts into sentences that sound right. After a while, however, he evidently gives up, and a surrendering sigh spills from his lips.

'I don't know, I'm not good with words,' he admits, tilting his mouth with displeasure. He shifts closer, fingertips hovering tentatively over the delicate line of Miyuki's wrist, and continues: 'I guess I'm trying to say that I was just wondering—'

'If this,' Miyuki evenly cuts in, nonchalantly flapping a hand back and forth between them, 'is all there is to it?'

Oh. Oh, they really are doing this right now. The lilt of Miyuki's words carries a barely-there flutter, which is somewhat unanticipated, coming from him; it's almost as if the catcher's tamely returning the question.

Whatever it may be, though, the pink-haired boy abruptly finds his own breath subtly catching in his lungs.

No reply comes from Eijun; only quiet. It's a strangely composed, accepting kind of quiet rather than a restless one, although the line of his jaw is noticeably set in place, unmoving. A disbelieving sniff puffs out from Miyuki's nose, but there's an unusual softness to the catcher's eyes that Haruichi's rarely seen from him before: something that has the color of muted vulnerability, maybe. He raps the back of his knuckles casually against Eijun's chest – a gesture that Haruichi knows is comfortably familiar to the younger boy – and he finally utters, 'Was it ever all there is?'

Sure, it's not a blunt answer. This whole conversation has been surprisingly placid and reserved, considering the two of them are about as subtle as Furuya's fastballs taken to the face, these days. But there's something about the way that Miyuki says the words that makes Haruichi's heart unexpectedly soar. That captured breath comes free, comes streaming from Haruichi's lips; tender awe curls within his ribcage, and his mouth bends with amusement before he can help it. Unbelievable. Good for you, Eijun-kun.

Eijun apparently understands it immediately, too, because his features unfurl and slacken with subdued euphoria and his eyes round out, hot and gold and glimmering with all the light that his visibly summery mood can possibly emit. Sudden merriment and cheer swells over his cheeks, and he says: 'So it's been more to you than just this, then.'

'What a dumb question,' Miyuki deadpans. 'You really think I'd willingly make out with an idiot like you all this time, for weeks on end, if it was nothing?'

There's no real bite to his pointed jab, but Eijun doesn't seem to notice, because an extraordinary scowl crosses his mouth, and he's instantly geared up to argue. 'Hey! That's—'

'—And what about you, then,' interrupts Miyuki, voice thin and perhaps a little uneven at the edges. It's hardly noticeable at all, yet not completely undetectable; his bearing is as cool and unruffled as ever, but he's been under Haruichi's gaze often enough lately for the pink-haired boy to be able to sense exactly when something isn't quite the way it usually is. Whatever sheer, fragile mask of stony indifference Miyuki may be wearing right now, there have been other heavy situations during which he's seemed marginally more collected than this.

Eijun wordlessly looks straight at Miyuki for a solid moment, looking quite comically unimpressed. He soon shakes his head incredulously, however, and answers in a dry tone: 'Stupid. Why do you think I asked? Obviously I feel something too. Which is incredible, seeing as you're a jerk.'

'That last part was totally unnecessary.'

'Says the guy who just called me an idiot.'

Miyuki rolls his eyes meaningfully at that. 'I suppose we're even.'

Despite the smart tone, the winding tension on Miyuki's face is already gradually thawing, and Eijun's stance is clearly loosening up as well, his eyes keenly meeting with Miyuki's own. Hands reach forward only barely, knuckles tenderly brushing against knuckles, and fingers leisurely nudging between fingers until they're languidly interlaced; even though both Eijun and Miyuki are still unsmiling, a hidden pleasure surreptitiously pulls at the corners of their lips, and mirth dusts across their cheekbones. They slowly draw themselves in, closing the remaining distance between them, eyelids unhurriedly skimming to a close – and the tips of their noses just scarcely, briefly touch, before they shift slightly and softly press their foreheads together, silent and warm and content.

That drives Haruichi into movement. His limbs heave, quickly springing to life, and he sneaks away on his toes without another moment's delay; they may have looked a little silly doing it in nothing but towels, but after confessing to each other like that, those two almost certainly deserve some privacy. Which is nearly laughable considering that they've proven themselves to be the least subtle people ever anyway, and in terms of private moments between them, Haruichi's seen far worse than this.

Gosh, he still needs to have his bath at some stage, though.

'Harucchi.'

The thing is, people always get the initial impression that Haruichi's generally shy and reserved. And to some extent, they're not entirely wrong. But it doesn't mean that he's isolated from everything, because really, it's always the quiet ones that stand back and end up seeing. Although perhaps this is a special case, considering the two guys that he's unwittingly ended up observing all this time don't know the meaning of subtlety anyway.

Besides which, happiness is a picture that's vivid enough for even the blind to see. For Eijun, it's the lively pink flourishing upon the hollow of his cheeks, the singsong undertone sparkling in his voice, and the vibrant, tremulous energy in his footsteps. For Miyuki, it's the unusually unguarded contentment in his gaze, the easy relaxation in that gait, and the barely-there trace of a dim, crooked almost-smile.

And it's the slightest brush of the back of their palms as they walk together, the slow, near-reluctant separation of that contact, and the prolonged look that they exchange as they part.

Miyuki gives Haruichi a succinct nod of greeting before he leaves, which the pink-haired boy respectfully returns; conversely, Eijun comes to a stop by Haruichi's side.

'You certainly look cheerful,' says Haruichi, intrigued.

'Do I?' Eijun asks, glancing sunnily at him. 'Hmm, maybe. I have a secret to tell you.'

'Yeah?'

Mere seconds into the conversation, and it's already getting interesting. Haruichi raises his eyebrows, mildly curious.

'You know on that movie night, when we were getting the drinks and talking. And … I guess things hadn't really come together yet at that time, which is why I wasn't totally sure how to say stuff.'

Haruichi hums in confirmation, giving a single patient nod. His mouth twitches in vague fascination; he already has an idea of where this may be heading.

'But everything's been worked out now!' Eijun continues, with a strong, steady glare and a zealous pump of a fist. 'I've been talking to Miyuki-senpai about this for the past week, and he was okay with me telling you first. We're kind of just testing the waters, I suppose, before sharing this with other people. No one knows about this, you know! Maybe we've gotten really good at being subtle.'

Subtle? There's basically not a single person left on the team who hasn't caught wind of it, Haruichi muses; on top of that, they should also count themselves lucky that teachers hardly ever walk past the indoor training hall. But all in all, it's okay. That conversation and any friendly advice that comes with it can easily take place another time. Those two may be the textbook definition of unsubtle, but there's a guiltlessness and simplicity to everything they do that's always left them looking happy and content, nonetheless. That's what counts, huh.

'Okay, here goes,' the pitcher starts; he takes his time, drawing in a deep, long, unhurried breath, like he's working up to something big. 'I know that this is pretty gross, considering we're talking about Miyuki-senpai here—'

Haruichi leans forward and cranes his neck, spine taut with breathless anticipation.

'—But for some reason I can't even explain, we … sort of like each other a lot? I mean that type of like. We've more or less been stumbling through it together for a couple of months, I guess,' Eijun states outright. He pauses briefly after that – to properly collect himself, perhaps – and then he pushes a sharp sliver of air through bared teeth, his yellow eyes loud and fire-lit with determination. 'So, we're actually together now. As in, for real going out.'

The revelation is so openly bold and frank that Haruichi legitimately has to take a few moments of silence to allow it to absorb. Eijun proceeds to fix a hot stare on him in the meantime, clearly eager for a response, his gaze firm and impassioned and brimming with all the resolve that's quivering across his skin.

Slowly, Haruichi's mouth curves, genuinely warm and pleasantly amused.

'Wow, Eijun-kun,' he replies. 'I had no idea.'