Title: undisclosed desires
Fandom: Daiya no Ace
Character/Pairing: Miyuki/Furuya
Summary:
"Are you still doing that?"
"Doing what?" Miyuki asks nonchalantly, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he turns around.
Kuramochi shoots him an unimpressed glare, complete with folded arms. "Furuya," the other states, though his voice is lowered.
"I'm not," Miyuki replies easily, without missing a beat. "Doing him."
"Miyuki!" Kuramochi hisses furiously, and Miyuki nearly chokes laughing while some team members in the vicinity turn to look at them curiously.
Notes: Canon divergence. I'm not up to speed with the manga and the anime is taking its own sweet time, so. :D Super thanks to everbad on tumblr who suffered my terrible grammar on this one.
-You may be a sinner but your innocence is mine-
It takes a couple more games, but Furuya eventually does pitch a match where he gives up no runs—to the eighth inning even, a personal best. Even Miyuki is impressed when it happens; Furuya's ball control has been steadily improving, though stamina wise, there's still a lot more to work on. In the dinner hall during that evening after the game, the pitcher zones out from the fatigue and chews his rice monotonously, only blinking to reality when Haruichi prods him on the shoulder to signal that the miso soup bowl he's trying to sip is already empty. It's in a way…cute, the lost blink of the eyes to Haruichi's amused smile, but then again Furuya's always been sort of like that off the mound.
Miyuki watches the rest of the team pausing by Furuya's table to pat him on the shoulder for a well-done game before retiring to their dorms, and with every compliment to the pitcher it feels like the air becomes warmer and warmer until Miyuki is trying not to choke on his rice with how obvious Furuya is radiating bliss at the praise thrown his way. Haruichi touches Furuya's shoulder after the younger Kominato is done with his meal and says some words too quiet for Miyuki to hear at this distance before the other leaves the dinner hall, but the response is nearly akin to a blinding sparkle—Miyuki would cover his eyes at the light, but it's all metaphorical, anyway.
The dinner hall thins out as it gets later into the evening, but Furuya is still monotonically chewing his rice, looking more tired than hungry. Miyuki returns his tray when he's done and glances over to the pitcher—well, he sighs, he can make an exception today. He casually saunters over and announces his presence by placing one hand on top of Furuya's head; the pitcher looks up, causing his fingers to dig further into the other's hair.
"I was impressed today," Miyuki admits, inwardly grinning at the slow eye blink of acknowledgement and dawn of realisation on who is saying this, "Well done, Furuya."
Furuya nods, and Miyuki can see the faint elated blush tinting the pale cheeks.
Miyuki smiles indulgently—but he's not that nice, which is why he ruffles Furuya's hair for a bit more and continues, "Rest up well. Remember to take a proper bath and not just a shower. I'll see you at Monday morning practice."
He takes his leave with his hands in his pockets, but he barely has ten steps out of the dinner hall when Furuya calls his name, sounding a bit winded. Miyuki squashes down the odd mixture of guilt and surprise; he really didn't think it would happen, and yet, he knew Furuya would come after him, before turning around nonchalantly. The pitcher looks a lot more alert than before, hands hanging at the sides, twitching.
"What is it?" Miyuki asks, tilting his head.
"Tomorrow," Furuya says bluntly, not even beating around the bush. "Will you go out with me?"
The thing is, Miyuki knew that Furuya was going to say that, but when it's actually being said, it's…Miyuki silently releases a short breath he didn't realise he was holding. It's by reflex that he opens his mouth to answer, but words don't come out as easily as he thought they would; it's just, he's too distracted thinking about other things than to say something in return, like, does Furuya realise that he said 'will you go out with me' rather than 'can we go on a date'? Better yet, does Furuya even realise that they're literally ten steps away from the dinner hall where anyone could've heard that?
But no one is in the vicinity and Miyuki supposes that's all that really matters. Furuya has his fingers curled into fists and eyes wide glimmering with hope—it's a choice, Miyuki realises, that he has the power to say no and Furuya will accept that too. Miyuki looks at Furuya for a long while, throat feeling tighter than usual.
"Where?"
"…Aquarium."
What happened to the movie plan? Is the first thing that pops into Miyuki's mind, which is immediately followed by Hmm, but I'm not interested in any movies at the moment, because he would've said that just to see how Furuya will convince him more, and that's…that's terrible, that's how he is, that's exactly why he shouldn't be doing this. He turns away briefly and resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.
"Okay," Miyuki says instead with his eyes closed, surprising himself.
It's clear that it actually surprises Furuya too, because Furuya blinks and blinks again, like he's misheard.
"Pick me up at ten," Miyuki plasters on his grin easily, turning on his heel. "See you tomorrow, monster rookie."
Miyuki is sure Furuya has never been on a date—Miyuki has, so he actually knows what they're supposed to do on dates—which is why he's mildly impressed when Furuya leads him to the aquarium with pre-bought tickets. Furuya is even wearing 'date clothes' if Miyuki can call them that; a nice rolled up button shirt with dark jeans, even his hair is styled, just a little bit. It's a bit weird considering all Miyuki has seen him in are the Seido uniform or baseball uniform or the old t-shirt and bermuda combination that the other wears at the dorms. He's not exactly complaining about the change in attire and he's pretty sure the girls eyeing the oblivious pitcher aren't complaining either.
Miyuki looks down at himself for a brief second, and he knows he's at least good-looking—relatively, he guesses; he's never really been that self-conscious—but walking next to Furuya for an extended amount of time makes him aware of the couple of centimetres the junior has on him. Huh, objectively speaking, Furuya is a good catch, it's a bit of a wonder why the boy is socially isolated, considering he doesn't have a bad personality. He's just quiet and focused on select things, which aren't traits that people hate, right?
Maybe that quietness is something people don't particularly deal with well with. They haven't spoken a word since they left Seido to get to the train, even till now where they walk into the air conditioned complex. But it's not like it's hard to read Furuya even if the other doesn't say a word—from how Furuya breathes a soft sigh and relaxes, Miyuki guesses one reason why the aquarium was chosen was for the nice cool air conditioning; even if it's bleeding to late fall, the weather still seems too hot for the Hokkaido boy.
This date is oddly well planned.
"Is there anything that Miyuki-senpai wants to see?" Furuya hands him the map of the place was taken from the information counter.
It's been a while since Miyuki has been to the aquarium—or anything non-baseball related at least. "Why don't you lead me around today?" he says instead, grinning. "It's a date, right?"
The reminder that it's a date does exactly what Miyuki expects—the faint blush, the eye aversion— but Furuya seems prepared for this, because the pitcher folds the map, puts it in his pocket and takes out another folded slip of paper. There are some neat scribblings on it that Miyuki can't see from his angle, and Furuya stares at it for a short moment before walking towards a particular direction. Miyuki follows, half amused, half surprised, and they spend the next hour looking at odd sea life forms.
Well, Miyuki is looking at the strangely coloured fish staring back at them through the glass, but he's vaguely aware that Furuya casts his glance towards him from time to time, and by the fifth tank the pitcher seems to have given up any trace of hesitant looking; rather than that, Furuya now his head turned slightly to watch him. The attention isn't…bad—but as they move on to the seahorses, Miyuki has to resist the urge to touch his face. Instead, he adjusts his spectacles, aware that the other tracks the movement of his fingers all the while. After a bit of pretend observation of the seahorses tangled in the weeds, he deliberately glances over and catches Furuya's gaze; for that moment he sees how Furuya just looks at him with a kind of…affection that he involuntarily freezes.
"Furuya," he manages, fighting to keep his voice a mixture of calm and curiosity. "Do you want to ask me something?"
The other shakes his head.
Miyuki really should leave it there, but he continues, "So why do you keep looking at me?"
He can't deny that he likes the way Furuya colours and shifts his gaze to the seahorses, head ducking slightly in embarrassment. He knows why Furuya keeps looking at him, but he can't resist teasing the pitcher just a little bit. Furuya chews slightly on his lower lip, hands coming up to curl his fingers together. That's probably the closest thing to flustered Miyuki has ever seen on the stoic boy, and normally Miyuki would find that amusing—and it is—but he's too distracted by how stark he can feel how nervous Furuya is.
"…I like looking at you," Furuya says, heartfelt and direct, and Miyuki actually stares back, speechless.
It's not like he didn't consider this to be one of the many ways he thought it could play out—Furuya is too honest and straightforward to be deterred—but he's speechless because his ears are burning and his breath catches and there's no mistaking that little thump inside his chest; nice words are just nice words, so he tries to breathe out slowly; there's nothing to panic about abruptly self-conscious he feels.
"Miyuki-senpai?"
Miyuki scrambles for something to say in reply—shit, this threw him off a lot more than he thought.
"You're not too bad yourself," he manages eventually, toeing the line of teasing and complimenting Furuya at the same time.
Furuya seems pleased with his comment and turns his attention to the seahorses shyly. Miyuki turns his stare to the tank too, but he's watching his own reflection more than the sea creatures inside. This is a date, he knows, because Furuya likes him, but its suddenly startling heavy how much Furuya likes him….and how much he likes that too.
They move on in silence and Miyuki is thankful for it. It lets him simmer about this new revelation for a bit before putting it to the back of his mind as he carefully arranges his casual expression once again.
Another hour later, he's enjoying this…date…a lot more than he thought he would. There's nothing that stands out in particular, but it's just how light and easy he feels when he explores the aquarium with Furuya. They don't talk much, but there's also something comfortable with that; Miyuki doesn't have to think of things to say in a way that he wants them to mean, and it's rather easy to read Furuya with how well he knows the other. Also, it really has been a while since he got out; his phone starts to pile up with the pictures when they enter the jellyfish section, damn the bad lighting. They move on from the sharks to another deep tank, and Furuya perks up with his face dangerously close to the glass, eyes wide with something Miyuki wants to describe as excitement, but it's Furuya.
Fuck, it's cute, Miyuki swallows, and he knows he's not thinking about the manatee that hovers in front of them and bumps the glass with its nose while Furuya reaches out to place his palm over it. Furuya turns to him with such an expression of wonder that Miyuki can't help but chuckle. The manatee bumps its nose against the glass again before taking off across the length of the tank.
"So," Miyuki starts conversationally, hands in his pockets as they're both watching the mammal twist in the water. "Why did you choose an aquarium?"
"I like animals."
"Oh?" he glances over, not having expected that simple answer. "What's your favourite animal?"
"Polar bear," Furuya answers, steadfast, and Miyuki's lips involuntarily twitch at the lack of need for thought. "…What about Miyuki-senpai?"
"Hmm," Miyuki rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Which whatever taste best, I suppose. Salmon is easy to cook, but you can do more things with pork."
Furuya looks at him and then back at the manatee who swims past gaily. "…You're terrible, Miyuki-senpai."
Miyuki laughs.
Though they didn't go to the movies, the cake plan sort of goes through after they've explored the aquarium; Furuya leads him to a café in the area and apparently even has reservations for them—Miyuki is suspicious as hell as to why this is all going so smoothly. It's not that he wants Furuya to be bad at dating per se, but it's just weird as to how the younger seems to hit all the checkboxes of a well-planned date. Is this Kuramochi's input? Miyuki is torn between sniggering at how much the second year must've been dying on the inside for this, but also vaguely…disturbed…at the effort put in for their underclassman. He savours a spoon of crème brulee slowly while Furuya is absorbed in his own shaved ice and fruit combination during dessert.
It's nice, almost too nice of a date, especially when Furuya pays for his meal while he's in the washroom before they set off towards Seido as the sky darkens. But is this really a date though? Miyuki muses, looking out at the scenery whilst they're on the train. They're not holding hands, nor are they standing that close to mean anything more than just friends hanging out. Furuya still glances at him every once in a while, but makes no move to do anything more.
It's been a few weeks since he first and last kissed Furuya; and again, given neither an assent nor dissent of a response to Furuya's feelings. Maybe Furuya holds back because he hasn't given an answer, or maybe Furuya doesn't really know what to do beside the logistics of the well-planned date that Miyuki's more or less deduced has come from that folded slip of paper Furuya has in his pocket. He lets Furuya walk him to his room when they reach Seido, or maybe he's just waiting to see if Furuya has anything more planned.
When he unlocks his room door, he pauses for a bit, cocking his head backwards. "Do you want to come in?" he asks, keeping his tone light, on the edge of teasing.
Miyuki isn't sure whether the implication just floats over Furuya who merely shakes his head in reply. "Thank you for going out with me today," the pitcher says instead, in some sort of finality.
That's it?
But it sounds so genuine, and Miyuki feels the ball of guilt turn in his gut when he realises he's been holding out for something more. He sighs, shoving the thought away—Furuya did ask for a date, and knowing the one-track minded pitcher, he really shouldn't be expecting something out of that date.
"Well…it was fun," he admits, smirk in place when he sees Furuya light up at the simple sentence.
And there it is again; that shy gaze, pink flush, hands curled together as Furuya lingers at the doorway, opening his mouth hesitantly to say something.
"Miyuki-senpai…" Furuya begins, shuffling a bit closer, close enough that he is standing on the edge of the doorway, and Miyuki inwardly blinks—wait, is he really—"….Will you catch my pitch?"
"Wha—now?" Miyuki blurts before he can catch himself.
Furuya nods in all seriousness, and Miyuki just stares back, eyebrows furrowed. The pitcher just waits expectantly for the answer while Miyuki takes a few more seconds before he breathes in deep. And out.
He wants to laugh. Or cry.
He doesn't know which.
"Furuya."
Miyuki flickers his gaze up to hold the younger's—damn, he has never been so aware of the height difference between them until now. Without another warning, he grabs the front of Furuya's shirt and tugs the other down hard to meet their mouths together.
It's nothing like their first kiss. This time, Miyuki plunders into Furuya's parted lips, aggressive.
Furuya makes a ragged whimper of surprise from the back of his throat, but that's quickly silenced from how he sinks into the sensation of Miyuki toying their tongues together; he still doesn't know what to do, but it feels good, buzzing and electrifying sensations tingling all the way up his nerves. His breath fans hot when Miyuki releases him, eyes as sharp as blades. Heat is thickly rising up his neck, making it hard to swallow, especially when Miyuki tugs him again and he stumbles a step forward into Miyuki's room.
"You should pitch like yesterday more often," Miyuki murmurs against Furuya's lips before pressing their mouths together again.
One of Miyuki's hands come up to rest behind Furuya's head, holding the other in place as he mixes their tongues again, somehow coaxing Furuya's awkward movements to his own, slightly less clumsy, pace. Miyuki opens his eyes to see through his half-fogged glasses how Furuya has his eyes squeezed shut, and with every deepening of the kiss Furuya makes this soft sound in between them and it's only when Miyuki feels a hard dig on the sides of his shirt that he realises Furuya is clinging to him desperately.
Miyuki pulls back for a breath of much needed air, gaze flickering over Furuya's intoxicated expression, the darkly pink shade on the his cheeks, the heavy breathing, the unconscious lick of the lips and the dazed lean forward and…the wide open door behind him.
Abruptly the blood in Miyuki chills; he had been too preoccupied to notice that, fuck. He grips the front of Furuya's shirt harder, causing the younger to hold still. Just another simple pull and Furuya will stumble fully into his room—Furuya will let him, he knows that, and it's tempting, too tempting to just let that happen.
So for once, he listens to that sickly churning in his chest.
"I'll see you tomorrow, monster rookie," Miyuki breathes out, voice less controlled than he wants, and gently pushes Furuya two steps back.
Miyuki guesses it's cruel on how he shuts the door into Furuya's face—it's the lesser of two evils, perhaps— and lowers himself to sit on the floor, back against it. But he can't think about how Furuya might be reacting right now, not with his own face burning and the dark cloud of desire permeating his thoughts; he can do so much and Furuya will just let him—
He needs to.
Stop.
Of course, Miyuki doesn't. Not really. He tries to, he thinks.
Practice goes on as usual, though it seems like Furuya has taken his words to heart—the pitcher's ball control is on point; Miyuki should worry about the consequences of this, but the main effect of Furuya's abilities on the team is invaluable and Furuya himself seems to take pride in his own progress anyway. Miyuki smirks at the pleased spring in Furuya's steps when they're dismissed, the pitcher soaking in the warm atmosphere of casual praises passed by their teammates as they disperse.
Furuya looks towards him expectantly when he approaches, and he smiles indulgently.
"Nice pitch, good control today," Miyuki compliments, ruffling Furuya's hair absentmindedly.
He's done this enough times that it's like a habit now—training himself, didn't he realise that some time back—but Furuya still has the same blissed out response, so much so that his hand unconsciously slips to cup the pitcher's cheek. Perhaps about two seconds pass before Miyuki realises with a cold freeze on what he's doing, and navigates his hand down to pat Furuya's shoulder instead.
"I'm going to do some batting practice tonight," he tells the other. "So no pitching today."
Furuya looks disappointed but he nods eventually. "I will work on my staminaroll."
Probably running with a tire, Miyuki guesses—he doesn't understand the fascination Furuya and Sawamura have with rubber tires, but he'll leave them to it. Furuya wanders off and Miyuki takes his own time to collect his things. It's rather obvious that someone else wants to talk to him judging from that heavy lingering presence behind him.
"Are you still doing that?"
"Doing what?" Miyuki asks nonchalantly, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he turns around.
Kuramochi shoots him an unimpressed glare, complete with folded arms. "Furuya," the other states, though his voice is lowered.
"I'm not," Miyuki replies easily, without missing a beat. "Doing him."
"Miyuki!" Kuramochi hisses furiously, and Miyuki nearly chokes laughing while some team members in the vicinity turn to look at them curiously.
Miyuki casually waves to some of them as he makes to leave, with Kuramochi hot on his heels.
"You're the fucking worst," Kuramochi grumbles, steps in stride with him. "I told you to stop doing that to Furuya," the other says when they're in sufficient distance from everyone else, walking back to the dorms.
"I've told you it's nothing," Miyuki brushes it off.
"Right," Kuramochi makes a noise that's obviously disbelieving. "He's staring at you at lot more."
"Really? I hadn't noticed."
"Of course you haven't," Kuramochi deadpans with full on sarcasm, wondering why the fuck their captain is such a person.
Miyuki twitches his lips. "Why are you watching Furuya anyway?"
"I'm looking out for him," Kuramochi replies, turning a glare towards him.
"For?"
"From you," is the blunt emphasis.
Miyuki smirks. "You give me too much credit," he shakes his head, with a chuckle, digging into his pocket for his key when they reach the front of Miyuki's room door. "What do you think I'm going to do?"
"What wouldn't you do?" Kuramochi counters, and Miyuki ignores him, padding into his room when he opens it. "This isn't over, Miyuki," the switch hitter growls, pointing at him.
Miyuki waves his hand absentmindedly, other hand on the knob. "Sure. See you at the dining hall," he hums. "…Oh yeah," he pauses, deliberate, before he closes the door. "I went on that date."
"…." Kuramochi gapes, stunned, choked voice muted from across the closed door, before yelling occurs. "Hold up—Miyuki—what the fuck—fucking Miyuki—open the damn door!" he shouts, banging on it with as much force as he has. "I swear to god—"
"You are so dramatic," Miyuki rolls his eyes, smirking as he opens it, and sighs when Kuramochi barges in and slams the door shut behind him.
"You. You went on a date. With Furuya," Kuramochi starts, eyes blazing with agitation. "You actually—wha—why—what—why?" he splutters. "Fucking when?"
"I don't kiss and tell."
Kuramochi swears he will die of high blood pressure in his young twenties and it'll all be Miyuki's fault. "Miyuki fucking Kazuya—"
"Last Sunday," Miyuki acquiesces, because it really looks like Kuramochi is on the verge of grabbing the nearest sharp object to stab him. "It was fine. We went to the aquarium, he bought me food and we made out—"
"Woah—shit, I didn't want to know that!" Kuramochi winces, shielding his ears. Miyuki looks much too smug, and Kuramochi squints disbelievingly after a pause. "Wait, are you fucking with me? Because I usually can tell, but I can't, not on this one."
"Didn't you help him plan it?" Miyuki asks in return.
"What? No, I just," Kuramochi furrows his eyebrows, shuddering whilst recalling that particularly awkward hour. "I just told him most people have dinner together on dates. And that you like sweet stuff. I think. And mostly that it was a terrible idea to ask you out on a movie date, since you'd probably want him to choose the movie when you know he has no fucking clue on what to choose."
Miyuki can't argue with that. "So, an aquarium?"
"That wasn't me," Kuramochi huffs. "You didn't answer my question. Why, Miyuki, for the love of god, did you accept?"
"He asked," Miyuki shrugs.
"You know what I'm asking," Kuramochi retorts flatly. "This isn't a game. This isn't baseball. You can't just lead him on when you're not going to reciprocate—do you realise how fucking horrible that is?" he growls. "Or are you?"
It should be a simple question to answer, really, but it takes longer than a beat for Miyuki to say anything, and Kuramochi freezes.
"Miyuki. What. Just—are—are you dating Furuya?" he asks hesitantly, tone odd. "Are you seriously—"
"..No."
"…You don't sound sure," Kuramochi says, unconvinced.
"No," Miyuki says again, with more emphasis, and Kuramochi immediately knows it's a total lie.
The silence that results afterward is sufficiently thick and Miyuki busies himself with rearranging some things on his desk that don't need rearranging.
"So,"Kuramochi says, still in that odd tone. "You like Furuya."
"I've always liked Furuya," Miyuki replies, light. "He's a good kouhai, isn't he?"
Kuramochi resists the urge to slam his forehead into the nearest wall. "You—stop that. You know it doesn't work on me," he growls. "…Earlier," he says after a while, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "You wanted to…kiss him, didn't you?"
"I don't know what—"
"I think you know exactly what I am talking about," Kuramochi interrupts before the sentence is finished.
Miyuki doesn't answer, and Kuramochi abruptly feels like he's overstayed his welcome from the way the catcher has his back towards him, still facing his desk. The switch hitter crosses the short distance between them and kicks Miyuki in the back of the knee, ignoring the startled yelp.
"You're making this complicated again, captain," Kuramochi states plainly before storming out of the room.
Miyuki Kazuya is a fucking idiot.
Miyuki Kazuya is a fucking idiot who will drive him into an early grave.
Kuramochi imagines the incoming ball as Miyuki's face and bats it with as much strength as he can possibly muster, sending it flying far out into the court. Another comes courtesy of the pitching machine, and he hits that one too, with as much irritation and frustration he can channel into smashing it. A bubbling of compliments come his way for the nice hit but he's too annoyed amidst his thoughts to feel happy. He stretches his arms after that set as he walks over to the side to take his water bottle for hydration, and inevitably passes by the bullpen where the source—sources of his agitation in it.
"Nice ball!" there goes Miyuki's voice, and the toss of the ball back to Furuya on the other side.
Kuramochi hasn't really seen Furuya smile all these months, a full out one anyway, but he can bet the pleased expression is Furuya's version of it, complete with a light embarrassed blush that can be easily mistaken for exertion. God, Furuya really likes the blasted asshole, doesn't he, and Kuramochi tries not to strangle the closest person in vicinity.
It's terrible. Miyuki will dawdle while Furuya has his raging crush going and a year later it'll be graduation and nothing will have changed. It's not that he wants them to end up together because Miyuki is the worst choice anyone can make—but Furuya's already in it, already strung along by the whole stupid mess that Miyuki weaves to maintain his illusion of control. Their poor innocent junior, slowly corrupting under the clutches of the evil and clueless bastard; my god, Kuramochi should be protecting Furuya's virginity, not encouraging it.
"Senpai?"
Kuramochi blinks when there's a hesitant hand on his arm, and he realises he's squeezing his bottle a bit too much.
"You look troubled," Haruichi peers at him in concern, and he waves it off.
"No, it's…it's fine, I'm fine," Kuramochi manages, straightening out his furrowed eyebrows.
He takes a gulp of his water while Haruichi stands next to him, head turning to watch the pitchers and catchers in the bullpen as they take a moment's rest.
"…Is it about Miyuki-senpai?" the younger Kominato says suddenly, and Kuramochi spits his water out, coughing hard.
The retort is fast on his tongue that no, why the hell would he be troubled over Miyuki, but Haruichi waits for him to finish coughing while patting his back cautiously, and in that time he realises he's talking to a Kominato—it's not Ryo-san, apparent with Haruichi's nervous apology about startling him, no, Haruichi is much shyer and gentler but he's also just as sharp and observant with that innate sense.
It takes a moment before he decides what to say to gauge what the junior knows about this. "You're close to Furuya aren't you, little Kominato?"
Haruichi smiles bashfully, finger scratching his cheek. "We're friends."
Kuramochi hums. "You wouldn't know anything about a date between Furuya and Miyuki, would you?" he asks casually, eyes affixed on the player in the bullpen.
"…I might," is Haruichi's soft answer, and Kuramochi keeps looking towards the bullpen.
"Huh. Okay. Aquarium. Was that you?"
"It was a suggestion."
"I see."
"Was…was the date…nice?" Kuramochi cringes from the words that tumble out of his mouth.
"…I think so," Haruichi replies slowly. "Furuya is happy."
"Yeah, he sure is," Kuramochi agrees, eyes following the pitcher. "He won't be for long, though," he mutters. "You don't know Miyuki like I do. He's a fucking mess," he sighs. "I'm sorry about that."
Haruichi glances at him every once in a while before he eventually speaks. "I wouldn't think so, senpai. Look."
Kuramochi looks towards where Haruichi is subtly pointing at—towards Miyuki, who stands up and tosses the ball absentmindedly in his hand as he walks over; probably the end of their practice set. As usual Miyuki says a few words to Furuya whose aura burns hotter; even they can feel that from this distance. Furuya says something back, expression earnest, and Kuramochi feels the second hand guilt (it should be second hand, fucking Miyuki) for how infatuated Furuya is with the stupid catcher, but then Miyuki laughs and nudges Furuya's chin with his knuckles in reply, all affectionate and…and…
Miyuki is smiling, eyes soft.
"…He's still a mess," Kuramochi manages finally, finding it hard to tear his eyes away from that. What the fuck, Miyuki, seems to be his personal tagline. "Ryo-san's otouto," he starts. "Help me out with something, will you?"
"Furuya!" Kuramochi makes sure that he calls as loudly as he can from across the field "That was a great pitch!"
Although the distance is far but Furuya actually turns to acknowledge Kuramochi's words, brimming with content even as he walks off the mound, having been called to switch with Kawakami. As usual Furuya is reluctant to relinquish the ball, but it's not a bad reason why he's being called out to switch—this is a practice game, and he's been told that they're testing out their pitching relay strategy. Miyuki watches as Furuya gets called up to bat in the next inning, and tries not to frown when Kuramochi whistles next to him, excited when Furuya hits the ball nicely and gains two bases. When Furuya comes back to home base and scores them a point, Kuramochi literally jumps on him and ruffles his hair, putting all the effort into lavishing compliments—it's not like it's hard, to be honest, not when he accepts every little nice thing Kuramochi says with eager reception.
"Nice job, ace," the shortstop grins, and then grins wider when Haruichi comes in charging to home base for another point.
"Furuya," Haruichi raises both his palms, eyes covered by his fringe, and beams when Furuya presses his own palms to his for a high five.
Miyuki itches in his seat and tries to concentrate on the game where Sawamura should be running to home base, but it's hard to ignore the bustle of fussing over Furuya and he catches himself before he grinds his teeth. He doesn't remember when exactly it started, but lately over the last two weeks Kuramochi has been around Furuya a lot; complimenting him, patting him on the back, so much so that the first time Furuya actually calls Kuramochi by name, Miyuki nearly bites his tongue in surprise.
"Ah shit," Kuramochi curses when they're called to go out to field for the next inning. "Where's my cap?"
The said cap lies innocently just within hand reach of Furuya, who picks it up. "Kuramochi-senpai."
"Thanks," Kuramochi grins, patting the other's shoulder. "I wouldn't know what to do without you, eh?"
Kuramochi is laying it on thick, he knows, and he cringes and ignores his dying soul when he turns his face away from Furuya to jog out to field, but it's the only way really. He snorts at the disgruntled glare shot his way by Miyuki—he isn't even sure if Miyuki's conscious that he's glaring, but he's certainly finally starting to pick up on something. Even if Miyuki does pick up on it though, the sheer stubbornness and idiocy of the catcher means that Kuramochi should be ten times more aggravating, which is exactly what he goes for. When Miyuki throws a particularly hard ball back towards Kawakami in the last inning, Kuramochi knows he's close.
"S-sorry, Nori!" Miyuki calls, putting up one hand in apology, and the slip up is easily brushed off.
The game ends with a 6-3 but Miyuki can't find it in himself to feel the elation of a victory—instead, he eyes the excited chatter of the team crowding around Sawamura and Furuya in the middle, while he stands two steps apart. Furuya's name is on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it before he calls out; there's no reason to call for Furuya's attention is there, not when Furuya's happy being in the centre of attention from their teammates. It's not like Furuya is his, even if Furuya does seem to monopolise him most of the time, Furuya doesn't have to monopolise him all the time, even if, even if…he wants Furuya to monopolise all the time…
Fuck, he doesn't really know where he's going with this train of thought. But what he does know is that when Kuramochi settles a hand behind Furuya's waist, the taste of jealousy is cuttingly bitter on his tongue, so bitter that he can't even attempt to label it anything else.
"Kuramochi," he says before he knows what he's doing. "Where's Rei-chan?"
Kuramochi extracts himself from the crowd and glances around before shrugging. "Should we look for her? The bus coming."
"Yeah, let's go," Miyuki agrees, and they walk just until they're sufficiently far away. "I know what you're doing," he states, steps pausing.
"Hm? What are you talking about?" Kuramochi hides his grin—for once, the fucking tables are turned, and he's never been more gleeful at Miyuki's clear cut irritation.
"Furuya."
"What about Furuya?"
Miyuki jaw tightens, and Kuramochi keeps calm even though the catcher's expression is twisted into something much darker than its usual smug countenance. "…Stop doing it."
"I'm not doing anything that you didn't," Kuramochi counters. "It's awfully selfish of you, isn't it, to use Furuya for yourself."
"I'm not using him—" Miyuki hisses, eyes seething for a moment before he visibly retracts to compose himself.
"Then what are you doing to him?"
"I. I—" the catcher falters, swallows, turning his face away. "…I told you it's complicated, didn't I?" he says quietly, and Kuramochi is sure this is the closest thing he'll ever get to a confession.
"And I said you're the one making complicated," Kuramochi huffs, folding his arms. "Can't you just be honest to yourself, captain? And to Furuya."
"What, that I want him?" Miyuki states blandly.
Wow, Kuramochi is wrong for once—this is the closest thing to a confession.
"Your words, not mine," Kuramochi shrugs. "That wasn't 'complicated', right?"
Miyuki breathes out slowly. Perhaps this is the most honest version of Miyuki Kuramochi has ever seen; the thoughtful conflict in his eyes, the silent refusal to say anything while thinking, until eventually, "…We should look for Rei-chan."
"Yeah," Kuramochi agrees, and they walk on.
Miyuki knows what Kuramochi is trying to get at. He also knows that Kuramochi doesn't stop in getting into Furuya's social bubble, and he tries not to snap the chopsticks he's holding as Kuramochi gives him a smug raise of the eyebrows when patting the pitcher on the back before leaving the dinner hall. Furuya, on the other hand, seems really contented today, not even registering the grumbles that Sawamura spews out beside him while eating their dinner. It somehow crosses the line when Haruichi turns to say something to Furuya who looks back with that familiar affectionate stare in reply—Miyuki bites down on his meat a little too hard and curses, stretching out his jaw.
Sure Furuya reacts too easily to praise and compliments, and it's a point Miyuki has exploited right from the beginning. It's irrational he knows, but he discovered it first, it's only right that only he can do that to Furuya. Does Furuya only like him because he did that? Miyuki chews and finds it hard to swallow. It's a possible thought. Maybe if he hadn't indulged Furuya, the pitcher 's little crush on him would've faded. Maybe now that other people are indulging Furuya, maybe the crush will fade.
The thought is darkly bitter.
He glances over to the first years again, and sees that they've mostly finished up their meal, whilst his own bowl is only half empty. But he's not hungry, hasn't been for the whole day, and so he picks up his tray and dumps it on the return counter, waving off the concerned remark from Kawakami. Miyuki times it just right that he meets the first year trio at the exit, and predictably, Furuya greets him with his usual intentions.
"Miyuki-senpai—"
"Furuya," he nods, and before Furuya can ask to catch his pitch, he speaks first. "I need to talk to you. Alone," he adds, when he sees that Sawamura makes no move to leave.
"Hey, why are you playing favourites?" Sawamura accuses.
"It's ace talk," Miyuki replies easily, and sniggers at the predicted annoyed outburst.
"Miyuki—! I'll-I'll show you—"
"Eijun, let's hit the baths first, hmm?" Haruichi diverts, hand curling around the southpaw's arm to tug him away.
There's a protest and more words flung Miyuki's way, but eventually the other two first years depart from them. Miyuki gestures for Furuya to follow him back to his room, the walk quiet and with the night breeze blowing faintly by. Furuya stares at him the whole way through; when he glances back, Furuya averts his eyes for a second and goes back to staring, and Miyuki has to turn away before he loses the staring contest. It's ridiculous that Miyuki feels like he's going to have a heart attack—he's the senior here, he's the one in charge of this…this, while Furuya is the one with the crush on him looking much too calm and composed other than the faint blush. And Furuya is cute and earnest and obedient and all sort of adjectives that blur into the pitcher's determined and focused and ambitious countenance on the mound—Miyuki nearly walks past his door, too deep in the buzzing in his head.
Furuya sits on his floor with his legs propped up to his chest after they enter, and Miyuki fusses around until he eventually sits next to the other, mind running out of scenarios that he wanted—expected—anticipated this to play out, until honestly, he just feels tired about thinking about it.
He has been thinking about this too much, hasn't he?
With a sigh he leans back, back against the frame of his bed, head on the mattress. The ceiling looks exactly like a little more than a month ago, when they first kissed. Furuya shifts beside him, and Miyuki has never been more aware of the desire to kiss him again, dark and heated. It's a blessing that Furuya just waits for his move, Miyuki thinks wryly, or else the past few minutes in silence would've just been awkward with anyone else. He sits up this time, leaning towards Furuya, invading the other's personal space.
"Furuya," Miyuki begins, his hand coming up to rest against the pitcher's cheek. "You like me, right?"
Furuya colours, but then merely nods, meeting their eyes equally. Such honesty that Miyuki can never hope to reciprocate.
"How much do you like me?"
Miyuki shouldn't be asking these questions but he does because he can, and Furuya knows that.
"…As much as pitching," Furuya answers eventually.
Miyuki almost laughs at the comparison, how Furuya-like.
"You don't mind that I do this to you," he says instead, hand still caressing the other's cheek.
It's warm against his own clammy palm, soft and pale. With just a little more movement he can trace Furuya's lips with his thumb, or touch Furuya's throat where the adam apple bobs from a swallow before Furuya speaks.
"No."
Miyuki should say something. Miyuki did plan to say something, but he's unfortunately bad with words that he should say as opposed to the kind of words that he always says. This situation calls for the former, but his mind is blank. This is why he's terrible for Furuya, terrible for anyone.
"Miyuki-senpai," Furuya murmurs after a while of silence, putting his knees down so he can shuffle closer. "Can I…"
Miyuki blinks, but he holds still as Furuya reaches out for his face, fingers closing around his glasses and pulling them off slowly. His vision blurs, though he can still see Furuya this close. Miyuki feels strangely vulnerable with no weight on his ears, no frame on the bridge of his nose. Instinctively he reaches for his glasses in Furuya's hand, but Furuya peers up at him, blue eyes glimmering before they flutter shut, and presses their mouths together.
Furuya is definitely learning, Miyuki thinks, from the way Furuya nudges his lips apart with his tongue, although the movement is still clumsy and Furuya ends up licking his lips rather than actually succeeding. But Furuya makes up for it in the same way he pitches—pressing for more until Miyuki realises he's pressed back against the frame of his bed with Furuya's hands planted firmly on the ground around him. Heat rushes up his neck as he lets Furuya kiss him, and his hand grips the hair at the pitcher's nape.
He kisses back, open mouthed and tongues curling, unconsciously strengthening his hold onto Furuya's neck. With every little heated breath passing between them, Miyuki's mind fogs up darker with want, kissing back harder until he feels Furuya trying to keep up. Furuya's pale complexion is tinged in a shade of red, just a bit lighter than his lips, but the younger still looks to him for a silent plea of one more. Always one more. He doesn't know how many times he pulls Furuya back to kiss after parting for air, but eventually both his hands are settled below Furuya's jaw, gentle and trembling, where Furuya's pulse beats.
God, he wants this.
He's always wanted this.
"Furuya," he begins between breaths. "This Sunday. Let's go out."
-I want to satisfy the undisclosed desires in your heart-