FuruMiyu is super cute idk man. Please ignore my weird, Furuya POV writing style. It's not my fault. Hope you like it. :)
Miyuki is leaning too close to him again, smirk stretched across his lips and eyes crinkled at the corners.
It makes his heart beat a little too fast, makes his breath come short. It makes his skin too hot, sweat down his spine too cool. It makes him want to reach out and grab at Miyuki's strong arms, pull him closer and closer still.
It makes him want to run away, push Sawamura aside and beg Chris-senpai to catch for him instead.
None of it shows on his face, he knows. He almost wishes it would, but how can a face say "yes I want this" and "yes come closer" and "please just kiss me already" without words? He's never been able to figure it out, how the curve of his lips or the angle of his brows can mean anything to anyone.
Miyuki is trying. Can translate the tension in his jaw and the fire in his eyes. Knows when the exhaustion has dragged him to his knees, when the cajoling of his teammates has inspired him to new heights.
But there's still subtle things Miyuki can't understand.
The way fire licks at his veins when Miyuki smiles just so, or the way his stomach flips when Miyuki stands in the batter's box, bases loaded, all steely focus and flippant smiles. That his knees go weak when Miyuki compliments a pitch or that his insides feel fluttery when Miyuki takes special note of him.
He's thought about it, staring unseeingly at textbooks in class or trotting aimlessly behind Sawamura during practice. About Miyuki, finally catching the meaning of a long look and edge of a smile. About Miyuki agreeing, yes me too, and leaning closer, closer. It's a silly daydream about a silly crush, he knows.
Miyuki can't, shouldn't have to, figure out every nuance of his expression. It'd take too long, too many days of thinking "please touch me" and "please want me" and getting nothing for it. He'll have to do it himself, work up the words that he can't display across his features. Lean too close to Miyuki, closer, closer, until their lips brush together and Miyuki can't misunderstand, mistranslate.
He'll do it, he'll do it. When things aren't all stamina, stamina, stamina, and control, control, control. Learn this pitch, practice this maneuver, swing this bat. When there's a quiet moment to breathe and neither of them are busy with new signs and new opponents and the next batter up. He'll pull Miyuki aside, pull him too close, force the words from his reluctant throat, give Miyuki the translation in a kiss, god yes finally.
He can do it. He can teach Miyuki to understand the fire in his veins, the flip in his stomach, the weakness in his knees, the flutter in his chest. Miyuki can learn to understand his expressions for the both of them, the definition of pursed lips or tense brows. He can –
"Oi, Furuya, are you even paying attention?"
Miyuki is leaning too close to him again, lips turned down at the corner and skin taught around his eyes.