More in the TanbaChris series. All the thanks to Lex for this one.
Disclaimer: Diamond no Ace belongs to Terajima Yuuji
Believe
Chris has been thinking about it for a while now-in between games, during practice; in the quiet of the night, when he lies in bed, alone, the space next to him a gaping emptiness. He mulls it over in his head, arguing it with himself from every possible perspective as he builds endless lists of whys and why-nots. It is a gradual but certain descent into madness, and he knows that if he keeps at it, there will be no turning back.
Which is why, on a bright, too-sunny Saturday afternoon, he finds himself waiting on the doorstep of a familiar apartment, sweat trickling down his neck, his thoughts a treacherous susurrus in the background.
The door swings open, and Miyauchi fixes him with a displeased glare.
Chris hesitates, before holding up the beer he's brought in silent plea.
Sighing loudly, the other man takes the plastic bag from him, and turns around to stalking groggily down the hallway. Chris follows him in, and pauses by the living area, where a mug sits precariously between a pile of books and a metal grey laptop. Miyauchi returns from the kitchen and holds out a glass, ice clinking softly with the movement.
"You were working," Chris notes guiltily, as he takes the drink. "I'm sorry."
Miyauchi waves a dismissive hand at him and sinks down into the couch. "Just some last minute stuff. Have a seat."
Chris obeys reluctantly, taking several gulps of beer to soothe his nerves.
The minute he sets the glass down, Miyauchi asks, "Have you decided yet?"
He blinks at him. "Blunt as ever."
Miyauchi gives him a pointed look. "Is that a no?"
Chris doesn't answer, looking away.
The former catcher sighs heavily. "You realise it's been over two months now?"
"I know," Chris says quietly.
"What's making it so difficult?"
"Everything," he says, old frustration bubbling up his throat. "I don't-I'm not sure. If it's the right thing to do. For us."
"I can't help you with that," Miyauchi reminds him.
Chris nods. "The only way to know is to take the risk. You said so."
"Yeah, more than once," he says.
"It's just." Chris bites his lip. "If it doesn't work out, there might not be a way to fix it."
"I already told you what I think," Miyauchi says, "and what Kouichirou would probably think. There's really nothing else I can do to help."
He groans, burying his face in his hands. He hates it, hates the indecision and the fear, and half-wishes the thought never it even occurred to him in the first place.
Miyauchi sighs, and there is movement, before a heavy weight settles down next to him. A large hand lands on his back, warm and comforting. "You two are such a mess some times."
That surprises a laugh out of him, and Chris finds himself grinning wryly into his palms. "And you are a saint for putting up with us."
Miyauchi grunts in clear agreement, but doesn't reply.
Chris exhales heavily, feels the uncertainties skittering in his chest. "What if he runs?" he whispers.
"Do what you always do," Miyauchi says, and slaps his back firmly. "It'll be enough, somehow."
He tries not to overthink it on the way back, tries not to get lost in the swirling depths of his own thoughts. He doesn't bring it up when he gets home, doesn't mention it when he walks into the apartment to find Tanba sprawled out on the bed, eyes closed, earphones plugged into his music player. He doesn't say it, but the thought haunts him as he closes the distance between them, tugs at his heart as he sets his bag down and crawls over. The words are there, dancing on the tip of his tongue as he pulls the earphones loose, reaches over to turn the music off. He fists Tanba's shirt, rests his head against his shoulder; he squeezes his eyes shut when Tanba wraps an arm around his waist, sighing into his hair.
"Welcome back," Tanba murmurs, words slow with sleep.
Chris feels his heart skip a beat and he presses closer, a dull ache throbbing in his bones. "I'm home."
"How was practice?"
"The usual."
Tanba hums quietly, and falls silent.
Chris drinks it in-the familiar rhythm of Tanba's breathing, his warmth, his scent. All of it. He's missed it, all week long he's been missing it, yearning for it constantly. It isn't quite as bad as those first few weeks after he signed the contract with his new team, but it always hits him hard, when he least expects it. It was this yearning that drove him to make that decision, two months ago. And it's this same yearning that terrifies him some times, crippling in its intensity.
He wonders if this is how Tanba felt back then. He wonders how Tanba could have possibly kept his silence throughout those three years without losing his mind.
Chris presses his mouth against Tanba's throat, tastes the words on his tongue.
When he wakes up, the room is cool with evening air. He blinks rapidly, trying to clear the sleep haze from his vision; there is movement next to him, and Chris feels lips brush against his scalp. He grits his teeth around a yawn and glances up, meeting Tanba's gaze, warm and fond; his fingers curl reflexively, and he burrows his head into Tanba's chest.
The other man wraps an arm around his shoulders to pull him closer, and returns his attention to the book in his other hand, propped up on his stomach.
Chris eyes the title. "Is that one of Keisuke's?"
"Yeah," Tanba answers. "Took me a while to get past the first two chapters, but it's actually pretty good."
He hums in response. "Read to me?"
"I'm near the end though."
"I don't mind."
Tanba starts from the next paragraph. Chris closes his eyes, listening to the lull of Tanba's voice. He remembers the first time he asked Tanba to read aloud, and how his partner had flustered and stuttered through one and a half pages before giving up and burying his face in Chris' shoulder. Now, Tanba's voice is clear, without fear, pitched only by his feelings for the story.
"'...the miracle was that he had been allowed to do a miracle,'" Tanba reads, and stops.
Chris opens his eyes, and looks up. Tanba's expression is twisted in a frown, the curve of his lips hinting at sorrow. "Is something wrong?"
Tanba starts, glancing at him as if startled, and shakes his head. "Nah," he says, putting the book down. "Just thinking."
He reaches up, catches the other man's jaw in his palm. "About what?"
Tanba hesitates, and his free hand curls around Chris' fingers. "I was thinking about the soldier," he says, thumb caressing the back of Chris' hand. "I can relate to him."
Chris frowns. "Now I wish I made you start from the beginning."
The other man laughs. "Maybe you could read it some time."
An automatic grimace seeps into his expression, and Chris glances away. "I'd rather listen to you."
Tanba smiles, and leans forward to plant a kiss on his temple. "Are you hungry?"
"A little," he admits.
"I'll start dinner then," Tanba says, and pulls away.
Chris nods. "Be right there."
He keeps the rest of his thoughts to himself, though, mulling them over as he watches the other man patter across the room, disappearing around the corner. Chris sighs, curling into the space Tanba left. He listens to the noise drifting over from kitchen, lets it drape over the voices of his mind. With one hand, he reaches out for the abandoned book, flipping through the pages for a familiar sentence; he doesn't find what he's looking for.
When he makes it to the kitchen, Tanba is already standing by the stove, stirring the unseen contents of a silver pot. Chris pads over, curls his fingers around Tanba's hips and leans up to drop his chin on the other man's shoulder. His stomach curls in on itself at the mouth-watering scent of food, and he sighs happily. "Smells good."
Tanba turns his head slightly, their faces touching. "Did you have lunch?"
"Sort of." Which isn't technically a lie; Miyauchi had fed him all manners of snacks as they went over the possible scenarios, again, at Chris' request.
Tanba frowns. Chris recognises it from the way his shoulders tense. "So when you said a little...?"
"I meant that I'm starving," he reluctantly admits.
His partner makes a disbelieving sound in his throat. "We could have gone out. Or ordered something."
"I wanted to-eat in," Chris says, swallowing his initial sentence. He ducks his head slightly, feeling the betraying heat rise to his cheeks, and wonders when, exactly, it got so bad.
Tanba notices the pause, of course. "How come?"
"Tired," he answers, celebrating internally that the word comes out relatively even. Even with his gaze averted, he can see Tanba's questioning look, and he forces his breathing to remain steady.
The other man doesn't push the issue. "Okay then."
Chris kisses Tanba's neck in wordless thanks, and moves to stand beside him. "So. What are we having?"
They make dinner together, exchanging snippets of the week over chopped garlic and salted fish. Chris outlines the progress of his team's back-up pitcher as he washes the rice, letting the grains slip between his fingers; Tanba tells him about his lunch-date with Manaka as he ladles miso soup into small, matching bowls. They set the table together, surrounded by comfortable chatter. Tanba presses a palm into the small of his back as he passes, and Chris smiles, a little helplessly.
The two of them sit down to a discussion of Masuko's three-month girlfriend, who was introduced to the gang during their most recent drinking night. Tanba thumbs through his phone for a picture of the couple, and passes it over.
Chris smiles at the photo. "She sounds lovely."
Tanba makes a vague sound of agreement. "Teased the life out of Jun, though. She got along really well with Ryousuke over that."
He chuckles at the mental image, and hands the phone back. "Wish I had been there to see it."
"It can't be helped." Tanba shrugs. "You were busy."
"Yes, I was," Chris says, and sips his drink, stomach churning unpleasantly, this time not from hunger. He catches the glance Tanba sends his way, but doesn't raise his gaze to meet it, chewing instead on another mouthful.
Tanba changes the subject.
Afterwards, Tanba meets him at the sink, curls his fingers around Chris wrist. "Why don't you go ahead and shower? Let me do the dishes."
A part of him wants to argue, knows that this is the moment to insist that nothing's wrong. But his thoughts are a thundering storm, prickling his nerves and burning them with anxiety.
So he retreats.
In the seclusion of the bathroom, Chris stands under the shower and closes his eyes. He finds solace in the old calming exercise his father taught him, imagines wide grassy fields and the endless blue sky stretching high above. Miyauchi's words rise out of the silence, unbidden.
Believe in yourself. Believe in him.
Chris chants them to himself, like a mantra, as he towels his hair dry. He mumbles it out loud, just once, as he digs through the contents of his bag until he finds what he's looking for. It slips easily into his pocket, where it sits, heavy in its silence.
He wanders out into the living area, and finds Tanba standing by the window, a mug cradled in his hands. Chris glances over to the table, where another mug sits patiently, the telltale rope of a teabag peeking out from under the saucer placed over its rim. He looks back to Tanba, watches the play of light and shadows flickering across his face as he stares, unaware, out into the city.
His chest aches, squeezing the breath from his lungs. A part of his mind is frantic, panicked-but Chris finds himself stepping forward regardless, pushing past the uncertainties as he steels his entire being for what's to come.
Tanba looks over as he approaches, his expression shifting from pensive to surprised, before settling waist-deep in worry. Chris takes the mug from his hands, sets it down on the table as he reaches up with his free arm, and pulls Tanba in for a kiss, his heart pounding.
When they break for air, Tanba slides his hands around his waist. "Yuu, what's wrong?"
He inhales deeply, and spots Tanba's purple grey eyes darkening. "Don't think of anything bad," he says, tracing the curve of his cheekbone with his thumb. "Just give me a minute."
Tanba nods. Chris closes his eyes, leans into him, and tries to reorganise his thoughts. He's been preparing for this for weeks. Weeks. But nothing compares to the real thing, and he doesn't want to mess this up.
"Kouichirou," he begins. "I want to thank you for being honest with me. That first day, until now. Thank you for choosing to trust me, and for giving me a second chance. I-These last few years have been wonderful in ways I couldn't ever imagine. And I wouldn't change a thing. I've enjoyed being with you," he says, and stops, as the look in Tanba's eyes turns terrified. Chris cups his face, kisses his jaw tenderly. "No bad thoughts," he murmurs, before continuing. "I've enjoyed it, and I hope you've enjoyed it too."
He lets go, and takes a few steps back. Tanba's hands fall away from his sides, and he's staring wide-eyed, lips parted. "Yuu," he whispers.
Chris presses one finger to his lips, and Tanba doesn't continue.
Believe.
He reaches into his pocket, his fingers closing around the question he's been carrying around for nearly two months. The small box gets heavier with each passing second, as he turns it over in his palms. His heart is hammering in his chest, loud in his ears.
"Tanba Kouichirou," Chris says, meeting his gaze head-on. "I love you."
He gets down on one knee.