Title: a little too (not) over you
Fandom: Daiya no Ace
Character/Pairings: Miyuki/Furuya

Summary:

"Then if Komadai had made an appearance at Koshien before last year, you might've gone there instead, huh?"

And his immediate thought had been, No, I came here for you.

Notes: I don't read manga canon but this was very vaguely inspired by that moment, that Furuya actually holds it so close in his heart that he came to Seido for Miyuki and he's never regretted that. It gives me a lot of feelings. I didn't realise Miyuki had—still has—no idea about that, I truly wonder how he'll feel when he does.


It's one of the bigger matches, which is why the stadium is much more rowdy than those Furuya has watched. He can't blame the excited screams and chanting in unison long after the home team has won—Japan's national baseball team—on the soil of their own country in the Asian Games. It's been almost two decades since their last gold trophy despite always placing top three over the years, it's understandable that no one wants to leave, not when the national team is still standing proud on the field and bowing to the audience in thanks, with the golden trophy and flower bouquets in their hands.

Almost everyone is standing whilst clapping and yelling, but Furuya stays seated, hands clenched together on his lap. His seat is right in front near the fence which gives him a clear view of the players of their national team decked in white jostling and laughing together while reporters swarm the field. He recognises all of them by now, even if the only two people he knew when he first started was their ace pitcher, Narumiya Mei, and their catcher, Miyuki Kazuya.

On the large screen above the field, Mei's bright blue eyes and the smug upturn lips dominate most of the camera view as the pitcher says a few words about their win, but Furuya is more tuned towards the figure next to him, catcher armour still on and rolling his eyes to whatever the blonde is saying.

Still the same honey brown eyes, still the same light brown hair, still the same confident grin and self-satisfied smirk—but the edges of Miyuki's face have sharpened over the years and his skin is a tad bit darker than they were in high school. It's been years since they've spoken to each other—seven years, there about—but tone of the catcher's voice still sinks into Furuya familiarly as the other answers a question on screen.

It almost brings a curl to the edges of his lips to see how truly happy his senior is—he has only seen that a couple of times; once, when they were at Koshien and Miyuki had directed that look towards him on his final strike-out pitch to win the national title. It makes him swallow, to remember that again; his fingers grip together tighter, and he briefly casts his gaze away for a bit before returning it back to the field.

He should leave, but his legs feel heavy and his breathing is tight, moreover, the crowd is still thick and he'd have to push through to get down through the gates—but these might be excuses he tells himself just to stay a bit longer.

"—FURUYA! HEY, FURUYA, THAT IS YOU, RIGHT?"

Furuya blinks when he hears his name being yelled from somewhere behind; and immediately he freezes, because he'd recognise that voice anywhere.

"FURUYA!" He nearly jumps when two arms come into a lock around his neck. "HARUCCHI SAID YOU WEREN'T COMING, AS USUAL! WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL US YOU COULD MAKE IT—"

Furuya shuts his eyes and cringes at the loud shout near his ear, only sighing in relief when a gentler voice interrupts.

"Eijun! I told you not to run off without me!"

"But I saw Furuya!" Sawamura argues, eyes bright. "When's the last time we've seen him at a baseball match, huh?"

Haruichi smiles, though he flickers a quick look towards Furuya. "You should let him go, at least. You're choking him."

Sawamura squawks and immediately releases his arm hold. Furuya experimentally swallows and rubs his neck, gaze meeting Haruichi's before he looks to the side quietly.

It's not that Furuya hasn't been to baseball matches—he has been to every single official match on home ground that the national team has played—but he's always gone alone and sat elsewhere. It's not that he's not friends with Eijun and Haruichi anymore; far from it, he's still in regular contact with them, but watching these matches are a private thing for him. He doesn't know how to explain it, but from the very first time it felt like it was something he had to do alone, and so he made excuses whenever the other two invited him along.

"Anyway!" Sawamura starts, excited again. "We should get down to the dugout before they leave, come on!"

Without further ado, Sawamura hauls Furuya by the arm and drags him up the steps of the stadium.

"Eijun—!" Haruichi protests after them, voice fading into the noise of the crowd as Sawamura drags him through without regard for how he stumbles clumsily after the fast pace.

Vaguely Furuya realises his tongue has gone numb and it feels like he's not in his own body anymore, watching himself being pulled ahead. It feels wrong. He doesn't want this, this is exactly why he doesn't want to come with Sawamura and Haruichi, he doesn't want to get closer to the dugout and the field where the national team is, where Mi—

"—MIYUKI!" Sawamura hollers loud enough for anyone within a mile radius to hear.

"I told you not to shout when you come, idiot! It's noisy enough here as it is!" a sharp voice barks back, followed by scattering laughter.

Furuya sees Miyuki first, the other's hair matted to his sweat soaked forehead with a half-filled water bottle in his hands as the catcher makes way towards them, nodding towards some people in uniform who are barricading the entrance to the field.

"—ah, Furuya?"

Furuya snaps out it, blinking rapidly. He hasn't heard a word of what Miyuki has said, who furrows his eyebrows at him. It's almost like shock settling into his bones with how Miyuki is right in front of him—for years he's seen Miyuki on field, but it's nothing quite like being here, with Miyuki tilting his head towards him in question. Up close, the honey brown eyes seem almost golden. He opens his lips to say something, but his throat is too dry to make a sound—abruptly Furuya realises his hands have gone cold and are hanging limply by his sides, with his breathing too scarce to properly draw breath.

"Come on, you recognise me, don't you?" Miyuki grins wryly, stepping up close to him. "Well, you look the same, monster rookie."

"...M-miyuki-senpai," he murmurs finally, voice hoarse with the name weird on his tongue.

He hasn't said Miykui's name in seven years, he realises, as his own pronounciation of 'Mi-yu-ki' replays in his mind. Has it really been that long?

"Still quiet, I see," Miyuki hums. "How have you been? I haven't seen you in years," he continues, causal. "I thought I'd see you at one of my matches sometime, but you've never come, until now."

Furuya stays silent, gaze darting around quickly, familiar faces sinking in. He spies Eijun a distance away from him, bouncing excitedly on his heels talking to Chris, and Haruichi is somewhere towards his left in a group with his brother, Kuramochi, Tetsu, and other members of the national team. They all seem close, like it's a normal thing for them to come and mingle with Miyuki's teammates.

Miyuki either doesn't notice his fidgeting or ignores it. "I heard you don't pitch anymore, is that true?"

Furuya nods, because it is. He hasn't pitched since Seido, not since he decided not to pursue baseball as a career.

"I didn't believe it, you know. You were so stubborn about being on the mound, I thought you'd go pro," Miyuki continues, only to be met with more silence.

Furuya hears the underlying why, even if it's not asked. It's a question that he's gotten many times in the past, none that he's ever answered honestly to. Maybe because it feels like any answer he gives never feels honest, even if he has no other words to say. After Seido he had been scouted, predictably, but he turned all the offers down and instead settled into a normal college life to be a zookeeper. It's always been what he's wanted to be since he was a child; baseball was something his grandfather sparked in him and taught him so much, but.

"In any case," Miyuki goes on smoothly. "It's great to see you again," he smiles, and clasps Furuya on the shoulder. "If you want me to catch your pitch for bit, I'm sure no one will mind if we use the field for a couple of minutes," he winks, tone teasing. "We're heading out to meet the press in ten minutes, so this is your only chance."

Furuya's fingers involuntarily trembles, but he rounds them up into a curled fists to keep them from shaking. Miyuki looks at him expectantly, sly smirk on the catcher's lips like he knows exactly how to work Furuya out—but Miyuki knows the Furuya from seven years ago, and not the one standing before Miyuki now. It's been a long journey for Furuya to come where he is now, to be able to shake his head decisively in reply.

Miyuki's eyes narrow, but before he can say something, Mei's voice hollers across towards them, to which Miyuki yells a few words back. Miyuki flickers his gaze back to Furuya after, eyeing him with an unreadable look, though the smirk stays.

"I need to go," the catcher says, "But we're having dinner tonight; Sawamura, Kominato and the rest of us. Be there, or I'll hunt you down."

Miyuki leaves before Furuya can say anything, but Furuya doesn't have words to say anyway. He watches the number 2 on the catcher's back disappear into a group of people on the other side of the benches of the dugout, and shakily exhales when he doesn't see it anymore, turning his eyes towards the blue sky in the distance.

His heart is pounding so quick, just like that time at Koshien when Miyuki pulled him in for a quick hug right after they won, eyes bright and smile wide and genuine, right on the field.

No, he doesn't want to think about that, not when it's inevitable of what comes after—he remembers the times when Miyuki patted his shoulder and smiled gently at him and he'd always found himself so dazed-struck after, the times when Miyuki would be talking about something he doesn't know because he's too busy staring at the moving lips, and that one particular time before their match with Komadai Fujimaki and Miyuki had said,

"Then if Komadai had made an appearance at Koshien before last year, you might've gone there instead, huh?"

And his immediate thought had been, No, I came here for you.

And that's how it's always been hasn't it—he came to Seido for Miyuki, and at the end of Seido with multiple offers, he had only considered the one where Miyuki is, and it struck him there and then that he was going to follow the catcher yet again, without question, without thought. He doesn't know when it began, but he's been looking at Miyuki since his first year with the ever heavy echo of I think I'm in love with you to I don't want to love you by the end of the three years, because who is he other than the boy who chases after Miyuki across miles and miles of land?

He thinks he's done alright so far—he has a job he loves, he doesn't miss touching a baseball anymore, except the times that he's woken up feverish clutching empty space with honey brown eyes at the edges of his brain, but it's been okay; he watches Miyuki's matches from afar and leaves with a light heart that Miyuki's doing good, he's doing good, he's fine

"FURUYA! HEY, DON'T IGNORE ME WHEN I'M—" the shout drops into an uncertain tone, "…Furu…—ya?"

Furuya blinks, and comes face to face with Sawamura who is peering at him, looking stricken.

"What happened? You look—"

Furuya turns his head away. "I need to go," he says shortly, ducking his face from view as he steps away, paces fast straight towards the exit.

"Hey, Furuya! Oi!"

Furuya walks faster, pushing people out of the way as he squeezes out of the crowded exit where reporters and fans were hanging about, ignoring the yells Sawamura makes after him. When he thinks he's a fair distance from the stadium, somewhere amongst the cars in the car park, a hand grips the back of the shirt and he stumbles into a halt.

It's Haruichi, breathing slightly heavy from the exertion of catching up to him.

"Furuya-kun," Haruichi begins, but one glance towards Furuya, the Kominato quietens before saying something else than that he had in mind, "…It's okay."

Furuya stares at the ground.

Is it, though?

It's hard to take in.

Maybe it's harder because seven years have passed, and he still doesn't know what he's supposed to do about this—if anything, at all.

What does he do when it's seven years later and he's face to face with Miyuki again, he knows immediately, I'm still in love with you, beats strong and hard and painful in his chest?