Hey guys Hey guys, so this is a lot of first.
First time I'm writing fanfic in six or seven years.
First time I'm writing in English.
First time I try this kind of writing.
But Misawa captured my soul and I just had to make them being cute together. This is the most self indulgent shit I've ever written. What is plot? I'm just here drowning fluff. This might be cut into 5 parts. Or more. I don't know. Right now I have 50 pages of them slowly falling in love. It's still not done.
This story starts at the end of the anime second season, after the Fall Tournament, Eijun is a first year, Kazuya a second year. I am up to date with the manga though, and have taken into account what happen in it. I might have taken some artistic liberties here and there. Please bear with me.
ALSO !
English is not my first language, I have no experience in writing English, and this is probably riddled with silly mistakes. So if anyone is/would know a BETA-READER. Please. Send me a sign and be kind enough to help me make this a better fic for everybody to enjoy. I'm struggling with this monster I have created.
It felt a bit strange
I - Captain
"Catch for me, Miyuki Kazuya!"
The booming noise exploded way to close to his eardrums, and he wondered if it was a bit sad that he was already so used to it he didn't even flinch.
Cold doorknob against his finger tips, night wind crawling over his bare forearms, electric eyes and restless energy bouncing on the balls of their feet at his doorstep.
"Only if you show me some respect, Sawamoron."
"I will respect you if you catch for me more!"
This kid, seriously.
"Well, seems we are at a bit of a stalemate then ~"
Sawamura puffed his cheeks, skin rosy from the cold winter weather and he really should be in bed.
"Go back to your room, it's the off-season, it's late, I'm tired and sure it can wait for tomorrow."
The first-year furiously shook his head, his fluffy hair whipping his cheeks like an over eager pup refusing to let go of his toy.
"I tried a new grip, and it feels good! We could add it to the Numbers!"
"Oh, awfully confident, are you? Is this pitch even going to go anywhere near my mitt?"
"Even if it doesn't, it's your job to catch it, Miyuki Kazuya!" He beamed.
The nerves of him.
"Stop calling me by my full name."
Sawamura didn't budge from his position in front of his dorm room, staring at him with those lion's eyes, the light from behind Kazuya making the strokes of his face sharper, daring him to deny him. The doorknob had warmed up under his hand. Kazuya sighed.
"Tomorrow, okay, show me what you got after getting some sleep, first-year."
"First thing in the morning then! I'll be waiting for you!"
"Does it have to be morning–"
"Yes! You lazy ass catcher! How can you even pretend to be captain and always be the last to get up!"
"Oi, oi, I was injured, stupid."
Something flickered in his expression, like awareness and hurt and determination, Kazuya felt weirdly guilty for bringing it up, his ribs aching and his toes curling in his socks, trying to fend off the icy air seeping in the genkan.
"But it is a yes, right?!" the kid replied, huffing "You won't back out and catch for Furuya last minute? Right?!"
"I won't. Do you need me to make a pinky promise or anything?" When Sawamura seemed to seriously consider that prospect, he laughed. "I was joking, see you tomorrow. Now go rest, captain order, Sawamoron."
"Prepared to be amazed!"
And he scuttered off into the night, having said what he wanted to say, having heard what he wanted to hear.
Kazuya closed his door with a by now familiar mix of exasperation and anticipation, and crashed into his bed, alone in the room, his skin was cold but his insides weren't quivering from the winter. He wondered if this is how it was supposed to feel, cold skin and warm guts, his time at Seidō.
The weight of the ball in his glove felt good. Better than good actually. Crouched knees, palm stinging, leather and sweat and baseball in the air, white dust of the rosin bag floating through the first rays of the sun.
He had missed playing so much, during his recovery period, and of course, the first person to jump him as soon as he had received approval for light practice had to be the loudmouthed southpaw.
Said pitcher, a few meters from him, laughed and whooped, the sound reverberating around the walls of the indoor practice building, managing to make him feel more awake than the two coffees he had taken and more alive than the last two weeks.
"It was good, it felt so good! One more! No, ten more!"
"Greedy…"
"You say that, but you still want to catch more of that pitch! Don't lie, Miyuki Kazuya!"
He might have missed it, that thrill and that impossible to predict ball, that impossible to predict boy, when both went right to where his mitt was calling. Not that he would admit it to the brat.
"Calm down, I won't catch for you if keep yelling."
"I'm not YELLING!"
"That's it, I'm gone."
"No, no, no! We said ten more!"
"Yousaid ten more, I don't remember agreeing to anything."
The sound of bickering and the ball hitting his mitt kept echoing for hours into the day.
The pang of loneliness was stronger than it has ever been, when he opened the door to the empty house in Nikotama. He had thought he was immune to solitude by now, but maybe the noise around him lately made him forgot what silence felt like.
He had no idea if it was a good thing or not.
The heater was not turned on and dust collected on the furniture, everything he touched feeling like the cold ashes his father smocking left behind him.
The picture on the chest of drawers his father was to sentimental to take off was taunting him, the picture where they looked like a family. Kazuya had no memory of that time.
On the table, the convenience-store-bought sushi reminded him of another awkward dinner staring at his aging face, counting the new wrinkles on his forehead, New Year the only time they would really see each other. He would ask about baseball and pretend to be interested, and the conversation would die down after a few stilted exchanges, letting them in the company of their accustomed acquaintance – silence and the buried knowledge that they were all the other had left.
Spring Kōshien was over with, and frustration could be read in every line of Sawamura's face and body. It was warm in the bullpen and sweat dripped from his chin into his jersey while he was throwing to Ono, gnawing at his lower lip and determined to prove himself.
He took another gulp of his water bottle, lukewarm, and adjusted his gear.
"That stupid guy really didn't get a chance to shine this spring, with Furuya being this awesome." Kuramochi mumbled beside him. "If he feels too down about it, I'll choke him to death.m
"Aw, he will be fine Papa bear, so sweet of you to worry about him ~" Kazuya drawled, snickering when he got an elbow into the ribs. "Careful there, this is where I got injured you know…"
"Shut up, damn Tanuki!" Kuramochi tried to hide his blush, failed and grumbled. "And I'm not the one checking up on him every minute of the day."
Kazuya frowned.
"What're you talking about, I'm not –"
"Yes you are. You make sure he eats, baths and rests, is dressed according to the weather, and you indulge him as soon as you think he feels bad about something. If I'm a Papa bear, you definitely are the mother."
"Wow, Kuramochi, I didn't realize you felt that way about me~"
"Yeah? Well you will soon realize I feel like I'm going to kill you! Die Miyuki!" The shortstop screamed, trying to put him into a headlock he avoided easily, laughter spilling from his lips.
"He's so good, that guy. And everyone knows it."
Kazuya tilted his head, his finger on the selection numbers of the vending machine, his eyes on the sitting form of Sawamura Eijun, in a shirt and a pair of sweatpants. The clunk of the can falling at the bottom of the machine a sharp noise, redirecting his gaze on it. He bent and picked it up, strolled to the bench, sat beside him.
"What are you doing here alone, brooding in the dark? Don't you have people to annoy with your exuberance?"
"Jerk."
"Thank you."
"That wasn't a compliment!"
"You are going to catch a cold in just a shirt, idiot."
"No, I am not! I do that all the time and I'm always fine!"
"Well, they do say true idiots don't get sick–"
A splutter, red cheeks.
"You are the absolute worse!"
Kazuya laughed and let his head rest on the wall behind him, his fingers loose around the cold coffee.
"Why are you drinking that stuff at this hour, Cap?"
"Maybe I want to stay awake longer to catch for Furuya~"
"What?! He had you all afternoon! If you have to catch for someone, catch for me!"
He snorted and looked at his fuming pitcher, feeling oddly remote from reality, sitting on this bench with Sawamura, in between vending machines, the sound of bats hitting balls from the third practice field barely louder that their breathing, with the cold from his can seeping into his pants, his windbreaker cutting the chill of the late March evening, a pleasant warmth from overworked muscles oozing into him, making him drowsy after a long day.
"Mmh, you are too easy to rile up, Sawamoron." He adjusted his position, knee bumping into the other's, thinking about the homework he had left and the stats of Eigen High he wanted to look at for their first match of the Spring Tournament, shoulders heavy from swinging his bat. "So, what was that about everyone knowing how good that guy is?"
Sawamura perked up at that and turned his whole body toward him, legs, chest, mouth, eyes, like nothing else existed and suddenly, it was a bit too much for Kazuya.
"What. Why are you looking at me like this? Want more of my handsome face?" he tried to make his tone teasing but knew he didn't completely succeed.
"No, it's just– you– you don't really listen to my complaining, usually. So. Feels weird, is all."
"I can still leave if I weird you out."
He said that, but Sawamura's eyes seemed to pin him in place, forbidding him to stand up just by focusing on him. What a disrespectful first-year, even in the way he stared at his upperclassmen.
"I didn't say it was a bad kind of weird!" He huffed, turning his face, glaring at the wall opposite of him, freeing Kazuya. "I just– I don't know. I am glad he is in the same year than me."
"Furuya, you mean."
"Yeah, that annoying bastard. I know that because of him, I am so much better now–"
"I would exactly say so much better, maybe slightly less bad than your first day here? Which is not hard."
"Shut up, bastard, I am opening my heart! You shall heed the woe of my soul and–"
"Yeah, yeah, sure."
"I'm going to kill you, Miyuki Kazuya!"
"I hear that a lot."
"Well, you do have the shittiest personality known to mankind."
"And yet, here I am, listening to the woe of your soul."
Here I am. With night around them, and grumbles beside him. They both should be in their room.
"I don't know if listening is the right word." The southpaw muttered, scratching the floppy mess he called hair. It was still a bit wet, that idiot was going to get sick. "The thing is, I love having to fight for recognition, it's not fun, I guess, if I have it all on the first try. But. This is the thousandth try." The pitcher scowled at that and then shook his head, suddenly getting agitated. "But I am nowhere near ready to give up of course! I am going to fight tooth and nail and get that Ace number! And everybody will have to recognize what an amazing pitcher I am! You too, Miyuki Kazuya!"
He chuckled and kept for him and him alone that, really, Sawamura Eijun didn't really need that number one on his back to be an amazing pitcher.
"Well, I thought you looked down and needed a pep talk, but you did that on your own. Furuya better be ready for you."
"Thanks Cap, but even if he works hard, I will just try twice as hard then!"
"You are too much, I swear." He ignored the indignant noises coming from the brat, thinking about rivalries and challengers, and continued in a lower voice. "But it's good. I guess. That you can push each other this way. Having to fight for it makes it better, take care of that rivalry."
Sawamura shut up and appeared to ponder that. He frowned and stared at his face, squinting his eyes in a way Kazuya judged a bit ridiculous. His whole body was still turned toward him, one leg propped up on the bench, his green and blue sneaker digging into Kazuya's thigh, his eyes digging into Kazuya's mind, the light from the indoor practice building casting gold in them. Only a few swings could be heard now, most of the team members trickling toward the dorms with the sun dipping behind the horizon.
"I know that, Miyuki Kazuya. I just told you that I knew that, and you are half blind, not deaf. This isn't about me and Furuya anymore, is it?" he delivered his weird insight, blinking owlishly at him. Kazuya refused to answer, but that didn't seem to discourage the kid. "you want that. Or wanted, I guess."
Kazuya tried to hide his surprise behind a scoff.
"Right, what would I want that you have? Stupidity?"
"You have plenty of that, jerk! I meant, the rival stuff. You were basically the regular catcher as soon as you came at Seidō, but of course an asshole like you would have wanted to crush someone to get there. But Chris-senpai was injured, so–"
"Well, aren't you all perceptive tonight…" he chuckled humorlessly, avoiding his eyes.
The sneaker made itself a little more painful in his upper leg, as if to punish him for looking away.
"Not really, everybody is telling me I'm a bit dense. I think I could just tell 'cause you wanted to talk about it. Like, it was really really obvious you were thinking about something else that Furuya and I, and, you would have just left, or I don't know, ignored me or teased me if you wanted to avoid talking about it."
Both of Kazuya's eyebrows climbed on his face. He would have expected that kind of observation from Kuramochi, not from that moron who had been the last to realize about his injury in the fall.
"Sawamura… You really are an oddball."
"Oi! Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?!"
"A bit of both to be honest."
"You are never honest, Miyuki Kazuya."
Kazuya snorted as his heart felt like lead in his chest. Heavy and loud.
He listened to it for a few beats and turned his head again, Sawamura was is in the exact same position, his complete focus on him.
"It's not a secret or anything, you know." He finally said. "I came to Seidō because I wanted to be better than Chris-senpai, beat him and take his spot. There is no sweeter feeling than to emerge victorious when no one expected you to, crush those that were thought to be above you and show that you were good enough. I understand, when you say you want recognition, make everybody acknowledge that you exist, even if they don't want to."
"You really are twisted."
"I know. But, like you said, Chris-senpai was injured, so I never had the chance to show to anybody that I deserved my position, even now…"
"Even now?"
"Why am I telling you this…"
The bench was digging into the underside of his thigh, the point where Sawamura shoe was in contact with his leg would probably leave a bruise tomorrow, his can was lukewarm in his hand, but the chill of the night was still far away, and it felt a bit strange, a bit cozy.
"You started, you have to finish now."
"You seem to be awfully comfortable ordering you captain around."
"Yeah well, it's because–"
"Don't bother, Sawamura."
"Just talk to me asshole! If you stop now, this is the worst cliffhanger. You can't start like that and leave me wondering!"
"I assure you I can."
But he didn't really want to. Because he was warm and comfortable even if he was not, heavy legs and loose limbs, and leaving and moving were too much of a hassle right now.
"It's not your job to listen to me Sawamura, it is me who is supposed to look after the team."
"You don't listen to people because it is your job!"
He was still giving him that intent gaze, a frown marring his face, his chin on his raised knee and his arms wrapped around it.
"So. Even now…?"
The sheer stubbornness of that kid, seriously. He let a long, pained sigh escape his lips, to be sure that Sawamura understood how annoying he was being. Then he started talking.
A bit tentative at first, stopping in the middle of his sentences, hesitating between telling too much and not enough, using every opportunity to jab at Sawamura, to regain a little control, because telling how unsure he had been of all that being the captain entailed, of being the right person for that, of taking care and making his pitchers grow, of proving that the team was not at loss by having to replace Chris-senpai for him, of the injury and the fear of not being able to play anymore, of the recovery and seeing everybody waking up for practice while he was on the sideline, was making him feel imbalanced and a bit lost.
Sawamura was quiet, no boisterous declaration, no yelling, no interruption. Just the tip of his shoe against his thigh and his golden eyes on him. Then he started smiling. So big and so bright that Kazuya wondered if the him off the field really deserved that.
It's good, he told him, that Kazuya was a human being too, it made him realize that every single person on the baseball team was carrying their own responsibilities and fear, even someone like Miyuki Kazuya, who seemed so fearless and indestructible, bat in hand and smirk on the lips, gear in place and mitt waiting, to crush the opponent. If even that Miyuki Kazuya was scared and unsure, sometimes, then it was alright for Sawamura Eijun too.
They stayed silent after that, for a little while. The school was sleeping by now, someone had turned off the light and closed the indoor practice building, but even so, Sawamura's eyes didn't stop glowing.
"Miyuki-senpai. Thank you."
No, thank you, he wanted to say, you listen to me more than I could to you when you had the yips, he could have told.
"Oh, so I am a senpai now?" was what got out of his mouth.
"Don't get used to it."
He laughed.
He felt weirdly light, and even a little bit giddy.
Still warm but not tired anymore and not knowing what to do with the restless energy.
His can of coffee was still untouched.
He thought about his homework on his desk, the Eigen High scorebook waiting for him, his sore shoulders, the fatigue that would weight on his limbs the morning after.
"Come on" he said, getting up, letting the metal tin sitting on the bench "I suppose that as a reward for being a respectful underclassman for once, I can catch your changeup for a little while."
He had barely finished his sentence that Sawamura was already standing and jumping excitedly toward the practice field, as if it wasn't already past eleven p.m. and they didn't have morning practice the very next day.
"I didn't realize I could by your services that easily, Miyuki-senpai!"
"Please, don't say it like that."
"What? Why?"
He tried to sigh, but it became a chuckle midway.
"Nothing. Sweet summer child."
"I don't get it, I wasn't born in the summer."
The chuckle evolved into full bloomed laughter under the screaming protests of the pitcher.
"Forget it, Sawamoron."
You do carry the sun, though.
It felt a bit strange, Miyuki Kazuya thought, while glancing up from Nabe's notes about Ichidaisan High, to have so many people around him.
Kuramochi yelling at Maezono in front of his video game, Furuya and Sawamura riling each other up, Furuya by ignoring Sawamura, and Sawamura by gesticulating at Furuya and pointing at his latest manga, little Kominato pretending to be exasperated but barely managing to hide a fond smile – Kazuya could relate – Kanemaru desperate to make the other second-years realize there was a math test soon, Okumura silently brooding in some dark corner, Asada trying and failing to have a conversation with him.
Kazuya would have guessed that this strange habit of invading his space after diner would have stopped, after the previous third-year left, now that he had two roommates, but here was everybody, crammed into the small dorm room, bickering and yelling and generally being a nuisance.
Sawamura raised his head in the middle of a rant and caught his eyes.
He craned his neck to the side, probably curious about the unusual look on Kazuya's face.
Kazuya caught himself smiling then got back to strategy.
"Miyuki Kazuya!"
"That's still senpai to you."
"You didn't catch for me today! Catch for me, Miyuki Kazuya!"
Kazuya snorted and shook his head, ignoring the volume. Pitchers. So demanding.
"I was scheduled with Furuya today, and Okumura and Yui already caught your fastball all afternoon."
He adjusted his bag on his shoulder and took the stairs to his shared dorm room, glancing at the bubbling second-year scrunching his nose.
"Yeah. But it's not enough! And not the same, I can't really practice my numbers with anyone but you."
He opened his door, letting Sawamura in with him into the otherwise empty room, watching him take off his sneakers in the genkan, green and blue, the same pair that had dug into his thigh a few nights ago. He had had a green and blue bruise.
"I'm flattered, really, but what if I had other plans."
Sawamura blinked.
"Do you?"
"You would like to know don't you ~"
"Well, yeah. I just asked you."
Kazuya snickered with disbelief, propping his bat against the wall, sitting on the chair of his desk.
"Sometimes, you are so stupid that I can't even tease you properly."
"JERK!"
"Indoor voice, Sawamoron, I am less than two meters away from your vocal chords."
The brat ignored him and just plopped himself on his bed.
"So, what was that about? That weird look on your face the other night. When we were all here."
Maybe he had let him in too many times, that kid was getting way too comfortable in Kazuya's private space. He should probably tell him to go away, get out of his room and his mind.
"Just because I opened up once doesn't mean you are entitled to my every thought."
The disgusted grimace on the boy face dragged a chuckle out of his throat.
"I don't want to know your every thought, Miyuki Kazuya! Just the ones that make me worried!"
Oh.
His chair was dipping, had to be falling, because the imbalance made something inside him lurch and he caught himself, his knuckles white around the dark wood of his desk. Nothing had moved, just that strange feeling. Sometimes, in the privacy of the night, alone with his thoughts and a scorebook, or crouching behind a batter, the shouts of his team behind and the determination of a pitcher on the mound, he wondered if it was happiness.
"I– You don't have to be worried, this is–" he realized how lost he sounded and shook his head. "I am your upperclassman and captain, even if you seem to forget it more often than not, it is not your responsibility to be worried about me."
"Hey! You are the one always prattling on about how everybody is equal on the baseball field!"
"We are not on the field now, are we?"
"C'mon, Cap, guys like us, we are always a little bit on the field."
He laughed, the imbalance wavering and squeezing his guts before letting go, somewhat, letting him breath a bit better.
"You are awfully interested in me recently. Why an idiot like you is paying any attention?"
Because it was weird, to have those glowing eyes and that unwavering focus on him, perceptive at the worst time. It felt like a second Kuramochi, but impossible to shake off.
"Well, yeah. You got injured remember. And I couldn't tell, it kept me from sleeping for a few nights, I had to run a lot at that time. Everybody on the team knew, and I– I couldn't tell! Even though I was so close. So, the only way for me to be sure not to miss anything like that again is to get closer, and look at you. I have to keep my eyes on you, now, Miyuki Kazuya!"
There was probably a witty comeback to answer that, a way to deflect and laugh. But nothing would come out of the jumbled mess that was his mind, nothing would come out of knot in his throat. He pressed his finger on his Adam's apple, trying to get rid of that lump forbidding him to answer.
"What's going on with your throat? Are you sick?!"
Stop. Stop paying attention to me.
But that lion's gaze stayed on him, at odds with the fluffy hair and lean limbs and baby face, like an overgrown wild kitten. His hand dropped, and it felt huge, that strange thing that started growing in his chest since he came at Seidō. He shook his head and Sawamura puffed his cheeks.
"If you are not going to talk about it and you are not sick, then what are we waiting for?! catch for me!"
The knot dissolved and laughter spilled. Tumbling from his lips, because that kid was just unbelievable, surprising and predictable in all the best ways.
"Yeah, yeah, give me a minute brat, I have to go get my gear."
"I am only six months younger, I am not a brat."
"You are, in all the ways that count."
It was the bottom of the seventh of the semi-final match, this was just the Spring Tournament, but his heart beat as loudly as if it was the bottom of the ninth at Summer Kōshien finals, shiver crawling down his spine, Sawamura's revised cutter safely in his mitt, his palm burning from it just the way he liked, and Ichidaisan 5thbatter out, his lost expression everything that made Kazuya's life worth it. He was so imposing, that lean teenager, on his mound. Eyes glowing, wild but so trusting of his every call, exceeding each of his already high expectations. And Kazuya felt so proud, emotion swelling and bursting, and how could that batter not hear and touch every feeling leaking out of him? Because he had helped shape that brilliant, beautiful flower from the sprout he was and Sawamura Eijun had never looked more like the Ace than he was now.
In the end. They lost. But, Kazuya thought, looking at the boy sitting beside Kominato on the bus, he, and all the team, had won something infinitely more important.
At one point, between a perfect strike and a failed attempt a number eleven, on another one of those maybe a bit too frequent night pitching sessions with Sawamura, he told, schooling his face in a disinterested expression, that having half the first-string in his room three times a week was obnoxious and kept him from resting, and people had no reason to do that when he wasn't giving some of his pitch calling classes. And since Sawamura had decided he was going to look at him, he saw what he was trying to tell, and replied, with maybe too much yelling, grand gestures and disturbing honesty, that people actually likedbeing around him, and he didn't have to be a jerk with himself about enjoying the company.
Okumura was crouching beside him in the bullpen, nodding every three words, impatient to learn everything he could about Sawamura's Numbers. Kazuya the catcher was glad for the interest, because for the sake of the team, other people needed to understand and catch his pitcher's idiosyncratic balls. Kazuya the challenger delighted in the flame in Okumura's eyes, his desire to be a batter catcher, a better catcher than Kazuya thrilling and stimulating. Kazuya with the weird and tentative part that sometimes, in the privacy of his mind, dared to call Sawamura his friend, though, was a bit sad, cold and hot at the same time. The explanations a reminder of the short few months left he had to play with those guys, his team, and that, soon, another catcher would have Sawamura's full attention and devotion, from the other side of the plate. The knowledge that Okumura would make damn sure to deserve every second of it barely made it better.
"Damn it!" Kimura growled in a rare showing of exasperation, getting back from the bath. "Who is leaving manga all over the place?! This is the fourth time this week that I bump my toes against one!"
Kazuya shrugged, not looking up from the magazine he was reading, the sweat on his nose made his glasses slide and he pushed them back.
"Sawamura, that idiot always forgot to take them back. If you want to complain to him, he is probably going to be there in a few."
"Just how many hours is that guy spending in our room?"
Kazuya shrugged again, because, sleep hours notwithstanding, probably as much as Kazuya himself.
"Seriously, he got back at, like, eleven p.m. and I know he had been running even though it was raining, I am going to kill that moron, he will taste my octopus hold!"
Kuramochi was grumbling, hands on Kazuya's classroom desk, a scowl on his face, tie askew, the sun from the window was making his left arm warm.
"Calm your Mom's instincts 'Mochi" he replied, ignoring the 'You're the Mom, Miyuki' that made his way out of his friend mouth "you can still wrestle him into submission, because I like watching him suffer, but he was with me yesterday, babbling about that manga where a girl is dancing, but everybody think she's a guy and she's doing a duo with the–"
"You know what? If you don't tell Sawamura I stole Wakana's number, I won't tell him you actually listen to him when he's rambling."
"… Deal."
"Oi, Sawamura!"
His southpaw turned to him, a sunny grin already eating his face, and Kazuya had stopped trying to repress the fondness.
"Nice pitching today, I meant it when I said it was thrilling to catch for you. Naruta Technical was a difficult opponent."
He brightened up so much Kazuya was glad for the sun-protection of his sport googles, like Christmas lights suddenly plugged in, sparkling and shining, projecting little specs of dancing light on everybody around.
"I humbly thank thee for the kind words! This Sawamura Eijun will make sure not to disappoint you, Miyuki-senpai!" he yelled at the top of his lunges, bowing too low.
"You know, it actually weirds me out when you are being so polite with me."
All the deference left his pitcher posture, but the pleased expression stayed even when he tried to huff.
"So," Kazuya continued "want to work a bit on your revised cutter before the next match?"
"Aaah, sorry Cap, I am going to try the Numbers with Wolf Boy tonight." He offered an apologetic look.
"Oh. Okay then."
Kuramochi made fun of him for way too long after that.
He swung his bat, sweat pooling in the small of his back and hair sticking to his forehead, the torque of his torso satisfying. He supposed he should be glad that his pitcher was pestering him less, now that he had to make sure Okumura got used to his pitches, it gave him more time for– for batting practice. For scorebook revising. For magazine reading. For sleep. For silence.
The strange feeling that had been slowly but surely invading his lunges, his stomach, his heart, this past few months, felt prickled and stabbed, and maybe, if it wasn't so big, it wouldn't have gotten hurt, but Kazuya was learning stubbornness from the best, and between night pitching sessions and undrunk coffee cans, he had decided it was worth cultivating.
That evening, he heard Sawamura knocking at his door, and it was strange, because Sawamura never knocked. He opened, letting the warm air of May and a sweaty southpaw into his dorm.
"Did you just come here straight out of practice with Okumura?"
"Yeah, I–"
"Go take a bath moron, I don't want you to borrow my pillow in this state."
"No, I'm not staying–"
Something must have shifted on his face, and since Sawamura was always looking so intentlyhe picked it up and closed his mouth, running his palms on the dirty leg of his uniform pants.
"I mean, you don't need to order me around, jerk! I already planned to take bath and then come back here to bother you!"
"What makes you think I want to see more of your stupid face?"
"I am awesome, and you know it, Miyuki Kazuya! You even told me so today!"
"I don't remember that, but you do have awesome vocal chords. So, what brings you to my humble abode now if I still have to suffer through your presence later?"
"I just– I heard Kuramochi-senpai say that you looked disappointed and– I– I think I wanted to make sure you wouldn't think weird stuff. Believing I don't want you because I asked for Wolf Boy to catch for me instead of you. I always want you to catch for me, Miyuki Kazuya!"
Kazuya wouldn't fight the useless battle of stopping the warmth that bleed through him, but for appearance sake, he did try to transform his pleased smile into a smirk.
"What, did you think I would go crying in a corner because I had some more free time? Is that what you do when I refuse to catch for you?"
At that, Sawamura opened his mouth, closed it, tilted his head to the left, his sweaty hair sticky against his forehead and he grinned. Still as big and still as bright. He still thought he didn't deserve it when he wasn't catching.
"I don't remember! It's been too long since the last time you refused to catch for me!" he waved and skipped toward the stairs. "Well, I'm going to take a bath, don't get too mean while I'm not here!"
"No risks, only idiots make me mean!" Kazuya shouted after his retreating form, just to have the last word.
He closed his door, and the warmth of the late spring still lingered inside. Warm skin, warm guts.
He changed into his practice uniform, Sawamura, for whatever reason had followed him into his room and was still talking about beetles, and Kazuya, for whatever reason, was still listening to him. He suddenly shut up when Kazuya took his shirt off, his glasses removed and his vision blurry, he had no idea of the expression Sawamura was sporting.
"What? Stop staring at me like that." He hurried and put his blue undershirt on.
"You really have a strong upper body, Cap! Everyone is always talking about your strong shoulder when you throw, but I didn't think it would look like that. I never paid attention in the locker room." His southpaw looked under his own jersey at his lanky form, allowing the room to be silent for two seconds before getting loud again. "I guess I really have to work out more!"
Kazuya snorted and hit the flat stomach of his friend with the back of his hand.
"Yes, you do, a stronger core will allow for stronger pitches in turn and prevent from injury, but don't overwork yourself, we are still in high school with a lot of time for our body to develop. Just make sure not to lose your flexibility."
Sawamura nodded with too much energy, and Kazuya let a fond breath out of his mouth.
"Wow, Cap! Sometimes you say things that don't sound completely stupid!"
"I don't want to hear that from you." He deadpanned, putting his phone on his desk and getting out of his school uniform pants before sliding in the practice ones, then smeared some antibacterial gel on his hands, cold and clean, smelling like chemicals, and put on his contacts in front of the small mirror on his bedside table. When he raised his head, dressed and ready for practice, Sawamura was fiddling with the flip phone, a judging look on his face.
"Oi, oi, I don't want to see that expression on you, you are the judgable one."
He snatched his phone back, ignoring the pout.
"But really, Cap, why do you still have that thing? You can't even have Line on that!"
"Who said I want it anyway. I see most of the people I need to talk to every day, and e-mail is a perfectly viable solution otherwise."
His pitcher made a humming noise and got his own smartphone out of his pocket.
"You know, I don't even have your number or your e-mail. I think New Year was the only time I had to wait more than ten hours before seeing your annoying smirk again."
"Don't try and pretend, I know you missed it~"
He got his bag, his bat and both of them got out of the room, walking toward the fields where shouting could already be heard.
"But–" Sawamura's fingers clenched around his phone before handing it out to him. "But this is your last year and– after you graduate, I still want to be able to talk to you, even if you don't deserve it since you are always a jerk, but–."
If Kazuya's throat was a bit dry, and if his answering 'yeah' a bit hoarse, none of them commented on it when he took Sawamura's phone and put in his contact info.
He opened his room, hot and sweaty and tired, Sawamura on his heels, let his baseball bag fall into a corner, his cleats in the genkan and had no chance to sit before his friend threw himself on his bed, laughing and trying to hide his grin into the pillow. Sawamura used it so often that it was probably more his than Kazuya's.
"You are washing my sheets after that."
He was ignored in favor of a giggle. The sheets creased under him, where he sat at the foot of the bed.
"I made it! I made it, Miyuki Kazuya!" another laugh bubbled out of his chest and he looked at Kazuya sitting there with so much gold and joy in his eyes that he felt unable not to return the smile.
"Yeah, you did."
"I'm the Ace… I am. I am the Ace."
He was tasting the word on his tongue, rolling around in Kazuya's bed and throwing sparkles of happiness around him. It would have been annoying, had Kazuya not been so fond of the boy. He nudged his foot.
"Don't let it get to your head."
"I know, I know! I can't let anyone down now! I have to prove, with each and every pitch, that I deserve that position! I won't disappoint you, or anybody!"
He was too loud for the small room, dirtying his white sheets and invading his space, and Kazuya found himself almost enjoying the exuberant presence and the death of his eardrums. He must have had some masochist streak.
"But– right now, right now I just want to be happy." He added in a smaller voice, but no less intense, as if he had condensed all the joy he usually screamed at the top of his lunges into those few words, only there for Kazuya to hear.
And, since Sawamura was indulging himself, Kazuya supposed it was okay for him, too, to feel so proud. So glad that Sawamura had fought though the yips, through the mountain that was Furuya on his path, through the lack of acknowledgment, even through Kazuya himself.
"Yeah. You did good. Congratulation, Sawamura."
And that bright, brilliant boy was clutching his pillow on one hand, and the jersey with the number one on the other. He looked at Kazuya and laughed again, his grin too big for his face, his fluffy hair a halo around his flushed cheeks, and Kazuya had to turn his head, because that strange feeling was eating him alive, and he felt proud and happy and alive, but he wasn't sure the expression he must have made right now was for sharing.
"Hey, Miyuki."
"Mmh?"
"Lets' win Summer Kōshien. Together. Let's be the best battery high school baseball has ever seen."
He glanced at the teenager on his bed, and found a lion, grinning ferally and gold specks dancing in his eyes, promising to crush every opponent on their path. He knew his answering smirk was everything and terrifying.
"Of course, we will. Partner."
"So, how are you feeling?"
"Like we are going to crush those batters!"
Kazuya snickered.
"Oi, oi, this is Yakushi clean-up we are talking about, don't get cocky."
"I am not. But you are the best catcher, and I trust you. And I am a damn good pitcher, and you trust me."
They grinned at each other and he closed his mitt, thumping it against his pitcher chest. He swore he could almost feel the beating heart pulse against his glove and reverberate against his bone. As he trotted back to his spot behind the plate, Kazuya eyed the figure on the mound, his back turned, jersey stretched over his shoulders when he raised his arms and yelled to the fielders.
"Balls will come flying your way! So I will be counting on you!"
Really, the number one on his back had never suited anyone better.
It was true, what everybody told. Summer Kōshien was different.
It could galvanize or crush. It could pressure or elevate. And Kazuya had no idea on what side would his team fell, that day in the final. The white jersey of Komadai Fujimaki on the dugout opposite of them was taunting, he wanted to play already, to feel the rush and outsmart everybody, to show Mei that, when he rejected Inashiro proposition, it was the best decision he had ever made, by beating those who had beat him, last year, at this exact same place.
"OOOOOSHI !"
"Shut up, Sawamoron, I lost an eardrum here!"
"Oi, why do you sound as if we had won already?"
"I think you are feeling unwell, I should pitch instead of–"
"Oi, Furuya, don't try and steal my spot, bastard!"
"Why do you need to be so loud?"
The dust of the field, the smell of leather, the sun shining over the mound and hitting their shoulders.
Kazuya chuckled and glanced at the other half of their battery. He shouldn't have worried about his team, obviously, they were going to end up on the right side.
It happened too slowly and quickly at the same time.
A second before, Sawamura was winding up, leg high, adrenaline running in Kazuya's veins instead of blood, beating heart and anticipation and trust.
The next the umpire was yelling, there was a sting in his palm, the word 'STRIKE', the furious face of Hongou above him, and the number one on Sawamura's back eaten away from his eyes by over enthusiastic teammates. He got up, and began walking toward the mound, jogging, then running, the grin splitting his face maybe too big for him, and in the middle of the ruckus, of congratulations, of bawling and shouting, Sawamura caught him, throwing his arm around his shoulder, laughing and crying and saying a jumble mess of 'We did it' and 'Partner'. And it felt a bit strange, that emotion that was spilling and bursting out of him, as his hand closed on his battery's other half jersey, creasing the number one on his back and his team was so, so close. But it felt good, too. And Kazuya decided to hold on to it, with all he had.
Okay, so, this is it for the first part. More are coming, and it's going to be a long ride. I kind of have a feeling that Miyuki and Sawamura as they are now in the manga are not ready to be in a fully committed relationship, they need time and to learn about each other, so I want to give them time and when they are ready to jump in bed and in love together, well, you'll be the first to know ;)
And if anything seems weird or incorrect, please tell me :D I'm very open to criticism.
This story is also posted on ao3 under the same title.