Furuya snaps his hand back when a sharp pinch on his fingers wakes him to reality, and he stares at three penguins gazing back at up him, beaks clacking in impatience. He sighs, digging into the bucket he balances on his hip for more pieces of raw fish, tossing them neatly into their mouths. The birds nudge him when he's slow to feed them again, webbed feet stepping over his shoes and rubbing their heads into his shins. He gives them the last of the fish, absentmindedly stroking the top of the head of one which lingers around curiously even after the food is gone.
He flickers his gaze around in the meantime, hoping that he doesn't see a familiar mob of brown hair amongst the thin crowd huddled near the barriers of the penguin enclosure. It's not that he expects Miyuki to show up again—but, Furuya wouldn't put it past the catcher to do so, especially when Miyuki isn't satisfied about his avoidance on the topic of baseball.
They had dinner at a road side ramen stall, where Miyuki prodded him about his job—his work hours, his off days, his duties, responsibilities, qualifications, and a lot of curious 'have you touched that animal yet' (the answer is yes). It was certainly slightly strange that the catcher didn't ask about baseball again, but Fuurya knows immediately that the other was just bidding his time when he notices the particular glint as Miyuki asks him to join him in drinking for a bit after their meal. He declines, stating that he has to work the next day. Surprisingly enough Miyuki lets him go without a complaint, though with the parting words, "Well then, see you around."
He's almost convinced Miyuki would come again today to try his luck—or maybe, he wants Miyuki to come again, but he kills that thought instantly before it leads on to things that he doesn't want to think about. He's had enough of that last night in bed as he stared at his ceiling in the darkness unable to fall asleep, too unnerved by Miyuki's presence for so many hours.
It's been so many years since he's had that much personal time with Miyuki, still as playful and calculating as ever, that it becomes a shock to his system playing back the withdrawals in fragments of memories he's carefully tried to keep buried.
Miyuki's lips curled into a teasing grin each time the catcher says, 'Your stamina really sucks."
Miyuki's eyes bright and golden, narrowed and focused on him, mitt ready on the other side of the field.
Miyuki's hands gripping his pitching hand, rough callouses brushing over his skin to inspect his fingers carefully.
Miyuki's voice, thick like honey, calling toward the mound, "Come.", with arms spread out wide.
It hurts to remember, because he inevitably thinks, I miss you, I miss you so much, senpai, the twist of his heart clawing out in desperate want. And it's this want that hurts—he doesn't know what he wants, because no matter how much he thinks he wants it's never enough; not even when Miyuki is standing right next to him, not even when Miyuki has a hand on his back in support, not even when Miyuki smiles at him bright and genuine, not even when Miyuki had said fondly to him, "That's my ace." on the grounds of Koshien.
And Furuya knows that he'd been Miyuki's so easily in just two years—Miyuki could ask him to do anything and he unquestioningly would with blind trust.
But he wouldn't now, not anymore, and it feels like a relief to know that the past five years haven't been for naught.
"—uruya-kun? Furuya-kun."
Furuya flinches slightly when a hand rests on his shoulder and he turns in reflex; a finger pokes into his cheek at the action.
Fujiwara smiles warmly at him. "Don't fall asleep. It's time to groom the seals."
He nods, standing up to obediently follow her towards the back of the enclosure. He rinses the empty bucket while the elder takes the grooming materials—she catches him stifling a yawn in between and her smile widens.
"Hung out late with Miyuki-san yesterday?" she asks as they trot off towards the seal enclosures. "You're zoning out today. Well, more than usual," she puts in with a teasing tilt.
He shakes his head. He had returned home early, it's just that he couldn't sleep.
"Are you close with Miyuki-san?" Fujiwara starts curiously, conversational.
"…Not really," he replies. "Before…yesterday, I hadn't talked to him in a while."
"I see," she hums. "You said you pitched in high school, right? While Miyuki-san was on the team? Were you two ever a battery?"
Furuya nods slowly, and Fujiwara beams in excitement.
"Wow, that's amazing," she gushes. "How was it like? I mean, Miyuki-san is…well you know how good he is, you had front row seats in high school," she laughs.
He ducks his head sideways, pretending to scratch an itch on his nose to avoid his facial expression from being seen.
"…It was…," he tries to find a word but nothing will ever fit.
How can one measly word ever describe how he felt when Miyuki caught his pitch for the first time, the loud echo rocketing through the hall and smack into the centre of Miyuki's mitt, the catcher's smug smirk stretched wide as a response to his plea, please don't disappoint me, senpai.
"Senpai…never missed," he says eventually.
Fujiwara hums again like she's going to ask more, but thankfully they enter the seal enclosure where Sagara and Kousuke are already combing down the large seals. Furuya takes his brush and goes to a corner where a smaller seal basks. Laughter and mock scolding comes from the other side, where Fujiwara tries to placate two seals who waddle in her direction. He kneels down by the seal he's next to, allowing it to clamber happily over his lap until it's satisfied with its own position before he starts work.
He doesn't, absolutely not, look around for a mob of brown hair again.
He does.
Maybe once or twice.
At the end of work, Furuya stares up at the dark sky and heavy rain soaking up the bottom of his pants even though he's still standing under shelter. He's annoyed that he knows he's been expecting Miyuki to show up and there was no sign of the national catcher—he doesn't want to see Miyuki anymore, that's the best case for him, but yet, is yesterday truly the last time he'll ever see Miyuki again, aside from the stadium benches across the fence?
The only consolation is the rain, which mollifies his internal turmoil a little.
It's getting colder as it edges into late September, but Tokyo is always hot by Hokkaido standards. He pulls on the head of his hoodie and tucks his hands into the pockets before making his way to the train station, idly wondering about what he should eat for dinner.
The rain is heavier when he exits the station at his stop. He does have an umbrella in his backpack, but he leaves it since his apartment is just a short walk away. When he finally reaches the lift of his apartment building, his jeans and the edges of his hair are damp, not entirely covered by his hoodie. A buzzing noise catches his attention when he steps into the lift; it's his phone that buzzes again in his pocket.
He digs it out, flipping it open to see a long list of unread texts from Sawamura who has apparently been frantically texting him for the past fifteen minutes.
Curiously he opens the newest one, which reads,
FURUYA? ASNWER ME? I'LL GET RID OF HIM I SWEAR I DIDN'T KNOW
And the one before that,
ARE YOU HOME? DON'T GO HOME OKAY
And the one before that,
WHERE ARE YOU FURUYA WILL YOU ANSWER MY TEXT OIIIIIII
And the one before that,
FURUYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA?
And the one before that,
FURUYA HEY TEXT ME BACK IF YOU SEE THIS
And the one before that,
OI FURUYA DON'T GO HOME YET JUST STAY WITH YOUR POLAR BEARS ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?
Before Furuya can read the one before that, his phone buzzes again, but this time it's a call from Haruichi.
"Furuya-kun?" Haruichi greets when he presses his phone against his ear, sounding slightly frantic. "Furuya-kun, are you home yet?"
"I will be," he answers slowly, confused as he flickers his sight to the level number on display quickly ascending once he presses the correct floor on the lift buttons.
"Ah. Um," Haruichi replies. "Um, I…well, you should stay away for a while, because Eijun…he…" Haruichi swallows uncertainly before sighing. "That is, Miyuki-senpai is—"
"—why should I?" comes a very familiar voice when the lift door slides open at his floor, and Furuya nearly drops his phone.
Miyuki is sitting in front of his door. The catcher doesn't notice him first, too busy rolling his eyes and retorting into his own phone.
"I—I-I DON'T KNOW!" yells Sawamura's distinct voice from Miyuki's phone, who holds it an arm's length away when the screech comes through. "HARUICHI SAID IT'S IMPORTANT, SO JUST LEAVE ALREADY!"
"After all the effort I made to come here in the rain?" Miyuki snorts. "Besides, if you can't tell me why I shouldn't be here then—oh, Furuya," the catcher grins when he looks up and spots Furuya standing stone still by the lift, voice purposely made more aggravating for the one on the line. "I've got to go, Sawamura, Furuya just arrived. Bye."
"—W-WAIT—MIYUKI KAZUYA DON'T YOU DARE—"
Miyuki snaps his phone shut without an inch of regret, grinning widely up at Furuya. "You're late."
"—uruya-kun?" Haruchi's voice brings Furuya back to reality. "Furuya-kun, are you there?"
"…Yes," Furuya answers quietly, keeping his eyes on Miyuki warily who watches him.
"As I was saying, Miyuki-senpai might be outside your door, so…"
"I see him."
"Oh," Haruichi exhales at length before he starts again. "Will you be okay?"
"…I...don't know," Furuya answers truthfully.
"If, if you need me or Eijun, we'll come right away, okay?" Haruichi says, and prompts him gently when he doesn't respond. "Okay?"
Furuya nods, then he realises Haruichi can't see that. "Okay," he says and hangs up when Haruichi bids him farewell after a satisfied noise.
"Was that Kominato?" Miyuki questions when he tucks his phone into his pocket. "You really don't want me here, do you?"
Furuya turns his head away at the direct statement, not willing to confirm or deny it. Miyuki chuckles anyway as the catcher pushes himself off the ground, sounding unperturbed. The water puddle on the floor catches Furuya's attention, and he finally notices that Miyuki is completely drenched, hair flat and dripping, glasses slightly fogged and clothes soaked.
"So, are you going to let me in? I brought something special for you."
Indeed Miyuki is carrying a couple of plastic bags as well as a sports sling bag over his shoulder. Furuya debates about his options, but he knows he wouldn't ask Miyuki to leave so directly like that. He eventually reluctantly unlocks his door, leaving it open for Miyuki to follow him in.
Miyuki chimes a greeting as the catcher steps in after toeing his shoes and socks off, looking around curiously.
Furuya's studio apartment is small. There's nothing fancy about it—not unless Furuya wants to spend a lot on rent money—but functional enough; a small open kitchen in the corner, an open space where a low table sits before it leads further in to a bed in a corner and a desk on the other side. The bathroom is nothing grand either, with just a shower, sink and toilet bowl. There are animal posters on the walls, almost all of polar bears, and a two framed photographs on the desk.
Miyuki is scrutinising the pictures—one of them is of Furuya and his family, the other is of Furuya with Sawamura and Kominato; Miyuki's vaguely remembers he's seen that same picture in the Kominato household—when Furuya calls for his attention.
"Senpai," Furuya pushes a folded towel and some clothes towards him.
Miyuki blinks, not entirely expecting that. "Oh. Thanks."
Furuya swallows at the sudden heart skip at that one simple word, and his fingers involuntarily twitch. Ah, he has a slow dawning of realisation that he might have underestimated Miyuki's presence in his apartment.
Miyuki relinquishes the plastic bags to him as the other disappears into the bathroom. Furuya looks into one curiously, taking out the things and setting them on the kitchen counter. There are a carton of eggs, some carrots, radish, spring onions and crab meat sticks.
"You have sugar and salt, right?" Miyuki starts from behind, startling him. "And soya sauce?"
Furuya nods slowly as he stares at the wayward strands of Miyuki's hair having been tousled by the towel now draped somewhere else. "What are you…"
"Dinner," Miyuki explains, shifting through the drawers as though he's in his own home. "Where are your bowls?"
"Senpai—"
"I'm cooking kanitama," the catcher stares at him with a smirk. "Are you sure you don't want some?"
Furuya closes his mouth immediately.
He stews moodily, unable to say no. It's been a while since he's had it—he's not fond of eating out and he's not skilled in cooking; he sticks to boiling clear soups because that goes wrong the least. He has never seen Miyuki cook but he has eaten things that Miyuki has made, like the roast chicken the other had baked for the Seido Christmas Party, and he knows Miyuki is good at it, great, even.
He does want to eat kanitama.
Miyuki laughs when Furuya opens a cabinet and hands over a bowl. Furuya watches Miyuki rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing the tanned skin of his toned arms before washing his hands. The catcher taps Furuya's forehead to get his attention, directing him to put rice into the rice cooker as the other arranges the other ingredients around the counter. He gets ordered to cut the carrots while Miyuki sets to work with the radish—it's so disconcerting to see Miyuki in his kitchen like the other's been there all the while, in his clothes; the shirt is loose on Miyuki's shorter frame, exposing the other's sharp collarbone.
As Furuya watches from the corner of his eyes, he notices other things too: like how Miyuki hums under his breath with a smile upon his lips, or how Miyuki flips the knife so easily in his hand and slices the radish with a speed he's only seen on cooking shows on television. He gets so absorbed into staring that he doesn't notice that he's accidently cut his finger until he cuts it for the second time; this time, deep enough that he flinches with a surprised hiss. Miyuki immediately stops and narrows his eyes when he spots the blood.
"Geez, be more careful with your hands!" Miyuki huffs, grabbing his hand roughly to shove it under running water. "If you hurt them you won't be able to pitch properly."
"I don't pitch anymore," Furuya mumbles.
"Doesn't mean that you won't again," Miyuki retorts, and Furuya's throat seizes up a little.
"It's fine, senpai," he tries to say, but Miyuki ignores him.
"Where's your first aid box?"
"…I don't have one."
Miyuki actually pauses to look at him incredulously before sighing. Clucking his tongue, the catcher stalks off to where he had put his sling bag down and comes back a minute later with a plaster in hand.
"Dry your hand," he instructs. "Give it here."
Furuya doesn't have a chance to disobey since Miyuki takes his hand anyway. "Huh, your nails are a bit chipped," the other observes as he tacks on the plaster over the two cuts. "Not taking care of them properly?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Of course it does," Miyuki snorts. "What if it cracks when you pitch—"
"—but I'm not a pitcher anymore," Furuya says over him, voice a little louder than usual. "Senpai."
Miyuki stares at him unflinchingly when he holds his ground as firm as he can.
"To me, you always will be," the catcher says, eyes steely.
But, but he's more than just pitching, isn't he? He's proven that with a college degree and a job that has nothing to do with pitching, and if he doesn't pitch anymore, then what else is he to Miyuki now? He doesn't think Miyuki will understand that and he doesn't know how to say it, so he ends up staying silent.
He looks away first, retracting his hand from Miyuki's grip. He chooses to pick up the knife and continues chopping the carrot even as Miyuki continues to look at him in silence, until Miyuki turns to face the counter again and breathes in audibly.
"…I'm sorry," Miyuki speaks up abruptly, words unexpected enough for Furuya to stop in his actions. "For whatever I did," the other continues, voice hard and halting. "I...whatever it is, I never wanted—meant—for you to stop pitching."
Miyuki's eyes are bright and golden.
"Let me make it up to you, Furuya."
Furuya curls his fingers in order to quell the tremble that starts in them. He almost nods—because, what can he do when Miyuki is looking at him like that, serious and honest and uncertain and his mouth runs dry, lips half way forming words, but they die instantly when the he realises the first thing on his tongue is a confession of I would've done anything for you, Miyuki-senpai—but he doesn't, not anymore.
He tears his gaze away and catches the disappointed flash in Miyuki's eyes. Guilt squeezes in his chest as they spend the next minute in tense silence, until Miyuki exhales and plasters on the usual mocking smirk.
"You're so slow, monster rookie," Miyuki raises an eyebrow, gesturing to his neatly stripped radish, diced spring onions and beaten egg yolk all ready. "Hurry up."
As Miyuki busies himself with heating up the oil and pan, Furuya stares at the fabric plaster on his finger and tries not to cut himself again.