4 months later.
"Kazuya," Mei calls in that sing song voice, leaning against one of their teammates who's sitting down tossing balls for Miyuki to bat into the net. "Your boyfriend is here."
Miyuki scowls, lowering his bat. "How many times must we go through this—"
"Yadda yadda don't let Toru-chan hear you or I'll kill you yadda yadda," Mei rolls his eyes, pressing further on their teammate's shoulders without an ounce of regard for either of them. "Whatever. He's here so you can go and pretend you have a life."
Their teammate sniggers, but stops still when Miyuki turns to glare at him.
It's down season—winter is lightening up, but they still can't play in the fields yet, so they're stuck with body conditioning or whatever their personal menu calls for that they can fit in an indoor hall. It's pretty much an 'own time own target' kind of schedule, but players in the national team are workaholics by default, which is why pretty much everyone has gotten familiar with the quiet black haired youth that comes by every other Wednesday evening that leaves with their catcher.
Furuya picks at the straps of the backpack he carries, looking at the blank walls of the hall at the entrance until Miyuki comes walking up to him with a bat in hand, sweaty and smiling bright. His neck warms at the view.
"Good evening, Miyuki-senpai."
"You're early," Miyuki notes, giving his shoulder a light pat. "Changing room is that way," he thumbs to his right. "Find me in the bullpen when you're done."
"Kazuya—"
"Mei," Miyuki grits his teeth. "Please shut your mouth. Go and get changed, Furuya," he cocks his head towards the other.
Furuya nods and bows slightly towards Mei, who had trailed behind Miyuki in curiosity, before walking off towards the direction Miyuki pointed at earlier.
"What? I was just going to ask where you two were going for dinner," Mei smirks when Furuya is gone. "But you're not going for dinner," he observes.
"Nope."
"So…?"
"What?"
"What is he doing here then?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"Don't tell me…is this a baseball date?" Mei grins. "You're pathetic Kazuya, can't you even spare some change to bring Toru-chan to a batting cage instead of your workplace?"
"I don't want to talk to you anymore," Miyuki states, walking off calmly towards the bullpen.
"Hey, Kazuya, we have a policy here, and—"
"I cleared it with the captain already," Miyuki interrupts, annoyed. "If you want to stay and watch, fine, but if you're going to keep talking, just go home already!"
Mei sours, but he brightens up with a shit eating grin when Furuya makes his way towards them slowly, occasionally bumping into the other players in their workout and apologising softly.
Four months has passed since their talk; in the first month, they had dinner at the ramen stall they went the first time about once a week to get used to each other again—Miyuki talks to fill the silence that lingers when Furuya watches him quietly. Miyuki doesn't bring up baseball until he casually mentions that maybe Furuya might want to start by playing catch with Sawamura and Kominato; and it still surprises him that Furuya had paused and shook his head and said, "I want you to catch my pitch, Miyuki-senpai." instead, blunt and sincere all at once, just like the very first time.
But Furuya hasn't pitched for five years, and Miyuki found himself laughing till he was breathless under the night sky in the small park near Furuya's apartment, while Furuya panted and glared at him from a distance away, too tired to pitch after a mere half an hour. There are many things that need to be worked on for Furuya to reach the level he was at Koshien—but Miyuki thinks he can let that slide when he sees the burning hunger and Furuya's eyes again when the other raises his leg and flings the ball as hard as he can across him.
They usually play catch outside, but today is a special case—Miyuki knows he can wheedle hard, and he's gotten Furuya to buy a compression shirt and a mitt so that the other can maybe one day play actual baseball again. He invites Furuya to their hall in hopes that it's familiar to Furuya how it was like in Seido; he isn't sure if any of this is right, but Furuya will say no if the other doesn't want to, and he'll take what he can get.
When Furuya reaches him, Miyuki hands him a baseball.
"Ignore him," is the first thing Miyuki says, side-eyeing Mei who leans against one of the pitching nets to watch them. "For the rest: you know what to do."
Miyuki gives his mitt an experimental punch and walks over to the other side where he crouches down. Furuya breathes in, fiddling with the ball until Miyuki nods. The first pitch is so loud that everyone in the hall immediately stops and turn to stare at them. Miyuki winces when some of his teammates start to murmur and walk towards them. Maybe…he should've thought this through a little more.
"Slow! That was so slow!" Mei huffs, crossing his arms. "It was much faster the last time I saw it!"
And much better controlled too, Miyuki smirks wryly, but he doesn't want to nag at those things when Furuya's just finding his love for pitching again.
"Furuya—"
He makes to throw the ball back to Furuya, but the pitcher is staring at his fingers, with a barely perceptible twitch of the other's lips. Furuya does this quite often when they play catch but it always throws him off, because right after Furuya will flicker his gaze towards him, eyes bright blue and happy, and Furuya's cheeks will flush gently. And then comes the part where Miyuki hates—Furuya will then catch himself and look to his feet, biting the bottom of his lip as if to swallow the bitterness of an I love you.
"Don't be so happy with that terrible pitch," Miyuki calls before Furuya turns his attention away and tosses the ball back.
It's the least he can do.
8 months later.
In mid-July, the All-Star Games closes with a lot of fanfare—from the teams themselves; with a mix of players from different professional teams sorted into new groups, it leads to a much louder and rowdier dinner celebration. Furuya doesn't find it surprising that Miyuki's team wins, but Narumiya Mei is incensed and vows to drink the restaurant empty in protest. It's not the first time that Furuya has joined them for dinner after a match, but it is the first time he joins them to drink.
Or rather, he watches them drink.
He learns that Sawamura is even louder when drunk. He also learns that the older Kominato has the tiniest body but the highest alcohol tolerance, because at the end of the night Ryousuke is the one who kicks all the fallen players out of the restaurant with a smile that said he was ready to commit murder the next day.
"Urgh—I'm gonna regret this tomorrow," Kuramochi mutters, swaying slightly on his feet, but at least he's much more sober than the rest—like say Narumiya and Sawamura who are currently yelling their heads off at each other whilst stumbling towards some unknown roadside direction.
"Shit, hold this useless piece of trash will you?" Kuramochi groans before shoving a heavy body towards Furuya just as Ryousuke growls under his breath and storms after the wayward pitchers. "Just sit somewhere until we get those idiots back."
Furuya nods, dragging the heavy figure towards a lone bench right outside the restaurant entrance, sitting the person next to him. It's Miyuki, who groans some unintelligible words and leans into his shoulder. Furuya stares at how the red flush is visible under Miyuki's tan, and it goes all the way down the other's neck. He only realises he's touching Miyuki's skin when Miyuki blinks his eyes open and looks up at him with eyelids half-lidded, alcohol strong in the catcher's breath.
"You can touch more if you want," Miyuki says, and Furuya retracts his hand immediately, face warming.
Miyuki smiles lazily, hiccupping once. "You always look at me. Don't you get sick of looking at me?"
"No."
Miyuki chuckles, and then laughs some more like it's the funniest thing on earth. "You know, sometimes, I touch you to see how you look at me when I do," the other tries to mock whisper, but that fails terribly. "I'm the worst person on earth."
"…Not the worst," Furuya says after a pause.
"No, the worst, the worst," Miyuki shakes his head, closing his eyes. "I've never had anyone love me, see? And when you told me, I thought you had the worst luck in the world to be stuck on me. Imagine! Me!"
The catcher breaks off into another scattered laugh until it abruptly stops. "You should take what you want from me," he says, leaning more on Furuya. "Because I don't know how to give it."
"I don't want anything that way, Miyuki-senpai."
"Hm," Miyuki grunts, pressing his face into Furuya's shoulder with his eyes closed. "That sucks for you. It hurts right? You don't deserve this."
It does, as it always has for the past seven years, but now he's closer than ever to Miyuki—has his heart ever fluttered so crazily before where Miyuki is comfortable enough to rest on him?
"You should hate me by now."
Furuya swallows, glancing down briefly.
"…I still love you, Miyuki-senpai," he mumbles, but it's loud enough for both of them to hear. "I love you a lot."
"Yeah?" Miyuki drones, trailing off sleepily. "If you say it more, maybe I'll fall in love with you too."
10 months later.
When the front door closes, Mei waits for his ice cream to be delivered. However, nothing comes to his hands after five minutes and he scowls, refusing to tear his eyes away from the television screen.
"Kazuya?" he calls, keeping his eyes glued to the National Geographic commentator on screen.
No reply comes, and this time he turns back to glance just in case some robber entered their apartment or if Miyuki is trying to pull a shitty scare-joke. He finds Miyuki leaning with the other's back against the door, eyes closed. Curious, he pads quietly up to the catcher until he's right beside the other before yelling, "KAZUYA!"
Miyuki startles so badly that he hits his shoulder against the door. "What the hell—?"
Mei looks pointedly at the catcher's empty hands. "Where's my ice cream?"
"—Ah," Miyuki blinks, and there goes the catcher's nervous habit of rubbing the back of his neck. "Oops. You can go get it yourself, it's just down the street."
"I just texted you to get it because you were walking down that street and you said okay!" Mei huffs.
More like texted him like six times to remind him, but okay—
"Are you trying to ruin my night just because I told Carlos you were going on a date with Toru-chan? Huh? Huh?"
"Calm down, I just forgot, or something," Miyuki sighs, rolling his eyes. "Look, I'll go get it now, sheesh."
"What's up with you?" Mei narrows his eyes, grabbing the catcher's arm before the other can open their front door. "Are—…did you drink?" the pitcher pauses stepping closer to squint at him. "You're a bit red. You can't get drunk while we have a match this—"
"I know that!"
"—Or…." Mei stares, eye twitching in incredulity. "Are you blushing?"
When Miyuki just stares back with off-guard wide eyes, Mei laughs, he laughs so hard.
"Oh my—f-fucking—" Mei coughs, slamming his chest with his fist to breathe. "Oh my god, oh shit, oh my god—"
"Mei…"
"—I-I need to tell someone about this, oh my fucking—"
"Mei!" Miyuki shouts, sharp. "Will you…please…just shut up. For once."
Mei quietens, but he still sniggers. "Out with it Kazuya. What happened with Toru-chan, hm? Got something juicy to share?"
Miyuki sours, looking angrily at the ground for a moment before he sits down right there, holding his head in his palm. Mei squats and prods at him.
"Kazuya, come on," Mei says, patting the other's knee, but with how they are, it almost comes off as condescending. "Let's handle this better than the last time, okay? Or else if Sawamura comes banging on the door I'm going to let him in this time."
When Miyuki stays silent, Mei sighs and moves to sit next to him with his knees pulled up. "So, what, this time he told you he lovesss you? Again? And maybe…you might…final…l..y…?"
"…I don't know," Miyuki says, finally looking up. "It's just. It. It feels weird. Now. I mean, it always felt weird, but this time I said something and Furuya just, he just said it and I wasn't—wasn't prepared for it, I…I can't think about anything else, fuck."
Mei squints at him. "…You know," he starts after a very long pause between them. "That's practically a 'yes'."
Miyuki barks a coarse laugh. "Mei, there's no way that I—as in me, me—"
"Why not?" Mei raises an eyebrow. "Unless you're an exception to the universe, Kazuya, which you clearly are not—"
"Because it's too—c-convenient?" Miyuki splutters. "Furuya's l-loved me for such a long time and—and what if this isn't real, it's just, I dunno, like maybe this is—"
"It's been like, ten months, Kazuya," Mei cuts in, bored. "If your 'feelings' decided to pity date him for some reason they would've done it sooner; don't you think? In fact, I think you don't want to believe it because you turned him down first and you're scared to change that answer."
"…That's ridiculous."
Mei sniffs. "Don't come crying to me when someone else asks Toru-chan out and he says yes to get away from you, you sorry excuse for a loser."
"Go buy your own ice-cream, you brat."
"Fine," Mei pushes himself up, kicking Miyuki to get away from the front door. But before the slams the door behind him, he pauses. "…I don't think you've ever tried for anyone, Kazuya, except him. Think about that, you stupid ass."
One year later.
Early November is the perfect time for a Seido reunion, because that's when it's just off peak season for the professional players, but they're still sharp with the year's worth of trainings and matches. Furuya hasn't been to one, having declined to over the many years, but this year he joins…as a player.
"Strike! Batter out!"
Ryousuke smiles at him and lowers his bat at the shout, but Furuya feels a nervous shiver up his spine like he might be paying for that subtly in the near future.
"Nice ball!" Miyuki calls, grinning as he tossing the ball. "Keep it low, Furuya!"
Furuya catches the ball and breathes in, readying himself again. This time, Tetsu is at bat, concentrating intently towards him. Kuramochi is on first base, Chris on third. Though everyone plays baseball for either leisure or work, but the hard work of the pros shine through when they get deeper into the innings—Furuya is sweating and there's a stretch in his muscles in this sixth inning, while Sawamura is yelling with no end to his energy from the dugout for his team. His fastballs still echo like missiles into Miyuki's mitt, but Sawamura's moving fastballs flow sharper into Chris'.
At the corner of his eye, he sees Chris putting pressure on his play, ready to dash to home plate. At the other corner, Kuramochi grins at him, taunting him with his fast legs. But Miyuki fists his palm into his mitt from across him, calling his attention.
Focus on the batter—
Furuya nods, taking an inhale. He closes his eyes briefly when he brings his arm back, focusing right on where Miyuki's mitt is placed, and throws.
Tetsu swings the bat on the first pitch—the timing is almost right but it's not enough, and with the angle, the ball is jammed straight into Haruichi who tags Chris out cleanly, followed by a sharp throw to first base to get Tetsu out.
—and I'll take care of the runners.
A double play.
That's three outs with him giving up no runs in this inning; Sawamura yells, annoyed, while the rest of his team run by the mound to ruffle his hair or to pat his back with delight.
"Exactly where I asked for it," Miyuki says proudly when the catcher comes up to him, smirking. "You've got the hang of this now, haven't you, monster rookie?"
Furuya presses his lips together, trying to hide his soft blush at the praise. It's still a feat to calm his heartbeat when he pitches, it's even harder when Miyuki looks at him like that—unconsciously, he reaches out towards Miyuki as the latter turns to make way toward the dugout, brushing Miyuki's bare right wrist.
"Hm? What is it?" Miyuki turns, cocking his head in question at the touch.
"Nothing," Furuya utters, moving retracting his hand, but Miyuki is faster in holding that traitorous hand still.
Miyuki looks at him like the other knows, of course he does, and Furuya's face heats up.
"Miyuki-senpai," Furuya speaks up when silence just passes between them. "The game."
"…I know."
Miyuki's eyes are so bright and golden and fierce.
And then Miyuki takes one step towards him and presses their mouths together.
Furuya doesn't feel anything in what feels like a long drawn out minute, until Miyuki's thumb curves over the back of his hand and the catcher presses towards him harder, hot breath ghosting very briefly over his lips before kissing him again. Furuya trembles and closes his eyes, and only exhales when Miyuki pulls back.
"Sorry," Miyuki says quietly against his mouth. "I. I—I had a plan, and this wasn't the way I wanted this to happen but," the catcher breathes out slowly, swallowing, "I mean it. This, I mean it. This time. If, if you'll still have me."
Furuya doesn't think he's ever seen Miyuki so hesitant and determined and unsure and beautiful all at once, and all he can think of is that Miyuki tastes like home.
.
.
.
"—Oi, lovebirds! Get off the damn field!"
Fin.
