Title: Hands.

Summary: To Abe, Mihashi's hands are a work of art.

Character(s): Mihashi Ren, Abe Takaya.

Pairing(s): AbeMiha.

"See you guys later!"

"Yeah, s-see you!" Mihashi waved at his friend, Tajima Yūichirō, with a small smile. He had had his teammates over at his house for a studying session, Tajima being the final person to leave, aside from Abe, who was spending the night because Mihashi's mom was out of town, and she didn't want him by himself.

He was exhausted from practice and studying, and a heavy feeling of fatigue hung over him as he closed the door after the cleanup, covering his mouth as he let out a loud yawn. Abe watched him with arms crossed from where he leaned against the kitchen table, where their studying materials were still spread out haphazardly.

Abe was watching the boy carefully, trying to determine his physical state, as had become a habit for the catcher. "Oi, Ren, come over here."

The pitcher jumped hearing his name—he was still getting used to using first names with the team—and quickly stumbled over to Abe, stopping in front of his catcher and shifting nervously from foot to foot. "Y-yes, T-Takaya-kun?" He blushed and fidgeted as the pitcher carefully scrutinizing him. A flash of color by Mihashi's side caught his attention, and the catcher immediately reached out and grabbed his hand. "Hey, what is this?!" he pointed accusingly at the band-aid on the inside of Mihashi's ring finger and the pitcher jumped with a nervous squawk. "U-u-um, t-that's— Uh, w-w-well t-that's— Um..."

Growing impatient, Abe gave an annoyed tch and peeled off the band-aid to get a look at what was hiding underneath. "Ren!" He jerked the boy forward by the hand, nearly knocking him over, carefully surveying his finger. "When the hell did this happen? Why didn't you tell me?!"

"It's n-n-not a big d-deal, T-T-Takaya-kun, I p-p-pr-promise," Mihashi stammered, bouncing from foot to foot, afraid Abe was mad at him. "I just c-cut myself c-c-cooking, a-and..."

Abe growled and pulled him forward again, gently running a finger along the cut. "Mihashi, you can't hide things like this from me! What if it had become infected from pitching with a dirty baseball, huh? You might've not been able to use it for who knows how long!"

"I— I had a b-band-aid on it, so I t-thought..." Mihashi trailed off as Abe glared at him and looked at the ground, sniffling. "I— I'm s-sorry, Takaya-kun... I'm f-fine, I s-s-swear..."

Abe ignored him and continued assessing his hand, running a finger between his ring and middle finger carefully, being careful not to brush the cut and cause the boy pain. At first, he was solely focused on the cut, but then those familiar calluses drew him in, and he couldn't help but slide his fingers against Mihashi's palm, carefully feeling the rough skin there. He ran his fingertips across the pitcher's fingers next, carefully feeling and identifying each callus and what it was from.

Mihashi's hands really were a work of art. Years and years of practice, endless practice, had made these; each one was a product of Mihashi's unwavering dedication to his craft. This one here, from that month he'd spent improving his forkball; and that one, from all the fastballs Abe had him throw during practice. It made him both proud and sad: Proud because he knew how hard-working his pitcher was, and sad because it brought up memories of the past he'd had, where he'd been treated like a weakling and had been driven to endless practicing because of it. It made Abe's blood boil just thinking about it.

"U-um, Takaya-kun..." Abe was jolted out of his intense concentration and looked up, startled, to find his pitcher blushing furiously. "Uh, w-what are you..."

Abe quickly dropped his hand, his own cheeks tinged pink, and coughed. "Uh, I was just— Sorry." He cleared his throat and turned around, shuffling his supplies blindly, just wanting to have something to distract him from what he'd just done. "You need to put antibiotic ointment on that before bed, and make sure the bandage is on tight so it doesn't fall off, got it?"

"U-um, yes..." Mihashi lingered for a moment more before stumbling off to do as instructed. Abe rested a hand on his red face. I'm an idiot...

Later that night, Mihashi sprawled out on a futon beside Abe in the living room, pciking at the fresh band-aid on his finger. Abe shot him a glare. "Quit that." The pitcher immediately obeyed, placing his hands in his lap and shifting nervously, looking anywhere but at Abe.

Growing annoyed by this, the catcher scoffed and threw a pillow at him, knocking the ginger-haired boy clean over. "Go to sleep, Ren. We have practice tomorrow."

"R-right!" Mihashi flopped down on his futon and pulled the covers over his legs, closing his eyes as Abe reached over and flipped off the lamp, settling down on his own futon with a tired sigh. he tried to close his eyes, but his mind couldn't keep quiet. He stared at the shadows on the ceiling, frowning pensively as he thought about something.

Finally, after about ten minutes of this, he turned on his side and nudged Mihashi in the back with his heel. "Hey, Ren, give me your hand."

"Hu..." Mihashi yawned and rolled over to face him, eyes barely open, and reached out a hand to him. Abe gripped his palm and traced a callus on his pinkie, ignoring his stirring heart. "Hey, listen..." He paused; bit his lip before continuing. "You know you're the ace, right?"

"Mmm," was Mihashi's mumbled response, only a sliver of amber iris showing that he was still awake.

Abe continued, now more relieved, figuring he probably wouldn't remember any of this in the morning, but still needing to say it anyway. "Your hands are special, Ren. These hands... they make you the ace. You pitch with these fingers, practice to make their aim more accurate..."

He squeezed the boy's hand, looking at him earnestly. "They're beautiful." He lost his nerve after that and flipped around to face the other side, blushing fiercely. At least he wasn't lucid during any of that...

"Takaya." The word was quiet and sleepy, but it held not a single hint of stammering. "Thank you."

Abe turned his head to look at him, but the boy had fallen asleep already, mouth open wide and body relaxed, breathing even and slow. He turned back around and fisted his hand in his blankets with a slight flush. He could still feel those calluses under his fingertips, even though they were no longer touching. Those hands... He closed his eyes and let out a breath. They'll lead us to victory... They really are true works of art.