Chapter Thirty-six

Tension coiled thick in the air of the Spirit dorm dining room, as all of the players' attentions focused on the glowing TV screen in the corner. On the screen, a white-uniformed pitcher with bleached hair threw, and the batter swung through empty air.

Chris flipped a page in his notebook. "In the end, he only threw four changeups. Then six forkballs, nine sliders, and his main pitch was a fastball."

"Sensen's batters were by no means weak," Isashiki grounded out. "But he shut them down completely."

The pitcher on the screen threw again. This time, the batter helplessly watched it pass the plate.

"That's a crossfire pitch into right-handed batters," said Chris grimly. "He used that pitch well."

"Crossfire," Sawamura echoed. "That sounds…familiar."

In the midst of turning a page, Chris stopped. Kazuya turned around to see that Kominato's mouth had dropped open. "Oi, Sawamura, what're you talking about? You've thrown it a few times too, with your cutter."

A look of faint surprise flickered across Sawamura's face, before fading away into something that could only be described as resignation. "Ah…right."

From across the room, Kuramochi shot a glare at Kazuya, who shifted in his chair.

"So?" Ryōsuke looked at Yūki, and the others followed suit. "What do you think, after last summer?"

Yūki, who'd been sitting silently with his arms folded across his chest, gave a nod. "We have two batters in the front who can disrupt the opponent. We have batters who can adapt to the situation—and most importantly, everyone swings with confidence. This year, we will definitely be able to take Narumiya down." At his words, the gathered team members grinned at their captain, the prior tension nothing but a memory. "So let's play our baseball until the end."

Everyone—except for Furuya, who looked around in confusion and pushed back his chair to belatedly join them—burst to their feet. "Yeah!"

Kazuya smiled. He had to hand it to Yūki: Their captain sure knew how to rouse everyone's spirits. He could understand how Yūki had been unanimously voted to the role.

Once the racket had died down, the post-game meeting came to an end. As the others began to leave the room, Kazuya caught a glimpse of a head of messy brown hair attempting to slip out the door. Just as he opened his mouth to call out his name, he heard Coach Kataoka's gravelly voice do it for him.

"Sawamura, Miyuki." Sawamura froze. "And Chris, you too. Stay behind for a few more minutes."

Wearing an indecipherable expression, Sawamura stepped into place next to Chris. Beside the coach, Rei folded her arms below her chest. "Sawamura-kun, how've you been feeling?"

"Good." In spite of his words, his voice sounded less than enthused. "The sunlight's gotten better and my head doesn't ache that much anymore."

Rei exchanged glances with the coach, before turning to Kazuya. "How about you, Miyuki-kun? Chris? Have you noticed anything?"

"He does seem better," said Chris carefully. "However, I think he should make another visit to the doctor tomorrow to be sure."

"Of course," said Rei, pushing her glasses frame up.

"Miyuki," said Coach Kataoka. "What do you think?"

"I'm of the same mind as Chris-senpai," he answered.

"Why is that? Have you noticed anything?"

"…I believe it'd be best to exercise as much caution as possible."

There was a pause as the coach's eyes pierced into Kazuya. He felt a bead of sweat form at his temple. Then, Coach Kataoka nodded. "Very well then. Sawamura—provided the doctor finds nothing wrong, you'll play in the final."

He had expected Sawamura to show at least some excitement at that, but to his surprise, he only jerked his head. "Yes sir."

At a nearby table, there was a clatter as Kuramochi and Ryōsuke—who'd been discussing the recording—got up from their seats. "Ah, Ryō-san, are you free after this?"

"Hmm, I suppose," said Ryōsuke, just before slipping out the door. Kuramochi moved to follow, but before he did, he turned around. Casting a significant glance in Sawamura's direction, he glared at Kazuya again, who felt his jaw set.

Even without you telling me, I know.

Words couldn't do justice to what he'd felt earlier that day, when he opened the door and saw Sawamura kneeling on the bathroom floor. At the sight, his chest had seized up in actual pain, as though something inside it was being held in an iron grip. What'd caused it however, hadn't been so much the posture, but Sawamura's face.

Kazuya had seen Sawamura depressed. He'd seen him uneasy, confused, disappointed, lost, furious, anxious. And every now and then, he'd spotted fleeting moments of fragility in the other boy. But at that moment, for the first time, Sawamura had looked past that point. He'd…been broken.

After that, once they got on the bus, Sawamura closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep the whole ride. Kazuya knew he was awake from the unevenness of his breathing, but couldn't find it within himself to approach him. Sawamura had insisted that he'd simply slipped, and it was true that he did seem fine after that.

However, at the same time, it wasn't as though Kazuya could just let it by. He was Sawamura's catcher—and perhaps more, now.

With the meeting dismissed, Sawamura began to head to the door. Kazuya raised a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it. "Sawamura." The first-year paused. "Come with me to my room for a b – " He stopped short as the other boy held up his hand, palm-first, to his face.

"Sorry, senpai," said Sawamura, with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I promised Harucchi I'd play catch with him."

Kazuya didn't miss the way the younger Kominato glanced in surprise at his friend, but he didn't say anything. Instead, rooted to the spot, he could only watch as the first-years left.

What could you say to that?

Leaning back in his chair, Mei let out a big yawn. "I'm so sleepy. Can I sleep now?"

"It's still only eight…"

"Only if you've memorized the data on the Seidō batters," Masatoshi said irritably. "The average score for their past three games is 6 runs, and 7.5 for the two before today's. Unlike our previous opponents, their batters are at a national level."

Smirking, Mei folded his hands behind his head. "Then they'll be the perfect warm-up for Kōshien."

Masatoshi scowled. "That's the kind of overconfidence that'll – "

"First batter," Mei began loudly, cutting him off. "Kuramochi's speed is something to worry about, but that's only if he gets on base. The real threat's the next batter, Kominato-san, since he can hit any pitch. Third, Isashiki-san often swings from the first base, even if it's a ball. Masuko-san, in the five-hole position, is good against fastballs. I also need to worry about Kazuya if he's up when Seidō's in a position to score. But…the biggest threat on their team is their cleanup and captain, Tetsu-san." Mei lowered his chair, sitting up straighter. "He got a clean one off of me last year, too. If I can get him out, we can build momentum." He glanced at Masatoshi. "Do I need to know anything else?"

Looking resigned, Masatoshi closed his eyes. "That's enough." Which was high praise from his catcher. Pleased, Mei grinned. "Make sure you get a massage before you sleep."

"Okey dokey," he said. Rising to his feet, he left the room. Closing the door shut, he began to saunter toward his room. While it was a double, he had it all to himself that year.

Mei hadn't missed the way the other two were gawking at his back. But despite what everyone else on the team thought, it wasn't as though he went into a match completely in the dark about the batters of the opposing team. He really had been making sure to keep tabs on everyone that he found interesting.

It was just that, until recently, Mei hadn't found other batters particularly interesting. After all, for as long as he'd been playing baseball, his pitching on its own had always been enough that it didn't matter who the batter was.

As he'd learned the previous summer however, the stage at Kōshien was different.

Entering his room, Mei didn't bother to turn on the lights. Climbing up to the top bunk, he sat down, leaning his head back against the wall. After a minute, finding the moonlight too bright, he grabbed his covers and pulled it over his head.

While Kōshien had been different, he too was a different person now from who he'd been a year ago. Overconfidence? Mei knew that he talked big for someone of his stature. But there was no way he'd fall here, not when he'd come this far. Not when he hadn't gotten his revenge. Not when he had yet to see what the view looked like from the lonely peak of the nation.

The night had grown late, but Kunitomo didn't move from his armchair. Resting his head against his hand, he watched the recording of their upcoming opponent's quarterfinal game. Halfway through the fourth inning, the door opened, and the club president Hayashida came in. Looking unsurprised to see Kunitomo still in the office, he joined him.

After a few minutes of silent observation, Hayashida asked, "Will they be using Sawamura in the final, you think?"

Using the remote control, Kunitomo paused the screen, letting it stop on a still of the southpaw winding up. "I can't say for sure. It depends on the severity of his injury. However, we will prepare for the match under the assumption that he'll be pitching."

Unpausing the video, he watched the first-year finish his throwing motion. His brow furrowed. He'd been wondering it for a while now: Where had Sawamura come from, and how had Seidō gotten their hands on him? His pitching form was consistent and stable on a level that took years of punishing training, and polished in a way that suggested careful guidance. And yet no one had ever heard of the boy until his debut this spring with Seidō.

"Even if Sawamura does play, I'm sure they'll be switching pitchers often," said Hayashida.

Kunitomo's eyes narrowed.

Kataoka's pitcher relay strategy…while it made sense on paper, he'd never found it particularly appealing. He put his faith in the more traditional strategy of a single ace carrying the team through a game. Some people argued that a three- or four-legged table was more stable than a single leg—but teams weren't tables. And not all legs were created equal.

"Starting with Sawamura, if we crush Seidō's pitchers…we can win."

Were it not for the crowds of people gathered outside the field fence, it would have seemed like any other day of practice. However, with their minds preoccupied by the upcoming final, the audience soon faded into the background. After a heated session of morning running—or baking, as Nori privately considered it—and batting practice, they had a quick break for lunch. Following that, thankfully, the pitchers and catchers gathered in the bullpen for their own separate sessions.

Unfortunately, with all four of them throwing at the same time, the catchers calling out various pitches, and the coach watching them in his usual if-looks-could-kill manner, Nori was finding it difficult to concentrate.

"Nori, show me a sinker!" Ono called out.

He nodded. Raising his leg, Nori swung his arm around his side, and released the ball—which plummeted to the ground, hitting the dirt. His teeth gritted, Ono dropped his mitt to the ground, catching the ball on its bounce.

"Shoot—sorry!" Nori shouted.

Ono got to his feet and threw back the ball. "It's okay! Your speed's looking good. Just a little higher!"

Catching the ball, Nori adjusted his footing and returned to the rubber. He took in a deep breath. Careful, careful. He had to be careful. His control had to be perfect. His pitches weren't blisteringly fast like Furuya's, nor did they have the power and unpredictability of Sawamura's. As a sidearm, if his control was off even by a little, it was game over for him. Nori had come face to face with that reality in the Yakushi game. His nervousness had resulted in Nori throwing the pitch higher by a single ball's width—but that'd been enough for their cleanup to hit it out of the park.

He knew he'd been off ever since then. It was probably why the coach hadn't sent him out in the semifinal game against Sakurazawa. Even though he'd been warming up from the second half, waiting to hear his name being called.

Careful, careful.

Slam!

Glancing to his left, Nori caught sight of Furuya, who'd just thrown a pitch. The bullpen was shaded, but he was sweating profusely. Even as he watched, the first-year raised his sleeve to wipe his brow.

Wait—sleeve…? Why was Furuya wearing his long-sleeved undershirt?

"Slider, next!" Ono called.

Snapping his focus back on the catcher, Nori nodded. He let out a slow exhale. He was in no situation to be letting his attention wander, not when the final was tomorrow.

But even as he thought this, all of a sudden, he heard an all too familiar shout that sent cold chills running down Nori's spine. "Oi, oi, what's this?"

"Yer that stupid brat from that one time. Why're ya in the bullpen?" At the sound of the strong Kansai dialect, Kazuya felt himself sweat. It can't be.

Turning around, he found that indeed, it could be. The ground seemed to shake under the weight of the boy/man stomping toward them. His face twisted in a look that promised unparalleled pain, he growled, "Don't tell me yer on the first-string team?"

Looking completely unconcerned despite the oozing malice, Sawamura blinked back. "Oh. Chubby-senpai."

Everyone else in the bullpen froze. Breaking free from a stunned pause, Azuma inhaled, blowing himself up to his full towering stature. And then he exploded. "Ya tryna pick a fight, ya twerp?!" Reaching out with a hammy hand, he grabbed Sawamura by the collar. "I remember ya saying something about not liking famous schools! So what're ya doing at our school?!"

"I don't remember any of that," Sawamura replied dully, his head lolling back and forth as he was shaken.

Kazuya felt a muscle twitch, and took a step forward. "Azuma-senpai."

"What?" growled back his previous roommate.

"He's going to be pitching in tomorrow's final. Could you let him down?"

Azuma stopped. He stared in disbelief at the dangling first-year. "This brat?"

Kazuya didn't blame Azuma for his incredulity. Thinking back—had it really been less than a year ago?—while traces of the boy he'd first met were still present here and there, the Sawamura he had come to know over the months might as well have been a different person.

{ }

"Damn you! You're making fun of me, aren't you!"

Looking at the younger boy's heavy scowl, Kazuya laughed. "Just leave it all to me. I know Azuma-senpai's batting habits well."

"It's got nothing to do with you!" Grabbing Kazuya's hand, the boy—Sawamura, was it?—tried to push him off. "This is between me and him!"

"Is that how you see it?" His voice took on a steely note. "Then…do you plan on playing baseball by yourself?" That obviously struck a chord, as Sawamura froze. "I don't know what kind of baseball you've been playing, but the best pitches are works of art produced by the pitcher and the catcher working as one."

"Works of…art?" Sawamura echoed, still somewhat skeptical, but sounding dazed.

Kazuya hid a smile. The nail was in place. All that was left was to hammer it in.

Stepping back, Kazuya clapped his hand on Sawamura's shoulder. "I'll draw out your best potential. You just need to trust my mitt and throw your best pitches. It's that simple. We can become the best of partners." He thumped the other boy's chest with his mitt. "I'm counting on you, partner."

Sawamura flushed. "O-okay…"

There it was. Well, that'd been easy—as he'd expected. One look at the boy from the country, and it'd been fairly obvious what he needed to say. Now, the only thing left to see was how much of Rei's expectations were warranted.

Settling down in the catcher's box, Kazuya grinned with relish. Let's get this monster-slaying started then.

{ }

Their face-off with Azuma had been the first time they'd made a battery. If Kazuya remembered correctly, for the strikeout pitch, Sawamura had thrown the ball straight down the middle of the zone. Thanks in part to the natural movement of his ball, and in part to Azuma's cockiness, the cleanup swung through empty air. Perhaps it'd been the first time he'd ever experienced such a thrill while pitching, for the younger boy then threw his head back and let out a roar of joy.

The Sawamura at that time had only thrown fastballs (or his own breaking version of them). The Sawamura at that time—even though he'd still been in middle school—had, for better or for worse, gotten in Azuma's face. The Sawamura at that time had been impudent. Noisy. Hopelessly naïve, falling for Kazuya's words without a second thought. Were it not for his pure, simple-minded love for baseball, he couldn't have hoped to have matched anyone else on that field that day.

At the sound of Azuma clumping away, Kazuya tore himself away from his thoughts. Back in the bullpen, he found Sawamura straightening the front of his shirt. Ignoring the stares of the others, without another word, he looked expectantly back at Kazuya. After a moment, he sat back down and set up his mitt.

The Sawamura he saw now might as well have been a different person. And yet undoubtedly, they were one and the same.

It was always dark before he knew it. The days were so long in Tokyo during the summer, it seemed to Satoru that they would never end. But then he looked up and suddenly, the skies were black.

Though practice had ended early, he'd purposely avoided taking a bath until it was late in the evening, past when everyone should've been in their rooms. When he entered the changing room however, he found to his initial dismay another figure standing there.

Noticing the door opening, Kawakami turned around. Drying his hair with a towel, the other pitcher seemed surprised to see him. "You're getting in the bath now? I thought I'd be the last one today."

"Ah...yeah." As he took in Kawakami's friendly expression, for some reason, Satoru felt a stab of what he'd recently come to know as guilt. However, it was accompanied by a sense of puzzlement because while he could recognize it, that didn't mean he understood why he was feeling that way. After a moment, he looked down at the ground.

"Well, g'nite then," said Kawakami, sounding bemused.

"Good night," Satoru said back, relieved. Only when the door had shut behind the other boy did he finally undress.

The air in the bathhouse was foggy with steam. Taking care not to slip on the tiles, Satoru washed first with the shower before settling down in the bath. As the hot water lapped over the tender skin of his wrist, he sighed in contentment. Letting his head fall back against the bath tub wall, he closed his eyes.

He'd hoped that the swelling would calm down over the night. But as soon as he'd opened his eyes that morning and tried moving it, pain had laced through his arm. Despite that, Satoru had somehow managed to get through the whole day without anyone noticing. It'd been rough on his nerves, wondering whether the catchers would notice, since he'd been throwing carefully to avoid flinching in pain—but he'd noticed that everyone seemed distracted that day.

Suddenly, to his surprise, Satoru heard the door opening. His eyes flashed open, and met those of one of the worst people he could've come across at that moment.

"Ah, Furuya," said Chris, nodding in greeting.

Satoru sunk further into the bath, until the water came up to just below his nose.

With neither being particularly prone to making small talk, it was silent as Chris washed himself. Raising his head out of the water only when he needed to breathe, Satoru wondered if his wrist's coloring was visible through the bath water.

Thankfully, when Chris entered the bath, he sat on the other side of the tub as Satoru. Putting a towel over his head, Chris leaned back against the wall. Finally starting to relax, Satoru had just closed his eyes again when the older boy's voice spoke up, echoing in the steam. "You were throwing carefully in the bullpen today."

Immediately, Satoru tensed—but the third-year didn't look accusatory. "Ah…yes." He stopped there. However, while most people would've let it go there, Chris continued to look at him, so he added, "Since I've been told I…need to pace myself better."

"I see."

Satoru paused, fumbling for the words to say. Chris waited. "Though…I don't know if I'll even get to play in tomorrow's game."

A splash of water. "I'd thought you had more conviction than that," said Chris. Satoru didn't respond, too lost for words—and the older boy smiled. "You've been trying hard to support the team. The coach hasn't missed that."

Something twisted uncomfortably in his chest. Under the water, Satoru clasped his hand over his wrist. "…Yeah."

Mashing the attack buttons of his controller, Yōichi leaned closer to the TV. Gritting his teeth, he glanced at his health bar, which was rapidly plummeting into the red.

"C'mon, c'mon – "

Knock, knock.

Keeping his eyes fixed on the screen, he called out, "Sawamura, get the door."

There was no response.

"I think he's sleeping," said Endō, sounding equally distracted.

Just then, the player on the screen, dealing a forward heavy punch, cancelled into an uppercut. "Shoryuken!"

Before Yōichi's despairing eyes, the last remnants of his health bar disappeared.

"K.O!" Letting out a roar of defeat, Yōichi's character, Zangief, dropped to the ground.

Endō pushed up his glasses in smug victory. Yōichi grunted, and put down his controller. Turning around, he looked in the direction of their bunk bed. "Oi, Sawamura."

The lump in the bed didn't move.

Yōichi raised an eyebrow. Granted, the final game was tomorrow—but it was because of that, that he felt too tense to just fall asleep. That was why he'd invited Endō over to play, though, now that he was getting slayed, he rather wished he hadn't.

At least it seemed Sawamura was listening to the doctor's advice about getting plenty of rest. A smiling Rei had informed them that morning of the southpaw's clean bill of health stating that he was in good enough condition to pitch. Everyone on the team had been relieved, but it'd especially been the case for Yōichi, after what he'd seen in the bathroom. Maybe Sawamura really had slipped back then.

Knock, knock.

With a sigh, Yōichi crawled to the door. Twisting the door knob, he opened it a crack. "What is i—oh, it's you."

He pulled the door further open to reveal Miyuki, who stood looking oddly sheepish in the outside light. "Is Sawamura here?"

"He's sleeping," he answered, jerking his head toward the lump.

"Oh."

Yōichi eyed the two cans the catcher was carrying. "I can take those off your hands for you, though." To his surprise, Miyuki silently handed them over. As it was always best to maintain a healthy amount of skepticism around the catcher, Yōichi's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "…these aren't poisoned or something, are they?"

With a shrug, Miyuki turned to leave. "You'll have to try it to find out."

For a few moments, Yōichi stared down at the drinks—Fanta—and then looked back up at the retreating back. "You wanna play a round with us?"

Waving a careless hand, Miyuki continued to walk away. Yōichi watched his solitary figure get swallowed up in the evening shadow.

"Is something the matter?" he heard Endō say.

"Nah." Closing the door, Yōichi snapped open the cold can. Raising it to his mouth, he took a sip of the frothing soda. Smacking his lips, he crowed, "Last round, senpai. Ready to get creamed?"

"In your dreams."

The door to the storage room opened with a clatter. It had turned dark outside, but enough moonlight filtered into the room to reveal a figure sitting still at its center.

"I knew we'd find you here," said Ōta, stepping inside.

Rei followed inside, wearing a small smile. "Coach, you should get some rest."

Kataoka didn't turn around. After a long moment, he said, "What do you think our chance of winning tomorrow's game is?"

"Eh?" Ōta blinked in surprise.

"With the way things have turned out, saying that it's 50-50 would be underestimating the opponent."

"That's not true!" Ōta protested. "I'm sure our players will – "

"That is true," said Rei calmly. "To be frank, I think it's 40-60 in their favor. I have faith in our players of course, but it'll be difficult to score so many runs off Narumiya-kun. It'll come down to our pitchers, and how many runs we can hold them down to. To avoid the weaknesses of a pitcher's relay, the most ideal outcome would be to have Sawamura-kun pitch for five innings, and Tanba-kun to close the game… But while it looks as though Sawamura-kun will be able to pitch tomorrow, there's no saying how his injury will affect his gameplay."

Kataoka raised his gaze, looking up at the moon. "The rest will be up to the goddess of victory. It doesn't matter if it's by luck or if we barely win. Either way is fine. I just want to take them to Kōshien."

"You wanna play a round with us?"

Waving off the invite, Kazuya began to walk back to his room. He could feel Kuramochi's gaze on his back, but after a few moments, he heard the door close. Reaching the stairway, he began to heavily pull himself up the stairs.

He didn't know what he'd been expecting. Sawamura was obviously going out of his way to avoid him. For whatever reason, he wanted to be alone. So why was Kazuya trying so hard to – ?

Raising a hand to rub his neck, he let out a sigh. It wasn't as though he didn't know the answer to that already.

Thump. Thump.

There was someone coming up the stairway behind him. Kazuya felt something flicker in his chest. Who could it be at this late hour…?

"Oh, Miyuki," said a heavy set boy, passing by with a bat in hand.

"Zono," Kazuya responded with an acknowledging jerk of his head.

Jumping up two steps at a time, Zono went ahead of Kazuya. Trailing behind, when Kazuya reached the second level, he was greeted by the sight of green flooring stretching out before him, long and empty. He strode forward, the darkly illuminated trees on the other end of the building looming closer with every step he took.

Just as he reached his door, the floor lights blinked out, indicating that it was lights out time. Finding himself awash in darkness, he gripped his door knob. He began to turn it—and paused.

Minminminmin.

Kazuya released the door knob. "I'm here, you know," he said aloud.

There was no response, and he was about to feel silly—when he heard someone step into place behind him. Turning around, he saw Sawamura taking his baseball cap off, the courtyard light shining at his back.

"I know," he said.

The future was changing. In small steps and in great leaps.

Tomorrow, if it was Seidō roaring triumphantly to the sky while Inashiro fell to their knees, his whole world as he knew it would change. The future he had come from would irrevocably unravel and become undone, replaced by a brand new knot of threads.

It was clear to Eijun now. If Seidō won the summer qualifiers, the third years wouldn't graduate early. If they made Kōshien, the coach would no longer have a reason to retire. If the coach was no longer retiring, Miyuki would no longer be under pressure to lead the team to victory in the fall regionals. The same pressure, the same stakes that would cause him to dismiss and hide his injury…

Eijun felt quiet certainty grip his heart. This was the final crossroads. If what he'd been working all summer towards should come to fruition—if Seidō won the game tomorrow, it wouldn't be a matter of his returning to his timeline, as he'd once feared. No—the future that had made him who he was would unravel, disappear. And he, with it.

What did it feel like to disappear? Who would be left behind? Who was the person named Sawamura Eijun?

He didn't know, and it scared him.

His heart was racing, pounding so loudly he thought the whole world could hear it. A sudden wild, terrible thought had breached the surface of his mind: What if Seidō didn't win? What if Inashiro won, as they'd done before? What if everything went on as it should have?

Would he be able to cling on, then? Uneasily, perhaps, but still there? Even if that meant a possibility that Miyuki would...?

Suddenly, the lights around where Eijun was sitting turned off, and he was floating in a sea of darkness. Too weary to be taken aback, and his eyes heavy, he closed them without putting up a fight.

I'm here again, he thought to himself.

A hole. A black hole.

No matter how many times Eijun thought he'd escaped for the last time, he suddenly found himself back there again. The little remaining of his heart that he could still feel, wrenched. He couldn't get out after all, then. Once he'd fallen in, he wondered, was it truly inescapable?

"I'm here, you know," came his voice.

Eijun's eyes opened. For a moment, he sat still. His view of the trees standing just outside the building began to blur. Pushing himself up, he turned the corner, and Miyuki was standing there, his frame lit up in the glow of lamplight.

The door clicking shut behind them, they fumbled in the darkness. Ushered on by a strange sense of urgency, Kazuya swiped for the light switch—but missing, stumbled into Sawamura, who staggered back.

Giving up on the lights, Kazuya buried his face in Sawamura's neck, prodding him backward with his legs. As Sawamura nuzzled back, his hands took on a life of their own, sneaking up under the other boy's shirt. Feeling the warmth of Sawamura's flat stomach under his hands, a thrill ran down his spine, and as something hot and needing curled in his belly, he felt himself twitch. Within a few beats of heat, the front of his pants was tight and straining, and a nudge of his knee told him that Sawamura was in a similar state.

They bumped into something—the bed frame. Moving on instinct, Kazuya pushed down on Sawamura—carefully, avoiding his head—and he fell back on the mattress without protest. The bed creaked as he swung his leg around to climb on top, his mind a heated haze. Sensing Sawamura looking up at him, without any further preamble, he leaned back down and, their noses bumping into each other, they kissed.

He couldn't think. His whole body felt hot. Everything in his head that was usually there was gone, or somewhere in a corner that didn't seem to matter at the moment, and the only thing racing through his mind was the feeling of the body, warm and solid, trapped below his.

"Miyuki," Sawamura panted into his mouth.

Suddenly, he felt Sawamura's hands pushing him back. At first puzzled, Kazuya simply leaned back, but a moment later, his unspoken question was answered as he felt hands slipping into the waistline of his pants. His eyes widening—is he really...?—he jerked back. Undeterred, Sawamura brushed his fingers against the bulge in Kazuya's pants, and even at the light touch, he let out a groan.

"It's okay," Sawamura said in a strangely calm voice. He cupped Kazuya with his hand, and as his heart began to beat even faster than he'd thought possible, he couldn't help but think that the first-year seemed almost older than him…

"Stop," he somehow managed to wrench out. After a beat—to the traitorous disappointment of his lower regions—the hand drew back. His elevated heart rate still pounding in his ears, Kazuya rolled off to the other side of the mattress. He exhaled in an attempt to cool his heated face down. "Sawamura…what's got into you?"

A pause. And then in a quiet, muffled voice, "I wish we could always be together."

Kazuya blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?" But it was silent, except for the sounds of their breathing, and so, in a voice he hadn't realized he could make, he added, "We can be."

The bed creaked. "That's impossible."

What could you say to that? He'd been thinking it over for some time, but he didn't respond, not at first. Instead, after a moment, he reached out and found Sawamura's arm. Trailing his fingers down, he took Sawamura's hand. "We're a battery, aren't we? Partner."

"We're a battery, aren't we? Partner."

His body stiffening, Eijun felt his breath leave him. For a brief moment, the Miyuki lying in front of him seemed to flicker out, replaced by an older, more worn down version.

"What if I could really catch for you again? Wouldn't that be something."

"Think some god out there was listening?"

The phantom-like illusion was gone in a flash, and in his place, the Miyuki he'd come to reacquaint himself with was there once more. But despite that, Eijun felt something inside his chest, something tight and hard that he hadn't even realized was there, begin to crack.

It wasn't as though there hadn't been any signs. When Miyuki had visited Eijun for his birthday, he'd been hiding something. He'd sensed it. But he hadn't said anything—he'd been too naïve, too afraid.

"Can you lead Seidō to Kōshien?"

"I'll be watching tomorrow. Throw your best pitches."

He'd thought he couldn't feel his heart anymore. But thinking about what had been, and what could've been, a fierce pain seized his chest, and then he couldn't hold it back anymore. Hot tears welling up in his eyes, he finally found the words he hadn't been able to say in time.

"I'm sorry." He could feel snot and slime beginning to drip from his nose, and he knew the Miyuki before him wouldn't understand, but for the moment, he didn't care. "I should've known. You… It was my fault. I never meant to push you that way. I just wanted to be with you. I'm sorry."

He couldn't help but think: What if he hadn't asked Miyuki to make Eijun his life, all that time ago? What if he had spoken up to Miyuki? What if –

"Pbbt...haha!"

Eijun blinked, his thoughts abruptly cutting off.

I...what…?

This sound—it couldn't be. But—Eijun's mouth dropped open—it was: Miyuki was laughing.

Watching the outline of the catcher laugh into a fist, he grew so bewildered, his tears stopped. "Wh-what's so funny?" he asked weakly.

Immediately, Miyuki stopped short. "Aha, ah…sorry. I just…your face. The moonlight was reflecting off all the snot on your face and you looked…" He coughed, perhaps thinking better of it. "Ahem. Sawamura. You haven't pushed me into anything. I want...this just as much as you. It's just that—you know—tomorrow's the final game, and well, maybe we'd better put it off."

For a moment, Eijun stared, not understanding. Did Miyuki know what had—or rather, was going to happen?

Confused, his gaze dropped to their clasped hands. And then, realization striking like a bolt of lightning, he flushed. "That's not what I—that's really not – "

"Right, right," said Miyuki in an appeasing tone. "Sawamura…if something's going on, you know you can tell me right?"

His face beginning to cool down, Eijun hesitated. He could feel Miyuki's hand, slightly bigger than his own, squeeze his. Even though this Miyuki knew nothing. He felt a lump rise in his throat.

When he was ready, he rubbed his eyes, cleared his throat, and replied, "I know. And I'm okay now. Really."

To himself, he couldn't help but think that he was a lot more like Miyuki than he'd thought. Or perhaps the catcher had rubbed off on him more than he'd expected.

The hold relaxed. "Alright then. Now, with that out of the way…say…Kuramochi said you were sleeping in your bed. What was that about?"

"…I stuffed my pillow under the covers."

"So no one's expecting you back in your room?" Without waiting for a response, Miyuki pulled Eijun into his chest. "Then stay here."

"I'm gonna get your shirt wet," he mumbled.

"I'll live."

Eijun closed his eyes. Lying this close to Miyuki, he could smell the other boy's slight musk. He could feel his heart beating above his own, at first rapid but gradually growing steady as they both grew acclimated to each other's proximity. At least, until Eijun shifted, letting his leg fall between Miyuki's. In response, Miyuki's heartbeat grew faster once more, followed by something hard poking into his stomach.

"Sorry," Miyuki said, sounding uncomfortably awkward in a way he wasn't accustomed to.

At that, suddenly, Eijun felt something warm bubbling out of his chest. He opened his mouth—and then to both his and Miyuki's alarm, he started to laugh.

He couldn't stop. It poured out of him, like sand. He laughed so hard he began to cry again, and then Miyuki smothered him with his hand, warning that those next door would hear, and how even though they were a battery, it'd be really hard to explain why that was a legitimate reason for them to be sleeping together.

He finally fell quiet then, but he smiled. He smiled so much his face ached, because the Miyuki before him was different from the Miyuki he'd first gotten to know, and yet, undoubtedly, they were one and the same.

Once he'd calmed down, Eijun found himself drifting off into sleep.

It wasn't that he'd managed to better figure out his situation. The future, and what tomorrow would bring, was just as uncertain. However, somewhere in the intervals between crying and laughing, there was one thing that'd been made clear.

Who was Sawamura Eijun? He still didn't know, and it scared him. But if it was for this person, he thought, he could be brave.

A/N: A lot of people seem to be wondering about the direction of the story, asking whether I'll make it a "happy" ending. Naturally I won't answer any of these questions. All I can to do is to ask you, as the reader, to lend me your faith.

To my half-joking question about the poll, the reader response—while mixed—seemed to favor Sawamura bottoming. While it doesn't matter since this is still (...mostly) a T-rated fic, I found it amusing.

The next chapter will be "Miyuki's Postlude" and then in the following chapter, we will launch into the beginning of Inashiro vs Seido.