Truth be told, Kuramochi never really liked Miyuki. He was weird, and not the nice kind of weird. It was like a disgusting combination of arrogance, insensitiveness and social ineptness. In short, he was unlikeable. Perhaps the only redeeming factor he had was his proficiency in baseball. Even though Kuramochi would argue even that.

If someone had told the fifteen-year-old Kuramochi that he would be with Miyuki for a whopping ten years, he'd spat at their face. He wasn't about to suffer ten years of his life being by the side of this insufferable guy.

And yet here he was, ten years later, warming up in their matching Yomiuri Giants uniforms—together with their whole teammates obviously—at the Chiba Marine Stadium. And he had no idea why the hell he was being all sentimental. And as much as he hated to admit it, Miyuki did seem to notice, from the way that guy was giving him this obvious smirk.

"Don't say anything," Kuramochi held up a finger in warning, in which he doubt would have done anything to Miyuki anyway. They had known each other for far too long for Miyuki to feel threatened by any single gesture by him, unfortunately.

Miyuki shrugged, his smirk still so annoyingly intact. "I didn't."

"You were about to."

"I mean, it's not my fault that you look like you're about to have the runs." How the hell Miyuki thought that would be a good answer in this predicament was beyond Kuramochi. Seriously, if Kuramochi was a professional murderer, this guy would definitely be the first victim.

Although, to be fair, he probably wouldn't be too far off had he not been recruited to Seidou ten years ago. And that just brought him back to the whole mess he was in. It really wasn't his first time playing against Chiba Lotte Marines. But playing against Chiba Lotte Marines at the Chiba Marine Stadium was definitely the first.

It was one thing to play against the team of your hometown. Playing against your hometown team at your own hometown was another.

"If you really want to—"

"I said don't say a damn thing!" Kuramochi shot a death glare to his longtime companion—or at least what he thought was a death glare.

Miyuki still grinned though. "Just wondering if there was anyone you know in the other team," Miyuki shrugged.

"None," Kuramochi spat. It was frustrating, and he swore he hated Miyuki's guts. But he couldn't deny the fact that perhaps they were the closest a friend could be. Which was sad because he didn't realise how little friends he had throughout his life. He would have more had it not because of the betrayal he had during his middle school.

Needless to say, he totally butchered the tournament. Errors, strike outs, lost bases—you name it. He was swapped out by fourth inning, and their captain gave him a good lecture on focus and perseverance. He could see the coach was being antsy. And Kuramochi was once again reminded of the fact that professional baseball was nothing like the high school baseball. The stakes were high, the risks were excessive, the reputations were delicate. It was a harsh world.

He'd be lucky if he could remain a shortstop after the day.

What worried him more was the fact that Miyuki was totally normal. The catcher usually would already started his blunt rebuke by now, knowing how important winning was to him. Yet, they won anyway, even by a small margin. But they did. Kuramochi wanted to believe that Miyuki wasn't pissed because they won. But, really, who was he kidding. The win was not their best. They were crawling to grab it, unlike their usual performance. Kuramochi had played baseball long enough to know it wasn't a prideful victory.

And so the moment Miyuki jokingly suggested them to go for some botannabe, Kuramochi complied. Let it be some kind of compensation, and a promise that he would do better next week, and that this occurrence would never happen again.

Until he steps halted at the sight of the building Miyuki led him to. "Hold on, this isn't a botannabe restaurant."

"Huh? Weird—"

"Miyuki, stop acting stupid. What is this?" Kuramochi's voice was aggravated.

Miyuki finally dropped his cheerful pretence, sighing before shrugging slightly. "We still have some more tournaments here."

"I'll be fine," Kuramochi insisted.

"You weren't this morning," Miyuki argued flatly.

He had a point, and Kuramochi hated to admit that. Miyuki wasn't acting normal. He was simply moving on while leading Kuramochi back to the place where everything started—his middle school. The building was old. Nothing had changed much except for the paints. It was light purple now. It used to be dark blue. Some old barren lands were filled with greeneries and flowers which were set off with some wooden signboards pierced on the ground with the scientific names of each plants. The school looked more lively. And yet there wasn't any soul around. But that was probably because it was dusk.

Nevertheless, the rest of the buildings were more or less the same. His emotions were a mess, and he couldn't quite explain what exactly he was feeling right at the moment. And so he did the only thing he could; he sighed.

"You can't run away from your past forever," Miyuki's voice pulled him out of his reverie. "Especially now that you're a professional player."

Kuramochi scoffed. "You're one to talk."

There was a comfortable silence between them. The silhouette of their shadows seemed to grow with each minutes of the sun sinking into the expanse of the horizon, dwelling in diffuse rays. The slanting rays gave a warm tinge to the sky—dim, empty and lonely. The orangish hue softened the volume of the daytime orchestra, in which Kuramochi realised it narrated more of the golden rays than darkness. In the bittersweet puddles of calmness, in the colours of the sunset lullaby, Kuramochi revelled on the nostalgic feeling of them both walking along the Seidou training grounds under the same setting sun. It was like a crossroad branching from the past and the future, and they both wistfully decided to move forward into the unknown, savouring what remaining they had.

"You know I really don't like sweet things," Miyuki said quietly.

"I know."

"And my father doesn't like it either. I remember we both dislike chocolate cakes my mother brought home. It was probably the only few similar thing between us," Miyuki continued, totally disregarding Kuramochi's reply.

Kuramochi chose to stay silent.

"You know what else between us that's similar?" Miyuki chuckled, his shoulders shook at the implication that he thought was funny enough. Although how the topic of his father was funny was beyond Kuramochi.

"Baseball."

Miyuki's almost immediate reply was unsolicited, yet it weighted heavily on Kuramochi's ears. It felt even worse when Kuramochi realised this wasn't a regular dinner conversation for Miyuki. Because no matter how socially inept this guy was, he was actually pretty closed up when it came to his personal life. And Kuramochi so didn't wish to be in this awkward confidante situation.

"After my mother left us, I was desperate for attention. Nothing I did was enough for my father. No kids really liked me back then," Miyuki grinned in his reminiscence.

"No one likes you right now either," Kuramochi amended him.

Miyuki laughed heartily. "Baseball was the only thing I was good at even when I was a kid. Over time, baseball just ingrained in my blood before I even knew it. It worked for a while. My father would praise, but then he would argue why I became a catcher instead of a pitcher. He scolded me for picking Seidou over Inashiro. I don't think we were ever on the same page other than baseball in the nutshell."

"Perhaps it's because you don't know him enough," Kuramochi supplied, slipping his hands into the side pockets of his jeans at the sliver of cold starting to sweep his hands. "Perhaps had you taken your time for some talk, you'll know there are things in baseball you still agree with. And maybe there'll be things about chocolate cakes you both don't totally agree either."

"Perhaps," Miyuki agreed, shrugging again for what seem to be the anthem of their rhythm for the night. "Don't you think perhaps you didn't know your friends enough?"

Kuramochi thought this was probably the reason why they could stick together for ten years despite their animosity towards each other. Him and Miyuki—they were both too similar.

They both sought validation. They both were lost among the community that didn't blend well with them. They both were good for nothing other than their talents. And similarly, they both found comfort through baseball. It wasn't really something to be proud of. At some point, Kuramochi thought it was lonely, yet so fulfilling at the same time. Because had Seidou didn't recruit him—had he lost his baseball back then—he would probably be lost in a yakuza group right now.

Purposeless.

Unenthusiastic.

Lifeless.

His feet reflexively moved forward at the thought, heading towards somewhere he somehow had woven firmly at the back of his head. He could feel Miyuki following, but he really didn't care at this point. The door of the clubroom was painted new. But it was etched in his memory the moment he overheard his teammates backstabbing him. This was the door that he once believed had shattered his life. He never felt more alone than he was then.

"Isn't it sad and lonely that you don't have a place who could accept you as who you are?" Kuramochi half mumbled, and Miyuki didn't reply.

It wasn't him who was lonely. He was perfectly happy up until the revelation. It was his friends who had to put up a front. Kuramochi wondered how the hell his friends could stand playing something they were not passionate about for years. And all of a sudden, Kuramochi was thankful that he was naive enough to believe them. Because had he knew his friends didn't like him and baseball that much, perhaps he would have given up. And he probably wouldn't be in Seidou meeting all the people with the same passion and mindset. They had one goal—and that one goal unified them despite their diverse personalities.

Kuramochi's lips curved slightly at the thought. His awful play this morning flashed in his mind, and he wondered why the hell was he hesitating. This—the past—was long gone. What was left was his present and his future—and all his like-minded comrades.

One hand reached out to open the unlocked door, he was greeted by an empty room and locked compartments. There really was nothing much changed. Until Kuramochi's eyes landed upon an opened locker that piqued his interest. He approached the locker to see a worn out cloth banner, and he pulled it out of curiosity. His eyes widened at the realisation of the said item.

It was a blue banner with his name in yellow, with an awful red strokes wishing him the best for his future.

Kuramochi didn't remember seeing anything like this.

"That's yours?" Miyuki peered behind him, laughing slyly in the process. "That's so ugly and plain."

"Terrible choice of colour," Kuramochi nodded in agreement. Seriously, who would use a blue cloth with yellow and red writings? "Must be Shoukichi. He was never an artistic guy."

"Pffft, you're one to talk, blondie," Miyuki dismissed him with another laugh.

But Kuramochi wasn't offended. His eyes trained upon the banner, and he wondered if he was supposed to see this ten years ago. Perhaps he was too harsh on judging them. Perhaps they were too young to understand what friendship really entailed. Perhaps Miyuki was right, he didn't know them well enough. Either way he didn't care. He was here now, seeing the well wishes from Shoukichi, Naoto and the others. The idea that the whole ten years of the school's baseball club members knowing his name in such an ugly painting just overwhelmed him.

"Miyuki, help me get some paints at the corner," Kuramochi exclaimed, rushing towards a corner to grab a can of said item. "I want the dark green colour."

"Why dark green?" Miyuki was puzzled.

"Duh, obviously, because it was my hair colour," Kuramochi rolled his eyes in exasperation as if it was such an obvious thing as he dragged the can. "They used yellow because I was blonde. So I'll use dark green now because I grew my hair back."

"Hold on, the colour is even more hideous!" Miyuki protested, even though it fell onto deaf ears.

Kuramochi didn't seem to regard Miyuki as he painted the remaining spaces below the banner, and Miyuki finally decided it was probably wise not to butt in this time. When he was finally done, he draped the banner in the locker in such a way that people could see when they opened it. Clapping his hands together in satisfaction—even though Miyuki shook his head at the unsightly blend and choice of colour—, Kuramochi finally turned back to exit the clubroom.

"Now, botannabe!" Kuramochi half cheered as he marched out. "I know of a very good place for it."

"Yes, please, I'm hungry. It's not easy babysitting an ugly green ogre," Miyuki tailed almost too willingly.

"What should we get once we returned to Tokyo?" Kuramochi's eyes shifted to his companion mischievously.

"You go back to your house, I'll go back to mine," came Miyuki's answer, knowing full well what Kuramochi meant. He wasn't about to play house with this yankee.

"You can't run away from your past forever," Kuramochi mimed teasingly.

"Unlike you, it doesn't haunt me. My performances are top notch even while we're smacked in the middle of Tokyo. There's a difference between you and me, Youichi," Miyuki chuckled half mockingly.

Kuramochi grumbled at that, because he knew for a fact Miyuki was right. "I hate you."

"Aww, the feeling's mutual."

Really, he hated Miyuki. But Miyuki was also his comrade, his confidante. Their bond wasn't something flimsy that can be destroyed with a little banter. Nor did it need to be coated with unnecessary condiments. They were raw and free—all true to themselves—on field and out. Even now they had each other's backs. Right now, Kuramochi knew he could finally let go and forgive. The game next week would be fun. He would redeem himself and show Chiba what he was made of.

Watch me, Chiba. You'll regret what you lost.

And as they walked out of the compound, Kuramochi could feel a heavy burden lifted off his shoulders that was probably there for the past ten years.

The school faded from view, leaving behind the discarded extra baggage with a newly painted old banner that said; "I made it to pro! I hope you guys achieved your dreams too!"

THE END