"Fourth. The colour of his eyes is blue enough to drown in. he is turning you into a clichéd love-wrecked being. You're drowning, always sinking. Down, down, down."


Before Sawamura, Kazuya was able to keep his head above water, or at least make it look like he did. It's easier than it seems, hiding himself away behind a laughing mask and a sometimes cocky attitude.

No one needed to know that he was barely able to keep himself from sinking. And still, no one needs to know that.

But as Sawamura's eyes meet his across the field, igniting an indignant spark to brighten them up even more, Kazuya has to remind himself to keep breathing.

It's hard to do, when it feels like there is no air for his lungs to take in. He's surrounded by burning amber, sucking him in with no way to escape as Sawamura comes closer until he's finally in front of him.

The pitcher's arms cross, his eyebrows drawn downward as he scowls up at Kazuya. He smiles, involuntarily, in amusement. This is how it always goes.

He talks, explaining his new regimen to him, but the words tumble out on autopilot. He already knows what he has to say, it takes no effort to do so, and so, his attention is reeled in by Sawamura's expressive eyes once again. Eyes which never seem to leave Kazuya's face, for all the noise the pitcher makes to express his annoyance with him.

And again, all Kazuya can see and feel is shades of gold and soft browns, surrounded by dark lashes which lazily blink every now and then. He can't flee and he doesn't know if he would, given the chance.

He's drowning and he almost doesn't care.

Except that no one needs to know that he is, that gold-amber-brown keeps him trapped like honey, warm, and slowing down his movements until he gives up struggling.

He wasn't trying that hard to begin with.