Chapter Text
The Meiji Jingu tournament would be underway soon, and as of late, the nights found Nabe and Miyuki squirreled away in the latter’s room, scouring over tapes and scorebooks of the other nine teams.
After re-watching a particular game for the umpteenth time, Nabe called behind him, "I think I’ve figured out a way to deal with his breaking ball..."
He received no answer.
"Miyuki?"
Nabe turned his head back. Behind him, his captain had fallen asleep on his bed, glasses slightly askew. He smiled and muted the volume on the tv, got up, off the floor, reached over to remove the glasses and set them aside, pulling covers over the exhausted boy before him.
His duty done, he stood back and observed the sleeping boy. Miyuki really was a pretty boy, as Yakushi's Mishima liked to not so subtly grit out through envious teeth. In sleep, the smirk that more often than not wound its way around his face had smoothed into a neutral passiveness, stripped bare of snide intent, betraying its master’s vulnerability. Not that Nabe had ever been a recipient of that cruel, mocking gaze.
Full lips opened to the barest of amounts. Soft locks of hair fell across closed eyes. As if under a spell, he stepped closer, and sat himself at the edge of the bed.
He brushed aside a lock of hair and began to slide the backs of his fingers down the forehead, along a cheek, down a jaw...
A soft sigh, and the eyes in front of him hazily cracked open into slivers. "...Nabe...?"
His eyes crinkled at the boy in front of him. "Go back to sleep," he whispered.
Another sigh, and the other obediently closed his eyes, subconsciously tilting his head towards the soft hand at his face, "Nabe."
As his fingers brushed against the face of the beautiful boy before him, a shudder of excitement trembled through his body, and he lowered his own face closer, lips a hair's width from the other’s. Not Kuramochi, not Tetsu-san, not even Chris-senpai were given this privilege. Only him.
Leaning even closer, he brought the two together in a brief, chaste touch.
The other shifted and winced, a small whimper of protest beginning and dying in the younger's throat.
Was this kiss your first, Miyuki? Did I steal it from you?
His captain, so strong, so resilient, and yet, oh so fragile. If he could navigate past the layers upon layers of walls and shields, of stone and moat, to the crumbling castle within, it would be so easy to destroy the boy beneath him. Miyuki trusted him. Maybe not more than their previous captain, maybe not more than Chris-senpai – not when it came to baseball. But with his heart, it was only Nabe who Miyuki turned to. Only he saw what was beyond the walls. Only he was privileged to hear Miyuki's confessions, his insecurities. Only he was there to witness the cracks in that facade at Ochiai's cruel words.
What would happen to Miyuki, he wondered, if he gave away the heart, the trust he had for so long kept hidden away under lock and key, only for it to be betrayed and destroyed by the one he had trusted? But Nabe wasn’t cruel. Miyuki was always kind to him. He didn’t treat him like the others. He was honest, gentle. Nabe could never hurt Miyuki.
But with the captain now injured, their peers were beginning to understand as well. The fragility hidden underneath that unwavering spirit, behind that confident smirk, the biting words. Zono and Shirasu were beginning to understand, the former doubting and challenging him less, the latter giving friendly slaps of encouragement to their bewildered captain.
Even Chris-senpai was starting to pay more attention, more often addressing Miyuki, the person, Miyuki, the kouhai, Miyuki, the lonely boy with no friends, and not Miyuki the captain, Miyuki, the genius catcher, the rival at his heels. Nabe didn’t like it, Miyuki’s eagerness whenever Chris was around. Didn’t like how he would brighten momentarily at even the slightest sliver of attention. Nabe didn’t like it at all. Not when it was Chris who ignored Miyuki from the beginning, who shot down the enthusiastic first year with silence and gloom. The first year who had only come to Seidou to be with said idol. Nabe frowned as he recalled the brief glimpse of Miyuki’s hurt expression a year prior, staring after the large, retreating back. Chris could never make up for a year of neglect.
He wouldn't let them, couldn't let them into the gentle warmth deep inside Miyuki. The tenderness was his. It belonged to him. He was the first to grasp the apprehension Miyuki had at his situation, about his captaincy, the coach, and everything spiraling out of control. He was already there when the boy was still being imprisoned on a pedestal, removed from his peers. The baseball deity who everyone relied on, who everyone demanded the world of, but who no one acknowledged as his own. He wouldn't allow them the opportunity to hurt the lonely boy beside him. Miyuki was his.
He lowered himself onto the bed and carefully wrapped his arms around the sleeping boy, burying his nose into a shoulder.
"Don't worry Miyuki. You won't be alone anymore.”
I won't let anyone hurt you again.
I won't let anyone touch you.
You only need me.
Only me.
Quiet promises drifted in silence.