Work Text:
we used to be clumsy / lost in a thousand ways
captivated by the craze / those were hands down
my favourite days
The first time Jun had looked at Yuki and felt something - something, he didn't know what - it had been an accident. It was somewhere after the acceptance that Yuki Tetsuya was ahead, sometimes at Jun's fingertips but never quite in grasp. Jun was thinking in a baseball sense. It soon became something else.
They were practicing their batting and Yuki, as always, was the last to leave. He swung his bat with a power that terrified, inspired. Jun paused his own practice to observe, leaning on his bat and breathing as quietly as he could to not disturb the rhythm of the other boy. They were second years now and the nationals were close enough that it was getting hard to sleep when there was so much that needed to be done. Yuki was taller, still, and Jun laughed inwardly at how he couldn't catch up to him, literally.
The moon was half full but the clouds swayed in and out of the white light. Jun could see the sweat layering Yuki's skin and then he couldn't. He could see Yuki's breath, pants of whispery air, and then he couldn't. He could see the strong shoulders, the curve of his forearms, but not his hands, blurring out of sight as the moon did. That would have been a homerun. Jun could see the intensity in Yuki's gaze, eyes that shone through the darkness. Yuki had his own light that never went out.
“You're not talking, Jun.”
Jun, so absorbed in his thoughts, jumped at the sudden intrusion on the silence, the bat he was leaning on slipping. He managed to keep his footing and turned towards Yuki. It was dark but Jun could see his smile well enough. Bastard.
“Don't act so shocked,” Jun snapped, swinging his bat up onto his shoulder. “I was thinking.”
“Can I act shocked about that?”
This time Jun did voice his thoughts. “Bastard!”
Yuki didn't laugh often but when he did, it was a gentle sound, barely louder than a breath. He ducked his head, shoulders shaking ever so slightly. Yuki was so put together, so driven, that Jun sometimes forgot that he was still a high school boy, still playing because he loved it.
Yuki was still human and all humans broke. Jun learnt that the hard way.
But at the time, all Jun knew was that Yuki didn't laugh enough and they were going to nationals. Together. It was beginning to not matter that Yuki was better than him because they were a team. And, if Jun was being honest with himself, if he had to be second to anyone, he was glad it was to Tetsu.
Under the dancing moon, when the world and this summer felt infinite to them, it would never have occurred to Jun that he could ever beat the boy he had watched grow into a man, the player- person he respected and admired the most. Maybe it was better he hadn't realised back then. It was hard enough accepting it when the time came.
The only way Jun could surpass Tetsu was to leave him behind.
*
It didn't take long for Jun to realise what these feelings were - always around Yuki, not just butterflies in his stomach but everywhere in his body, in his veins - and do something about them.
Except he didn't.
It wasn't like Jun didn't think about it, when they practiced late together or watched a movie when it was raining too hard to play baseball. It wasn't like he tensed at any mention of love in historical dramas, briefly considering leaning in a little closer, letting his head drop to Yuki's shoulder as easy as breathing. Every time they watched something from Yuki's collection, Jun complained but he had his favourites. He never said but somehow, Yuki figured it out and they watched those the most. Jun jokingly re-enacted scenes to get Yuki to smile or maybe laugh a little then threatened to play baseball with his DVDs if he dared tell anyone about Jun's (poor) acting skills.
So really, nothing changed, prior realisation. And then nothing changed upon mutual attraction. Nothing changed but everything did.
Subtly, quietly, Yuki leant more on Jun, mostly physically (he fell asleep in Jun's room when they watched dramas together, head often slipping from Jun's shoulder to lap) but sometimes Yuki would talk about his practice, his home life and the brother he missed. When Yuki had invited him to stay over at his home in the summer, face earnest and anxious, Jun realised that this was Yuki's confession. Trust, security. Home.
Jun agreed and Yuki nodded. They carried on watching the drama but before Jun left (it was Yuki's turn to play host), the other boy had caught hold of his fingers and kissed them lightly. Jun had back-pedalled out of that room so fast he almost tripped.
Idiot. Who kisses hands anymore? Of course, Jun's grumbling thoughts about buying Yuki non historical dramas did nothing to cool down the heat that rose to his face and the feel of all the butterflies in his body surrounding the fingers Yuki's lips had brushed.
They didn't speak about it though – they didn’t even speak about what they were. There was nothing to say and Yuki was a man of very little words. But there was an unspoken agreement between them that cherished the little touches they could share between TV watching and back-to-back batting. We came to Seidou to play baseball. It comes first.
But there were other promises made, when their eyes met as practices drew to a close and Yuki's fingers skimmed Jun's when they stood too close together.
They'd only celebrate when they won. When.
They never said 'if's.
But in the end, they broke their promise to Seidou anyway, stricken with grief, on the night they lost their chance to go to the nationals as second years. Their pain didn't compare to the upperclassmen but they still felt it. They comforted each other quietly, kissing foreheads, cheeks but never lips, never wanting their first kiss to be in the name of sadness. They fell asleep curled against each other, with barely any breathing room on Yuki’s bed.
Jun woke up early so he could leave before anyone else was up, having to awkwardly climb over his sleeping best friend. He was a hopeless romantic, he wouldn’t lie to himself, but he knew that Yuki could only be the closest friend he would ever have. For now. Especially now.
Jun kissed the tiny tense wrinkles of Yuki’s forehead gently and, as if the bad dream shattered, Yuki’s face softened. It was hard not to smile at that. Momentarily, Jun wondered if this was how it would be, waking up to Tetsu’s sleeping face every day.
Quickly, he had to take his leave, back to his own room and cold bed. He doubted he was the only one who had snuck away to comfort a friend, to find company on one of the loneliest nights of their lives. Loss reminded them how big the world was and how very, very small they were.
Jun, who had always made himself known with his voice, loud, demanding, unwavering, curled up by himself, willing for no more tears. He had another year. Yuki had another year. They could- would win together.
Unsurprisingly, the air was heavy for Seidou Baseball Team for a while after that. Eventually, Yuki was called to be the new captain. Jun accepted the role as his vice, with Masuko on Yuki’s other side, as they addressed the new first years. Yuki gave no signs of weakness, not to the team he was given to lead. It wasn’t a false pretence – he was strong enough to feel loss so hopeless yet still strive for victory – but it reminded Jun that this was it for them. One more year. They couldn’t focus on anything else, not even each other.
But then Jun remembered the feeling of Yuki’s legs tangled in between his own and the way their hands fit together as though they were made for something more than just baseball. Jun hadn't fallen in love with Yuki because of any declaration, any obvious touch, but rather the bump of their shoulders, the subtly of Yuki's smile.
A year. But he was at Tetsu’s side.
*
Time passed oddly. Sometimes slow, like when they were all burned out but still had to remain on the field, muscles aching and voices raw. Sometimes quick, when the calendar pages turned as practices flew by yet some days felt like all they were gaining from their pains was the satisfaction of a child hitting the baseball off his plastic bat for the very first time. But some days slow again, as Jun watched Yuki, led the team with him but couldn’t touch him, more than a high five on field and a pat on the shoulder off it. It was lonely but Jun refused to succumb to feeling small. He was a third year and he had revenge to carry out and an example to set. And, after a while, the constant presence of the irritating first years with their constant war over the pitching mound he’d once given up made it hard for him to feel lonely really. Filling out the cafeteria and watching Eijun choke on his rice made the team feel more than just that. A family almost.
A very annoying family, Jun would conclude, hearing Kuramochi and Miyuki snicker loudly at Sawamura’s state of almost dying. Ryosuke did the kid a favour and smacked his back. No one could really tell if it was an act of kindness or not but it stopped Eijun from choking to death so their pitcher relay was intact and that was all that mattered.
Yuki kept his promises and Jun kept his, right up to the last minute until the start of the final. And then Jun caught Yuki’s hand to get his attention and when their eyes met, Yuki’s already glowing with oh so familiar determination, Jun couldn’t find it in him to let go.
It took him a moment to find his words and they were quiet when they eventually did come out but Jun didn’t break his captain’s gaze, didn’t waver in his vow. “We're going to do this, Tetsu. Together.”
Yuki squeezed his hand in answer and, with a small smile, let it go.
*
The air was heavier this time round, more like walking with bricks on their backs than merely breathing in defeat. At least, it was that way for Jun and the other third years. One year, one chance. Gone.
No one talked. The third years disappeared, one by one. The second years swallowed hard and tried to keep their chins up. The first years stared down at their hands, disbelieving that those very hands held an opportunity so big it had become too heavy to hold. It was hard to look at any of them. Everyone blamed themselves too much, he was no exception.
Jun, naturally not comfortable with silence, couldn’t sit about in his own room. He couldn’t even find it in him to cry by himself. Nothing was private anymore. Everyone had seen each other break down, right there on the field. Pride was no longer an issue. They lost that pride with that match.
We lost together. May as well cry together too.
But Jun didn’t leave his room to head for the cafeteria. He didn’t even follow the only source of noise he could hear but rather, went the opposite way, knowing what he would find in complete silence.
Yuki was sat on the floor of his room, his bat balanced on his palms but those hands - strong, callused and beautiful, powerful - were weak and empty, the fight gone out of them. He looked up upon Jun's arrival, quieter than it had ever been before, and began to rise, shakily. He didn't hide his fatigue. Jun wondered if it would hurt less if he had.
“Don't.” Don't hide anything from me. “You don't need to stand up. Don't stand up at all.”
Jun's words were soft. Yuki stilled. He waited and Jun reached out, touching the body he had waited for so long but all he could think was not like this not like this not like this. It was so wonderfully painful, to run his hands over Yuki’s strong shoulders but feel them weak, dejected and to touch Yuki’s face but feel his fingertips come away wet.
They lost their first chance to kiss to sadness and their second chance to misery.
Neither spoke for the rest of the night. Jun held Yuki until the shaking stopped and then some. This time, Jun didn’t sneak away in the morning but they couldn’t meet each other’s eyes when they woke up, Jun not wanting his memory of mornings with Tetsu to be tainted by the haunted look in the other boy’s eyes, a look that said nightmare defeats that only mirrored reality.
They pretended as though nothing happened. Yuki kept his back straight and his gaze forward from that day onwards. No one would be able to imagine the feeling of his tears soaking into their shirt, the sound of a boy crying over broken dreams. Jun’s memories were tainted enough.
*
It took Jun a moment to process the words. They didn’t feel right in the air that had settled between them. This was supposed to be the accepting (they’d hadn’t won together, they had lost), the moving on (but they couldn’t let it keep them stuck where they were, separate.) Jun had reached for Yuki and Yuki had reached back. Part of Jun – the part that read too much shoujo manga – was expecting a kiss, finally on a better note than any of their chances previously. He wasn’t all that disappointed by the hug he got instead. There was plenty time for being able to touch each other, to memorise the feel of Yuki’s shoulder under his chin and the dip down on the other boy’s back. They had more years than the number of bones in his spine. Jun thought he did.
The words that were said weren’t spoken sadly but with the usual determination that Yuki possessed, an announcement that didn’t look for permission or approval. Yuki had always looked for acceptance from Jun. Some things really never changed.
Jun had pulled back abruptly at the words, eyes wide. Somewhere in their embrace, they had sunk to the floor or maybe it had been what Yuki had just told him. Jun didn’t really know. Yuki’s arms weren’t holding him tight enough.
He swallowed hard but his voice still cracked on the words. “You're not... going pro?”
Yuki nodded. His mouth opened in the shape of a sorry but Jun couldn’t hear that. An apology made it feel broken, without repair. They’d broken their promise to win together, they couldn’t break themselves.
Jun grinned and it made his jaw hurt. “Jeez, you’ve got it all figured out. When did you decide?”
Yuki concealed his surprise at Jun’s recovery quickly but not quick enough or maybe Jun was looking hard enough to see the disappointment between blinks. “Not that long ago but I wanted to talk to Rei-san and the guidance counsellor about it first.”
“Hm.” Jun’s grin dropped but his smile, small and brave, was genuine. This was so like Tetsu. His bat was always swinging before anyone else had even picked themselves off the ground. “Congrats, Tetsu. Or should I say Coach Yuki?”
Tetsu smiled, his own small and brave one, and that said all that Jun needed to know about what would happen to them. It seemed as though the sport that brought them together also kept them apart.
Without really thinking about it, he leant forward, not to kiss Tetsu but to simply let their forehead touch. He felt Yuki’s hitch, quiet and warm when he exhaled and it sounded like surprise meeting relief. Jun would have rolled his eyes had they not been closed. “Idiot. What did you think I would say?”
Yuki was smiling. He couldn’t see but it was still equally as beautiful as it was painful, right now, with their knees pressed together and Yuki’s hands warm on his sides.
Jun’s voice lowered to accommodate the quiet of Yuki’s room and the feel of those warm hands moving around, pulling him closer into another embrace. If they could have sunk further into the ground, Jun imagined they would have. “You know I'll support you no matter what.”
Yuki didn’t reply. Not even when Jun whispered, “Don't go.”
He wished he didn’t sound so broken, so desperate, but here was the boy he had longed for, waited for, and here he was, slipping out of his grasp, like he always did, leaning back to smile at Jun and his eyes said I’m not going anywhere but he was. Nowhere. Yuki was going nowhere, staying here, in the place where he kissed Jun’s palms but never his lips because no one wanted their first kiss to be goodbye.
*
Jun did go pro and it was one of the hardest decisions he made, knocking him sick. He spent a lot of nights awake, wondering if that was how it’d be if he did go through with it. Sleepless nights and guilty thoughts.
America was too big of a place. A different language, a different culture. Jun struggled to find things that felt the same without looking back, without thinking about Tokyo and Seidou. All he had was baseball but it was, consequently, the thing that reminded him the most of the boy he had chosen to leave behind. Of course, he had to pick up his bat and keep on swinging – it was what he was here for, after all. He would hit his guilt out of the park. It was no surprise they caught him out. But he kept playing.
The phone calls between him and his best friend dwindled quickly. Daily until Jun’s practices kicked in and weekly until Yuki spent his free time coaching the new Seidou team as part of his extracurricular work outside of college. Monthly until it became hard to find something to talk about except baseball and that was the thing that put the sea in between them.
Eventually, Jun’s mind became full of other things, like English words and foreign traditions. He was forgetting the sound of Tetsu’s laugh.
There were nights when he felt like his heart was in his throat and he'd reach out to grab his phone before remembering it was the middle of the night in Tokyo and Yuki would be fast asleep. It occurred to him that Yuki may not even be sleeping alone. Eventually, Jun stopped reaching out at all.
*
He thought about Yuki the most as soon as he woke up. It was the only brief moments of free time Jun had and often, he remembered the too few nights they shared. He’d remember the innocent touches, the way it would feel to wake up and know that this was what he wanted to see every time he opened his eyes. But Jun didn’t have that this. All he had was his tiny apartment and the memory of the night he woke up to leave Yuki for the first and last time.
He was stopped by sleepy fingers but a voice quiet yet clear. “Don’t go.” The same words Jun had said back then but this was Tetsu. I wouldn't have to if you had come with me, if you had stayed with me. It should have been you. You were always better than me. I know you still are. It was meant to be you.
Jun goes.
*
Time did that thing again, with some days quick, some days that barely moved at all. Jun didn't forget, couldn't forget about Seidou, about his old team and old friends. Their victories and their losses were imbedded into his entire being, pumping in his veins, into his heart, a reminder of the blood, sweat and tears he had shed to be here only to shed some more. It was a vicious cycle. It was baseball. Jun loved every minute of it.
Often, when the sun shone into his eyes, Jun could pretend the next batter stood in the box wore a '3' and the determination that drove Jun to be the player he was today. It made coming home easier.
But most days he didn't pretend because, when the clouds blocked the sun and the stadium roared, being home, here on the field, without Yuki Tetsuya became the hardest thing once again.
*
It shouldn’t have been but years passed before Jun even heard Yuki’s voice again.
It wasn’t like he’d lost all contact with Seidou. Chris was also in America, finally playing baseball, and they’d frequently meet up to check out Japanese restaurants, which only left them wondering why every single one seemed to be strictly sushi. Chris was a subtle guy in his questionings but even he could tell that asking Jun about Yuki was a lost cause. Jun, the man of many words, wasn’t talking.
Ryosuke was not as tactful. Whenever they skyped, the pink haired boy liked to tell Jun he was an idiot as well a complete wimp. Jun would get angry and say something along the lines of, “Well, I’d like to see you move to a foreign country and not be able to read the back of food packets when you have serious allergies!” They’d bicker for an hour, the topic of their former captain forgotten until either had to say goodbye and Ryosuke would simply say, “Think about it, Jun. What are you so afraid of?”
The thing was Jun did think about it. He thought about Yuki every day, when he couldn’t control the direction of his thoughts and was reminded of the way the other boy’s clothes smelt when he caught a whiff of the new detergent he used. He wasn’t even sure how that worked. He was in another country. Why did American cleaning products smell like the love of Jun’s life that he was, consequently, trying to forget?
There it was – what he was afraid of. Jun was terrified of having to deal with being in love with someone he’d betrayed and left behind. He was scared of having to do something about it. He was afraid of one day having to stand in front of Tetsu and not know whether to say ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘I love you’ first.
So Jun just hid on a different land altogether, expertly avoiding his best friend. Even his shoujo manga protagonists weren’t as extreme as him.
He had just got in from practice and he was too tired to think anything of the unknown number with the Japanese code at the beginning flashing on the screen off his phone. It could have been anyone – from one of his sisters calling from a payphone after being stranded in some shopping mall somewhere, momentarily forgetting that Jun wasn’t even in Japan to come save them (which usually only ended up in Jun getting lost too) or Ryosuke ringing from the phone of his little brother to tell him he was a scaredy cat and needed to buck up and-
Jun’s grunt into the phone in greeting was met with his own name. “Jun?”
The voice was lower – as if it could get any more mature – and Jun almost dropped his phone. He dropped his bag instead. His name was said in that tone, familiarity with a little bit of confusion. Jun found that you could forget sounds but not the way they felt. His body reacted as it used to. Sleeping butterflies bloomed inside of him.
“Tetsu!” He would have liked to have said, to his future children and grandchildren, that he hadn’t squeaked their other dad and granddad’s name but he had. It was a good thing his teammates weren’t home yet.
“Jun.” This time, it was a greeting. It felt warmer.
“What are you- why are you calling?” he blurted out. He wasn’t one to beat around the bush, that hadn’t changed in the- oh, three years and eight and a half months we haven’t spoken. Not that anyone’s counting.
“Oh.” Jun refused to feel guilty at the syllable of disappointment on the other end. He had worse things to feel guilty about. “It’s Seidou Baseball Team’s anniversary soon.”
Out of all the things Jun had envisioned to happen when Yuki and him reunited, this wasn’t quite one of them. He had been thinking more cherry blossoms and actual confessions but Yuki always had a weird way going about things and it wasn’t like he could just hang up so he waited it out with a quiet, “Hm?”
Yuki paused before speaking in that annoying announcing way, the same way he had set their paths on different routes. No. You did that, Jun, when you chose to leave. When you lost that game. “As our generation’s captain…” But Jun’s thoughts were so loud, they drowned out Yuki’s voice. When you lost Yuki.
He caught words, like reunion and team and everyone but it took a lot of temple massaging to be able to tune back into the confidently simple voice he had missed so much. It hurt to listen to him, literally. Jun interrupted without grace. “So you’re saying there’s a reunion thing and you were asked to invite me?” The implication went without saying. You’re calling because you have to, not because you want to.
“I guess.”
Jun snorted, as if indignant laughter could stop his hands from shaking. “Well, in case you didn’t notice, I’m kind of busy right now. You know. Across the ocean.”
“Aeroplanes are a thing, Jun.”
He said the words without thinking, like he always had done with Yuki. “Bastard.”
They both hesitated at that, Jun upon realising he had sworn at three years and eight and a half months older Yuki and Yuki because-
“Glad to see you haven’t lost your unconditional kindness.”
The tension between the millions of miles between them fell apart, leaving only two best friends, trying too hard not to smile at the ease of each other’s company but failing.
“Only for you, Tetsu,” Jun replied, only half joking.
The sound wasn’t clear – maybe it was the signal reception – but there was a sound that resembled a brief ring of laughter. Jun had been right. You could never forget how sounds felt, even when you forgot the notes of the sound itself.
It was a losing battle from that point. Jun had always been weak when it came to Yuki, in every way that mattered. He argued about his responsibility to his team and short notice and flight prices but Yuki rebutted each point easily. Jun found that he couldn’t keep his voice firm when he’d missed this too much, the soft deep voice close to his ear and the thought of Yuki's breath against his skin (something that Yuki used to do often upon realising Jun was ticklish pretty much everywhere.)
Eventually, they were just breathing into their phones and Yuki’s words were like an extension of his exhalations. “We want you there, Jun.” Another breath. “I want you there.”
Whatever resolve Jun had left shattered but it didn’t feel like breaking. It felt like everything coming together.
He agreed – of course he did – grumbling a simple, “You owe me, Tetsu,” when Yuki hummed in approval. They spent the next ten minutes discussing details and flights. Jun didn’t need to say much. He leant back on his sofa and tried to concentrate on more than the way different letters sounded coming from this stranger Yuki’s mouth. They didn’t sound much different than how they used to back in high school but that figured. Jun was kidding himself. Tetsu was no stranger.
They were interrupted by another voice, muffled but calling Yuki’s attention from Jun. Who would have thought it was possible to hate a voice you barely heard? Jun clenched his fist and reminded himself that Yuki wanted him back in Japan as part of the team, nothing else. Too much time had passed.
So he didn’t argue when Yuki said he needed to leave. The other boy paused, as if to say something, but hung up anyway after a simple goodbye. Jun couldn’t think too much of it. The conversation – Yuki’s reappearance into his life – slowly began to sunk in and his body felt heavier, as if every word were a weight on his limbs.
He’d be seeing Yuki in two days.
“Two days. Two fucking days.” Jun threw his head back and groaned. “You so owe me, Tetsu.”
*
Jun wasn’t surprised that Yuki was waiting as soon as he exited from under ‘Arrivals’ sign.
Like his voice, Yuki hadn’t changed much but rather grown more defined. His shoulders were wider and his presence more pronounced than ever. Jun nudged past the woman in front of him who had stopped at the sight of the tanned, dark haired love of Jun’s life. He muttered an apology (bitterly) at the very least.
Up close, things were worse. Yuki’s face had matured, his jaw strong, his expression somewhat more serious than it had ever been when they were in high school, as if that were even possible. And then he smiled, small and welcoming, and Jun realised that his eyes still burned golden as though they were alight.
Jun didn’t stumble over his words, like his nightmares told him he would. There was a time when everything in Yuki’s presence was natural, right. He stopped a few feet in front of Yuki and neither moved further forward.
“You asshole.” But Jun was smiling, grinning so hard he felt as though he had never smiled before. “Did you get taller?”
Yuki laughed, without hesitation, and the sound, soft, gentle, genuine felt like coming home. Jun's eyebrows furrowed at the distance between the two of them and he snapped, “What are you waiting for, you straight faced bastard? Hug me.”
Yuki didn’t feel quite the same in his arms but he didn’t feel different. Jun had to remind himself that there was only so long one could hold their best friend and then he let go. They stepped back and Yuki asked, “Ready to go?” but it wasn’t really a question because he was swinging Jun’s bags over his shoulder and leading the way out.
“Wait up! Jeez…” Jun quickly hurried after him, not eager to get lost in such a busy airport. Once he was back at Yuki’s side, he bumped their shoulders to get the other boy’s attention, underestimating the power of the simple gesture. Yuki didn’t break his stride but Jun looked away when their eyes met, remembering how their sides used to meet when their hands were full from gripping their bats, often in the middle of a match. Like every other part of Yuki, it was so familiar, it ached.
As they walked towards the exit together, Jun welcomed Yuki with his standard complaining, mostly about jetlag making his neck hurt and the shitty quality porridge that Americans serve on flights, it’s probably not even porridge, cheap bastards are serving us baby food, I bet-
He had been so distracted in keeping his mouth running, to stop himself from reaching out and touching Yuki that he hadn’t realised that Yuki was touching him, catching Jun’s fingers to tug him out of the way and into him before he bumped into an old couple, deep in conversation. The old woman jumped slightly at the near collision and Yuki called out an apology. She laughed it off easily as Jun flushed, too aware of the man pressed against his back, holding his fingers with gentleness that spoke volumes, like why he still hadn’t let go.
The old couple moved on but Jun and Yuki didn’t. Jun turned, awkwardly so his fingers remained partly threaded between Yuki’s. As soon as their gazes locked, Yuki spoke. “I love you.”
Time didn’t stop. The crowds of people continued to move around them or into them. The airport speaker reminded everyone to not leave the luggage unattended. Jun’s hands trembled embarrassingly but Yuki only tightened his hold. Their hands fit together as well as they used to. If Yuki had grown then so had Jun.
Of course, Tetsu hadn’t matured that much. Jun, red faced, used their joint hands to tug them away from the large groups of people. Somehow, they found a corner free.
Then Jun turned on him. “Don't- don’t say things like that so loud!”
Yuki blinked. Their hands were still together. Jun blushed harder when Yuki looked pointedly at them, an obvious display of affection that Jun wasn’t sure how to feel about. “You're ashamed?”
Jun rolled his eyes at that. “Of course not, you idiot. But it sounded as though you were confessing to the whole airport.”
“Confessing?” Yuki repeated the word, his free hand rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
I sound like a walking shoujo manga. Great.
“Shut up! I love you too!”
Jun hadn’t meant to tell Yuki he loved him quite like that but he didn’t have time to regret it. Yuki used his hold of Jun’s hand to pull him in and press his lips to Jun’s, not with practiced expertise but familiar longing. They had waited a long time for this and they had no idea and every idea on what to do.
Their first kiss felt like how it should. Home.
Yuki let go off Jun’s hand only to hold his face and Jun leant into him, the kiss feeling like the things Jun wasn’t able to say all at once, at least not at that moment. The apologies and promises and confessions and thoughts that Jun hadn’t stopped thinking about, not since he had let go off Yuki’s fingers that night.
When they separate, they don’t move far, as if afraid to. Yuki pressed his forehead to Jun’s and his voice was a breathless whisper. “I love you.”
Jun muttered, “You've already said that,” as if he minded. He really didn’t.
Yuki smiled as though he knew Jun loved it, loved him. “I know. I just wanted to say it again.”
*
“Jun. Jun, wake up.”
In his sleep deprived state (no one had told Jun that sex felt like training camp twice over), Jun was only mildly aware of something soft nuzzling into his shoulder. Groggily, he asked, “What is it? What time is it?”
“5:38 precisely.”
Yuki’s words almost shocked him awake. Almost. He whispered-yelled, “What the fuck, Tetsu? Why are you waking me up?”
Yuki somehow managed to roll over and on top of him, which was pretty uncomfortable, considering they were butt naked and Jun was too sleepy to be aroused. For now. “We're going to see my family at seven for breakfast, which includes you.”
Okay. Definitely no boner this morning. Jun opened his eyes properly. “Tetsu...”
The other boy was out of the bed before Jun could get a hold of him, unashamed of his completely naked state. Jun guessed he had no reason to be, not only was it too dark to really see since it was five in the fucking morning but Yuki had nothing to be ashamed off. He was also a great lover and Jun focused on the ‘lover’ part so he didn’t think about what had happened in the time Jun was away.
“You bastard!” Jun shouted, properly this time. Neighbours be damned. “Why didn't you tell me earlier? My fucking wardrobe is in America!”
*
No one actually commented on Jun's casual attire for meeting Yuki's family as the beloved older son's official boyfriend, though Masashi did give Jun a questioning look. It was an awful lot of judgement considering he'd visited Yuki's home before, all those summers ago. Yuki assured him that he looked great. It wasn't that much of an assurance when he said it outright at the dinner table with his parents and brother in earshot. Jun asked for extra ice in his drink to cool down his face.
On the drive back to Yuki’s place, they talked, about the fear of distance and the mistakes they both made when they gave up before even honestly trying. When Yuki pulled up at his driveway but didn’t get out of the car, Jun told him about the guilt. Yuki called him the idiot this time, after lovingly pressed his lips to Jun’s knuckles.
“We’re both fulfilling our promises,” he said softly. “Me by staying to coach Seidou to win, you by going and not letting what Seidou gave you go to waste.”
The second time they made love, it was less awkward except for the part where Jun had cried after. He still used the safety of Yuki’s historical drama DVDs as leverage. Yuki kissed the tears away.
*
“Captain! Spitz-senpai!” Eijun called, waving enthusiastically as soon as they were within sight.
Jun swore at the brat. It had been years and he still didn't know what Spitz even meant.
“He never called me captain,” Jun heard Miyuki comment as they drew closer to the small gathering of former teammates. Miyuki greeted Jun and Yuki with a knowing smile, eyes flickering without surprise or judgement towards the joint hands between them. If any of Seidou had pieced together their relationship, it would have been Miyuki. “Nice to see you back, Jun-san.”
Jun tried not to get irritated at the perceptive catcher and nodded in greeting. “Is everyone here?”
“Mostly.”
At this very moment, Coach called out for Eijun to fetch the cooler from his car (“I can't believe Coach actually trusts him enough to touch his car.” “Time really does change people.”) Eijun jumped at the sound of his previous coach's command, turned in the direction of where the barbeque was set up and saluted with a hearty, “Yes, Boss!” Time called for change but some things stayed the same and Seidou was one of those things. Yuki squeezed Jun's hand as they all laughed at the sight of Sawamura sprinting away.
They played a game before eating, organised by Chris, who had caught a last minute flight to be part of the reunion. He referred to it as a light hearted bit of exercise but Jun wasn’t surprised at the sight of Yuki and Furuya getting so fired up, their entire auras felt like a giant walk-in oven.
The game wasn’t life changing and definitely didn’t get very far. The pitchers argued over the mound that Miyuki had set up and the ball often got stuck in the sand if it sailed too low. But still, it had been years since he had played with this people and Jun found himself laughing as much as he yelled. They had to call it a day then but not until Eijun accused Kuramochi of cheating and drawing the bases unfairly. His previous roommate jumped him in a wrestling move named, ‘Flying Spider!’ and they both fell to the ground, rolling over the score board Rei had drawn into the sand. Everyone knew who’d won anyway. Yuki was the only one who managed to hit a pitch and he sent the ball flying right into the sea.
The barbeque was delicious. Masuko ate everyone’s leftovers and Eijun was fascinated enough with Coach’s cooking skills that it started to bug him. Just as Jun fell back on the sand, Yuki sat back next to him, the once regular command was called. “Fifteen laps across the sand!”
Old habits die hard. Yuki pulled Jun to his feet and everyone ran, Eijun tearing ahead with his head held high before Furuya easily overtook him. It reminded Jun of his first year with Tetsu, always behind the unbeatable, unbreakable boy, always just out of reach. But the boy grew stronger with his beatings and his breakings and now he was only a step ahead, close enough to touch, to grasp, as the polluted skies with their flickering stars spun below them and the never ending expanse of sand and sea spun above. There was no number on their captain's back - not a number on any of them - but Tetsu took the lead and Jun and the team followed, filling the air with a familiar chant, of memories of running with boys and chasing dreams.
No one could manage fifteen laps. The oldest fell first and Kuramochi ran circles around Eijun, his cackling heard from all across the beach, before he too retired, joining everyone to lie down and listen to Haruichi shyly talk about the different constellations that you couldn't see under city pollution. By the time, the younger Kominato brother had got to Hercules, Eijun was the only one left running, much to no one's surprised.
“Just like old times,” Yuki had said softly. His hand was linked with Jun's, as they fell on their backs beside each other, still catching their breath. It would have felt more romantic if there wasn't the distant sound of Furuya puking in a waste bin.
In the end, Sawamura only got to eleven and a half laps, dropping to his knees with a defeated groan. Chris sighed and offered to drive the fallen home whilst the team cheered.