Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

⌇

Kuramochi sleeps in on the perfect day to sleep in. It's a Saturday, with only a practice game in the afternoon he won't even play in. His body is almost completely sore: his arms ache from practicing batting from the right again—something he hasn't done since the first half of his third year in high school—and his legs throb from all the running he'd had to do to get from the baseball field to a faculty room on the other side of campus turning in homework he'd forgotten to give in class.

Sprawled out on thin sheets on a cheap bed, Kuramochi allows himself two extra hours of lazy bliss this morning. The last vignettes of a dream fade without flourish, and he wakes up to the smell of breakfast wafting through the gap underneath the door and the sound of baseball lightly knocking against it.

"That's dangerous," he drawls, walking out of his room to Miyuki cutting up spinach. His eyes are fixed on the laptop on the dining table, watching Sanada pitch last spring. At his ignored warning, Kuramochi spins the laptop so it faces the other side of the room.

"This would be so much easier," Miyuki mutters, "if my friend just told me about his new teammate's new pitch." The pitch in question was a lucky mistake Sanada had managed from his fingers slipping from their usual grip. The pitcher himself had told Kuramochi as much. But it had gotten them a last minute win against Keio, and even though Sanada’s never used it again, the possibility alone has kept the other Tokyo Big6 teams apprehensive.

"Would be easier if you had friends other than me."

"Can you be nicer," Miyuki says, yawning into his hand, "to the guy who feeds you fourteen times a week?"

"You wanted to be 'challenged' in university," Kuramochi reminds him. "Not my fault if you fuck up your throwing hand making miso soup ."

He walks over to the rice cooker, the remnants of sleep dragging his feet against the laminated wood floor. Another loud yawn turns his attention back to Miyuki, and Kuramochi instantly regrets it. Miyuki Kazuya this Saturday morning, one hand scratching at the skin underneath his shirt and the other fiddling with a pan to make tamagoyaki is a sight to behold. The light filtering out from Miyuki's bedroom's window and into their tiny living room highlights the goldest tones in his skin. His hair is more of a rat's nest than usual, and his glasses are perched low on his nose, threatening to fall off.

He's so goddamn pretty, it's disgusting. "Tch."

"You'll scare away your future wife with such a bad mood so early in the morning, Kuramochi." Miyuki turns to look at him. "And with that face." He smirks, and only then does Kuramochi notice the dark circles under his eyes.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asks, taking his bowl back to the dining table.

"Unlike you, I'm playing in the practice game later. Better do better, Mr. Second String, if we're ever going to face each other in an actual game."

Kuramochi rolls his eyes, knowing enough about Miyuki to dodge him when he's talking in circles. He pulls Miyuki's laptop to face him. It's still playing Meiji's last match against Keio, now in the bottom of the ninth, two batters before Tetsu-san is scheduled to hit an RBI. "And you're nervous. Because it's your first time starting, isn't it?"

Miyuki isn't without words for more than three seconds, but it's long enough for Kuramochi to confirm his own guesses. 

"Don’t think too hard. It’s scary!" Miyuki says, faking a shudder. On the laptop, Keio gets their second out. One more and they would have taken that series. Tetsu-san walks up to the batter's box, brass band blaring his walk-up song. There are runners on first and third.

"You'll do great," Kuramochi says. "Even with all the secrets Tetsu-san and I told the coach about you."

"Secrets?"

"Like how you're leagues better at-bat when there are runners on base, even though you're already crazy good without them. And that you prefer aggressive pitching. Or that your batteries annoy the other team even more than you annoy your own teammates." The Keio pitcher, who Kuramochi imagines is exhausted from pitching nine innings, underestimates Tetsu-san batting eighth and throws a meatball.

When Tetsu-san hits it deep into the outfield, Kuramochi smiles. It's his team on the screen, after all. 

"I'm still full of surprises," Miyuki finally responds, dumping the tamagoyaki over Kuramochi's rice before settling in his own seat. "And you'd be surprised how well my teammates and I get along."

"Well enough to let you start today," Kuramochi concedes. "Miyuki Kazuya? A saint to his upperclassmen? Never thought I'd see the day."

"I'm starting this whole season. And, well." Miyuki clears his throat. "It was the coach's decision, anyway."

Kuramochi narrows his eyes.

"All I said," Miyuki asserts, at Kuramochi's tentative glare, "is that Tanaka-senpai's afraid to take risks, when his pitchers obviously want to, and that if we keep playing it safe, we'll never win the Emperor's Cup."

"That's..." Kuramochi lets the Meiji brass band play over his overwhelming feelings of disbelief and amusement at hearing Miyuki say something so... Miyuki to his university teammates that Kuramochi almost misses being the one to hear it everyday. Almost. "You're insufferable!"

"Thank you!"

"It's not a compliment," Kuramochi says, but his laughter rings through the apartment anyway, and Miyuki's grin widens. The game on the laptop cuts off just as the guy recording—Miyuki himself, Kuramochi realizes—comes into view. "You're a complete jerk. I worry about you, sometimes."

"Sometimes?" Miyuki echoes. "You underestimate yourself."

⌇

The first time Miyuki had announced his post-Seido plans, everyone in the room had all taken a few seconds to process what they thought they'd heard. They'd believed, if they pooled together the few bits and pieces of Miyuki each of them uniquely comprehended, they could collectively understand Miyuki a decent amount. But the bastard had pulled the rug out from under them, without them realizing, again .

"You can't be serious," Kuramochi had said first, filling the silence that the coaches, Takashima-sensei, Kazuyoshi-san and the other third year regulars were still trying to make sense of. Kazuyoshi-san, in particular, hadn't realized the amount of saliva gathering in his gaping mouth, and Kuramochi had wanted to laugh about how the whole circumstance, that conversation, felt like a massive joke.

"I am," Miyuki had countered, shit-eating grin intact, like he knew that was exactly how everyone would react, and he was relishing in it.

"You can't be serious ," Kuramochi had stressed, "because there's just no way you're that stupid!"

"Why not? It makes sense." Miyuki had looked around then, addressing everyone. He was almost pouting at the lack of support he'd received, and if Kuramochi had thought it was kind of adorable, it was eclipsed by his exasperation. "It's perfectly valid," Miyuki continued, fixing an annoyed gaze on the third years. "You guys are doing it, too."

"In what universe does a guy who gets ten offers to go pro doesn't even register for the draft?" 

They'd been asked to gather in the staff room because the coaches had wanted to know where they were all heading after Seido. Unsurprisingly, making it to Koushien twice and winning summer nationals had made it much harder to pick schools than find them. Asou hadn't chosen a university yet but had enough offers to not be worried. Zono was going to Kansai, complete with a rousing recommendation from Jun and a warning not to embarrass him with half-hearted batting. Nori was going to Keio, his pitching recognized in the national semifinal after Hakuryuu had figured out the timing of Furuya's fastballs. Shirasu was picked up by Hosei almost immediately after their final game against Komadai Fujimaki after being the only one on their roster who hit most of Hongou's pitches, after Haruichi and Miyuki.

Their captain, who had more than ten scouts wrapped around his finger and sports journalists following his every move, who could be a professional baseball player straight out of high school, who was probably going to get picked up by the MLB at the height of his career, was choosing to spend four more years in school. It had almost felt like an insult.

"A challenge is exactly what I need to keep improving," Miyuki had answered, matter-of-fact. He folded his arms against his chest, and, as if he couldn't look more punch-able to Kuramochi right then, leaned against the wall.

Kuramochi had stared at him pointedly, trying to prod out an answer that made a little more sense. He raised an eyebrow. "What’s a bigger challenge than professional baseball?"

"I'm not that arrogant to think I'm the best in my age group in Japan after winning nationals once—" Miyuki had started, and Kuramochi rolled his eyes.

"You were the starting catcher for the national U-18 team, you know you're the best in our year, you annoying smartass—"

" And ," Miyuki had interrupted, and Kuramochi knew, instinctively, the way his mind processed most things Miyuki, he wouldn't like what he would say next. "It would be fun to take a team to the top again."

"Miyuki-kun!" Rei had sounded scandalized. “Professional baseball teams have better training facilities, better medical services, and you’ll get paid,” she'd continued. Miyuki had hummed, pretending to consider. Kuramochi hadn't been sure if he imagined Rei's resigned exhale when she'd realized there was nothing any of them could say that would change Miyuki's mind, or if he'd just been projecting.

The problem wasn't that Miyuki wanted to go to university for baseball, it was that it was Miyuki who wanted to go to university for baseball, and Kuramochi couldn't wrap his head around their baseball freak captain not wanting to play the highest level of baseball right away, when it was in arm's reach.

"Rikkyo is offering me a full scholarship, Rei-chan, with a stipend! It's almost the same thing." 

"It's not!" Rei had gasped, affronted. On the couch, even Ochiai hadn't been able to mask his surprise, letting out a hum. Kuramochi didn’t know if that meant he disapproved, or was just confused enough to be intrigued.

He'd been looking at him, waiting for one of the coaches to say something, until he fully processed where Miyuki was planning on going. "Wait, you’re going to Rikkyo ?"

"What's the matter, Kuramochi?" Miyuki had kept up an air of breezy certainty, but he sounded out Kuramochi's name with the lilt that told him he was actually annoyed. "Are you going to miss me? I'm sure there are lots of pretty catchers in Meiji, too~"

"Eat shit!"

There was nothing wrong with Rikkyo. In fact, it had been Kuramochi's third choice after Meiji and Waseda because they had a good arts program in case Kuramochi actually intended on pursuing a degree he liked, and his mother had fallen in love with the greenery in the campus. But Rikkyo was hardly the best team in the league, and they hadn't won a single championship in fifty-nine years. Kuramochi had chosen his university for baseball , and if Rikkyo hadn't even been his second choice, it had been easy to assume it wasn't Miyuki's first.

"They're hardly bad," Miyuki had reasoned. "Just misguided."

From beside him, Shirasu rested an arm on Miyuki's shoulder, more menacing than comforting. "You're kind of twisted," he had scoffed. "You know that?"

Miyuki had shrugged, turning his head to look at him. The corners of his mouth played at a simper. "I reached out to Todai, but they don't have athletic scholarships." He exaggerated a sigh, more annoyingly performative than anything, basking in more than one gasp.

"And I'm sure you know," Ochiai had said, one eyebrow raised, "that they're the worst team in the Big6." At that, Miyuki's smirk had widened into a proper smile.

“Is any team the worst team in the league, with me around?”

"Cocky bastard," Kuramochi had muttered under his breath, but the room was silent enough for everyone to hear him.

"Look," Miyuki had said. "I don't get why you're all making a big deal out of this. I was injured once, and I couldn't play baseball for a while, so it's good to have a back up plan if I can't play baseball forever."

Stunned, they were forced into another moment of silence. No one had really thought of a future where Miyuki wouldn't be able to play baseball. Hearing it come out of Miyuki's own mouth was jarring, if not a little scary. Kuramochi had never thought Miyuki would even entertain the possibility of quitting baseball, even fifty, sixty years down the line, playing catch with his eldest grandchild from a rocking chair.

"Oh?" Miyuki had chuckled, satisfied at the silence. "Contrary to popular belief, this," he pointed to his head, "has a lot more in it than just baseball IQ."

"Tell that to your class rank,” Nori had mumbled. "Or to anyone who's tried tutoring you."

“Miyuki,” Kataoka had interrupted, and everyone turned their attention to the coach who had made him starting catcher all those years ago and launched him to the top of Japan. "Your future is your decision," he'd said. Miyuki let out a shaky laugh, and Kuramochi realized he’d been bracing himself. "My four years in Meiji gave me valuable experience, and I'm sure scouts will be waiting for you after you graduate university, as they did for me."

"Only you can forge the path you want to take," he said. "So if you're sure this is what you want—"

"It is." Miyuki had nodded along every syllable. "Thank you."

In all fairness, Kuramochi hadn't been one to judge Miyuki. He wasn't trying for the draft for the same reason, either, even after he'd been scouted after winning nationals and establishing himself as half of the best keystone duo in the country. But , he reasons with himself, Miyuki is different . While Kuramochi lived and breathed baseball and it was the one thing he really had, baseball made Miyuki. Besides, Kuramochi wasn't egoistic enough to regard himself a good enough shortstop for the pro leagues, and he'd rather spend the next four years playing baseball on the starting roster than spend who knows how long stuck in the dugout or the bleachers.

Later, looking up at a starless night while Miyuki loudly sipped on coffee next to him, Kuramochi had realized something.

"This isn't about challenging Chris-senpai, is it? He's starting at Waseda right now." They had been sitting on the bench beside the vending machine because Okumura refused to let them into the indoor practice area until they were sure Sawamura had perfected pitch Five-Point-Two.

"If it were only about challenging Chris-senpai, I would have said yes to Keio." Miyuki had slurped the last drop of coffee from the can, and had poised to shoot it into the garbage can. When he had missed by a hair, he stood up.

"You’re addicted to uphill battles," Kuramochi had pointed out. Miyuki would have joined Todai, after all, even with the losing streak they had at the time, with a pipe dream to make it the best team in the league. He had almost wished Todai offered Miyuki the scholarship he wanted, just so Kuramochi could see how far he could take the only team in the league that’s never won a championship.

Miyuki had stopped walking, and when Kuramochi turned to him, he'd found that Miyuki had been waiting for him to look. "You're all talking about what I should do. It's not what I want," he had said, voice even, "so don't pop a blood vessel over it."

Kuramochi had stared back at him, and for the first time that day, was able to shake off the nagging feeling that Miyuki wasn't being completely honest. "Whatever."

Miyuki had smiled, entirely too open and completely unguarded, and Kuramochi felt his breath catch in his throat. "Anyway, worry about your own baseball career, Kuramochi. I hear Shirakawa is going to Meiji, too, and his batting average didn’t suffer two years of trying to be a switch hitter~"

"Shut up!" Kuramochi had started kicking the back of his legs just as Okumura arrived to tell them they could come back in. "I'm faster than Shirakawa and you know it!" 

And well, maybe playing against Miyuki in university wouldn't be the worst thing to ever happen to him. He would never admit it, but he had been more than a little excited.

⌇

Tuesday nights with Kuramochi, Sanada and Inuoka have always been excuses for Sanada to get slightly drunk and the other two to be completely entertained by him. Loose, inebriated Sanada is a stark contrast to how intense he is on the field, and Kuramochi's glad they started going to the same university if only for the unlikely companionship they'd forged. Sanada turned out to be pretty easy to get to know and was as much of a baseball idiot as anyone in Seidou, which was enough for Kuramochi. 

Inuoka Akiko, sitting next to him and across Sanada, was the only manager from their year. She had bleach blonde hair that looked infinitely better on her than it did on Kuramochi in middle school, and had a softness to her features that allowed her a subtle kind of beauty. Kuramochi had picked up on Sanada's crush on her the instant he'd beamed at her, when she'd bullied him mercilessly for his disastrous pitching trying to show off to the coach, on the first night she had joined them for drinks.

Drinks , Kuramochi supposes, was a misnomer, because only one of them was actually in the habit of it. Kuramochi has shied away from drinking ever since he was told in high school that alcohol would ruin their strong, but precious athlete's bodies. It had scared him into only consuming water and Pocari Sweat. He doesn't know exactly why Inuoka doesn't drink either, but he suspects her managerial obligations keep her feeling responsible for getting the three of them home in three separate pieces. The last member of their group is the only one who drinks without guilt, even now, downing one bottle too many.

Kuramochi pulls down his arm before he can ask for another. "What's gotten into you?" He pushes his own glass of water into Sanada's hand. "Coach Sato's gonna kill you if you're at morning practice with a hangover."

"Sanada got kicked out of bio class today," Inuoka supplies, twirling a straw in her strawberry milkshake. "He's distraught."

" Walked out, Inuoka," Sanada quips, already slurring his words. "Semantics."

At Kuramochi's expression, Inuoka continues: "Our professor docked five points off his exam for not using her references." Sanada scowls at her, lacking the bite any real irritation would have. Kuramochi intercepts him raising his hand for the second time.

Sanada huffs at the both of them. "Her textbook is nine editions too early," he argues, picking at a chicken drumstick. "She can’t fault me for being right."

Inuoka takes out her straw and points it at Sanada, light pink clumps of milk and ice falling off the tip. It's a waste, Kuramochi thinks, of good milkshake. "If you'd just read her handouts like the rest of us dumb jocks, you wouldn't have to rely on stock knowledge so much." She sucks at the tip of the straw, consuming the rest of what was left on it. Sanada gulps, and Kuramochi rolls his eyes.

"She..." Sanada tries, running a hand through his hair. "She still thinks Monera's a valid classification! She's living perpetually in the seventies," he grumbles. "Pandering to her would be regressing from intelligent life."

The bar is playing a rock song Miyuki likes, one Kuramochi can never sleep through when Miyuki plays it at their apartment, cramming homework at two in the morning. Kuramochi drowns out Sanada and Inuoka by checking NPB stats on his phone, singing the song under his breath and letting himself butcher the lyrics.

"Hey, Earth to Kuramochi." Inuoka waves a hand over his face. When Kuramochi looks up, there's another bottle of beer on the table, and Sanada grins triumphantly at him, looking distant from just tipsy. "You know this song?"

"It's from my roommate's favorite band," Kuramochi explains, as the music reaches a bridge. His favorite part, except when Miyuki sings it, obnoxiously, like his default voice for anything. "And he sings it in the shower."

"Oi, speaking of Miyuki, I have—" Sanada trails off, emptying his pockets on the table: his wallet, keys, a stick of gum. "—that Alfredo recipe he was asking for..." He picks up his bag from under his chair and drops it on the table. He clumsily rifles through his books, his gym clothes. "Ah, shit," he groans. "I think I left it at my apartment."

At Kuramochi's insistence that he could just send it to Kuramochi's LINE, and Inuoka's warning that he should stop drinking if he wanted to still be able to feel his face in the morning, Sanada smiles. "I can teach him how to make seafood pesto, too, you know, cook to cook, ace pitcher to genius catcher."

"Ace?" Kuramochi snorts. "You're hardly a starter." He hands his glass of water to Sanada again, and this time, doesn't put it down until he takes it.

"And if Tachibana-san hadn't been injured in the spring," Inuoka adds, finishing the last of her milkshake, "you wouldn't even have made it out of the dugout that early." She laughs at Sanada's downcast expression, and again, louder, when the tips of his ears pink.

"Inuoka," Sanada whines, "you guys really know where to hit where it hurts, don't you?"

"You're just so easy to rile up when you're drunk, I can't resist," she says. Sanada flushes even more. When he notices Kuramochi snickering, he narrows his eyes.

"Oi, who are you to talk, second stringer!" Sanada says, and laughs when Kuramochi kicks him under the table. Kuramochi can't resist either, when Sanada reminds him so much of Seidou, of Miyuki and Zono and Nori and even Sawamura, and agitating Sanada makes his longing for a place he'd called home for so long a little less pronounced.

Kuramochi and Inuoka dump Sanada at his apartment, which is thankfully just next door to the bar. They drop him on the couch, and Sanada dozes off the moment his head hits the pillow, curling up into himself because the couch is a foot too short for his body. It's easy for Kuramochi to find him a blanket in a random cabinet drawer, and he places it over Sanada's body, taking care not to pull it over his face.

"Do you know where the glasses are, Kuramochi?" Inuoka calls from the kitchen. She opens random drawers, and the cutlery clang into each other, making ringing metal sounds that make Sanada stir in his sleep.

"Yeah, stop, you'll wake him," Kuramochi whispers, taking a pitcher of water from the fridge. A note on the fridge door, pinned with a magnet, catches his eye: Easy Homemade Fettuccine Alfredo Recipe . He pockets it.

Inuoka watches him fill the glass he'd found under the sink. "Were you friends in high school?"

"Sanada?" Kuramochi looks at Inuoka, who nods. He shakes his head back. "I knew him, but we just met at Meiji." He knew as much about Sanada as he needed to about one of their rivals' ace pitcher: he was Yakushi's fifth batter, almost as scary as Todoroki, and stood closer to first base when pitching. He didn't know Sanada the way he knew him now: that he's a science nerd, likes cooking Western food, and is insanely attracted to one of their managers.

"Huh." Inuoka looks at him curiously. "You care about him a lot, for someone you've only known for a semester." Kuramochi sets the glass on the table. "You care a lot. Like, in general."

"It's just a glass of water," Kuramochi mutters, dumbly. "Coach would kill us tomorrow if he found out we let him drink that much." Inuoka doesn’t say anything, letting Kuramochi shut the door behind him as they walk out into the street.

"You live close by, right?" It's not exactly on the way to his own apartment, but it's close enough. "I'll walk you home, Inuoka." Kuramochi's mother had told him to walk girls home at night whenever they let him, especially in the city, because wicked men who couldn't keep their hands to themselves sought them out when they were alone.

"See? Caring about people," Inuoka grins. A blush stretches across her cheeks. "You really don't have to," she says. "I can take care of myself." They reach a crossing, and stop to wait for the red light.

"It's alright," Kuramochi says, watching the cars flit past them like flashing lights. "It's on the way," he lies. 

“Well, I guess,” she relents, voice soft enough that Kuramochi wouldn't have been able to hear if he hadn't been standing close. Tokyo is loud enough that it fills the rest of their silence and calms Kuramochi's restlessness. It's not awkward, not really, but Inuoka is taking her time appreciating the lights, and it's really hot outside.

"Kuramochi-kun, you live with another baseball player, right? Mi... Miyuki-san?" She recalls.

Kuramochi nods. "He was the catcher in our practice game against Rikkyo. You don't know him?" Inuoka shakes her head no. They round another block, and the streets start feeling more tranquil, the Tokyo noise gradually fading out. "The bastard is pretty famous."

"Eh," she dismisses. "I didn't really care about Seidou that much. That win against Narumiya-san was a fluke." She wrinkles her nose. 

"Hyahaha, you're really honest, huh!" He smiles at her. She ducks away from his gaze.

"Honest is nice," she mutters. "Tactless, I’ve heard more."

He smiles wider, though she's decidedly trying not to look at him. "No, it's refreshing," he assures. "For someone to say exactly how they feel." She finally looks up at him, her lips in a straight line, and they fall into casual small talk that gets them through a few more blocks, and they stop in front of a small apartment complex.

Kuramochi can't stand the warmth any longer, especially as they navigate narrower streets, and the sweat makes his clothes cling uncomfortably. He stops walking to undo the top buttons on his shirt, loosening his collar. Inuoka's eyes follow his fingers, settling on his collarbones. Kuramochi's throat dries. Inuoka blinks when he gulps. It makes him feel self-conscious, if not somewhat unpleasant.

He rubs at his shoulders. "Uh."

Inuoka blinks one more time, hard, waking herself up. "Yeah, um." She looks up at him. "Thank you for walking me, when you didn't really have to," she says. And adds, as an afterthought, "You-chan."

He startles slightly at the use of his given name, but he doesn't really mind. He and Inuoka are friendly enough, and he wasn't a stranger to the nickname. He rubs the back of his neck. "It's no problem." Kuramochi might be imagining how red Inuoka is under the moonlight.

Inuoka grins. "You should call me Akiko."

His own mouth strains at the corners, considering. He supposes it doesn't really matter what he calls Inuoka. They've been friends for more than a semester, with each other's phone numbers, who see each other every day and go out for 'drinks' on Tuesdays. She'll probably harangue Sanada to call her the same tomorrow. "Okay," he settles, and bids her goodbye.

The brisk walk to his apartment doesn't take too long, and he puts one foot in front of the other with only the promise of airconditioning keeping him from spontaneously combusting in the middle of the street. When he opens the door to their apartment, the cold air crashes into him, welcoming him back, and he exhales in relief. "I'm home!"

"Welcome home," Miyuki answers from the living room. His laptop sits on his knees, playing some action movie, if the gunshot sounds are anything to go by. Kuramochi watches random scenes reflect on Miyuki's glasses while he gulps down a glass of water, letting the air dry his sweat.

He sinks next to Miyuki on the couch, stretching his legs out and resting them on the coffee table. "That's not baseball," he points out.

"I have other interests." Miyuki has a notebook resting on his thigh and Kuramochi peeks at the writing: Protagonist: George Huntley Motive: Save America (girlfriend not country) from anthropomorphic octopus aliens Theme: ???

"Sure you do. Homework?" Miyuki nods. Kuramochi sees the empty cup on the table, so he gets up again to fill it back up. "It’s a little surreal to see you do anything other than baseball." Two other packets of instant coffee are littered on the counter. He frowns. It isn't like Miyuki to just leave them there.

The sporadic, agonized yells are cut off when Miyuki pauses the movie to write in his notebook. "Some of us are just the complete package: pretty, athletic, smart..."

"Humble," Kuramochi grumbles. "And you forget my class rank was always higher than yours." He stirs the coffee powder in scalding hot water. 

"Ah, unfair," Miyuki whines. "I was starting catcher, then captain and cleanup too for most of that time."

Kuramochi blows on the cup a few times because Miyuki prefers it lukewarm. "And I had to deal with your sick personality for all of it."

"Yet, you're still here." Kuramochi can't really argue with that, so he doesn't. He sets the hot cup on the table and sinks into the couch. The dip he makes when he sits makes Miyuki lean into him, but he doesn't pull away. On the laptop screen, a guy with long hair tied into a high ponytail (George Huntley?) wrings someone's neck. Sad violins play in the background as fake tears—mistakenly placed just a tiny bit too far from George Huntley's eyes, Kuramochi notices—stream down from George Huntley's cheeks and onto the man he was strangling. Miyuki pauses the movie again, and picks up his notebook. Kuramochi leans over to see what he writes. George kills his brother. Does not know he is his brother .

Miyuki stops writing to sniff at Kuramochi's shirt. "You smell... like Koushien night. Did Sanada throw up on you?"

Koushien night . Kuramochi's face burns at the memory. "Akiko-chan and I had to carry him home." Miyuki stares up at him, an eyebrow raised. He leans slightly into Kuramochi's personal space.

"Akiko-chan?"

"Inuoka," Kuramochi clarifies. "Our manager. I told you about her, didn’t I?"

Miyuki pulls away, then. "Ah." He picks up the cup of coffee Kuramochi had just prepared from him, and sips on it, flinching when it's too hot.

"You should go with us, one day," Kuramochi tries. "Sanada's the only one who drinks, anyway, and it's not like you practice late on Tuesdays." Miyuki hums, shrugging. "Oh, and Sanada said you wanted this." Kuramochi feels around his pocket for the Alfredo recipe, and hands it out.

When he looks up, Miyuki is staring at the exposed skin above his collarbone, where Kuramochi had forgotten to button his shirt back up. Kuramochi feels like he's walking through fire, warmer than he'd been outside, sweating and unable to breathe. Earlier, Inuoka looking at him the way Miyuki is now made him want to hide. Now, he's not sure he wants Miyuki to look away.

"Your shirt's unbuttoned," Miyuki finally says, meeting his eyes.

"It was a hot night."

"With Sanada and Inuoka-san? I’ll say," he smirks, taking the piece of paper from Kuramochi's hand.

"Asshole." He shoves him, and laughs when the laptop falls from his lap. They power through the last twenty minutes of the movie, snickering at English jokes they barely understand, Miyuki pausing intermittently to take notes. The fierce heat diffuses into a muted warmth in Kuramochi's heart, and leaves a comfortable ache in his chest.

⌇

Kuramochi had been making his way down the hall, grumbling all the way, clutching the pork bun he'd had to buy after losing rock paper scissors to Miyuki. It was an ordeal. He'd had to bring the can of cold coffee Miyuki always insisted on drinking, even though Miyuki hadn't asked for it, because Kuramochi knew he would crave it anyway. All his concentration was channeled into carrying both his and Miyuki's lunches with his meager two arms. In his struggle, he’d almost missed Nabe and Miyuki talking right by the staircase.

He sighed in relief. "Oi, Miyuki-!" he’d called out, wanting him to take some of the food so Kuramochi wouldn't have to bring them all the way to their classroom himself. Neither Nabe or Miyuki had heard him. Sensing a weird tension in the air, he decided against yelling again.

Kuramochi had hidden behind the stairwell, craning his neck to listen. It had made him feel a little guilty, but he figured leaving right then would have surely made his presence known, and he would have shattered the palpable tension hanging in the air between them. It turned out Nabe had chosen to break it himself. His voice wasn't the loudest, but there was no mistaking it—

"I like you, Miyuki," he'd said, resolutely, like he was describing an opponent's pitches, or what had been their weak point during the last match. Kuramochi had held his breath.

"You don't have to respond right away, but," he had continued, when Miyuki didn’t reply. Kuramochi hadn't been able to see his expression, but he had imagined it: Miyuki, his eyes as wide as they could go, slack-jawed and speechless. "I just needed to say it, now that we're about to retire. And," he had trailed off, sounding unsure, "we don't really talk outside of baseball."

Nabe had cleared his throat before saying the rest. "We got to Koushien because of you, and we're probably going again this summer. You're a good friend, despite you trying to pretend you don't have any. And I admire how passionate you are about baseball," and he had paused, probably expecting Miyuki to have interrupted him during his speech. "That's it."

Kuramochi hadn't exactly been surprised. Miyuki was objectively good-looking, and he got a lot of confessions from girls who had never heard him when he opened his mouth. Kuramochi didn't know why this time, hearing Nabe confess to Miyuki, felt different, Miyuki's heavy pause unusual. Kuramochi had thought, for a moment, that he might actually accept.

It had only been for an instant. "I'm sorry, Nabe-chan." Miyuki had let out a breath, and Kuramochi's chest had relaxed when he didn't know it had been tightening. "I'm focusing on baseball right now."

He knew this script, even helped Miyuki write it, after the first girl had approached him, and he'd told her, point-blank, I don't even know you . Kuramochi had said he'd had to be kinder, because his mother had told him that the world was already unfair to women, and boys shouldn't make it harder for them. Miyuki had brushed him off at first, until after that same girl had cried in front of the entire class the next day, telling all of 1-B that he was a mean jerk who doesn't even know the girl who's been sitting two desks behind him all year! Miyuki had finally acquiesced afterwards. Some of the only times Miyuki had been truly kind had been with rejections, and some of the only times in his life he had actually said sorry.

Kuramochi had thought it would be different for Nabe because, unlike all the other girls, Nabe had been someone Miyuki actually kind of cared about, and, unlike all the other girls, Nabe is a boy.

He hadn't wanted to stick around to hear the rest, and he already felt guilty for intruding on something so personal, anyway. He had turned around, back into the hallway, and counted to three hundred before walking back up.

"Nabe-chan confessed to you?" Kuramochi had said, as they were eating lunch that day. He had never planned on not telling Miyuki what he'd heard, not only because Kuramochi was fundamentally unable to keep any secrets, but also because he'd wanted to know, for some reason, how Miyuki had felt.

"Mm," Miyuki had said, in lieu of a proper agreement, chewing on the pork bun Kuramochi had bought him. If it was cold, he hadn't mentioned it. "You heard?"

Kuramochi had nodded. Something ugly had pooled deep in his chest, and he felt the corners of his mouth turn down. It had stopped him from asking Miyuki the things he had really wanted to ask, and would keep him up at night for the next few weeks.

Why didn't you tell him you liked him back? He had remembered the way Nabe's gaze lingered a little too long, and the way Miyuki had held it. The way they always sat together on the bleachers when Miyuki had been injured, unable to join Kuramochi in games. The way Miyuki had been the one of the only people to accept Nabe immediately when he had wanted to be more of a manager than a player while everyone else had felt sorry for him.

"Jealous?" Miyuki had smirked, shaking the can of coffee before opening it. "If you want me all to yourself Kuramochi, looks like you’ll have to stand in line~"

"You make me sick!"

Would it have been different if Nabe-chan were a girl?

"I just hope this doesn't change anything," he had said later. Kuramochi nodded, thinking they were talking about Nabe-chan's friendship. Miyuki was folding up both his and Kuramochi's plastic wrappers in neat, tiny squares to throw away. "Ichidai has a game against Seiko tomorrow. Nabe-chan's the only one who can go."

"You… That's what you're thinking about?"

How different would it be if we didn't have baseball?

Miyuki had stared at him then, an impossible emotion on his face, like he had been expecting a different reaction. Kuramochi hadn't known what Miyuki had wanted to see in his face that day, and even if he did, he wasn't sure he'd be able to give it to him.

⌇

High school baseball gets ten times the press university baseball does, so it doesn't take them too long to see Seidou on their TV screen. They'd just won the quarterfinal with "double aces" Furuya and Sawamura, according to the young, bright-eyed reporter covering the qualifier. Furuya's number 11 was now, apparently, a representation of him being the second ace.

"He's the 'second ace' because there are... two 1s in the number 11?" Miyuki wheezes, cackles ripping through his words. "Oh my god, wonder whose idea that was." He and Kuramochi share a look before exploding into more laughter, knowing exactly whose. On the TV, Furuya stumbles his way through his interview, and the journalist smiles at the quiet charm that's going to get her her pay.

"Why aren't they talking about Haruichi?" Kuramochi grumbles, when the last of his laughter leaves, making way for a spike of annoyance at the sports channel. Haruichi is the best second baseman his age, at this point, and the best batter left at Seidou by a mile. Plus, his refusal to use a metal bat has got to have generated some interest from news reporters.

"Sports fans love pitchers," Miyuki says, from his spot on the floor. "Chips."

Kuramochi passes him the bag. "Ugh. Japanese baseball doesn’t deserve him." Furuya gets asked about his greatest inspiration, and he responds, polar bears , as per usual, and the reporter eats it up. "He’s gonna get whisked away by the Giants and he’ll ignore all these losers just like they ignored him." Kuramochi sticks out his hands. "Chips."

Miyuki reaches into the bag, scooping up as many chips as he can with one hand, and drops them on Kuramochi's outstretched palms. Maybe , Furuya answers, when asked if he's thinking about breaking 160 km/h in the tournament. If the weather's good.

Kuramochi's phone rings, interrupting Furuya vaguely describing his training regimen. Three bowls of rice? the reporter squawks. He answers on the second ring. "Hi, mom. You need anything?"

"Your grandpa's visiting Nobu-san for a few days in the fall," she tells him. "Don't you have a game then?" Kuramochi remembers, vaguely, visiting Nobu-san before with his grandfather. Nobu-san and his wife had stuffed him silly with chocolates that day, not having grandchildren of their own. Kuramochi also remembers, more clearly, attending his funeral last May.

"I thought he was dead," he says, and Miyuki turns to look at him, curious. Kuramochi wonders if his grandfather would ask to sleep over while he was in Tokyo, and how they'd even find a spot for him to sleep in their tiny apartment. "And yeah. Doubt I'll be playing, though."

"He's dead," his mother confirms. "It's his wife your grandpa's visiting."

"Oh." Guess the old geezer won’t be sleeping over at his apartment, then. "Okay."

"Get your mind out of the gutter," she warns.

"I didn't say anything!"

"I'd feel better about having a dirty-minded son," she sighs, "if he had at least had a relationship to show for it." Kuramochi squeezes his eyes shut. This part, when she'd inevitably ask him when he'd get a girlfriend, was unavoidable, but he'd learned that letting her speak over him for a little while got her to lose steam eventually. "What about that manager when I visited campus, Youichi? She's so pretty!" His mother swoons. "And so polite!"

"Akiko-chan and I aren't dating, mom." When he looks at Miyuki, he's already staring back. Chip , Kuramochi mouths, and Miyuki drops one on his knee. Kuramochi shakes his head at it. Bigger . Miyuki offers him a slightly larger one, and Kuramochi takes it.

"You're calling her by given name, now? Progress, Youichi! See, I told you if you stopped putting so much pomade in your hair, more girls would see your gentle side! I've always known, as your mother, that you had a soft heart—"

Kuramochi places the chip in his mouth, and immediately chews quickly and with his mouth open, letting the satisfying crunch near his phone's mic. "Not listening anymore," he interrupts, chewing on another chip, the smaller one Miyuki had given him. "Go be an old hag at Miyuki!"

"I'm disowning you," she sneers. "And adopting Kazuya-kun as my only child!"

"Miyuki," he manages through his laughter, handing him the phone. His mother had only been nagging him half as much since she was presented the opportunity to badger Miyuki, too. It had been pretty easy to introduce them to each other, and even easier to get them to converse. It turned out that Kuramochi's mother had enough practice raising him through his delinquent phase that Miyuki's terrible personality didn't bother her any more than it did her son.

And there'd been something else entirely, that Kuramochi Yuriko had noticed. "That boy," she'd said to her son, after she talked to Miyuki the first time over the phone. "Does he have a mother?"

"No."

"I could tell," she had said, quietly. "That he was looking for one."

If Miyuki has ever noticed Kuramochi's mother regarding him with anything more than friendly concern, he hasn't said anything. Still, his smile while Kuramochi's mother berates him for some random thing over the phone, is one of Kuramochi's favorites. "Kuramochi-san!" Miyuki greets now, with that same grin, pressing the phone to his ear.

On the screen, it’s Sawamura's turn to be interviewed. His bright eyes are awash with gradually maturing ambition as he talks to the reporter about the numbers he and Miyuki had developed, and he and Okumura had tweaked even more. He's a natural conversationalist, especially compared to Furuya, and the reporter doesn't have to lead him or resort to cheap gimmicks to get him to say something quote-able. She asks him how he plans to beat Todoroki Raichi in the final, and he grins, We don't have to beat them if they lose to Inajitsu! He bows. Inajitsu, we're leaving it to you!

"Yes, I'm keeping Youichi in line," Miyuki says into the phone, cackle loud and ugly enough to distract Kuramochi from the TV. He glares at the use of his given name, shoving the sudden thought that it sounds nice when he says it back into the recesses of his head. "I don’t think he's kicked anyone's ass yet. Youichi, have you kicked anyone's ass yet?"

"Fuck off."

Miyuki laughs. Still ugly, but softer. "He says he can neither confirm nor deny."

All Kuramochi knows about Miyuki's mom is that she doesn't exist anymore. In their first year, Zono's parents had come to Seidou for his birthday, and she'd fed all the baseball players three different flavors of cake all stacked up on tiers. Miyuki had stood in the corner of the room, watching them, and Kuramochi had been watching Miyuki.

Later that night, Zono had sobbed uncontrollably when his parents had left. In their haste to comfort him, the first years had rushed to regale him with stories about their own parents. When it had seemed to be Miyuki's turn, he'd stayed silent, hands shaking at his sides, and Kuramochi had guessed.

"I don't have a dad," Kuramochi had announced then. He'd never told anyone that before, and right then, he was telling ten of his teammates he barely even talked to. Everyone had gone quiet, and he'd thought that maybe that was what Miyuki was scared of, the way everyone was trying hard not to look at Kuramochi, like they'd offend him if they did.

But Miyuki was looking straight at him, and Kuramochi had thought then, that they'd understood each other—that having "just" one wasn't really lacking, that not having the other didn't mean you were incomplete. Maybe they were stuck, yearning for something other people had by default.

It's hard to associate the Miyuki from then to his Miyuki now, not when this Miyuki teases his mother so effortlessly. "I'll get a girlfriend if Kuramochi-san gets a boyfriend~" Kuramochi figures that at this point, Miyuki's hell-bent on annoying every Kuramochi in Japan.

"Is Kazuya-kun okay?" his mother asks, when Miyuki gives him back his phone. "Something feels a bit off."

"The jerk has baseball and me to annoy him." Kuramochi brushes her off. "He's fine."

His mother is silent for so long he thinks she might have hung up, and is about to put down his phone when she speaks. "You talk about him like he's the bane of your existence, but between his terrible personality and your scary face, you really only have each other," worry dripping through her insults. It troubles him, how genuine the concern is. They're okay. They're fine.

"Relax, mom. We have other friends." He pauses. "I have Sanada and Akiko-chan, and Kazuya has his left hand." Hearing this, Miyuki throws a chip at him. Kuramochi stretches his mouth open, and catches it with his teeth.

⌇

The period had ended with Kataoka telling 2-B to find partners for their literature project. "You're old enough to know who you work well with," he'd said, "so choose." He'd overestimated, however, just how much the class had interacted after only two weeks since the opening ceremony. After Kataoka had left, the students of 2-B shuffled awkwardly toward each other, going through the motions of shyly asking someone whether they already had a pair, and laughing weakly when they said yes.

"Aya-chan, do you want to partner up?" Kuramochi had figured it was as good a time as any to make his move. He didn’t have a crush on Ayase, but his grandpa had told him he wasn’t a ‘real man’ until he'd gotten a girlfriend in high school, and Kuramochi's mom wasn't there to chide him for the statement. If he was going to have to date someone, however, he'd thought he would rather it be Ayase, the prettiest girl in class in Kuramochi's opinion, with her short, messy hair, her brown eyes framed by her glasses, and her soft-looking, smooth skin.

Ayase probably didn’t know much about baseball or video games, and Kuramochi was sure they had nothing in common at all, but if this was what it took for the geezer to shut up about him getting a girlfriend, he figured it was worth a shot.

"Uh, sure, Kuramochi-kun," she'd said, setting up her bento on her desk, "but what about Miyuki-kun? He's your best friend, after all."

"Miyuki's sick," he had explained, through his glee at such a quick acceptance. Miyuki had caught the flu, and in the past week Kuramochi had discovered that however annoying Miyuki was, he was fifteen times more unbearable when he couldn't play baseball.

"Coach Kataoka said he could sit this one out since—wait, you think we're best friends?"

"Eh?! Aren't you?" Ayase had said, her voice loud enough to attract everyone else's attention. She had spun in her chair to speak directly to him, ignoring her lunch. "Hara-chan was in your class last year, and she said you were inseparable."

"We're teammates!" He had tried to play it off by chuckling. His classmates thought they were best friends ? That was kind of embarrassing. "I wouldn't have ever started hanging around that smartass if we didn’t have baseball,” he'd grunted.

"But you're almost together…" Their other classmate, Hirose, had reasoned. "You're practically joined at the hip!"

Kuramochi's laugh had caught the attention of everyone else in the room, and soon, everyone was crowding around him. "Hyahaha, you've got it all wrong! Seriously, it's a lot easier to just accept his shitty personality than to force him to change." And it's not like Miyuki was a bad person. Horrible people killed and deceived and hurt innocent people. Miyuki was just annoying, and he didn't need to change.

His classmates had looked at him, disbelieving, like none of them had been sure who Kuramochi was trying to convince.

"Why would you spend so much time with someone you don’t like?" Someone had asked, and it hit Kuramochi how much they didn't understand that he couldn't just not spend time with Miyuki. It was easier said than done. Who else could he force to watch horror movies with him when no one else in their year liked them? Who else would he eat with at lunch? Who else would he discuss NPB stats with? Who else would he pester to play Tekken with him until the crack of dawn?

Kuramochi could make other friends. He knows they just don’t approach him because he looks scary. Honestly, he’s always been content with just baseball and Miyuki.

Is Miyuki his friend?

"You must like him even a little bit, if you’re willing to put up with someone that terrible," another voice, Nakamura’s, had piped up, answering Kuramochi’s question even though he hadn’t said it out loud. "He's such an arrogant brat, isn't he?" Nakamura snickered, collecting high fives from jackasses Kuramochi couldn’t even be bothered to remember the names of. Hot anger bubbled in Kuramochi's throat.

"I'm glad you don't like him either, Kuramochi, because I've wanted to be your friend for a while!" Nakamura had seemed confident. But when he'd raised another hand for Kuramochi to high five, Kuramochi had stared him down, channeling all his rage into one glower, and Nakamura had recoiled, laughing nervously and telling him it was all just a big joke.

The rest of his classmates had gradually backed away at the tension, and Kuramochi knew he’d scared them again. Fine. Kuramochi didn't want them. He was allowed to talk about Miyuki’s terrible character because he’s witnessed it firsthand, but people like Nakamura, who didn’t know Miyuki at all, should really just shut the fuck up.

⌇

Kuramochi hates Thursday afternoon practice the most. His last class ends right before practice, and he always has to leave said class early because even his fastest sprint isn't quick enough for Coach Sato, who always figures out which of the players isn't there on the dot. Coincidentally, Thursday is also the only day the coach doesn't teach a night class, so they stay a little later than usual. On Thursdays, the hallways are a bit more crowded than usual, and the people he bumps into turn out to be the kind of people who hold grudges against sweaty jocks who run in hallways. There is no good thing about Thursdays, except the minute he can finally go home.

This Thursday practice is even more grueling. Sato is in one of his moods, where he picks off everything not completely perfect about their form, their throw, their center of balance. Kuramochi is still on the second string, but every Thursday, the coach likes making him focus on his baserunning. Playing to your strengths , he had said, and Kuramochi had supposed it was a good thing that the coach had been singling him out. Still, the painful tug on his legs every time he takes a step almost makes him wish for otherwise.

From home plate, the sound of a stopwatch. "4.1 seconds," Sato says. Late , the coach doesn't add, because they both know it is, for Kuramochi. "You're not stretching your legs wide enough. Catcher throws it to third base easy." Sato isn't a tyrant, by any means, but Meiji is a top baseball university for a reason. Even their second string couldn't be anything but stellar.

"Again!" Kuramochi yells, stepping on home plate. He crouches low, leaning forward and on the balls of his feet. Across from him, Sato nods.

"One more. Back home." He raises the stopwatch. "Go!"

Kuramochi concentrates his energy on charging the rest of the way, and he's thoroughly winded by the time his palm touches the plate. "3.9. Better." Sato tucks the stopwatch into his back pocket. "We're done for today. Practice batting from the right again."

Kuramochi nods weakly from his spot on the floor, trying desperately to catch his breath. Another thing Coach Sato had made him focus on was gradually becoming a switch hitter again, even though Kuramochi was still adjusting to the wooden bats. When he'd told Sato his batting average started getting better only when he settled for only batting left, he'd scoffed at him. And if you'd practiced instead of letting it go? Sato had said, and Kuramochi hadn't had an answer for that.

A hand reaches out from above him, and Kuramochi takes it. He and Tetsu-san don't usually get a chance to talk because his upperclassman was in the first string, and those in different years weren't typically on the same schedule. It was why Kuramochi had ended up being closer to Sanada and Akiko, even though he and Tetsu-san were from the same high school. When they get back to the locker room, Sanada’s there, with a towel wrapped around his neck, grinning up at them as they enter.

"Have you and Miyuki been playing shogi?" Tetsu-san asks, as he does every time he and Kuramochi talk. Kuramochi takes off his shirt and wipes the rest of his sweat away. He'll just take a shower at home, where there's hot water and his softest towel. "I'd hate for his skills to go stale for when we play again."

"We haven't really had the time," Kuramochi lies. He smiles weakly, remembering the secondhand shogi board Tetsu-san had given them as an apartment-warming present. The last time Kuramochi had seen it was two days after they'd received the gift, when Miyuki had wanted to make stir-fry and they hadn't bought a chopping board yet. "Between baseball practice, and school..." Tetsu-san nods, understanding completely, and Kuramochi feels a little guilty.

He's pulling a fresh shirt over his head when Sanada calls out to him. "Oi, has Miyuki tried the Alfredo recipe I gave him yet?" Miyuki has, in fact, attempted some sort of Alfredo using the recipe Kuramochi had procured from Sanada's apartment. Kuramochi had found a container in the fridge that resembled noodles in white sauce, and he'd been excited to taste it, only to realize that the pasta lost its structural integrity when he picked it up, and the sauce had been too salty. Miyuki's expression had soured when he came home to Kuramochi staring at the white lump on his otherwise untouched plate.

"No idea," he says, packing his shirt back into his gym bag. "And you guys both have phones!" He turns to look pointedly at Tetsu-san, who's already leaving. "Call him yourself!"

"You guys at least going to the game on Saturday?" Sanada falls into step with him as they walk out the locker room. "There's this recipe for American cheeseburgers I think he'd be good at." The other players are lining up at the dugout, where the managers are setting up the snacks they'd prepared.

"The final?" He looks at Sanada, who nods. "Probably. Seido's looking really good."

"Great," Sanada smirks. "'cause Yakushi's gonna annihilate them."

"Hyaha!" Kuramochi laughs. "If Yakushi beats Inajitsu first!"

"Please," Sanada snorts. He looks around for Inuoka. "They're hardly a threat without Narumiya and his band of all-stars. Shirakawa was going to Meiji, wasn't he?"

Kuramochi nods. Seeing Inuoka with two paper bags in hand, he waves. "Dragons picked him up in the draft."

They don't bother to line up at the dugout. As usual, Inuoka walks over to them, offering each of them a paper bag. "Here you go, my pigs." 

Kuramochi pulls out one of five of his own onigiri: tuna, made slightly smaller so he could eat them with one full bite. Being friends with one of the managers definitely has its perks.

"Thank you, Akiko-chan!" Inuoka blushes, like she'd forgotten he'd started calling her that. Kuramochi thinks it might have been the first time he'd called her that in a while. "Don't know what Sanada and I would do without you," Kuramochi beams.

"Starving in a pit, probably," she smiles, reddening even more. "But you're welcome, You-chan."

Sanada raises an eyebrow. "Akiko-chan?"

"Did I say you could call me that?" Inuoka smirks. Kuramochi looks between the two of them, confused. He'd thought Inuoka and Sanada were closer. Closer than Kuramochi and Inuoka were, undeniably. Sanada's mouth twitches, and Kuramochi thinks he's as confused as he is. Sanada feigns a laugh, but for someone like him, who wears his heart on his sleeve, it's too revealing.

Inuoka looks at him, realizes. "Hm?" She pokes Sanada’s arm. "Maybe when you pay me back for the taxi last week. And for drinks the week before that. And—" She gets cut off by one of the managers calling her to pack up. "Wait for me. I'll walk with you guys to the station."

They wait in the dugout. On his phone, Kuramochi drafts a response to an e-mail from his arts professor who'd told him he had a natural talent for watercolor. I'm flattered, sir, thank you. "So," Sanada says, sounding uncharacteristically unsure. "I guess I should have known."

"What are you talking about," Kuramochi mutters. The professor had asked him if he had any pieces for a small art show (no, I don't really paint a lot, sir) or if he was interested in making any (I don't have enough time, with the tourmament coming up, sir). 

"'Akiko-chan'?" Sanada quotes. "You-chan? Come on."

Regards, Kuramochi Youichi. "We’re friends, idiot," Kuramochi says, not wanting to look up at Sanada, not when he sounds so miserable. He doesn't like that Sanada being sad makes him feel guilty when he hasn’t even done anything. His finger hovers over the send button.

"We're friends, too, so it's fine if you like her." The worst thing is Kuramochi believes it, that Sanada would be fine with Kuramochi liking the only girl he's been infatuated with for months, and the guilt weighs down his chest. Kuramochi curses when he finds a typo immediately after he sends the e-mail.

"Just call me You-chan," he grumbles. It's annoying now, and he doesn't want Sanada to act weird around him over something that isn’t even true.

If he'd looked up earlier, then he might have noticed Akiko standing in front of them, regarding them carefully. "If it bothers you so much, Sanada," she says, voice flat. "You can call me Akiko, too. I don't care."

Kuramochi exhales, relieved, until he finally looks at Sanada's face, and realizes that for all his perceptiveness, he misses the things that count.