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Kuramochi hissed out a stream of air through his teeth and dug the toe of his cleat into the batter’s box. The coach was watching today, silently reminding them all that they had better show up if they wanted any chance at making the first string. Kuramochi frowned. So far, he had done the exact opposite of that. With two at bats in the gutter already, he wondered how much longer they would let him keep playing before they let someone else take a crack at it.
He leaned into his stance as the catcher, another first-year, trotted into his position behind the plate. Miyuki Kazuya , Kuramochi noted absently. The genius catcher who was an obvious choice for first string, and probably had a shot at making the starting roster. They had crossed paths once in middle school and he was a standout then. Since he had started at Seido, he wasn’t showy, but he was casually confident in a way that was beginning to feel more and more like cockiness-
“What are you doing?”
Kuramochi looked down over his shoulder at Miyuki and scowled. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
Miyuki glanced up and down Kuramochi’s stance, like he actually didn’t know. He looked puzzled for a moment before he spoke. “You’re batting like that?”
“Are you-” Kuramochi’s gloves strained as he gripped his fingers. “Like what ?”
Miyuki shrugged. “I dunno… just, like that .”
Kuramochi dropped his stance and stepped forward over the plate. “If you don’t stop talking and call this goddamn pitch I’m gonna-”
“ Hah ?” Miyuki smiled incredulously, looking more entertained than threatened. “If you’re going to fight me it’s only fair if I get a bat too.”
Kuramochi squared his shoulders but was interrupted by a shout from the field telling them to stop messing around. Focus, dammit. Miyuki could run his mouth all he wanted, but it didn’t change the fact that Kuramochi needed to get on base, like, two at-bats ago, or he could pretty much say goodbye to being on the first string. He steadied his eyes towards the pitcher’s mound.
Fwoosh.
“If you’re going to swing at pitches that low then we might as well go golfing.”
Kuramochi’s spine tensed as he felt his neck stiffen with frustration. “What’s your fucking problem?”
Miyuki stared up at him, a blank look on his face. “Problem?”
“Is this your secret catching style? You just talk shit to everyone up here?” Kuramochi spit into the dirt. “Cause I’ve really had enough of it.”
Miyuki chuckled and Kuramochi thought about kicking him over. “If I talked shit to everyone they’d’ve locked me in the dugout weeks ago.”
Kuramochi let a ball go past the outside corner before returning to his scowl. “What’d I ever do to you?”
Miyuki spun the ball loosely in his fingers before tossing it back, eyeing Kuramochi over his shoulder as he did. “Nothing.”
“So why-”
The end of Kuramochi’s sentence trailed into the pitcher’s wind up, and he swung recklessly.
Chink.
The ball popped up deep into foul territory. Kuramochi winced. Had he timed his swing right it would’ve been an easy out for the third baseman.
“Don’t swing up just because you swung low earlier-”
“Why me?” Kuramochi demanded, letting his voice get away from him, a little too loud and a little too wild. He could feel it now, adrenaline tearing through his back, his arms, his fingers. His lip came up slightly in a snarl.
Something like recognition flickered in Miyuki’s eyes. The corner of his lip twitched and he ignored the question, turning his attention to the mound.
Kuramochi huffed. Fucking Miyuki. His head stooped low as he waited for the pitch. His body was tense, itching and frantic and saying go, go, go so loudly that it took all his focus to hold his stance together. He had sworn off fighting after he got the offer from Seido. Because it was a miracle that they either hadn’t heard about his history or- more shockingly- chose to ignore it. He couldn’t afford to fuck up again. Not here.
That’s what his brain thought, but his hands imagined sinking a fist into Miyuki’s stupid face and he felt his pulse jump into his ears.
Whack.
The thing soared . It held tightly to the third base line and came up a few feet short of the fence, bouncing awkwardly in the gravel as Kuramochi rounded second. He watched the outfielder pick it up and dug his cleats into the dirt. He slid head-first into third and laid a hand safely on the plate before the ball thunked into the third-baseman’s glove.
The coach looked unreadable behind his sunglasses, but Kuramochi knew that would have gotten his attention. Besides Tetsu’s homer in the second it was the best hit all game, and it was off a nasty inside pitch. He brushed some dirt off of his chest and stood up. As he did, he saw Miyuki watching him, eyebrows raised, from behind home plate. Asshole.
Kuramochi flipped him off.
* * *
The sound of plastic hitting the table pulled Kuramochi’s attention away from his half-eaten bowl of rice. “Zono-” he started, but groaned when he saw a pair of thick glasses staring back at him under an off-kilter baseball cap. “Ugh, it’s you. ”
Miyuki smiled, lips closed, and waved. “I think you meant ‘hello.’”
Kuramochi shoved a mound of rice into his mouth. “What do you want?”
“Nice hit today,” Miyuki shrugged. “Kawakami nailed that inside pitch so I thought he’d have you beat.”
“Playing nice now?” Kuramochi asked as Zono sat down on his other side. Zono looked suspiciously between them before clapping a hand over Kuramochi’s shoulder.
“Glad you pulled through, buddy.” Zono grinned earnestly and started shoveling down his food. “Nearly gave me a heart attack when you went for third, but I guess I’ll have to get used to that.”
They nodded as Shirasu joined them, placing his tray down quietly next to Miyuki’s on the other side of the table. Their conversation continued normally as they talked about everyone’s performance for the game, looking around to see who looked especially defeated or triumphant after the day.
As it got darker outside the cafeteria began to clear and their conversation slowed. Kuramochi poked at the rice remaining in his third bowl and lifted a clump into his mouth.
“Do you still get into fights?”
Kuramochi choked and snapped his eyes up to see Miyuki staring back at him, chopsticks pointing idly in the air. He sputtered as he tried to get a start, fumbling as he tried to work out how much Miyuki really knew. People had mentioned that Kuramochi looked and acted like he could get into fights, but he wasn’t eager to make his middle school years common knowledge on the team.
If anyone was going to ruin that for him, it was Miyuki.
Kuramochi looked around at Zono and Shirasu before glaring back at Miyuki. “Who said I got into fights?”
Miyuki popped a mound of rice into his mouth before answering. “You, mostly.” He motioned vaguely to the way Kuramochi was hunched angrily over the table. “And a little birdie from your middle school.”
The chopsticks made a snapping sound as Kuramochi clapped his hand flat on the table. He stood up and leaned forward. “Stay out of my business, Miyuki, I’m not messing around.”
Miyuki blinked up at him from behind his glasses. “It wasn’t really a secret , was it?”
Zono leaned forward, putting a hand on Kuramochi’s shoulder. “What’s not a secret?”
Miyuki continued, ignoring the obvious change in tone of their conversation. He looked up at Zono. “In middle school Kuramochi used to-“
Miyuki’s tray made a crashing noise as Kuramochi flung it off the table. It was the fastest way for Kuramochi to get him to shut up, since his ears were apparently broken . He felt Zono’s hand tighten around his arm as he tried to lean further forward. “I said stay out of it.”
Kuramochi could feel the stares from around the room as it went silent. He heard the footsteps of someone moving their direction.
The rice was fanned out on the floor and Miyuki glanced at it. He leaned back in his chair. He hadn’t even flinched when Kuramochi flung his tray, which put Kuramochi even more on edge. Miyuki blinked back up at him, smiling politely. “Well, if you insist.”
That bastard . Kuramochi gripped his tray as Zono dragged him away from the table. He watched Miyuki lean over to start cleaning up his stuff and Shirasu got up to borrow a broom. As they left the cafeteria they were greeted with a stiff, cold breeze, and Kuramochi felt like he could breathe again.
Zono let go of his arm and they walked silently back to their rooms. He knew better than to ask now, but Kuramochi knew he would later. At least Kuramochi could put a better spin on it, now that he knew it was coming. He sighed. Even after a year this was still technically his fault, his own problem to deal with since he couldn’t really pin his middle school fights on Miyuki. He had assumed word would get out eventually, but he hadn’t thought someone like Miyuki would come hounding for more information.
Kuramochi leaned his head down and pulled at his hair. This was his only chance to play baseball, and Miyuki Kazuya was intent on ruining it for him.
* * *
“You can’t avoid him forever,” Masuko stated as he walked in the room, dropping a bag onto his desk.
The goblin on the screen did a kick and Kuramochi missed the block as his finger slipped off the button. He grimaced. “It’s worked well enough so far.”
Masuko looked skeptical as he sat down and picked up the second controller. “Then why are you still mad?”
The fight on screen ended and Kuramochi switched it over to a two player game. “I’m not mad.”
He saw Masuko smile, eyebrows raised. Kuramochi pushed his elbow, cocking his head towards the screen. “I said I’m not , now choose your character.”
Masuko flicked the button to select a knight, which sucked, because it meant he was going to spam the shit out of his sword jab. Kuramochi groaned, “Not again .”
Masuko had already started the game. “Bring it on, you worthless pig,” he puffed his chest. “You’ll never defeat the great Sir Masuko. Repent or die by my blade! Hyaa!”
Dork . Kuramochi blocked his first sword jab, but missed the next one. He went on the offensive after that, before Masuko could gain any more momentum, and managed to scrape by with the win. “Eat shit, Sir Masuko.”
The next round started and Masuko hunched his shoulders. “It doesn’t sound cool when you say it.”
Kuramochi chuckled. “Yeah, cause it’s not.”
The next round ended with Masuko’s win, after he maddeningly leaned even more into his shitty sword jabbing strategy. Masuko breathed out triumphantly and cracked his knuckles over his head. “Wanna know what Miyuki said the other day?”
“No.” Kuramochi replied out of habit, but annoyingly, he did want to know. It sounded like gossip, and Masuko never gossiped, so his interest was piqued.
“You really don’t like him, huh?”
Kuramochi groaned as he leaned back onto his hands, the controller resting in his lap. “He just sucks .” He looked up slightly, stretching his neck as he rolled his head. “He gets whatever he wants, he’s two-faced, and he messes with people for no reason. What’s there to like?”
Masuko just shrugged.
“Plus, he had a problem with me first. So if anyone should be fixing shit, it’s him . Instead, he’s just going to continue trying to make me screw up so I get thrown off the team.” Kuramochi had raised his voice slightly more than intended, and he took a breath.
“Is that what you think?” Masuko asked. He looked entertained. Kuramochi glared back at him. After a beat of silence, Masuko continued, “We asked him about who he’d put on the first-string roster, if he got to pick.” He leaned forward to pick up the controller again, pointing it in Kuramochi’s direction. “Out of everyone on the team, the first person he named was you .”
Kuramochi looked down at the rug, fidgeting with the joystick as he scrunched his forehead. “Bullshit.”
Masuko’s controller came up over his chest. “On my honor, Kuramochi. The kid’s two-faced, that’s for sure, just-“ Without a warning, Masuko pressed start and began his sword jabs before Kuramochi could catch up. Cheater . “Just not in the way you think.”
* * *
The sun had set hours ago, but still the night air wasn’t cold enough to make up for the lack of breeze inside the practice building. Kuramochi dragged the back of his hand across his forehead. He stacked his hands along the bat, gripping and re-gripping them because nothing he did at the plate felt right anymore.
He was so screwed. The first string was getting announced the next day and so far his batting had been a mess, although it managed to have its moments. No matter what he tried, he just couldn’t get a handle on it.
Bend your knees, not that much. Hold the bat more tightly, no, that’s just tense. Now your arms are too high.
The bat swooshed through the air as Kuramochi swung high. He banged his bat on the ground, frustrated, but looked up when he heard a click from the pitching machine.
“What are you doing?” He growled at Miyuki, who had wandered in and shut off the machine.
Miyuki shrugged like he hadn’t done anything wrong. “Your stance is off.”
Kuramochi released a hand from his bat and motioned towards the pitching machine. “That’s why I’m here .”
Miyuki shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled towards him. His eyes tracked Kuramochi, starting at his shoulders, down to his feet, and back up again. “Well, it clearly wasn’t working.”
Sweat started to bead on Kuramochi’s forehead as he felt his face heat up. His voice came out tightly through his teeth. “What do you want from me?”
An empty water bottle blew against the entrance and Miyuki watched it roll. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then focused his attention back towards Kuramochi. His forehead scrunched a bit, like he was figuring something out. “I talked to your old friend the other day, said you did some pretty stupid shit in middle school.” He smiled and swiped the bat out of Kuramochi’s hands. “Surprised they let you keep playing with all the suspensions-”
Kuramochi’s vision reddened, and everything in his body snapped into place. He lowered his head and gripped his fists until his knuckles went white. He didn’t care. Miyuki had provoked him enough and it was time he got what he was asking for. He set his feet, ready to lunge himself forward.
In a blink, Miyuki jumped to his side, like he had been waiting for Kuramochi to snap. Kuramochi tried to turn but Miyuki placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping his motion by digging in his fingers. Miyuki shoved the bat between his arms and Kuramochi grabbed it instinctively.
“ There. ” Miyuki said to himself, giving Kuramochi a pat between his shoulder blades as he began trotting off towards the pitching machine. He turned it on when he reached it and nodded a goodbye.
Kuramochi stood stunned as the machine started making noise again. He leaned into his stance, still sharp with angry, unspent energy. The pitch hurtled towards him, and Kuramochi tracked it, grinding his teeth as it came. In the next moment he didn’t think about the ball, just swung, half of his brain still imagining tackling Miyuki to the ground.
The ball shot away from his bat, and Kuramochi blinked as it sunk itself heavily into a chain link fence. That was it. That was his batting, even stronger now than it had been in middle school.
* * *
Kuramochi glared as he collected the books from his desk. This partner project stunk of Miyuki’s scheming. He spotted a mess of brown hair across the room and slid into the desk in front.
“He said partners were randomly assigned.” Kuramochi turned, leaning an elbow on the edge of Miyuki’s desk.
“And?” Miyuki was writing something in his notebook. It was sunny on this side of the building, and the glare on his glasses cut into his expression.
Kuramochi squinted out the window. “What are the chances I’m stuck with you as a partner?”
“One in eighteen. Take this.” Miyuki tore out the piece of paper he was writing on and thrusted it in Kuramochi’s direction.
Kuramochi rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean, did you have something to do with this?”
Miyuki cracked a smile and flapped the paper he was still holding. “Obviously. Now take this.”
Kuramochi ignored him. “Don’t we see enough of each other in practice? I’m trying to make actual friends at school-”
“Aww, did I get in the way of your flirting?” Miyuki brought his arm down, flattening the paper he was holding under his fingers. He lifted his other hand, pointing his thumb towards the back of the room. “Hate to break it to you, but your girl in the back started dating someone from Sensen last week, so you’ll have to find someone else to bother.”
Kuramochi growled and snatched the paper off of Miyuki’s desk, crumpling it in the process. He felt his face heat up and he clenched his teeth. “How would you know that? You’ve never even talked to her.”
The desk creaked as Miyuki leaned back into it. “I just do. Now look-” Miyuki continued as he leaned sideways to start piling his books into his backpack. “Tournaments start soon, our schedules are insane, and we’ll probably both fail if we have to do that much work outside of class.” He stopped to eye the crumpled paper in Kuramochi’s hand. “Plus, I already made the outline, so, you know…”
Miyuki stood up and slung his backpack over his shoulder. He flipped his pencil in between his fingers, like he was waiting for something.
“ What ?” Kuramochi snarled. He stiffened as Miyuki shoved the eraser end of his pencil into Kuramochi’s chest. The action seemed threatening, but Miuki was smiling.
“ You’re welcome .”
The door made a soft noise as Miyuki walked out of the classroom. Kuramochi uncrumpled the paper in his hand and absently rubbed the spot on his chest that had gotten jabbed by Miyuki’s pencil. Pain in the ass . He used the heel of his palm to smooth out the creases.
“Tough draw, huh?” His friend walked up, leaning onto the corner of Kuramochi’s desk.
Kuramochi nodded as he looked over the paper. It was meticulously organized, and the parts Kuramochi was responsible for were already mapped out with timelines and everything. He didn’t even have an idea for this project yet, even though the teacher had told them about it a few days ago, but here was everything, laid out in the tight lines of Miyuki’s handwriting.
Kuramochi dropped his forehead onto his desk and gripped his fingers into his hair. This was going to be a difficult project, but Miyuki made it look easy , and for once Kuramochi actually wasn’t worried about whether he’d be able to scrape by in history while their tournament was in full swing. He felt his shoulders relax in a way that meant relief, but also gratitude, and he shuddered at the thought of being in any way in debt to Miyuki Kazuya. He wondered if maybe it would feel better to just fail his history class instead.
Groaning, Kuramochi looked up from his chair. “He’s going to be the death of me.”
* * *
It was stupid to be nervous, but Kuramochi hesitated outside of Miyuki’s door.
Whenever Kuramochi had conversations with Miyuki, his brain was mainly focused on how to not be having a conversation with Miyuki, but since they were now doing a project together, they had to actually like, work together , and Kuramochi couldn’t think of anything more uncomfortable than that. He ran his thumb over the edges of his notebook. Was he supposed to knock? He didn’t like knocking, but that was with his friends. He had never elected to visit Miyuki’s room before, on his own, but it’s not like he wasn’t expecting him.
Screw it . Kuramochi barged in, pushing the door with his foot to swing it open.
He caught glimpses of Miyuki’s skin as he finished pulling on a t-shirt. Kuramochi stalled in the doorway for a moment before looking off to the side. Miyuki squinted as he mazed his arm through his long-sleeve, then reached for his glasses. HIs hair was damp and heavy from the showers. “You’re awfully eager to start our project.”
Kuramochi’s ears burned as he hugged his notebook to his chest. “I just wanna get this over with.”
There was a scraping noise as Miyuki dragged the chair out from his desk. He pointed to another desk. “You can bring that chair over.”
Kuramochi sat down silently and looked around. Miyuki’s room was neat, which was expected, and lacked the excess decorations and stuff that his other teammates usually collected. It was efficient, sure, but Kuramochi found himself wondering if there was anything Miyuki liked besides baseball.
Miyuki flopped his notes on the desk and Kuramochi stared at them in horror. They were immaculately done, with clean handwriting and chronologically ordered and detailed and-
“I’ll write notes for next week.” Kuramochi blurted out.
Miyuki’s forehead scrunched. “What do you mean? Didn’t you say you were done? That was the whole point.”
He couldn’t. Why didn’t he think about this earlier? Of course he knew Miyuki’s notes would be organized, but seeing them laid out again was terrifying, and Kuramochi shuddered at the thought of his own scribbles. “I’m… I forgot.”
Miyuki stared at Kuramochi, and then at his notebook, and then back at his face. “You trying to lie to me is just insulting.” He reached forward and snatched the notebook out of Kuramochi’s hands. He flipped to the latest pages and laid it down on the desk.
“ Don’t- ”
Kuramochi watched Miyuki pause, and then smile, and then heave out a laugh. He frowned and reached to take back the notebook. “I can redo it if I need to, just not-”
Myuki’s fingers latched onto Kuramochi’s outstretched arm, stopping his motion towards the notebook. His grip was firm, fingers rough from baseball, but he clearly wasn’t aiming for a fight, and Kuramochi drew back slightly.
Kuramochi was a chronic scribbler, in spite of his teachers’ nagging, who had never quite gotten his handwriting under control, his letters messily careening into each other over the page. His scribbles were messy too, but without them he had trouble remembering all the details, so they showed up a lot when he was actually trying to stay focused on something. Overall they were fine, for him, but his teachers always scolded him about being more neat and making things more organized and now with Miyuki writing textbooks next to him-
“No it’s-” Miyuki set Kuramochi’s hand on the edge of the desk. He stared at the notes curiously, his cheek barely tensed into a smile, and Kuramochi waited for him to make some shitty comment about them. Miyuki flipped a page and dragged his hand across it. His voice dropped as he admired a drawing of some soldiers. “It’s… cute.”
Miyuki looked up suddenly, catching himself, and continued. “This is the battle right? You have all the right people here, and it even has a little map.”
“It’s not, like, an essay though.” Kuramochi slumped his shoulders. Miyuki acted like giving out compliments was painful to him, usually, and he always wanted to have things his way. Why was he suddenly acting like a reasonable human being?
The kid’s two-faced, that’s for sure, just not in the way you think.
Miyuki shrugged and leveled his eyes. “It doesn’t need to be an essay yet, we’ll have time for that.”
Together, they flipped through their notes and planned out the rest of their timeline. Kuramochi asked some questions, answered some, but overall he felt off-kilter. Miyuki and him talked, argued , about baseball, but this was… different. Miyuki was blunt, and sarcastic, and never seemed to be able to keep his mouth shut. But without the rest of the team and a baseball game going on, having Miyuki around was really just.. comfortable .
* * *
With the cheers and bustle of the stands it was in no way quiet, but Kuromochi could feel the weight of the silent tension of the Seido dugout. It was thinly overcast, and while the clouds kept the sun from glaring into his eyes, he could still feel it laying a darker shade of brown into his skin. The heat was a kind that hung unforgivingly still, especially within the confines of the dugout. Miyuki spoke first, low but clear, his words cutting through the air. “We’re not going to fight a battle we can’t win.”
A third-year, Ren, had been filling in as pitcher after Tanba’s injury, but it was going worse than expected. Everyone knew Tanba and Miyuki butted heads constantly, but his getting along with Ren was somehow even worse. A puff of dirt rose from Ren’s glove after he whipped it onto the nearest bench. “I’m sick of walking him, how do you know we can’t take him on?”
The last inning had been ugly. All in all they only allowed one run, but it was mixed in with four walks and a hell of a lot of close calls. On top of that, Ren had denied or straight-up ignored a lot of Miyuki’s calls, which meant that the already long inning had felt like a fucking lifetime on the field. Kuramochi was always encouraging- it came naturally to him- but he’d be lying if he said the last inning didn’t make him want to knock their skulls together.
“Your curveballs aren’t curving and your fastballs are drifting, what do you want us to take him on with ?” Miyuki’s face was calm enough, but Kuramochi could see the twitch of irritation in his brow.
Ren raised his palms up like the answer was obvious. “We practiced knuckleballs all week.”
The rest of the team shuffled nervously around them, and Kuromochi glanced at the coach to see if he was going to intervene. It didn’t seem likely, not with the way he had his arms folded across his chest. Miyuki threw a side-eye as he started to pull at the straps of his catcher’s gear. “A week isn’t nearly long enough for that to be ready in a game.” He tossed his equipment on the ground and dug his batting gloves out of his bag. “Plus, until your other pitches are under control I don’t know if a knuckleball will even be useful -”
“ Look, first-year, ” Ren closed in on Miyuki, causing him to take a pause while pulling on his gloves. “I know you think you’re hot stuff, but I’m on the mound, and if I say I’m ready to throw a pitch then I’m gonna throw it. So start asking. ”
Miyuki pulled his gloves on the rest of the way and frowned. He stared at Ren for a beat before responding. “ Fine , but if this doesn’t work out we’re going back to my calls before they send one straight over the fence.”
Ren glared as he snatched up a cup of water. The rest of the team picked up their conversations, slowly, remembering suddenly that there was still a game going on and that they should be, well, cheering or something. Kuramochi leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, as Miyuki passed behind him to move his catcher’s gear to the corner.
“You talk to third-years like you’re trying to get benched.” Seido got a hit, and Kuramochi stared forward as the runner’s foot squished into first base.
“Did Chris ask you to scold me?” Although Miyuki had seemed tense before, his voice was light again, almost immediately, and Kuramochi groaned at his inability to understand what he was thinking.
Kuramochi kicked at a pile of dirt and pushed himself upright. “When you act like that he doesn’t need to.”
Miyuki pulled out his water bottle and shrugged. “Yeah, well, we’re gonna be in a world of hurt if Ren doesn’t pull it together next inning.”
Kuramochi’s cleats made a scraping noise as he slid his feet on the floor, turning his shoulders in Miyuki’s direction. “You can’t tell me that was your way of encouraging him.”
The bench wobbled slightly as Miyuki sat down at the end of it. He studied the field, taking a quick inventory of everyone’s positions. “Pitchers are impossible to deal with sometimes,” he mumbled. A cheer went up across the stands as the Seido batter struck out swinging. Miyuki’s brow furrowed, like he was trying to figure something out. “And Ren just happens to pitch his best when he’s trying to put a shitty first-year in their place.”
“So you decided to- what?”
“I want that knuckleball next inning, but anything half-assed will put us in the dirt.” Miyuki’s eyes met Kuramochi’s for a brief second before focusing on the next batter. “If hating me is what it takes, then I can make that happen.”
It was only half-joking. Or maybe not a joke at all, but Kuramochi had long given up trying to tell the difference with Miyuki. A strong thump of a ball going into the catcher’s mitt caught Miyuki’s attention. He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward to take a peek at the manager’s notes. A drop of sweat rolled from his hairline as he counted something on his fingers, muttering as he did, obsessive and calculating.
“I don’t want to.”
Miyuki looked over at him, confused, more preoccupied with the game than their conversation. “Don’t want to what?”
Kuramochi scrunched his face, turning his head towards Miyuki’s direction. His hesitation made Miyuki look back at him. “Hate you.”
For one glorious second Miyuki’s expression went soft, and Kuramochi almost cheered at finally being able to catch the bastard off-guard. Instead, he leaned forward onto his knees and clapped his hands together, looking forward again. “I don’t need your mind games to be the fastest lead-off man Seido has ever seen. Got it, Miyuki Kazuya?”
* * *
The heat of the day was left hanging on the field, held into place by the circle of stadium lights surrounding its edges. The dugout, though, with its solid concrete, was shadowy on the inside, letting an autumn chill begin to snake through the sides. The practice game had ended late, and Kuramochi could hear the distant voices of his teammates heading back to the showers.
Kuramochi was lingering in the dugout, savoring the night air and the buzzing energy of the diamond. He breathed in and reached his fingers towards his feet. His body ached throughout as he stretched, and a few spots- his shoulder, his lip- twinged with pain. He was banged up, but he didn’t mind a bit, since he’d been on a roll for the entire game. His fielding was sharp, his running felt light, but, most of all, his batting was...
He felt securely on the offensive, finally. He went to the plate ready to pick a fight, and he could still feel the anticipation in his bones. He ran his tongue over a raw spot on the inside of his cheek, trying to remember when it had gotten that way. As shitty as Miyuki could be, Kuramochi wondered how long it would’ve taken him to figure out his batting without him.
Footsteps crunched in the dirt, and a figure rounded the edge of the dugout. Speak of the devil.
Kuramochi snatched a lump of fabric off the ground and flung it across the dugout. Miyuki caught the jacket, easily, and looped his arms over his head as he put it on. “Thought I’d need it earlier and then forgot about it. Takes forever to cool off around here.”
Kuramochi grinned and pressed a palm into the dirt to stand up. “Keep that in mind when winter training rolls around.” He reached down to sling his bag over his shoulder.
“Yeah, oh-” Miyuki’s phone made a noise and he glanced at it, his features lit up softly in the shadows of the dugout. He typed a response as Kuramochi walked his direction.
“Hey, uhh-” Kuramochi sniffed, mouth closed, his nose layered with the smells of grass and dirt and leather. “Who did you like, talk to?”
“My dad?” Miyuki held the phone up questioningly.
“No, I mean, from my old school. Who did you…”
Miyuki dropped his phone to his side and the light ran away from his face. Even in the dimness though, Kuramochi could make out the whites of his teeth. “Who did I get all the dirt from?”
Kuramochi rolled his eyes. Miyuki continued. “I went to a camp with Itsuki at one point. We talk baseball sometimes.”
Itsuki . The metal bench was cold as Kuramochi wrapped his hand around it, dropping his shoulders, his old friend’s words echoed around his head, and he wondered how many of them had made their way to Miyuki. “Look, I don’t know if he still hates me, but whatever he said-”
“What?”
Kuramochi kicked at the dirt. “I mean, he probably didn’t lie about me, but if he still doesn’t like me then I doubt he’d try to say-”
Miyuki stepped forward, leaning down to look up at Kuramochi’s face. His forehead was creased and he raised an eyebrow. “ Really , what are you talking about?”
“Itsuki doesn’t even like me.”
Miyuki huffed out a laugh. “Are you an idiot? He talks like you’re the best thing that’s happened to baseball in years.”
“I don’t believe you.” A breeze ran through the dugout, and Kuramochi drank it in deeply. Memories from middle school unraveled in his head, a sick, bitter feeling shedding away from them as he considered the possibility. Maybe they didn't hate him. Maybe he still had friends there. He leveled his eyes at Miyuki’s.
“I’m not lying .” He waggled his phone in the air. “And, I have proof, but I’ll delete it if you get too full of yourself.”
Kuramochi reached for the phone, backing up Miyuki into the wall of the dugout. “I’m not full of myself.”
Miyuki’s arms disappeared behind his back, leaving Kuramochi’s hands empty until they found their way to the bricks at Miyuki’s sides.
“Is that so?” The normal tenor of Miyuki’s voice was filled partially with escaped air. They were close, now, and he spoke quietly. “Then tell me how you played today.”
Kuramochi dropped his eyes to his feet as he crossed one behind his ankle. He smiled playfully, like he had been caught in a trap. And he had, in a way, because he knew exactly how well he had played and he couldn’t resist shoving it in Miyuki’s face. “I, uhh-” He cleared his throat. “I played pretty damn well today.”
Miyuki’s laugh was melodic, entertained. Different from the one he used for making snide remarks at people. He adjusted his shoulders against the wall, but made no motion to break the half circle that Kuramochi’s arms created around him. “That’s what I thought.”
“I told you I’d figure it out.”
“So you did.” Miyuki slid a foot up the wall to lean against it more firmly, bumping his knee into Kuramochi’s. He dragged his eyes to the baseball field. “I guess if you play this well, I don’t have to keep bothering the shit out of you anymore.”
Kuramochi laughed and Miyuki snapped his eyes back to attention. He could see the whites of Miyuki’s teeth at the center of his shit-eating grin. Kuramochi leaned forward, his lips connecting with Miyuki’s mid-smile, feeling the stretch of them before they relaxed into each other. He heard the sound of shifting fabric, and he dropped his hands to catch Miyuki’s jacket at the wrists, pulling his arms back down to his sides, pinning them in place.
Kuramochi tipped back his shoulders, just barely, leaving his legs where they had ended up tangled against Miyuki’s. Their breath mingled between them before the night air trailed away with it.
“You’re gonna stop bothering the shit out of me?” Kuramochi gripped Miyuki’s wrist with one arm and used the other to snatch his phone away from him, his mouth brushing into Miyuki's shoulder as he reached around his back. Then he pushed off, backing away as Miyuki followed him in protest, hands reached out in front of him. “I don’t believe that for a second.”