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Even at this distance Hanai can hear the crack of the bat.
He tips his head up, taking a single slow breath as he watches the ball arc towards him. He knows Tajima is already sprinting for first base. Not this time, he thinks.
He takes one step back, then another. The ball drops into his glove with the satisfying thwack of leather against leather. He looks down to see Tajima throwing his hands in the air, his steps slowing.
"Got you," he murmurs.
--
It's weird to be back at Nishiura after a full year of college. The second years are third years now, and there's a new crop of bright-eyed first years that Hanai never would have imagined when he stood on the half-finished field four years ago. Times change, he thinks, even though he doesn't feel like he has.
Tajima hasn't changed much, either. He looks Hanai in the eye after the mixed-team game is over and says, "You've gained weight."
Hanai blushes. "Well, you're still short."
He'd forgotten what it was like to be caught in Tajima's regard. For a moment they stare at each other before Tajima's face breaks into a grin. He claps Hanai on the back hard enough to make him cough.
"I'm angry you caught that!" he complains. "It makes me want to play you in a real game, captain."
"Nobody calls me captain anymore."
Tajima blinks at him. "You'll always be our captain, Hanai," he says, as if it's obvious.
--
Later that night they gather at Mihashi's house out of habit, each person bringing snacks and gifts from their respective colleges or jobs.
Hanai brings beer. "I-is it all right?" he asks Mihashi's mother, lifting the six pack before he dares to step inside.
She looks at the offering, then at him, and just chuckles.
"Just don't get carried away now," she says, ushering him inside with a warm hand on his shoulder.
"I'll keep an eye on them," he promises, as if he's still responsible for their welfare.
At some point they all migrate to the backyard, where the trappings of Mihashi's high school baseball days still linger. Hanai stands by the old practice target, fingering the long strips of painted tape. They're weather-worn since Mihashi's been so long away. Hanai expects that by noon tomorrow, though, they'll be in the same shape that they were before Mihashi left.
"Hey," he hears behind him. Tajima's looking at him, quiet, cheeks pink with alcohol. He kneels down and picks up a baseball from an old bucket full of them. "I want to catch a bit."
Hanai scoffs. "Nobody else brought their gloves," he points out. "Why did you?"
Tajima just shrugs.
"Ask Mihashi," he says, stepping back from the practice target. His fingers bump against the imperfections in the tape strip before they pull free.
Tajima jerks his head towards his shoulder. Hanai follows the gesture to the other side of the backyard, where the others have built a small campfire in the fire pit. On the far side of it Mihashi is tucked under Abe's arm, softly smiling.
"He's busy," Tajima says, large eyes unblinking. "Besides, I want to catch with you."
In the end, Hanai asks Mihashi if he can borrow his glove and Mihashi's mom fetches it from her son's room. When he returns to the backyard, Tajima is standing with his hands above his head, looking at the sky. For a moment, Hanai thinks he's stargazing—and then hears the thwap of the ball hitting his glove.
"It's too dark," Hanai says.
Tajima turns at the sound of his voice, the ball a flash of white in his free hand. "I can see you just fine."
They don't say much after that. Their tosses settle into a steady pace. Tajima's face is limned in moonlight, making a mystery of its familiar curves, and his crouch pulls his jeans tight against the muscles of his thighs.
"Come on," Tajima says. "Throw the ball."
"—Right, sorry," Hanai says.
--
"You've been at college for a year," Hanai says, hours later. "Don't you know your limits yet?"
Tajima's arm is slung around his waist. His answering laugh is breathy, rather than the raucous cackle Hanai's used to. After a moment his head drops, as if even that simple act took all the energy he had left.
"Coach says we're not allowed to drink," Tajima answers after a while.
"Since when do you listen to anybody," Hanai says. His coach doesn't allow it, either, but when his teammates snuck alcohol into the dorms he didn't say no.
Tajima doesn't answer at all that time, and Hanai sighs, squinting at the street sign. It's lucky that Tajima lives so close to the school; he still remembers how to get back there from Mihashi's house, sort of. Hanai tightens his arm around Tajima's shoulders and the motion presses them flush together, pulling his stride up short. The scraping of their feet against the sidewalk is buried beneath the endless whine of cicadas. His breath comes out in heavy puffs from the exertion of pulling Tajima along, and even at night the heat is like an added weight.
He remembers that Tajima's house didn't have air conditioning the last time he visited, and wonders if that's changed. It seems unlikely.
"Thanks," Tajima mumbles. Hanai only hears it because of his proximity, and he snorts in response.
"Don't drink so much next time," he sighs.
--
Hanai last visited Tajima's house a week before they both left for college. He ended up helping Tajima weed his grandfather's garden, and when he left, the words he came over to say were still wedged against the back of his tongue. Tajima e-mailed him a few times after that, but Hanai never replied—frustrated with himself, too busy with school, some combination of both—and eventually, the messages stopped.
He can feel the familiar pressure in his throat again as he tosses Tajima onto his own bed. The other boy's sprawl over the covers is identical to how he used to sleep during training camp, down to the unruly tangle of his hair and his parted lips. Hanai is just drunk enough that he gives himself permission to stare without feeling too bad about it.
Tajima opens his eyes and Hanai's gaze jerks up from the narrow flash of skin revealed by his rumpled shirt. Neither of them say anything, though, and eventually Hanai coughs. "Well. Good night, I guess."
"Hanai," Tajima says, blinking up at him. "If I looked at someone the way you look at me, I would have kissed them already."
Hanai freezes.
"So why haven't you?" Tajima continues.
"You're drunk," he grumbles. "Go to sleep."
"Mm," Tajima says, and then sits up, which is not what Hanai wanted at all. He starts to step back but Tajima's hands curl around his wrists, holding him in place without force. "I always wondered why you never said anything."
Hanai blinks. "Did you want me to?"
Tajima's eyes are bright when they meet his. "Yeah," he says clearly.
He tries to swallow, and can't. How much does three years weigh? he thinks.
"Hey. Hey, Hanai." Tajima's shaking his wrists now, and when he looks down the other boy is smiling at him. "Stay over tonight."
He can feel his face heat up. "Dude," he says. "No way."
Tajima frowns. "Not to have sex," he says, and Hanai feels shock ripple down his spine at the word. "Just to stay over." His eyes soften, and he tugs on Hanai's wrists once. "I missed you. You never answered my e-mails."
"I was busy," he mutters. Then, after a pause: "I didn't know what to say."
"I wanted to tell you about all kinds of stuff," Tajima says. "Like the crazy running drills our coach makes us do. Or our first game. Or how the cafeteria serves this freaky curry, some days it’s almost green—"
"Okay, I could live without hearing about that," Hanai interrupts, and Tajima falls silent, still looking at him. Hanai looks back for as long as he can before his eyes cut to the side.
What the hell, he thinks. He's practically confessed anyway. "I missed you too," he mutters. "Sorry."
Tajima's grin is as sudden as he remembers, and it still makes something funny flop over in his stomach. He wants to blame it on the curry story, but can't. "So stay," the other boy insists. "It's not like you haven't slept over before."
Hanai thinks about it. The clock on the wall says it's already past two in the morning, and his house is a long walk from here. He's exhausted from the earlier game, too, as well as the evening after that.
"Let me text my parents," he says, and Tajima's grip on him relaxes.
--
The next morning he wakes to Tajima's soft animal snores and a pounding headache. He winces at the light coming in through the open blinds and groans, shoving at Tajima and his stifling body heat. The other boy sighs and snuggles closer, arms winding around Hanai's waist.
"Tajima," he hisses. "Tajima."
Tajima cracks an eye open to glare at him, and then pushes his face against Hanai's shoulder. "What," he mumbles.
"You're like a million degrees, get off of me."
Tajima huffs and inches even closer. Hanai makes a soft choking sound.
"I have to pee," he tries again.
Tajima lets go with reluctance, allowing Hanai to flee to the bathroom and splash his red face with water. He drinks from the tap after in an attempt to ease the headache, though it doesn't do much.
He stares at himself, dripping, in the mirror. After a moment he pulls up his shirt and frowns at his stomach, twisting from side to side. "Maybe I did gain weight," he mumbles. "Damn."
Standing in Tajima's second floor hallway at eight AM on a Sunday feels weirdly nostalgic. He knows that everyone in the house sleeps like the dead, so he doesn't bother trying to be quiet on his way back to Tajima's room. When he gets there, Tajima is wrapped around his pillow in much the same way he'd been wrapped around Hanai minutes before. Hanai feels a little jealous, and then a little stupid.
He picks his bag up off the floor and steps back out, closing the door with a quiet snick.
He passes Mihashi's house on the way back to his own, which is, he tells himself, the only reason he stops by to pick up Tajima's mitt.
--
Hanai 11:17
I have your glove
Tajima 12:03
!!! thx
come over 2moro ill show u the drills our coach taught us
Hanai 12:05
Your coach will get mad that youre sharing team secrets
Tajima 12:05
bring a toothbrush
Hanai 12:14
Ok.