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He’s in love with Miyuki Kazuya.
It’s a lonely truth that Eijun realised about himself in his second year of high school. At first, he didn’t know that it was love, but people rarely do when it’s their first. It started when he was brought to the Seidou Training Grounds as a fifteen year old and Miyuki caught his pitch. Eijun was a goner after that. Loving Miyuki was hard because hating him was easy. Well, it’s not hate, not really. His grandfather always told him that love and hate are two horns on the same goat.
And there isn’t a when, a where, a how, and a why he feels that way. He just loves Miyuki’s smile (evil and cunning on the home plate, crystal white teeth), his laugh (as twisted as his humour and genuine ones are hard to come by), and his catching (effortless and calculated, Eijun would even call it genius if it didn’t dangerously inflate the man’s ego). His good looks were just the cherry on top of an ice cream sundae, if the ice cream sundae wore glasses.
He’s nineteen now, four whole years since he’s fallen in love with Miyuki, and Eijun is no closer to being with him now as he was then. That’s because Miyuki doesn’t see him as anything more than his friend and the ace of their university team.
But that’s not the real reason he’ll never be with Miyuki. As in shoujo mangas and as in reality, it’s more complicated than that. In his case, one of his best friends, Kuramochi, is also absolutely, regrettably, and utterly in love with Miyuki. It just happens to be Eijun’s unfortunate luck that he was born a year later than them. Oh, what, he’s loved Miyuki for four years? Boo hoo, Kuramochi has pined over the four-eyed baseball idiot for five.
Pitchers are selfish creatures, aces especially. That’s what Miyuki told him once and Eijun wanted to laugh. Why? Because he’s the farthest thing from selfish. Selfishness is a matter of opinion and perspective. Is he a selfish pitcher? Yes. Is he a selfish person? No.
Or at least, he likes to think he isn’t and he tries not to be one.
But he wishes he was selfish, just this once. Just enough to go after who he wants, because he wants them.
He won’t, though. Because as much as he loves Miyuki, he cares for Kuramochi too. He isn’t just Eijun’s roommate, he’s also one of his closest friends. Eijun would rather give up baseball before he betrays a dear friend. He challenged Furuya for the ace title because he knew it was something that required hard work and perseverance in order to achieve. The same equation doesn’t apply to love. It’s different with love. You can’t challenge love.
So he’s left loving Miyuki from a distance. And that’s fine by Eijun, really. He’s had four years worth of practice. Maybe it’ll take another four years for him to unlearn loving Miyuki.
Eijun should’ve cut his losses early. He had a window when Miyuki graduated from Seidou. But like any lovesick idiot, he followed him to Waseda University under the guise of a baseball scholarship—which is actually true, but then again, he received offers from most universities with a strong team, he just chose the one which had ‘Miyuki Kazuya’ on the team roster, like the simpleton he is.
He allowed himself to hope, which is poison to anyone with unrequited feelings. Kuramochi went to Keio University, allowing Eijun to think he even had a chance with Miyuki. He was wrong, of course. He’s never had the fortune of being right for once.
Eijun discovers that they’ve been dating since the day they graduated from Seidou. A long(ish) distance relationship, one that they’ve kept quiet because it wasn’t anyone else’s business but their own.
Haruichi and Furuya are visiting for the weekend when they break the news to him, after they learned it from Ryousuke. Kuramochi gave Miyuki his second button and confessed his feelings under the cherry blossom trees, like a scene out of the shoujo mangas Spitz-senpai gave to Eijun. Apparently, Isashiki actually gave Kuramochi the idea. If this discovery didn’t break his heart, Eijun would be touched by the romance of it all. He might have even cried.
Hell, he’s crying anyway, but not for any good reason.
Eijun sobs into Haruichi’s shoulder while Furuya quietly rubs his back in comfort, the two of them holding their best friend as he breaks in their hands. They’re kind and considerate and honestly, Eijun would be lost without them.
The weekend was spent watching shitty romance movies, crying (well, Eijun was crying and Haruichi and Furuya would comfort him), and drowning themselves in junk food—their coaches would be mortified if they saw what they had been eating. Then after he drops them off at the station on Monday morning before his lecture, Eijun feels the loneliness creep in.
It’s a new kind of torture, noticing all the little things Eijun had overlooked before. The way Miyuki’s face lightens up just that little bit more when he gets a text from Kuramochi before practice starts. The soft undertone of banter in their back-and-forth arguments during scrimmages and official games between Waseda and Keio. The simple, loving gesture of buying an extra drink from the vending machines after Friday practice, just before Miyuki goes to visit Kuramochi.
Eijun should’ve seen this coming, should’ve watched Miyuki a little closer. It’s all so clear now that he knows. Miyuki and Kuramochi don’t show public displays of affection and they aren’t lovey-dovey by any conventional means, but the way they love each other is so obvious that anyone who knew them would point it out. Like having a magnet to draw out the needle in the haystack.
He’s spent so long being in love with Miyuki that he didn’t even realise that Miyuki was in love with someone else. But maybe that’s because he wanted Miyuki to look at him like that. He wanted Miyuki’s face to light up when he spoke to him, he wanted the teasing banter that they would laugh at together, he wanted Miyuki to buy him things just because he thinks he’ll appreciate them.
All Eijun wanted was to be wanted.
Loneliness moves into the space where Miyuki once lived and Eijun puts a ‘do not disturb’ sign on the door of his heart.
⚾
“Okumura Koushuu, from Teito High School. I’m a catcher.”
Ah, the soft-touch catcher. A real pain in his ass, back in the day, now a valuable member of the team. Eijun remembers interesting catchers. He had played against him, twice. First time was a scrimmage and the second was during the Fall Tournament. Both times, Eijun noted the boldness and intelligence of his calls, as if Miyuki and Chris-senpai were fused into one person.
Once they get through the introductions, the first years are put through an intense drill, testing their abilities and athletic prowess, while the upperclassmen practice on a separate field. Every now and then, Eijun looks over to the primary field and grimaces. He was in their position a year ago. Red-faced, sweaty, and breathless, wanting nothing more than just to lay in the dirt for a moment’s respite.
After lunch, they’re put in an intrasquad game, first years against the upperclassmen. Eijun knows they’ll lose, but he won’t be surprised if they win. Afterall, his kouhais, his protégés Asada and Kukki are two of the first year pitchers. After he and Furuya left, they became the next double aces of Seidou. Eijun is not so egotistical as to say that they came to Waseda because of him—if that were the case, then one of them would have followed Furuya to Meiji—he knows they have their own reasons. They have different strengths, but Okumura draws it out of them and cleverly makes calls that would make Chris-senpai proud.
“That Okumura’s impressive,” Miyuki comments, as he stands next to Eijun in the dugout. “Not that I’ll tell him that.”
“Of course, otherwise people will think you actually care and you’ll ruin your reputation of being a bastard, Miyuki Kazuya!” Eijun hears himself quip—distantly, as though it’s not him speaking at all. And really, it isn’t. It’s more like an automated response on an answering machine.
“Better a bastard than a brat!”
Eijun sticks his tongue out at him and Miyuki returns the childish gesture. But it’s nice. It’s nice pretending everything’s normal, that he and Miyuki are just friends, as if his heart didn’t cry out for him. Eijun suppresses the urge to grab and kiss him, or punch him, or whack a baseball bat around his head, whatever works.
At the bottom of the ninth, Mima scores a homerun which brings himself and two other runners home, ending the game on 11-6 in favour of the upperclassmen. Not surprising that they won, but what is surprising is that the first years managed to score an extra two points than last year’s first years—Eijun’s year—so either they’ve been slacking during practice or they just have some really talented first years.
“Sawamura, I want you to practise with Okumura starting tomorrow,” Coach Komiyama tells him as he’s on his way out of the field.
Eijun can’t help the whine that comes out of his mouth. “But I usually practise with Miyuki. We were planning on going through the numbers together.”
“I have him assessing the other pitchers we’ve inducted this year,” Komiyama says. He puts a hand on Eijun’s shoulder in a friendly manner. “We have Miyuki for another two years, but we have you for another three. You need another battery, a strong one by the time he graduates. Start training with Okumura. He’s a good catcher.”
Before Eijun could protest further, Komiyama drops his hand from his shoulder and walks off, talking to the team’s managers and asking for the scorebook from today’s intrasquad game. He sighs and as he collects himself, someone shoves past him, hard.
“Oi, watch where you’re go...ing…” The words die in Eijun’s mouth as he realises exactly who pushed past him.
“Sorry, senpai, you were in my way,” Okumura Koushuu says, cold and sharp. He’s taller than Eijun, not by much, only an inch or two, but the blond seems to recognise this and uses what little height advantage he has over him.
“In your way—there’s plenty of space around us!” Eijun snaps. “You could’ve just walked around me!”
“And there’s plenty of catchers for you so why do you have to fixate on one?” There’s wildfire in Okumura’s icy blue eyes and he emits an intense aura that Eijun hasn’t felt since he and Furuya were on the same team.
Eijun swallows hard, and lacks a good answer to Okumura’s question. What is he supposed to say? Oh, well, I’m in love with my catcher even though he’s in love with someone else and spending time with him, even in practice, makes me feel alone and not so alone at the same time? No, Eijun doesn’t think so. Instead he just stares incredulously at Okumura, mouth agape, trying to find the words that will explain everything while explaining nothing.
Behind the blond, Seto Takuma (also from Teito High School) looks like he wants to be anywhere but where he currently is. But as the dutiful and long-suffering best friend, he intervenes on Okumura’s behalf.
“Sorry about that, Sawamura-senpai! He doesn’t mean that, he wasn’t looking where he was going, just tired from today,” Seto explains. It’s definitely not his first time saving Okumura from potentially socially fatal situations. He’s too practised and calm as he offers his explanation.
It’s a lie, Eijun knows, but he pretends to buy it for Seto’s sake. Besides, he doesn’t have it in him to have an argument, especially not on the first day of practice. If he were in high school, he would have likely thrown a tantrum and made a massive fuss of it. Maybe even complained about it to the team captain. But he’s in college now and he likes to think he has better control of his emotions now than before.
He sighs and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. My fault for standing in the middle of the path.”
Okumura seems surprised by Eijun’s lack of fight, if anything’s to be read from the loosening of his shoulders and the slight widening of his blue eyes. But he says nothing. He simply bows his head somewhat respectfully before walking away with Seto by his side.
Eijun can feel his heart beating from the adrenaline of the encounter. It’s the first time his heart has made itself known since breaking.
⚾
“We finally moved in together,” Miyuki says on their way to practice the next morning, walking into the grounds. “We would’ve moved in before the school year started but there was some kind of screwup at the bank because our deposit didn’t go through even though it did on our end and…”
It’s agony, listening to Miyuki tell Eijun all about the apartment he and Kuramochi moved into, and wishing that he was in Kuramochi’s place instead. He tries not to be resentful or jealous, but he can’t help it. He’s only human, after all.
“...and it’s in Sangenjaya, so it’s not too far from Waseda and Keio…”
He must be some kind of masochist because Eijun allows himself to wonder what their morning commute must be like. Do they share earphones as they sit together on the train? Does Miyuki slip an extra protein bar into Kuramochi’s coat as he gets off for his stop—knowing that later, the shortstop is going to be hungrier than he anticipated? Does Miyuki call him ‘Yoichi’ as they say goodbye for the day, only using given names when alone?
“You know you should consider moving out of the dormitories too, Sawamura.” says Miyuki. “If you want, I could talk to Kuramochi about having you move in with us. We have a spare room. Plus it would help with rent.”
Eijun narrows his eyes at the older catcher. “You just want me to lower your rent!” He accuses, earning a laugh from Miyuki. He shakes his head and continues, “Thanks for the offer but I’m happy in the dormitories. It’s not like in Seidou. We all have our own rooms but share a living space and kitchen, so I’m fine.”
As if Eijun is insane enough to willingly subject himself to further masochism. It’s enough that he’s in the same university as Miyuki, but to live with him and not be with him whilst he’s with someone else is another matter entirely.
“Ah well, just thought I’d ask. You should come over to visit anyway. Kuramochi wants to beat your ass in a new game he bought.”
“Yeah… sure, sounds good,” Eijun says and manages to plaster a smile on his face, hiding the broken parts of him. He looks at the watch on his wrist and then lifts it up, tapping its face. “Listen, I’ll catch you later, I gotta be in the bullpen with Okumura. I don’t want to be late and give him another reason to not like me.”
“Yeah I heard about your little fight yesterday. What was it about?”
You. “As if I’d tell you, Miyuki Kazuya! You’re just trying to make me late!”
“Oh no, you found me out,” says Miyuki sarcastically, earning a scowl from Eijun which in turn incites a laugh from the catcher. “See ya later, Sawamura.”
Miyuki walks away in a different direction before Eijun can offer even a word of agreement. He sighs and tries not to be too hurt by how easy it was for Miyuki to let him go, not that he ever held onto him in the first place.
He walks into the bullpen and sees Okumura at the far end, putting on his gear. “Have you been waiting long?” He asks.
“No, not long. I only just arrived too,” Okumura assures. Then he looks a little bashful and he clears his throat. “Sawamura-senpai, can you help me with my gear? Seto normally helps me but…” But he’s not here, is what remains unspoken. Eijun understands.
“Sure.” He approaches the younger man, a little tentatively, like a human approaching a growling wolf, though Okumura isn’t (currently) growling.
Eijun carefully adjusts the straps, looking at Okumura every now and then, silently asking if it’s a good fit and sometimes the blond will say if it needs to be tightened or loosened. Then he drops down to the leg-guards, hands accidentally ghosting over Okumura’s thighs. Catcher’s thighs. An underrated part of the position, Eijun thinks. He could never crouch for so long during an inning. His thighs hurt just thinking about it.
He swallows hard and exhales deeply when he’s done. “There you go.”
“Thank you, senpai. Shall we begin with some simple throws to loosen and warm up your arm?”
“Sounds good. It takes at least ten throws for my shoulder to loosen up. Fifteen if it’s a Monday morning.”
“Why fifteen?”
“It’s a Monday,” Eijun says, as if it’s obvious. Then he spies Okumura… smiling? Is that a smile? Nah, he’s sure he’s just seeing things. Eijun takes a glove out of his bag, catching the attention of his catcher.
“The university-issued glove?” Okumura asks, curious and confused. “Do you not have your own?”
“Oh,” Eijun looks down at the glove. Not new, but not overworn either. “I just use this one during practice. I use my own glove for official games.” He takes his second glove out of his bag, showing Okumura. “I’ve had this one for four years, since I started high school. My friends from my hometown got together and bought me a new glove for Seidou. It must’ve cost them a month’s allowance but they insisted. Kept saying that I should have a real glove now that I would be playing in Tokyo.” He chuckles fondly at the memory. “It’s my lucky glove but it’s seen better days. I’ll have to replace it soon, especially with the new season coming up but a brand-new glove would cost two weeks’ worth of groceries so…” He trails off, almost embarrassed of his financial situation.
“I understand, Sawamura-senpai,” says Okumura, kindly. He crouches down and opens his glove, ready for Eijun’s pitch. “Are you ready?”
“Always.”
And so their warm-up begins.
One thing’s for sure, it’s less awkward than Eijun thought it would be. It’s quiet between them, but not uncomfortable. And Okumura seems softer today, definitely more polite and respectful, but there’s something different about him and Eijun can’t quite put his finger on it. Maybe Seto was telling the truth yesterday, maybe Okumura really was just tired.
But still, that doesn’t explain why he asked about Eijun’s fixation on Miyuki. And Eijun has never been a subtle person, never thought about tact in social situations so he does what he knows Haruichi would advise against.
He asks Okumura.
“So about yesterday,” he begins, and immediately he can see Okumura’s facial expression sour behind his headguard. “I was just wondering why you asked what you did.”
“I’m assuming this is referring to my second question? When I said that there are plenty of catchers so why are you fixating on one?”
Eijun nods and Okumura sighs.
“I overheard your conversation with Coach Komiyama,” he admits, almost shamefully. “To hear that you wouldn’t practise with a lowly first year like me... It muddied my excitement to catch for you.”
“You were excited to catch for me?”
“Yes, I even—” Okumura stops himself and shakes his head. “Yes, I was. Still am. But when you wouldn’t even consider pitching to me, it stung my pride and set something off in me. I apologise for my outburst.” And for good measure, he even stands up to bow apologetically.
Eijun sucks in a sharp breath and guilt grows heavier on his shoulders. How could he be so inconsiderate and insensitive? How could he dismiss Okumura, just as he had once been dismissed during his early days as a pitcher? “No, it’s I who should be apologising to you, Okumura-kun. I didn’t give you a chance, I dismissed you, and that was wrong of me.”
“It’s fine, it’s not the first time it’s happened,” Okumura says, almost casually. “Mukai-san was dismissive of me too, when I first arrived at Teito. Mostly because I didn’t come from Tokyo, even though I’m from Kanagawa.”
“Yeah, he has a thing about letting ‘outsiders’ take over Tokyo baseball,” says Eijun with a quiet chuckle, using his fingers for the air quotations.
Then Okumura doesn’t say anything for a while. He fiddles with his catcher’s glove, looking like he’s debating on saying something or not. “So why the fixation on Miyuki-senpai?”
“We’ve been a battery since I was fifteen and he’s helped me develop some of my pitches,” answers Eijun. It’s a half-truth, but Okumura doesn’t know that. Seems like his lie isn’t convincing enough, since the blond doesn’t appear to be persuaded. Still, he doesn’t press and Eijun's thankful for his consideration. “Can we start again? A fresh slate?” Eijun asks. “That person yesterday… He was me but wasn’t me, y’know? I wasn’t my best self.”
“I wasn’t my best self either.” Okumura lifts his headguard and walks over to Eijun with a small smile and a bow. “Let’s start over. Okumura Koushuu, catcher.”
Eijun smiles and bows in return. “Sawamura Eijun, pitcher. Nice to meet you, Okumura-kun!”
Okumura stands straight and nods once, polite and respectful. “You too, Sawamura-senpai. Now let’s start again. Give me a pitch here,” he says, walking back to his plate, crouching, and opening his glove.
Eijun’s smile morphs into a grin as he throws his pitch into his catcher’s glove.
Starting again, Eijun likes the sound of that, and maybe he could with Okumura. In terms of baseball, of course. What else could it be?
⚾
Opposites are often misunderstood, usually associated with chaos and disorder. But Koushuu knows better. Opposites are about balance, the delicate equilibrium between two extremes.
Simply put, if Eijun is the sun, bright and warm and celestial, demanding the center of the proscenium stage of the sky, then Koushuu is the moon, distant and cool and mysterious, only present amidst the black of the night when it reflects its borrowed light. They’re two people who couldn’t be more diametrically opposed to each other. One is cool, quiet, and level-headed, the other fiery, loud, and passionate. One pitches, the other catches. One holds honour in high regard, the other loyalty. But together, they complement and strengthen each other. Together, they’re the storm and the breath before and after it.
Koushuu has admired Eijun since he was fifteen, since that day he watched the match between Teito and Seidou. Instead of going to Seidou, as he wanted to, he chose to attend Teito instead. He wanted—no, needed to get stronger, to be worthy to catch for Sawamura Eijun. And if that meant he had to sacrifice a few years, then it will have been worth it.
At first, his admiration was strictly within the bounds of baseball. Eijun is everything a catcher could want. Daring, attentive, skilled, and most of all, innovative. His pitches pack a punch and breathe life into Koushuu all at once. There’s not many pitchers whom he gives such high praise.
Then things start to change for Koushuu.
They change when it’s Koushuu, not Miyuki, whom Eijun asks to catch for him. They change when he and Eijun start taking the same train home together after practice—sometimes Taku joins them, sometimes not. They change when they begin a routine of having lunch together after their classes, if their schedules lined up. They change when they start inviting the other to hang out on the weekend, to study together, to watch a baseball game together.
And Koushuu’s admiration grows into something deeper, a kind of adoration. He later recognises it as love.
He sees Eijun differently now. He sees Eijun, bright and beautiful and bold. Sunlight in his smile as he stands on the mound, which looks less like a baseball pile of dirt and more like Mount Olympus, for where else would gods reside? But amidst the warmth in Eijun, Koushuu can also sense a coldness inside him. No that’s wrong, not a coldness… a loneliness, and somehow that’s worse. How could the sun be so alone?
Koushuu wonders if Eijun has room in his heart for him.
Maybe he can’t confess, not right away. But maybe he can show Eijun that he’s loved, that he can be loved, even when he feels alone.
More than anything, Koushuu doesn’t want the sun to be alone anymore.
⚾
It takes a while for Eijun to notice, but when he does, he’s shocked.
Okumura is…
Flirting.
And oh— oh, it’s subtle. People like to call him dense, and truthfully, yes, sometimes he is, but he’s been paying close attention to Okumura—since they’re forming a battery for the fall tournament and therefore, that means lots of time spent together, learning each other’s unspoken language—so he’s not completely oblivious.
Okumura doesn’t flirt like an awkward teenager, the type of approach Eijun is used to reading about in his shoujo mangas, but like a man who’s sure of himself and walks with confidence in his step. A man who knows what he wants and what steps he needs to take to achieve that goal. It’s rather admirable.
Still, subtlety is not a word that Eijun associates with Okumura. Quiet, perhaps, but not subtle. Okumura, though quiet, has a domineering, canine-like intensity that fills the space he occupies, so this is a surprise.
The first gift he receives is seven bottles of his preferred electrolyte drink from the vending machine. One for every day that week to have after daily practice.
They’re lined up on a neat row along his desk, waiting for Eijun to come and claim them. And because Asada sometimes buys him an extra bottle—for they both share the same favourite drink—Eijun is quick to overlook the possibility that they come from someone else. It’s only when he thanks Asada for the drinks that evening and he’s met with denial of accountability that he realises it’s not from his kouhai.
But with no other potential suspects and, at the time, no real desire to investigate further, Eijun writes it off as some lucky one-off situation and mutely thanks whoever kindly donated the drinks to him.
Then come other things, things that Eijun has been wanting or needing but simply doesn’t have the time nor the expense to secure for himself. A gift every two weeks on a Friday, always left in the same spot on his desk.
Two new photo frames to replace the ones he and Asada broke whilst playing catch inside their dormitory. A copy of the baseball theory book he and Furuya had borrowed from Miyuki during high school. A scented candle, which somehow captures the clean air of a mountain forest in the spring, reminding him of Nagano, which helps on nights he feels homesick. A new baseball glove, with the kanji of his name engraved and embossed in the leather, is probably the most expensive gift so far.
One of the oddest gifts he receives is a compilation disc filled with some of his worst plays and pitches over the years. Even Asada and Kukki think it’s strange. If Eijun were a fifteen year old teenager again, he would be offended by this so-called gift. His bruised pride would overwhelm sense and he’d throw the disc in the trash without a second thought. But as it is, he’s a second year in college—soon to be a mature third year—and he’s learned to temper his temper, refining it into sensibility, or at least the Eijun-version of it.
He comes to understand that this gift is the most thoughtful one so far. Anyone who knows Sawamura Eijun knows that he’s always seeking to better himself. Even after winning a game, he’ll often be found rewatching the match. More specifically, he watches the poor plays he makes during the game, studying his own forms, grips, and pitches. For someone to take the time to create a video compilation of his shortcomings in baseball is, Eijun admits, a strange gift. But whoever it is, they want him to improve as much as he wants to, meaning that they believe in him.
All of these gifts are extraordinary, thoughtful, some expensive and others not so much, but all incredibly touching and humbling, because it means someone is watching Eijun. Not in a creepy manner that would warrant concern, but whoever is watching him cares. They care enough to learn of what he has and what he doesn’t, to listen to when he talks, to take note of what Eijun absentmindedly reaches for but does not find.
It’s deeply personal and Eijun feels his heart warm with growing affection for this secret admirer, melting the icy barrier he’s put up to protect himself.
Someone cares about him.
He only discovers it’s Okumura by chance, seeing the blond step out of his dormitory, with Seto standing guard outside, just as he comes back from his morning run with Asada.
It’s a revelation, one that shocks yet flatters Eijun down to his core. He’s never considered Okumura in a romantic light, but then again, he’s been in love with Miyuki for so long, he’s had little room for anyone else. It’s a surprise that Okumura even likes him like that. Sure, he knows that the blond tolerates him, maybe even respects him, but like? Yeah, keep on dreaming Sawamura Eijun.
Unless…
Well, maybe it’s not so unbelievable that Okumura could like him. Maybe Eijun wasn’t looking close enough. Thinking about it now, whenever Miyuki’s been absent, Okumura has been there to fill the vacant space. He’s been there not only to catch his pitches, but to take the train home together, to have lunch together after classes, to spend time with him when he’s alone. Willing, self-offering, asking for nothing. Eijun didn’t think too much of it, at the time. He thought that Okumura had gone along with it all just to get him to shut up. Never did he consider the fact that Okumura wanted to be with him.
And maybe… maybe he wants to be with him too. He’s not opposed to the thought—in fact, Eijun finds himself at peace with the thought of being with Okumura. Being with him would be easy, but not effortless.
It’s time to move on.
Miyuki Kazuya taught him to love. And maybe Okumura Koushuu could teach him what it means to be loved. Eijun’s willing to learn.
⚾
Catching Okumura in the middle of the act is both a waste of Eijun’s time and also counterproductive. Though he knows which day he’ll receive the gift, Eijun has no way of knowing when throughout the day that Okumura will stop by his dorm. He’s a second year college student while Okumura is a first year, so their schedules will be different on year alone, never mind the fact that they’re in different courses.
So instead, before he goes to classes, he leaves a little note for Okumura to find, simply asking to meet with him in Ōkuma Garden at five o’clock, after he finishes his final lecture of the day. He hopes he gets his note, but more so, Eijun hopes that he agrees to go. It’s one thing to receive an invitation and it’s another to accept it.
The day lengthens more now that Eijun has something—or rather, someone—to look forward to at the end of it.
Ōkuma Garden belongs to Waseda University, and Eijun and Okumura often spend their lunches there while the weather is agreeable. Seto usually joins them, sometimes Asada and Kukki too. So Eijun has no doubt that Okumura will know where to go to meet him.
He walks along the paths, taking in the abundance of greenery and is faintly reminded of Nagano. It’s warm enough during the day so that Eijun doesn’t need a coat, but as the day cools into the evening, he wishes he remembered to bring a light jacket, or even just a jumper. He rubs his hands together and then cups them together to blow hot breath inside in an attempt to warm them.
Eijun finds the tree that he and Okumura always sit under during lunch and in between lectures, and beneath the branches is the blond himself, looking around for Eijun amidst the passersby. When he spots him, Okumura smiles, albeit nervously. “Sawamura-senpai, I’m here.”
I’m here, unafraid despite my fear, wanting despite my reservations, loving despite the chance of rejection. Eijun understands what Okumura means.
“Call me Eijun, please.”
The blond looks torn between feeling uncomfortable at the idea of Eijun’s given name so freely and feeling like on Cloud Nine at the chance.
“Then call me Koushuu, Eijun-san.” Ah, well, the honorific is a compromise that Eijun can live with.
“Koushuu,” He likes the sound of his name in his mouth. He wants to say it again. And so he does. “Koushuu, I see you got my note,” he says.
“Yes, I…” Okumura—no, Koushuu trails off, suddenly shy and bashful as he looks away, “I hope I’m acceptable.”
Oh. Oh. He thinks that Eijun is going to be disappointed that it’s him. That he was expecting—no, wanting someone else, as if Koushuu isn’t desirable by himself. Despite the confidence riddled in his gifts, Koushuu is surprisingly more sensitive than he lets on.
To assure Koushuu that he’s not just accepting of him, but that he’s happy with who he is, Eijun steps forward and kisses him gently. One hand lightly cups his cheek and he can feel the warmth of his blush against his cool skin whilst the other hand rests on Koushuu’s waist. The blond tastes of lemongrass and ginger tea, with just a hint of honey. It’s a sweetness that others might not associate with Koushuu, but it makes sense to Eijun, it’s become home for him. When he draws back, his lips are pinker and fuller, his eyes soften and hold something close to relief.
“I’m glad it’s you,” Eijun says tenderly, bringing his hand up from his cheek so he can run his fingers through Koushuu’s fine blond hair, enjoying the soft silky feel of it against his fingers. “How long have you loved me?”
“I’ve admired you since I was fourteen,” Koushuu admits quietly. “Since that match against Teito. I almost went to Seidou but I wanted to be worthy of catching your pitches, so I went to Teito instead, in the hopes that we could form a battery in the future. But,” he sighs and looks at Eijun, completely open and wanting, “since meeting you, the admiration I felt for you grew into something more.”
How ironic, that Koushuu had been in love with him for so long, and he never noticed, too focused on Miyuki, too occupied with his loneliness to see what was in front of him.
“Would you…” Koushuu clears his throat, sounding uncharacteristically nervous, but it can’t helped. “Would you give me a chance, Eijun? Will you let me love you?”
Eijun can imagine a weight growing with his answer, but it’s not heavy like a burden, but like a key. If he uses it, he could unlock a door, leading him to a future where he can love and be loved in return. All he needs is the courage to reach out and turn the metaphorical key.
He draws in a breath and smiles. It’s small, but it lights Eijun’s face with hope. “I think I’d like that.”
The corner of Koushuu’s lips curl into a faint smile, as if he doesn’t want to get ahead of himself just yet. “May I kiss you again, Eijun?”
Cute, Eijun thinks. “You may.”
Koushuu simply looks at him, taking in every sense of this moment. Then the blond leans forward, wrapping both arms around his neck and pulling him forward as their lips meet.
Then Koushuu kisses him. Sweetly, tentatively, carefully. And Eijun already feels himself falling. And he knows he could love Koushuu, probably very easily. Koushuu and Miyuki are opposite in more ways than they are similar. Both are catchers, yes, but where the latter can talk circles around Eijun all the while keeping his heart concealed and opaque, the former says little to nothing, but lays his heart bare and open and transparent, ready to love and be loved in return.
When they finally draw apart, they rest their foreheads against each other, smiling, both just a little bit breathless in the best possible way.
“Can I take you out for dinner?” Koushuu asks.
“Like a date? Right now?”
“No time like the present, right?” He says with a smile. “And then I can walk you home afterwards. I want to make this day last as long as I can, in case I wake up tomorrow and it was all just a dream.”
His heart twinges at Koushuu’s words, and he admits that sounds as close to heaven as he can imagine right now—to be wanted by someone you want, to spend time with someone whom you trust to love and cherish and protect you from the world and its sorrows.
“Sure,” Eijun says, reflecting Koushuu’s smile with his own, “but it’s not a dream. And in return, I want to take you on a date tomorrow too, after practice. How does that sound?”
“Like a dream.”
And it was, every day since that day has been a dream.
⚾
Sawamura Eijun is in love with Okumura Koushuu.
He loves Koushuu’s smile (like a rare seasonal flower, appearing only in the right conditions, and all the more beautiful), his eyes (once dull and flat but now bright and bold and blue), and his soft touch (not just in baseball, but also in the handling of his heart). The eloquence of his speech, his patience, his brutal but well-intentioned honesty, his hair dipped in moonlight, just everything.
As he bathes in the soft sunlight of a Sunday morning, Eijun watches Koushuu sleep next to him. Their alarm hasn’t gone off yet, but he knows it’s due soon. So in that time between now and then, he just watches his lover and thanks whatever gods are watching them from above for giving him the chance to know what it means to love and be loved in return.
Eijun has evicted the loneliness from his heart, removed the ‘do not disturb’ sign, and leased the vacancy to Okumura Koushuu, finally having found someone to whom he can entrust the fragility of his heart.