Archive of Our Own

Sometimes, Chris still dreams about Eijun.

He disliked Eijun on sight: baseless self-confidence made him furious. Shouting at the top of his lungs about his plans to be Seidou's ace with nothing to show for it except a bit of potential. Chris felt no guilt about dismissing him as yet another loser-in-the-making.

Until Eijun looked at him with tears in his eyes, asked why Chris let a clueless first-year mouth off to him, and begged, please teach me baseball.

Chris called him gross and annoying and a pest, but in truth he was a little flattered. He had never inspired anyone before. Nor had he ever felt like he'd made a true difference in another person's life. Everyone said Eijun started trying so hard to learn everything about baseball because he wanted Chris to acknowledge him. He took Chris's words to heart in a way no one else did. For the first time in a year, Chris felt like he mattered. How could he have gone on disliking someone who made him feel that way?

Still, Chris didn't want to be anyone's mentor. He wasn't mature enough to set his own worries aside -- but Eijun became a presence he couldn't ignore. Chris's heart beat in a different way when he heard Eijun's laughter, and Eijun's attention became flattering where it was once annoying. When Eijun stopped wheedling him and focussed on perfecting his form, Chris began to wish he hadn't. Even though it was embarrassing to have this over-enthusiastic first-year following him around. Even though just weeks before, he told Eijun he didn't want to form a battery with him, he grew fond of the stars in Eijun's eyes. He didn't even care if that made him a narcissist.

He stood in the dugout during that final second-string game, watching Eijun's new fastball go wild again and again. In a matter of days, through sustained effort and careful attention to advice, Eijun achieved a form Chris assumed would take at least a month to perfect.

Coach Kataoka said Eijun was waiting for Chris on the mound. Chris closed his eyes and thought of his father, who might be watching somewhere out there. Then he thought of Eijun, trying so hard to do well, to throw the best pitch he could, and in an instant, his heart filled up with love newly found. Love for the game and for this obtuse, loud, determined brat of a pitcher. It felt so pure in that moment. So innocent.

Shoulder, elbow, and wrist joints very flexible. Long fingers.

Chris used to think about Eijun's hands, strong and lithe. About how his dominant left would look curled around Chris's dick. How his eyes would look muddled with lust. He'd never seen Eijun hard, but he could extrapolate: they were boys in a baseball club with all shared facilities. He could see Eijun naked every day if he wanted. And he wanted. So he made sure to avoid the baths during first-years' hour and never to bathe alone.

It was awful to even think such things when Eijun was simply idolising him as his senior and mentor. It was downright evil to think such things about someone still so childlike he loudly announced every thought in his head the moment it occurred to him. Despite no lewd intentions, Chris felt like by thoughts alone he was betraying Eijun's feelings, dirtying them with his perversion. But it wasn't like he could help it. He didn't try to imagine Eijun in those kinds of ways. He didn't try to think about catching Eijun after his late-night practice and stealing kisses in a shadowed dormitory hallway. He was simply eighteen and in love for the first time.

One afternoon before a match against Yakushi, Chris and Eijun were in the gym working on Eijun's stance when Chris became overly conscious of how close he stood behind Eijun: of his hands on Eijun's hips, of his balls snug against the top of Eijun's ass. The friction and pressure alone would have been enough -- it happened so often with other pitchers that Chris learned to take it in stride -- but this was Eijun. Chris had feelings for Eijun. So instead of moving away as soon as he noticed what was (literally) up, he lingered on the verge of bending Eijun forward so he could--

His hands clenched, and Eijun noticed. He half-turned to Chris and froze with an uncertain look in his eyes. Chris stared at the scarlet high in Eijun's cheeks and the surge of tenderness in his chest was so swift, he almost stole one of those kisses. Just one kiss -- lips closed, soft and innocent -- was all he wanted, all he needed. Just so Eijun knew how he felt, because words could never be enough. Almost, almost--

Then Eijun laughed on the edge of his voice breaking, loud and harsh. "Chris-senpai, is that a roll of coins in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

He looked so delighted at what he no doubt considered the height of wit that Chris couldn't help laughing. He relaxed his grip, stepped away, and they left the moment of almost-passion behind. Eijun was never the wiser that Chris was about to do something unforgivable.

Months later, on the day of Chris's graduation, Eijun rushed up to him with a huge bouquet 'from everyone on the team', but Chris has always remembered that as the time Eijun gave him flowers.

They're moments he'll never forget, because Eijun isn't just another pitcher. Chris has helped several dozen pitchers stretch, sometimes every day for weeks on end. He's manhandled just as many into better form. None but Eijun made his heart beat faster and dried his throat out every time. And though it's been two years since he saw Eijun last, those things still happen if Chris thinks about him long enough.

They still happen after he wakes up from a dream about Eijun.

So when he arrives outside the coach's office door one afternoon at the start of recruitment season and overhears the names Sawamura and Furuya, it's all he can do not to burst in so he can hear everything.

"We should invite both," the coach says.

"Won't their rivalry be bad for morale after what happened with Matsuda-kun?" the manager counters. Earlier in the year, Matsuda, the team's previous ace pitcher, paid some geek to try and sabotage the current ace's grades in the university's computer system so he'd get suspended, if only temporarily, from the team.

"They've been rivals since first year," the coach points out. "Seidou made it to Koushien two years in a row once they came into their own. They won at Koushien last month."

"With Furuya pitching the whole game."

"And Sawamura in the bullpen, yelling that he's ready to go at any moment. Their rivalry is not the ugly, one-sided kind of grudge Matsuda had. It makes them both try harder."

"I suppose we do have Miyuki-kun, who knows them well. And Takigawa-kun can handle any pitcher. Not that they'll make regular right away."

"Didn't Takigawa-kun go to Seidou as well? Was it before these two joined or after?"

Chris knocks on the door.

"Enter," the coach calls.

"Did I hear my name just now?" Chris asks after greeting them both. After rehab therapy, he's used to standing behind doors while people with power over him discuss him. He knows how to make it look like he wasn't listening.

"Yes, you went to Seidou High, did you not?"

"That's right."

"Were you still there when Sawamura and Furuya joined?"

"Yes, that was right before my last summer there," Chris says. "I was a team manager back then due to an injury, so I did spend some time with Sawamura."

The manager taps his chin with his index finger. "What about Furuya?"

"I practiced with him too, but not as much. Coach Kataoka assigned me to mentor Sawamura at first."

"What was he like?" the coach asks.

"A quick study," Chris says. "Are you going to invite him here?" He directs a deliberately hopeful look at the manager, who looks gratified. He has no power over the decision, but sometimes making someone feel powerful can be enough to turn them in your favour.

"Is he a diva?" the coach asks.

Despite himself, Chris smiles. "Eijun? Unless being the relief pitcher has gone to his head, I doubt it."

A question occurs to him as soon as he's well away from the coach's office, one with a potentially deal-breaking answer. He doesn't want to take up any more of the coach's time, so Chris sets out to find Miyuki. The two of them were finally able to reconnect a bit over watching the Koushien final a few weeks ago. The first-stringers have their own dedicated practice ground, so interaction between them and the rest of the team is almost nonexistent during the baseball season.

Miyuki is at the library, copying training schedules for the other first-years.

"Coach is talking about inviting Furuya for next year," Chris says without preamble.

"I figured as much," Miyuki says with an easy grin. "He's been asking me a lot of questions about what kind of guy he is. Can't blame him really, after the Matsuda disaster."

"So you think he wants fresh blood to relieve Oonishi? Don't we already have three or four decent guys in the second string?"

"We do, but none of them won at Koushien. That kind of thing goes a long way." Miyuki casts an almost wistful glance out at the autumn sunlight in the park outside. It can't wear easy on him to not have been the one to take Seidou to summer Koushien victory. He did take them to Koushien, but only until the quarter-finals.

The photocopier makes a series of alarmingly loud knocking noises, and then goes on spitting out copies with a fussy whrr-whrr-whrr. Miyuki's smile slowly returns.

"I heard them talking about Sawamura," Chris says in as casual a tone as he can manage. He always tries to be super blasé when asking Miyuki about Eijun, because if anyone can see right through to his true motivation, it's Miyuki.

Miyuki nods. "Yeah, Coach asked about him too. Manager didn't seem too enthusiastic about him, though. A lot of people write him off as a wildcard, which is too bad."

"But why are they even asking?" Chris insists. "How can Sawamura go to university? He was barely passing his classes last I checked." Granted, that was two years ago, but Eijun would clearly never become the studious type. "Plus, he's an idiot."

Miyuki chortles. "Didn't you read the post-game interviews? Sawamura promised his family that if Seidou won at Koushien this summer, he'll go to university even if it kills him to try."

"I'm surprised they won, then," Chris deadpans. "What a way to go."

Miyuki snickers. "Right? I can't imagine Sawamura wanting more education, on purpose."

"Well, if he manages to pass the entrance exam, that'll be one for the history books."

"Hey, listen, if you don't want him here and you can't talk the coach out of it, just say the word and I'll try to convince him to go somewhere else before the application deadline," Miyuki says, gathering up his photocopies. "He might even listen."

"Not at all," Chris says, trying his best not to sound like he's panicking. "I'm kind of looking forward to it, if I'm honest."

Miyuki grins. "The little shit really grows on you, doesn't he?"

You have no idea, Chris thinks.

It rains on the day they are to meet the new crop of first-year team members, so the coach moves the assembly to the gym. Roughly eighty pairs of shoes litter the floor at the entrance. Since it's just a meet-and-greet, not a practice, almost no one came in proper footwear.

Chris tries not to search the newcomers' faces for Eijun's, but it doesn't matter, because Eijun calls out to him before he's even across the threshold.

"Chris-senpai!"

Eijun hasn't changed much outwardly -- his shoulders sit a little wider and his neutral stance is a bit surer thanks to a stronger core. He's got the same too-loud, enthusiastic voice that makes everything he says have multiple exclamation points. The same bright eyes. The same genuine, unreserved smile. It's the kind that makes you want to smile back even though you really shouldn't because Eijun's undue ebullience has already drawn disapproving looks from the upperclassmen. He's waving frantically, looking for all the world like an idol fan before a meet-and-greet.

Chris nods at him, suppressing an embarrassed smile. He can't encourage Eijun but he doesn't want him to feel bad, either.

Miyuki smacks the top of Eijun's head, very lightly. "Quit causing a scene, you numpty," he says. "You weren't this happy to see me, even though I was your captain."

Eijun ducks down a little, bellows an apology, and falls back into line.

The assembly is short: it's already late afternoon and a lot of the guys have part-time jobs. The newcomers introduce themselves, the manager's assistants distribute team handbooks and uniforms, and the coach announces the next morning's practice times.

The new guys must be surprised by the lack of military-style discipline, but that's college level baseball outside the Big 6. Most of the team members aren't here to win championships: they just want to enjoy their university years before they have to put on smart suits and get real jobs. Tournament and league games are a big deal, of course, and plenty get drafted into the pro leagues out of college, but team admins can't exert control over adult university students the way they can over high school kids. Nor is there any money in Japanese college baseball. So it's a different vibe.

Eijun doesn't seem fazed by any of it. Stuffing his uniform and handbook into an already-full backpack, he bounds up to Chris.

"Have you been watching me?" Eijun asks. "I only had my moving fastball back then but I have like six weapons now! A cutter, and two types of sliders, and, well, you know, right?"

"I can't say that I do," Chris lies.

After his conversation with Miyuki in the library, he spent a week reading everything he could find about Eijun's growth. He used to avoid all that stuff because he didn't think he'd ever see Eijun again. What would be the point of ripping open the seams he's so carefully laid over his feelings? But just the hope that Eijun might come here made him learn all he could about Eijun's progress since they last worked together.

If Eijun's disappointed in Chris's answer, he doesn't show it. Which probably means he isn't: for Eijun to hide what he's feeling, he would need to be in a straitjacket with his face covered in bandages and his eyes behind sunglasses.

"I'm glad, anyway," Eijun says. "This way I get to show you. Wanna go play catch right now? Do you have time? How about we get something to eat? My treat! My family sent me too much money for this month, and--"

"Sorry," Chris says, cutting him off with a rueful shake of his head. "I've got somewhere to be." He doesn't, but he can't just be seen leaving with a newbie pitcher after the year's first team assembly; it would only cause trouble with the other would-be relief pitchers.

"I"ll walk you there," Eijun says cheerfully and starts to follow Chris out. "Where are we going?"

Chris sighs. "Sawamura," he says, making his voice as quiet as possible. Using Eijun's surname tastes like another lie, but it's one he'll have to get used to. "You might not know this, but we just recently lost our regular reliever. Several people have their eyes on that spot, and you just told everyone you're a pitcher. I'll be team captain next year. If I leave this assembly with you, what do you think that's going to look like?"

Eijun blinks. "I don't know? I doubt a first year like me is going to be picked to play regular."

Chris grins. "True enough, but would you think about that if you were in their shoes?"

Eijun casts a glance at a small group of upperclassmen chatting near the storage closet door. Oonishi chooses that moment to make eye contact with Chris, and Eijun looks contrite.

And though he really should go and see what his pitcher wants, Chris lingers. "Good job getting into university, by the way. You must have studied like a beast."

Eijun's smile turns brighter than the sun. "Thank you very much, Master!"

Chris rolls his eyes a little. "How much practice are you going to need before you're back in fighting shape?" he asks. He can't imagine Eijun had a lot of time to do much except study during exam preparation. The Centre Test was back in January, but the university's own exam was only a month ago.

Eijun salutes. "I'll catch up before you know it, sir!"

Chris isn't sure what to make of Eijun's abrupt change in tone -- first Master and now sir -- did he take the admonishment about the pitcher drama closer to heart than Chris intended?

"I'm glad university is for four years," Eijun says, not missing a beat. "That means we'll get to be on the same team for two years instead of just a few months."

Chris smiles wryly. "Didn't you just say you knew you wouldn't be a regular right away?"

Eijun finally succeeds in zipping his backpack shut and hoists it up on his shoulders. "I don't care. Even if it's just practice, that's good enough for me, because I've missed you a lot."

Chris feels like someone's just punched his lights out; he's speechless, and his heart's MIA. Eijun isn't even looking at him: he clearly has no ulterior motive in saying something so... honest. And of course he wasn't listening when the coach explained that the regulars have their own training ground, since he's under the impression they're going to train together from now on.

"Eijun," Furuya says, placing a hand on Eijun's shoulder. "I'm going out to try on the uniform and run some laps, you coming with?"

Even though it's raining this hard? Chris thinks. His eyes are fixated on Eijun's hands, thumbs hooked under the straps of his backpack by the shoulders.

"Sure," Eijun says. "See you later, Chris-senpai! Maybe next time we can get some ramen or something."

All Chris can do is nod weakly and watch the two of them disappear into the changing room. Eijun's absence is too keen, like a blinding-bright spotlight suddenly vanishing and leaving behind a dark stage.

He said he missed me.

Chris tells himself it's just nostalgia.

He was eighteen, and Eijun idolised him so much it made him feel like the most wonderful person alive. Of course it flattered him, and of course he thought he was in love with Eijun. But that was then. He's an adult, he's getting a sports science degree so he can amount to something new after he retires from pro baseball. He doesn't have time to get his wits all tangled up like last year's Christmas lights.

He needs to know better. He needs not to let the lingering bitterness from his final two years of high school -- and his desire to recapture that irrevocably lost time -- affect his present or his future. Eijun is just a fellow player who once, for a time, made his heart beat faster, and there's no need for that to happen again.

Then their practice game opponents misread their schedule one bright April Saturday, show up two hours early, and Chris has to hurry to the campus indoor pool to fetch Oonishi from swimming drills. The pitching coach makes all the pitchers swim at least five hours a week because swimming helps maintain core strength with minimal impact.

All the pitchers attend these drills, which means Eijun. With most of his clothes off.

There he is, throwing water in Furuya's face and laughing. The natatorium's acoustics amplify the sound, and little echoes give Eijun's familiar voice a distant, lonely cast. A piece of rawhide is wound around Eijun's wrist with a locker key dangling from it. Furuya prepares to retaliate, but the coach throws a pool noodle at them. "Stop being babies and go back to your drills!"

Chris asks a passing lifeguard to give Oonishi a message from him. Moments later, Oonishi runs off to blow-dry his hair. Chris hovers just outside the entrance to the pool area, not close enough to see water droplets slide down Eijun's chest when he surfaces but close enough to imagine he can. Eijun's backstroke is only serviceable, but his front crawl is faster than Chris would have pegged him for.

His heart beats triple time whenever Eijun glances in his direction. Chris wants to come closer and at least say hi -- he hasn't talked to Eijun since the first assembly three weeks ago -- but the pool has a strict no-footwear policy, and Chris needs to be ready to leave.

"Chris?" Oonishi's voice startles him.

"Yeah," Chris says. "Let's go."

After the spring tournament comes the Championship Series, then the US/Japan Collegiate Games, and the All-Star tournament in Ehime. Chris doesn't see Eijun again until the pre-fall season assembly, where Furuya gets bumped up to first string and Eijun doesn't. Afterwards, Eijun peppers Chris with questions about everything he did this summer, but before Chris has a chance to answer even one, Miyuki marches Eijun off to run laps.

A few days later, Chris is on his way to a nutrition lab when he spots Eijun and Furuya leaving a lecture hall together, their shoulders bumping occasionally. Chris watches them go and remembers the uncharitable thoughts he had towards Miyuki for taking Eijun away the other day. He contemplates the borderline hostile thoughts he's having towards Furuya right now for walking beside Eijun like it's nothing.

That's when he knows his feelings can't be put down to nostalgia. He isn't longing for something he can never have again. Chris doesn't want the past Eijun -- he wants this one. Though 'want' alone doesn't begin to describe it.

I miss him, too.

The fall tournament ends on a high note for their school, thanks in no small part to Furuya. Oonishi, who's got no pro ambitions, gets ready to delve into job hunting, and the cheer squad starts working on chants incorporating Furuya's name as the ace.

Chris is less sure that Furuya's the one: the head coach has been spending a lot of time letting his assistant supervise the regulars' practices while he visits the second-string grounds incognito. The indoor practices with the whole team will start first thing in January, and Chris expects that the coach will want his opinion another month or so after that. For now, practice is more or less wrapped up: it's time for exam season and then the winter break.

Finally Chris will have a chance to try and talk to Eijun instead of greeting him hurriedly at assemblies or exchanging the occasional LINE message.

"We're not quite done yet," the manager tells them near the end of the second-to-last club assembly of the year. "As you all know, our school's at the forefront of sports science research in the country, and we pride ourselves on always supporting the research efforts in every way possible. Those of you who have just entered might not know that every academic year, all clubs are required to raise funds for a contribution towards our researchers' work."

"Here it comes," Chris mutters to Miyuki, who snickers discreetly. Last year, registered baseball club members had to wear fake reindeer-antler headbands from the hundred-yen shop for a full school week and solicit money from everyone who asked about said antlers. Those who chose not to had to pay a thousand yen for every day they didn't wear the things. With most members opting for the path of least resistance (not to mention least humiliation), the team raised a solid four hundred thousand yen.

The manager clears his throat. "This year, we're going to team up with the softball team and host a masquerade ball right here in our gymnasium. The entrance fee will cover your research donation, unlimited hors d'oeuvres and festive punch."

"Masquerade?" Oonishi asks. "Last year it was antlers, this year we have to cosplay like high schoolers?"

"You don't have to, ah, cosplay, Oonishi-kun," the manager retorts. "You can just cut out a figure eight out of some construction paper, glue it to a stick, and hold it up to your face. Don't forget to cut holes so you can see where you're going."

Titters break out in the ranks. Oonishi rolls his eyes.

The manager coughs again. "As I was saying, it's a masquerade ball. We're teaming up with the softball club for this, and so those of you who don't have any experience dancing are going to need some help."

The nervous laughter grows stronger. "Dancing?" someone calls. "Like in music videos or old-timey movies?"

"That's up to you, mostly. There will be one exhibition dance that we'll be recording to put on the club website. If you have never danced with a partner in a ballroom setting before, come here at eleven this Saturday; we've invited an instructor to show you how it's done."

"Can I bring my girlfriend?" someone asks.

"People with girlfriends should just die," another advises.

"Yeah, who are we supposed to practice dancing with if we don't have girlfriends?"

"Pick a team member you like," the manager says with a straight face. "Think of it as being stretching partners."

"Dibs on Chris-senpai!" Eijun yells from the back of the room.

The travelling frisson of laughter turns into a full-on roar.

Chris hides his face in his hands.

"One, two, three," Eijun mutters under his breath. Tiny sweat dots cover his forehead, and his hand is clammy inside Chris's. Not that Chris can tell whose hands are sweating more: he's afraid that he's going to leave a wet handprint beneath Eijun's shoulder blade. He wishes he could goof off like the rest of the club, but Eijun's proximity is bad for his heart and for his mental health and why on earth did he ever agree to do this in public?

The music from the boom box the instructor brought in is too quiet to be a distraction: they'd need a surround sound system first. Eijun's lips move silently now, counting the steps. They aren't doing half badly: neither has trod on the other's foot in about three minutes.

"It's too bad you couldn't make regular in time for the fall tournament," Chris says, determined to fill the silence so his racing thoughts don't fill it for him. Besides, the instructor said to make conversation.

"What? Oh. Baseball!" Eijun brightens. "I'll be there in spring, you'll see." Now that he's stopped counting, he promptly stumbles into a misstep and Chris holds on tighter to keep them both from ending up on the floor. Eijun looks up at him, and his eyes are so bright Chris's steps falter.

He loosens his hold on Eijun and glances away, at Furuya and Miyuki, who look like they were born to dance together. "Is there anything Furuya's bad at?" Chris murmurs, half to himself. He doesn't have the courage to look back at Eijun. All he wants is to pull him closer again.

"He snores," Eijun offers in an uncharacteristically subdued voice.

The music stops. Thirty or so pairs pull apart with lots of feet-shuffling and nervous laughter.

"All right, time's up. Any of you want to practice some more before the party, I'll be here again on Thursday," the instructor calls.

They all thank her in a rolling chorus. Chris stands with his right hand in a loose fist. Would that he could mould Eijun's lingering warmth into a shape he can take home.

"Senpai--?"

"Yeah?"

"N-nothing," Eijun says, running a hand through his hair. "Never mind." He grabs his jacket from a wall hook and leaves, not bothering to shower, change, or wait for Furuya.

Later in the afternoon, as Chris is heading to his dorm floor's kitchen to start dinner for everyone, his phone buzzes with a LINE notification from Eijun.

Do I have a shot at the ace number in spring?

It's too early to tell, Chris types. He contemplates putting in a smiley face: by itself, his response looks too abrupt, almost rude. Instead, he adds, Was that what you wanted to ask at the gym earlier?

Eijun doesn't respond, leaving Chris with a lingering unease. He makes curry in a huge pot, rings the bell to let the other guys know it's done, and they eat amidst typical post-exam cheer. Chris just can't get into being cheerful, though -- he can't stop wondering why Eijun was acting so strangely today. Did I do something to upset him? Is he angry that I haven't been his mentor like he wanted?

It's true that Chris hasn't paid much attention to Eijun's development, but it isn't for lack of interest. He just can't be in two places at once -- three places, if he counts schoolwork. He hopes Eijun knows that.

Chris is loading the dishwasher when his phone goes off again.

Do you have time today to get some ramen with me? Eijun asks.

I just ate, but I'll keep you company.

Some other time, then. A sticker of a black bear in a hula skirt pops up beneath the text.. Oops. Ignore that!

Chris sighs. Trying to act so proper doesn't suit you at all, Sawamura. If you want me to join you, say the word. I've got nothing going on tonight.

Five minutes pass.

Do you know the place next to the arcade?

Chris doesn't. I'll come to your dorm, we'll go together.

Eijun and Furuya lucked out with a spot in the new building that just went up last year: sleek Western style with in-room air conditioning, ensuite bathrooms, and kitchenettes. Chris has been here once before when Furuya didn't show up for practice after forgetting to set his alarm. He flashes his university ID at the attendant downstairs, takes the elevator to the seventh floor and follows a twisty maze of hallways to Eijun and Furuya's door.

Eijun answers Chris's knock wearing boxers and one sock, with a toothbrush in his mouth.

"Fif-fenfai," Eijun says, his eyes huge. "Faf fof faf." He bolts into the bathroom.

Chris takes that as permission to enter, shuts the door behind himself, and removes his shoes.

"I mean to say that was fast!" Eijun yells amid sounds of water running into a sink. And, knowing Eijun, probably splashing out of the sink, too.

Chris walks further inside and stops to examine the mini artificial Christmas tree squished into the space between the two writing desks. It's decorated with tiny red and silver gift-box ornaments. He's surprised to see one here: it's only the end of November.

"Nice tree," he calls. "Didn't know you two were into Christmas."

"Furuya is," Eijun says, buttoning his shirt as he walks out of the bathroom. "He even wanted to pay for a real one, but I talked him out of it." He picks up a pair of jeans laid out on the bed next to the window and starts pulling them on. "All that effort over some weird holiday."

Chris shrugs. "My dad's American, so we always had Christmas trees while I was growing up. I like them."

"Hey, don't get me wrong, I love Christmas!" Eijun declares as he finishes doing up his jeans. "Good job being born, Santa Claus!"

Chris laughs. "Speaking of Furuya, where is he?"

"He went to work on some group project."

Chris notices a half-eaten rice ball sitting next to an opened textbook on Eijun's desk. It should probably be put away before a friendly neighbourhood cockroach gets wind of it. He's about to point it out to Eijun when Eijun jumps in front of the desk and blocks it from view.

"I wasn't lying about wanting to eat ramen!" he says, not meeting Chris's eyes.

Chris frowns, puzzled. "I... okay?" It didn't occur to him that Eijun might have been lying about anything, let alone ramen.

"I was kind of lying about ramen," Eijun amends with a sigh and sinks down onto the corner of his bed, shoulders slumped.

"Sawamura?"

Eijun's head snaps up, and the look in his eyes is exactly the same as it was on the day he once begged Chris to teach him baseball: guileless and pleading, on the verge of tears. "Chris-senpai, I-- look, I know you already noticed, that's why you've been avoiding me so politely, because even though you're strict when it comes to baseball, you're the kindest person I've ever met."

Chris blinks. Avoiding him? Politely? "I haven't been--"

"Somehow I'll make myself stop feeling this way, so please don't avoid me any more."

"I'm trying to tell you, I haven't--" Feeling this way? What way?

"I know I'm a disgusting animal, but I promise I won't do anything! I would never. So."

Chris crouches down in front of Eijun. "So? What on earth are you going on about?"

"My feelings!" Eijun is nearly yelling. "For you," he adds in a quieter voice.

Chris's heart stutters, and he tries to meet Eijun's eyes, but Eijun is glaring off to the side, at the floor. Abruptly, he rises, sidesteps Chris, and stalks over to the window. "I'm sorry," he mutters. "I'm an idiot, but I hope we can be friends."

Chris gets to his feet and approaches Eijun again. There are so many things he wants to say to Eijun, so many things he wants to ask him, but he doesn't know where to begin or how to choose his words so Eijun will know he's not just trying to let him down easy. Then he remembers that words alone might never be enough to make Eijun understand.

It's not how he pictured this. Truth is, he's never seriously thought something like this might happen at all. It's the stuff of dreams that make him wake with a smile that's gone as soon as he remembers that the world isn't kind. But sometimes it is. Today, it is.

So Chris puts a hand on Eijun's shoulder, half-turns him around, and presses his lips against Eijun's flushed cheekbone, then next to the corner of his mouth, and then to his lower lip. Eijun's mouth opens with a puff of mint-flavoured breath and a sigh too soft to come from someone so loud. "Chris--"

"Eijun," Chris murmurs, and Eijun's eyes fall shut. He puts one hand up on Chris's neck, fingertips tangling in his hair, and pulls him down into a deep, wet kiss that makes Chris's dick hard while his knees start to tremble. Eijun's other hand is clutching at Chris's sweatshirt, pulling it down hard enough for the back of the collar to dig into the base of Chris's neck. Chris puts both hands on Eijun's ass, pressing closer, closer, and Eijun gives a soft little moan; it really was such a waste for him to get dressed earlier--

"I'm home," Furuya calls from the front entrance. "Oh, hello, Chris-senpai."

Chris and Eijun spring apart like a pair of alley cats from a water bucket dumped from above. Chris can't look away from Eijun's wet mouth and his heart's beating harder than it ever has.

"If you guys are going to practice dancing, you should put on some music," Furuya advises.

Eijun starts laughing at the top of his lungs, and it's obviously fake, though Furuya doesn't seem to notice. It's possible that he just doesn't care why Eijun does the things he does.

"How about you show me that shortcut you mentioned?" Chris suggests to Eijun. "I'm sure Furuya-kun's too tired for us to be making all this noise."

Eijun stops laughing abruptly. "What shortcut? I don't remember us talking about any shortcut. Shortcut to where?"

Chris fights the urge to put his head in his hands and cry. "You know, the shortcut. To the ramen place."

"What--? Oh! Ohhhh!" Eijun grins with a knowing look on his face. "Yeah! I get it now! Come on, Chris-senpai. I'll show you the best shortcut ever!"

They bid a hasty good-bye to Furuya and leave.

"I'm not really hungry," Eijun says in the elevator. He's blushing and it's criminally cute. "The ramen was mostly an excuse."

"I got that," Chris says. "We're not going to the ramen place."

"We're not? Where are we going?"

"Where do you want to go?" Chris asks as they walk past the attendant and step out into the chilly air. Night has fallen, dry and crisp.

"I want--" Eijun's phone rings. "Hello?" He frowns and claps a hand to his forehead. "Oh, crap! I'll be right up."

"What happened?"

"I completely forgot about the Skype call with my family," Eijun says. He looks torn. "My phone camera is broken, so I have to do it on Furuya's laptop. Um, I'll just quickly tell them I'm busy and come right back--"

"It's fine," Chris says, feeling a little wistful. There are way too many things he doesn't know about Eijun. "Go talk to your family. Let's go out for ramen tomorrow."

Eijun's eyes widen with plain delight. "Is it like a date?"

Chris wants to pull him close, but the lobby attendant is watching them. "Not 'like'. It is a date," he says.

Eijun's smile is like the sun when dawn breaks.

The next day, Eijun gets called in to cover for a sick coworker at his part time job, so they agree to meet right outside the supermarket where Eijun works. Chris takes the subway two stops north of campus and takes his time walking: he's ten minutes early. But most of the stores on the street are already closed for the night, so there's not much to look at. Plus, he wants to see Eijun as soon as possible, if only to make sure that everything that happened yesterday wasn't some kind of fever dream.

A portly Santa Claus stands outside the supermarket where Eijun said he works, holding a Time Sale Ending Soon! Eggs for Half Off! sign. A little bell attached to the top of the sign tinkles softly.

"Merry Christmas!" the Santa hollers in Eijun's voice, and Chris is so startled he stops.

"S-Sawamura?"

"Chris-senpai! You came!"

Chris nods at the outfit, trying not to snicker. "I guess I'm too early?"

Eijun sets the sign down next to the entrance. "No, it's fine! Are we going on a date now?"

"I-- yes?" Chris doesn't think anyone overheard him except for a cat washing its whiskers atop the recycling bin at the supermarket's entrance. The pragmatic, celebrity's-child part of him wants to tell Eijun to keep his voice down. The part of him that's in love with Eijun wishes he'd been louder.

Eijun shoves his hands in the pockets of his Santa suit and starts walking in the direction Chris just came from. "Awesome. I know a good place nearby, we might as well go there instead of taking the subway all the way back."

Chris follows, wondering if Eijun intends on wearing the Santa outfit the whole night, or if he's just worried he'll be too cold without it. Surely he'll want to at least remove the padding?

"Chris-senpai," Eijun begins.

"You can't call me that if we're on a date," Chris says before Eijun can continue.

"But you are my senpai."

"It doesn't matter," Chris says, trying not to laugh at the incongruity of a white-bearded guy saying such a thing, fake beard or no. "It's a way of showing respect, but there's nothing I can call you to show you the same. If it's a date, we should be equals."

"How about Eijun-sama?" Eijun suggests cheerfully. Behind the beard, it's hard to tell if he's joking, so Chris gives him a disdainful look just in case he isn't.

"By the way, are you going to eat dressed like that, or were you planning on changing first?" he asks, deciding that he really does want to know.

Eijun stops dead. "Shit! I forgot!"

"What?"

"To change! And all my stuff's still in the back room!"

Chris laughs as they turn back to the supermarket. "Are you really an adult?"

"I got so excited when I saw you that I forgot about everything," Eijun says.

Chris's heart clenches. He'll develop arrhythmia if Eijun keeps saying things like that. Right now, it doesn't sound like a bad way to die.

Eijun leads him around the building to the supermarket's loading doors and into an employee breakroom with a row of lockers against one wall, a picnic table against the other. There's just enough room for one person to pass, sideways, between the two.
.
Underneath the suit, Eijun's wearing padding Velcroed to his torso and limbs over his normal clothes. Chris helps him remove it and stow it in an empty locker along with the Santa outfit and fake beard. Eijun pulls a Seidou jacket and knitted cap from another locker and puts them on, then, as though in afterthought, sidles up to Chris and kisses him. He's not shy about getting close or sliding his hands underneath Chris's jacket, either -- they're too warm from the Santa mittens, yet Chris shivers.

In his mind, he's gone over last night so many times that he expected to feel self-conscious about getting physically close to Eijun again, but he's never been surer of what he wants. Too bad Eijun's sense of time and place are still as atrocious as ever.

"We can't," he breathes, pushing Eijun's hands away. "If someone comes in--"

"Shift just started," Eijun whispers. "No one's coming back here for the next hour."

Chris pulls away. "Not here."

"Buuuuuuuuuuuut--!"

Chris gives him a stern look. "Sawamura."

"If I can't call you senpai, you can't call me by my last name," Eijun says, and Chris smiles. He's been on a first name basis with Eijun in his head for years.

One day, he'd like Eijun to call him Yuu.

Because all this time he's been dreaming about Eijun, and you just don't keep dreaming about somebody you intend to let go.