Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Kuramochi?”

Youichi blinks. “Holy shit.”

Miyuki blinks too, face probably a mirror of Youichi’s; mouth hanging open, eyes wide and owlish behind his glasses - the same shape as they were in high school, he notes. They continue to stare, until, fortunately or unfortunately, Dr Kiyose begins to speak. 

“Oh, you two already know each other!” He smiles, that outwardly cheerful, secretly evil smile of his that Youichi has become well acquainted with by now. “Great! Kuramochi, Miyuki is here for a grade one acromioclavicular strain. I’ve already prescribed some painkillers, but I have to dash to my next appointment. Can you handle the physio alone?"

“Sure.” Says Youichi, professionalism taking over. “I can do that.”

Kiyose’s eyes crinkle, but Youichi knows him well enough after almost two years of working at this clinic that he’s planning something - he always is. “I’ll check in before you leave, Miyuki - is that okay?”

“Sure.” Miyuki echoes. His eyes still haven’t left Youichi. 

“Cool. See you in a bit!” He calls, already bustling out the door with nothing more than a raised hand in goodbye, and leaving Youichi and his old best friend, baseball captain and high school crush that he hadn’t talked to since graduation alone in the examination room together.

Youichi is first to break the awkward silence that falls, a sheer necessity to say something forcing the words from his mouth. “You can sit, you know.”

Miyuki says nothing, but does, sinking onto the padded chair that they have for the patients like his legs can no longer hold him up. He’s barely changed since high school; his eyes are the same deep, dark oak that used to glow bright from across the field, his hair the same soft golden brown, although now cut into a short undercut rather than the almost-mullet he had back then. He’s filled out in the intervening years, shoulders broader and arms stronger, and there’s the scruff of a beard decorating his chin, but other than that he’s the same Miyuki that he used to bully Sawamura with, the same Miyuki that led their team to nationals in their third and final year at Seido, the same Miyuki he couldn’t help but fall for even though he knew it would only cause him problems.

“Dr Kiyose said a grade one acromioclavicular strain, is that right?” Youichi asks, glancing quickly at the notes said doctor had given him. It's hard to read Kiyose’s scrawl, but Youichi has had practice and it says pretty much what he’d expected - three weeks of tri-weekly appointments with minimal baseball practice between. Three more weeks of seeing Miyuki - he’s not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse. 

“Your hair is shorter.” Miyuki says, finally. He’s still staring; Youichi’s unsure if he’s even blinked in the few minutes it's been.

“So’s yours.” He bites back, the sheer absurdity of the situation finally getting to him. Of course his hair is shorter, it's been eight years since they’ve seen each other. “And it’s a yes or no question, asshole.”

The insult falls out automatically, all his professionalism training thrown straight out the window, and he bites his lip, a little embarrassed. Luckily Miyuki doesn’t seem to mind; he laughs, and it's the same laugh he’d both loved and hated back then, that high and annoying giggle. It's nice to see some things never change. “Is that any way to speak to a patient?” He asks, but before Youichi can answer he continues, “And yes, I think so. That’s what I’ve been told, anyway.”

“How’d you manage that?” Youichi asks, turning away to fish in the drawer for what he needs, “Actually, don’t answer that. I bet you were overworking yourself again.”

Miyuki snorts, a little, sharp exhale from his nose. “Probably. I don’t know if you know, but I just got promoted to captain, and I’ve been staying late at practice to help some of the pitchers. The other week my shoulder started to ache, and when it didn’t go away I went to the doctor.” He shrugs, then winces, “And here I am.”

Youichi knew, but he didn’t say; that would mean admitting he’d kept up with Miyuki’s career, and he didn’t fancy doing that. “Congrats.” He says instead, letting his mouth twitch up into a smile, “Captain, catcher and cleanup again, huh?”

The other’s grin is sharp, but pleased; Youichi had made a list of Miyuki’s grins in high school, categorised them under different headings, and it was something he’d never been able to forget despite how much he wanted to. “Of course. It took me long enough, but we had a good captain until recently. I just hope I’ll be able to fill his shoes.”

He rolls his eyes. “You? Of course.” Then, before Miyuki can say anything else, he holds up the blood pressure cuff and the fingertip oximeter. “I’m going to take your blood pressure and heart rate, then I’ll start the physio, alright?”

“Sure, sure.” The brunet shrugs, already rolling up the sleeve of his orange and black Giants jersey. Trust Miyuki to only wear his baseball gear; Youichi had rarely seen him in anything other than their Seido kit, despite how much he’d wished for otherwise.

There’s silence between them whilst Youichi clips the oximeter onto Miyuki’s index finger and waits for the results to show up, noting them down when they do. His mind begins to wander, traitorously, to the man himself in front of him and how hot he’d become; Youichi had always been a sucker for broad shoulders and thick thighs, and Miyuki had had both in high school, but now...

“So, nursing?” Miyuki asks, that oh-so-familiar smirk curling his lips, “I wouldn’t have expected that of you.”

“Shut up.” Youichi grouches, as he busies himself with the blood pressure cuff, “I changed from languages in my second year of college - something you would know if you actually used your phone!” He emphasises his point with a well-aimed but light smack that just sets Miyuki off giggling again. 

“Isn’t it against the hippocratic oath to abuse patients like this?”

“Not when they’re annoying.” Youichi says, and Miyuki laughs again, but this one is different - more wholesome, somehow. 

They fall into a comfortable silence again as he goes through the motions of measuring Miyuki’s blood pressure, keeping his mind securely on the task at hand and not the dark hairs curling on Miyuki’s arms, so much darker and thicker than they had been the last time he’d seen him. 

“You’re all good, as expected.” He says once he’s done, shoving the equipment and his notes onto the desk and rolling up the sleeves of his scrubs. “This shouldn’t take too long, but it’ll hurt a little bit. Just a warning.”

Miyuki quirks an eyebrow, the motion effortless and just as familiar as the rest of him. “You never used to be one for warnings. What happened to the guy that would wrestle Sawamura at the drop of a hat?”

“He grew up.” Says Youichi, the words coming out more serious than he expected. Miyuki’s mouth snaps open then shut again and he looks at him with something lurking in his eyes that Youichi can’t identify, and doesn’t want to. He’s suddenly sick of everything, sick of Miyuki waltzing back into his life unexpectedly like this and talking to him like nothing has changed when everything has. He’s not who he was at eighteen and neither is Miyuki; he’s twenty six years old, single, bisexual, and not even playing pro ball. If eighteen-year-old Youichi could see him now, he’d probably kick his ass, and Youichi would let him.

The rest of the appointment is spent in a crushing silence, but Youichi can’t bring himself to break it, even as he stretches and massages the muscles in Miyuki’s shoulder. Why should he, when it was Miyuki that never texted him after graduation, Miyuki that cut off all contact, Miyuki that went pro straight out of high school and never looked back? He glances up a few times, just to see, but Miyuki is never looking at him, that familiar dark gaze kept securely at his lap.

“We’re done for today.” He snaps, eventually, after he’s done everything that needs doing. “I’ll go get Dr Kiyose and he’ll talk to you about your injury and what’s going to happen next.”

Miyuki blinks at him. “Kuramochi-“ He starts, but Youichi is already striding away - he can’t do this anymore, can’t look at Miyuki and see the ghosts he’d thought he’s come to terms with long ago, see the boys they used to be and the dreams he used to have. He’s aware he’s being petty and rude and unprofessional but he can’t bring himself to care, not when his heart is pounding in the way it used to when Miyuki would throw his arm around his shoulders after a long, gruelling practice. All he wants to do is go get Kiyose, then go home and watch bad TV alone and drink until he falls asleep. And that’s exactly what he does.

But of course, two days later and he’s back in the exact same position.

When Miyuki walks through the door he smiles, small and awkward and decidedly un-Miyuki. Youichi just stares at him. He’s had some time to think, and he knows the way he treated Miyuki the other day was wrong, but he doesn’t regret it. He’s formed a game plan of how these appointments will go - he’ll make small talk, do his job, and in three weeks Miyuki will be out of his life again. There’s only one problem, and that he’s not sure he can deal with losing Miyuki for a second time.

“Sorry about the other day.” The catcher says, once Kiyose has made his excuse and skedaddled.

“It’s fine.” Youichi replies, “I was being an asshole.”

The corners of Miyuki’s mouth twitch, just a little, as he settles on the chair. “Good to see some things haven’t changed since high school.”

Youichi says nothing to that, but maybe he tugs the blood pressure cuff a bit tighter around Miyuki’s bicep than needed. 

They’re mostly quiet as Youichi begins the familiar process of massaging the muscles around Miyuki’s shoulder. He’s treated numerous strains like this before and he’ll no doubt treat many more - it’s easy to lose himself in his work and forget that it’s Miyuki whose sat on the examination chair, Miyuki whose room they used to sit in on a night time after practice and play video games, Miyuki who always asked for pocari sweat from the vending machine, Miyuki who laughed too much and too little. 

At least, until Miyuki breaks the silence. “I like your piercings. They suit you."

He hums in response, switching to squeeze the bicep. 

“How many do you have?” The other continues, seemingly undeterred by Youichi’s lack of reply.

“Seven.” He says, letting go of Miyuki’s arm to point, “Two in my left helix, one in my right, my right tragus, and then both lobes. And my tongue.” Rather childishly, he sticks his tongue out to show the silver barbell embedded in it, “Hurt less than I thought it would.”

“Right.” Miyuki says, eyes following the curve of Youichi’s ear, and Youichi wills himself not to blush - he’s twenty six, he has to get over this stupid crush on a ten-year-old memory of a boy that doesn’t exist anymore. 

He turns his eyes back to the strong muscles of Miyuki’s arms, presses in a little harder than need be, and Miyuki groans like it's been punched out of him, low and rough in a way that sends shivers right down Youichi’s spine. Youichi swallows, does the same movement again and again, but Miyuki keeps his lips pursed tight and no sound escapes them until the end of the appointment when Youichi drops his hands and says, “We’re done.”

“You were right, that does hurt.” The other hums, rolling his shoulders with a wrinkle in his brow, “I don’t know what I expected.”

“I did tell you.” Youichi rolls his eyes. Miyuki stands up, and he should go get Kiyose, finish up the appointment and get one step closer to moving on, but instead his carefully curated plan goes flying out the window and he finds himself saying, “Hey.”

Miyuki looks at him, an eyebrow artfully twitching up. “Yeah?”

He buries his hands in the pockets of his scrubs, willing them not to shake, “Is your number the same as it was in high school, or has it changed?”

The catcher blinks once, mouth parted in a neat little ‘o’, before it morphs into a sharp grin, “It’s changed.” He fishes in the pocket of his Giants tracksuit bottoms, emerges with a newish smartphone and holds it proudly out in front of him like he’s a straight white American boy with a fish. “Look at what I have. Bet you’d never have expected this, huh?”

“Asshole.” Youichi scoffs, and Miyuki just giggles as he takes the offered phone and quickly shoots himself a text, “You’re about ten years too late to the party.”

“Better late than never, right?” Miyuki quirks an eyebrow, mouth curling in that familiar smirk, and all of a sudden it's like he’s back at the Koshien grounds, the sun beating down as Miyuki brings him home with a RBI. 

He shrugs the memory away. “Guess so. I’m gonna go get Dr Kiyose, but I’ll see you in two days, yeah?”

“See you.” Miyuki says, and his smile turns a little more wholesome as he raises a hand in a wave goodbye. Youichi feels himself smile back, softer than he would have liked, and forces himself to turn away and walk out the door before he gets stuck staring at Miyuki forever.

Later that night, he texts Sawamura.

did u know miyuki had a new number?

Sawamura replies immediately, and Youichi watches the messages roll in as he delicately sips his beer. 

Hello!!!!!!
I did! He’s had it for a while
We play on the same team you know
Not that he uses it much!!! You know him >:(
Why????

i guess you know about his injury
well. guess who is doing his physio
no need to guess its me and kiyose lol

Oh!!!!!!!!!!!
I see!!!!!

yeah. i asked for his number after the appt today and he actually gave it me
which i mean. theres already a conflict of interest so its fine whats another one
but yeah. idk
its been a little awkward but he’s acting mostly like nothings changed
but everything has

I get it!! Don’t worry!!
The only reason he stays in contact with anyone is if he has to see them with baseball
He didn’t talk to me after grad until I signed with the dragons
And even then not for more than 10 minutes after a match until I signed to the giants
He’s so annoying!!!!!

i didn’t feel bad about it
because i knew that was just what he was like
and its not like he’d talked to zono or nori or any of the others that didn’t go pro either
but now i have to see him
and its hard

Yeah
Damn tanuki!!!!!
Do you want me to talk to him??
I don’t mind!!!

no its ok
i’ll text him at some point
and just hope he replies ig

I’m sure he will!!!
He hasn’t been at practice much lately bc of the injury
He actually seems to be taking this one seriously
Unlike him I know (remember his second year??)
I think the captaincy is good for him!!
Although i wanted to be captain :/

lol very unlike him
you’re already the ace, isn’t that enough??

I never got to be captain at seido!!!
I wanna be captain sometime !!!

toujou was a better fit and you know it
how is he by the way??

Good!!!!!
He just got a new job in tokyo!!
So he and kane said they’d come see me soon :^)

that’s good to hear
we’ll have to meet up soon, yeah?
i’ve missed kicking ur ass at smash

Mean!!! Mean!!!
Is this how you treat your favourite underclassman and old roommate??

no because that’s asada and i treat him nice :-)

I’m leaving!!!!

Youichi just sends a string of devil emojis in reply, then switches over to his contacts, where he stares at the one he made earlier today, just the simple name Miyuki and an unfamiliar number. He wants to say something, but he’s not sure what - not sure if he could ever articulate what he wants to say or how he feels.

He thinks of Miyuki and thinks of a future that could have been, one where he’d gone pro after college, after high school. A future where he’d followed Miyuki and Miyuki had finally looked at him and seen enough, seen someone that deserved to be in his life.

It wasn’t like he hated his life. Being a physiotherapy nurse wasn’t all too bad; he liked his job for the most part and it paid decently. It allowed him to be close to baseball, as close as he could be without playing, and he even got to meet pretty famous players sometimes, although it was a little awkward when they’d known each other in high school - he’d helped Narumiya Mei with patellofemoral syndrome just after he’d qualified and the blond had been insufferable, even more so than he had been in high school. He kept in touch with most people from Seido, most of the ones from his and Sawamura’s years, as well as some of the upperclassmen and the first years like Okumura, Seto and Asada. There were only a few of them that had ended up going pro -  Yuki, Chris, Shirasu, Sawamura, Furuya, Haruichi, Okumura - so it‘s not like Youichi felt left out. 

He clicks his phone off, turns up the volume on the random movie he’d found on Netflix and takes a long, drawn swig of his beer. He had friends that he loved and saw pretty regularly. He wasn’t a recluse, he wasn’t an alcoholic, he wasn’t depressed. He liked his job and the people he worked with, even if Kiyose was a meddler and Ennoshita was a little too sugary sweet sometimes for Youichi’s taste.

So why did it feel like something was missing? And why did everything come back to the day he graduated from high school, the silhouette of Miyuki’s back in the bright spring sun as he walked away and never looked back?

He didn’t end up texting Miyuki until after their third appointment. It had been spent much the same as the others - snippets of the same, snarky relationship they’d one had interspaced with long stretches of silence whilst Youichi worked. But at the end of the session, Miyuki had grinned, sharp and cunning, and said, “The Giants are meant to be playing a friendly tonight against the Swallows . Are you going to watch?”

“Probably.” Youichi had said as he’d draped his stethoscope back around his neck. “Sawamura and Furuya are both going to be pitching, right? I couldn’t miss that.”

Miyuki had nodded. “It's a shame I’m not playing, but.” He shrugged his shoulders, then winced.

“Careful with that.”

The catcher had just raised both his eyebrows, slow and deliberate. “Anyway, Abe can handle it. It’ll be fun to watch.”

“I’ll try and tune in, I might be busy.” Youichi had said, a lie - he’d been planning on watching, for the two pitchers if no one else, but Miyuki didn’t need to know that.

“Let me know if you do, yeah?” The other had grinned, a little softer than usual, “And I’ll see you next week, right?”

“Right.” Youichi echoed, opened and closed his mouth as he’d tried to think of something else to say, but luckily was interrupted by Kiyose barrelling back into the room. Miyuki had left not long after, Youichi forced to put him to the back of his mind so he could do his job.

And that led him to now, feet up on the sofa as Furuya struck out swinging against Sawamura’s pitching at the end of the third. His phone might as well be stuck to his hand as he clicks it on and off, checking for non-existent texts from someone that had never messaged before and probably never will. Sure, he has messages from his group chat with the others in his year, mostly about the game and the beasts that their idiot pitcher duo had become, but he can’t bring himself to reply.

“Fuck it.” He says, steels his resolve and quickly sends a message before he can begin to regret the decision. 

the numbers have really come along
sawamura is insane

It takes until midway through the fifth inning for Miyuki to reply, but when Youichi’s phone buzzes in his pocket he immediately slides it into his hand and opens the message, any thought of restraint flying out the window.

Yes, it took a lot of practice. But he’s always had the resolve and drive to grow. When he came from the Dragons they’d changed a little, so it was fun to take that and develop it further. They’re at a great point now - he’s set to be scouted for the Olympics, and we have a great chance at winning with him.

It's more than he expected - hell, he didn’t think he would get a reply full stop. Youichi knows he should wait a few minutes so not to seem eager, but he can’t help himself and finds his fingers flying across the screen.

i can imagine, i wouldn’t like to be in the batters position
on either team, tbh
furuya’s pitching 165km, wow
also of course you type with full grammar

This time, Miyuki replies within minutes.

It's not fun, that's for sure. I’d love to catch for him in a game, but I don’t think he’ll ever want to give up his ace spot again. He’s happy at the Swallows, and Okumura is a great catcher. What’s wrong with typing with full grammar? What does ‘tbh’ mean?

yeowch, i pity okumura’s hands
was that a changeup by sawamura?
also lololol omg
do you know what google is, or is that too technologically advanced for you?

It was, Abe is calling well today. Of course I know what google is. Maybe you should stop sending strange text speak and start typing properly.

you’re such an old man
don’t think i forgot about you going to bed at 9:30 pm every night

9:30PM is a perfectly acceptable bed time - it allowed me to get 8 hours sleep before practice. I still go to bed at that time.

so you’re up past your bedtime right now?
:0 miyuki kazuya, bad boy

As soon as he sent the message, a sinking feeling seeped through his veins and into the pit of his stomach - had he overstepped an invisible line, taking their conversation into some place it wasn’t meant to go? 

It didn’t matter; Miyuki replied almost immediately, like he had been for the past few minutes. 

Tonights an exception, I don’t have practice tomorrow and there’s a game on. 

i know, i was just kidding

I know. I know you.

Youichi didn’t know what to say to that. Instead of sending any of the messages he wanted to, instead of calling Miyuki just to hear his voice, to hear that this was real, he put his phone down and watched the rest of the game in silence, ignoring the feelings of guilt and inadequacy that bubbled and simmered as he watched his underclassmen duke it out on the baseball field in favour of staring at the TV screen until he passed out.

After their fourth physio session, Youichi sends another text.

have you ever played against hongou?

He wasn’t expecting a quick reply, or even one at all - Miyuki had been uncharacteristically quiet during the session, though he put on a showy smirk. But Youichi had once known him well, and although he had changed physically, personality-wise he was still the same old Miyuki that hid his feelings behind snark and a sharp grin. There was something up, and he was overcome with the need to find out what it was.

Miyuki doesn’t reply until the next day at five in the morning, when Youichi is fast asleep in bed like any normal person. He sees the message as soon as he wakes, blurrily slides it open and squints at the screen with sleep-pained eyes.

Of course. He played for the Giants for a season but ended up back at the Fighters. I think he missed Hokkaido. He was annoying to catch for, too stubborn for me. But his pitches were fast, and they’re hell to hit.

For whatever reason, Youichi finds himself replying, even though he can barely string a sentence together. 

y do u always send essays
multitexting is a thing
its too early for me to read all this
his pitches were hell to hit when he was in high school
cant imagine hitting them now
also too stubborn?? and sawamura isn’t stubborn?? lol

He doesn’t get a reply until he’s mid-way through his morning coffee, scrolling through the news on his phone and wondering if he has time to nip to the local Starbucks before his shift at work - maybe he’ll be a nice co-worker and pick up Kiyose and Ennoshita some coffee, too. When his phone buzzes, all other thoughts go out the window. 

Sorry, I forgot how early it was. You can ignore my messages if you want. 

That constituted an immediate reply.

no ignore me, i’d just woken up and was grumpy
hadn;t had my coffee
stayed up too late last night watching netflix

He gets Starbucks for his coworkers, although is almost late to work in the process. Ennoshita is more visibly appreciative than Kiyose, who just takes his latte with a small smile and limps away into his office. Youichi knows how to recognise a bad day when he sees one, takes extra care to be nice to Kiyose and brings patients their prescriptions instead of letting the doctor make his knee pain worse by dashing about the clinic like he usually does. He doesn’t get a chance to check his phone until after work, where amongst the chaos from the Seido group chat there’s a singular message from Miyuki waiting for him. 

Thanks.

In their fifth session, he asks, “Hey, remember when Sawamura hit his head when he tripped in the baths that one time?”

Miyuki laughs, mid shoulder-stretch, then winces, “And we thought he was going to have to go to the hospital because he was screaming so much.”

“Yeah!” Youichi crows, adjusting the position of the catcher’s shoulder ever-so-slightly, “That kid could never shut up for the life of him.”

“He’s still like that.” Miyuki says, “Just as energetic in the bullpen, yells incoherently before each game. It's almost endearing.”

“Yeah, I keep in contact with him. We meet up occasionally.”

The other raises his eyebrows, conveying a meaning Youichi can’t quite identify. It makes him keep speaking, for whatever reason.

“He’s still no better at video games, either.”

“Wouldn’t know.” Miyuki says. “I don't play video games.”

“What?!” Youichi exclaims, accidentally pushing Miyuki’s shoulder a little too hard; the catcher hisses with pain. Oops. “So all that training I put you through was for nothing!”

“Sorry.” Miyuki says, but doesn’t sound it. “I just don’t care about super smashing sisters or whatever else you guys used to play.”

“It’s super smash brothers.” Youichi hisses, taking a step back to let Miyuki stretch his own shoulder for a bit. “You know that’s what it's called, we played it at least once a week for the entirety of high school, stop being facetious.”

Miyuki grins, sharp enough to cut like a knife. “Ooh, big words Kuramochi.”

“Do you want me to break your shoulder even more, captain? ”

“Nope, you’re alright actually.” The smirk fades a little, but there’s still a grin on Miyuki’s face, hidden amongst the stubble that is slowly but surely growing into an actual beard. Youichi’s secretly a little jealous - he’s never been able to grow more than five o’clock shadow, and it's Miyuki of all people that gets to grow a beard? Unfair. “But if you did, just know I could sue.”

“Alright, alright.” He waves his hand as though he can swat Miyuki away like a particularly annoying fly - he wishes. “I’ll let you off the hook this time. But watch your back.”

Miyuki just raises his eyebrows until they vanish into the flop of his fringe. It’s a familiar expression, one Youichi had seen many times back in high school, and it makes his heart ache, just a little, that he could have seen it more. Instead he sighs, swings his stethoscope back around his neck, and decides that the sooner these sessions are over, the better.

“Wait,” Kawakami says, leaning forward on his elbows across the table, “You’re giving Miyuki physio?”

“That’s what I said.” Youichi rolls his eyes, takes a delicate sip of his cappuccino.

Shirasu furrows his brow, mirroring the movement with his own cup. “No need to be sarcastic.” 

“Wow, that must have been awkward.” Kawakami continues, as if Youichi had said nothing at all - something he’d gotten very good at in the years they’d known each other. 

“The fucking half of it.” Youichi scoffs, “He was acting like nothing had changed. All buddy buddy and that.”

Kawakami gives him a sympathetic look, whilst Shirasu sips his coffee again. It’s a sunny Saturday morning and they’re sequestered in a booth at the hole-in-the-wall coffee shop not too far from Youichi’s apartment, like they try to do once a month. Youichi had arrived not long after his friends had, and as soon as he’d gotten their orders and sat down he’d launched into a rant about Miyuki that had been building for almost two weeks now.

“Maybe he was just nervous.” The right fielder says, after a while.

“Nervous?” Youichi echoes, dumbfounded.

“I mean, you know what Miyuki was like. Is like, I guess.” Nori says, wringing his fingers together in the same way he’s done for years. “He likes to hide his feelings.”

Youichi wrinkles his nose, feels his brow furrow in annoyance. “He’s infuriating is what he is.” 

Shirasu and Kawakami share one of those looks, the weirdly psychic ones they’d developed back in high school. 

“I know it’s annoying.” Nori says after a few moments. “It pisses me off too.”

Youichi gasps, scandalised. “Nori, a swear word? Really?”

His friend flushes a bright red, looking down as he scratches the back of his neck - another nervous habit from high school.

“He’s right.” Shirasu says. “He only talks to me at matches, and even then only for a few minutes at best. And you two were best friends - you’d think he’d want to keep in touch.”

“Yeah, well,”  He sighs, turns his gaze to the still-spiralling steam of his coffee, “I’d thought so too.”

They’re silent for a few seconds, the atmosphere suddenly thick and sombre. Youichi doesn’t know how to break it, opens his mouth to change the subject when -

“Excuse me, are you Shirasu Kenjirou?” 

The three of them look up; there’s a young boy, nine or ten, holding a Lions cap and fidgeting with the brim as he lurks near their table.

“Can you sign my hat?”

Shirasu smiles, soft and wholesome, and the tension is broken. “Sure.”

Youichi and Kawakami share a conspiratorial look as Shirasu takes the hat and scrawls on the brim with a sharpie from his pocket. When their friend had expressed an interest in going pro after college, Youichi had been doubtful that he’d make it, but here he was - a recognisable, reliable member of the Saitama Seibu Lions. It’s nice to see one of them make it, although the jealousy sometimes hits him late at night - that should have been him. 

“Does it suck, Nori?” Youichi asks, once the boy has skipped off back to his mother, clutching his hat like his life depends on it, “Having such a famous boyfriend?”

Nori just laughs, a blush tinting his cheeks a delicate pink. “Not as much as you’d think.”

“If anything, I’m the lucky one.” Shirasu says, ruffles Nori’s hair much to his visible fondness, “It’s nice to have a doctor boyfriend to look after me when I’m sick.”

Kawakami nudges the right fielder’s shoulder, and the two gaze at each other, sickeningly sweet and enamoured. It makes Youichi think, traitorously, of Miyuki; of whether they’d act like this, lovey-dovey and familiar, like two halves of a whole. It makes his heart race, just a little. 

Instead of thinking about it further, he gags and rolls his eyes.“You both are gross and I hate you.”

The two laugh, and Nori shakes his head. “No, you don’t.”

Youichi raises his eyebrows, and Shirasu just raises his back. They stare at each other for a few seconds before Youichi backs down; he drains the rest of his coffee, before it's his turn to lean forward on his elbows. “So, Nori, are you still thinking of paediatrics?”

The appointments begin to blur into one. Youichi finds himself looking forward to Miyuki’s short rap of one, two, three on the door to announce his arrival, to when Kiyose finally says his excuse and leaves them to it so he can talk to Miyuki like his old friend and not like a patient. They fall into a routine - easy, snarky banter, just like when they’d stay up late playing video games in Miyuki’s room or out on the baseball field swinging a bat. And when Miyuki leaves, he smiles and says “See you next time.”, an unspoken promise of more, I’ll see you more. 

On the day of Miyuki’s last appointment, Youichi finds himself jiggling his leg. He doesn’t know what to expect, really - whether he should expect anything different at all, or whether he’s just setting himself up for disappointment in some way he doesn’t even know. 

The sound of the door opening shocks him out of his reverie; he looks up to see Miyuki slinking in, closely followed by Kiyose. 

“Kuramochi  - how’s things?” The doctor asks.

“Fine.” He says, “Haven’t died in the hour it's been since I’ve last seen you.”

Miyuki rolls his eyes, but Kiyose just grins in that consistently sunny way of his. “Great!” He shrugs his head in the catcher’s direction. “Miyuki here was just saying that his shoulder is feeling much better. He’s been singing your praises.”

Youichi feels his cheeks warm, eyes snapping to Miyuki, who is decidedly looking at the floor. 

“This is your last appointment, right Miyuki?” Kiyose continues, and when Youichi looks at him there’s something mischievous glinting in his eyes, the one usually accompanied by a sinking feeling in Youichi’s stomach much like it is now. “I would normally be here with you but something’s come up - Kakeru’s transport fell through, and he needs a ride to Toyama. I’ll get Ennoshita to check up on you in a bit, but will you be okay with just Kuramochi again?”

“That’s fine.” Miyuki says. He finally looks up, and the tips of his ears and the bridge of his nose is a soft, dusty pink. It’s so uncharacteristically like Miyuki that it makes Youichi want to bury his head in the sand and never look up again.

“Sure, sure.” Youichi says, overtly grouchy, and rolls his eyes. “But I want a pay raise with all of your slack I’m picking up.”

Kiyose laughs, throws his head back and shakes his shoulders with its joviality. “I’ll talk to HR. But no promises, okay?”

“Whatever.” He stands, swinging his stethoscope around his neck in one fluid movement. “Go get your man already.”

Kiyose smiles again, but upon closer inspection there is something wild in his eyes, a strange panic that Youichi only sees once in a blue moon. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He says, then turns to Miyuki, who’s stood as still as a statue next to the chair. “It’s been nice to meet you, although I’m sorry I’ve had to rush off so often. I’d say I’d hope to see you again soon, but that wouldn’t be good for you, would it?”

Miyuki laughs awkwardly, and falls into a stiff bow. “Thank you, Doctor. Hopefully I’ll never have to see you again.”

Haiji laughs, bows back, then with a rushed goodbye bustles off back out of the door. 

“He’s always like that.” Youichi says, gesturing for Miyuki to sit in the treatment chair, which he does. “Never stops moving.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” Miyuki replies, rolling the balls of his shoulders back and forth and wiggling until he gets comfortable. “He seems nice, though.”

Youichi scoffs. “Nice until you get to know him and you find out he’s an evil mastermind disguised behind sweet smiles.”

Miyuki huffs out a laugh. “Kind of like the Kominatos, then?”

“A little. If the Kominatos were two inches taller and a whole lot better at getting you to do the things they want you to. In college Kiyose manipulated his entire dorm of nine other people to run in the fucking Hakone Ekiden with him. He’s insane.”

Miyuki laughs again, but this one is warm and wholesome, and Youichi never wants it to stop. “Well I’d rather deal with him than Ryousuke any day.”

Youichi raises his eyebrows as he clips the oximeter to Miyuki’s fingertip. “Your funeral.”

They fall silent, and he takes this as his cue to get on with it. The appointment continues much the same as all the others, but this time Youichi goes slower than usual, stretching and massaging and taking Miyuki’s pulse for longer than is probably necessary. The end feels like a ticking time bomb, like he’s waiting for the world to fall apart around him but can do nothing to stop it. 

And he can’t; eventually, as all things to, the appointment comes to an end.  

“We’re all done.” He says, straightening to his full height, and Miyuki rolls his shoulders a few times, an adorable furrow in his brow.

“Thanks for this.” He says. “I feel much better.”

Youichi shrugs, rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, feeling the scratch of the baby hairs that grow there. “You’re welcome, I guess.”

They stare at each other for a few seconds, the moments stretching and twisting to feel like years. But eventually the catcher blinks, shakes his head a little to flick his fringe away from his eyes, and the spell is broken. 

As Miyuki turns to leave, all Youichi can think of is graduation, when Miyuki had turned and walked away and never looked back. This back is broader, with wider shoulders and stronger arms, but it's the same Miyuki, and the despair begins to clog his throat the same way it had back then, slinking up from his stomach and sticking to his oesophagus. But this time - this time - he’s not going to let him just walk away like he had eight years ago.

“Hey.” He says.

Miyuki turns - he turns. His eyes are dark and clouded, his eyebrows raise until they’re in his hairline, and he’s there. 

“Do you want to meet up sometime?” The words fall out of his mouth in a nervous rush, and he’s surprised that Miyuki can even understand what he’s saying but he does, it's obvious in the way his pupils dilate and the dark chocolate of his eyes brightens to a milky brown swirl. 

“Sure thing.” He says, and it's glorious. 

“Cool.” Youichi says, unable to say much else. He wants to reach out and grab Miyuki’s hands, to pull him close, to feel that stupid stubble on his skin, to -

His hand twitches, but he doesn’t. He’s always been too cowardly to act on his feelings, and this is no exception. 

“I’ll text you.” He says instead. It feels like giving up.

“I’d like that.” Miyuki says, mouth quirking up at the corners in the bare bones of a smile. He swings his bag onto his shoulder - not his bad shoulder, luckily - and clutches at the strap in a way that Youichi thinks might be a nervous habit. 

He feels like he should say something else, opens his mouth then closes it again. He has so many things he wants to say that have been building up inside him for eight years, but nothing that would be appropriate for the moment.

Miyuki turns away again, raising a lazy hand in goodbye. “See you around.” He says, and Youichi’s heart spasms; those were exactly the same words he’d said at graduation, when he’d turned away and never looked back.

“See you.” He echoes, a mirror of what he’d said back then, too. But this time it doesn’t feel like an end - it feels more like a beginning.

He does what he does best when he’s in his head; he runs.

It’s something he’d taken up after he’d finally decided he was quitting baseball once and for all, after his grandad had died and the voices in his head had roared with ‘you’re not good enough, you’ll never be good enough’. He’d asked Sawamura for advice - which, in hindsight, was a stupid idea - and the younger boy had said, in his very Sawamura way, “When I’m feeling down, I just run!”

So he ran. 

He ran until his muscles ached and spasmed, until his breath came in wheezes, until he tasted blood in his mouth. He was running when he first decided he was switching to physiotherapy, he was running when he’d realised he was bisexual, and he was running now, when he came to terms with ‘oh shit, I’m never getting over Miyuki, am I?’.

It had hurt, when Miyuki had never got in contact, even though it was inevitable. Youichi knew it probably wasn’t because of anything he, specifically, had done - that was just the way Miyuki was, had been in high school and probably always would be. But it hadn’t stopped the hurt, a strange amalgamation of guilt, jealousy and longing all in one, from welling up whenever he saw Miyuki on TV, solid and strong, whenever Sawamura would offhandedly mention something Miyuki had said or done at their latest game. Miyuki was a baseball idiot, through and through, and there wasn’t room in his life for anything other than it. Not even Youichi, his once best friend.

But here he was, Miyuki Kazuya, catcher, captain and clean up for the Yomiuri Giants, and it looked like he’s letting him back in. 

And Youichi is terrified. 

The thought of losing Miyuki again, after all this - it was unbearable. He can’t fathom it - doesn’t want to begin to fathom it. So he pushes his legs faster and his muscles harder until all he can think about is the pain and the burn in his throat, and he didn’t have to think about the sparkle in Miyuki’s eyes and the way sweat rolled down his forehead and the way he smiled at Youichi, wicked and wild and everything he should hate all in one.

He just hoped that Miyuki would give him a chance.

Youichi is nervous.

It's not something that happens often; even when he was playing baseball he was never one for pre-match nerves - he’s always been of the thought that whatever will be will be and all he can do is try his best. But now, standing outside the train station waiting for Miyuki to appear for their day out that he’d meticulously planned out, he finds himself jittery, bounces his leg in an attempt to quell the nerves simmering in his stomach.

It doesn’t work.

“Kuramochi.” Comes the voice, and Youichi looks up to see Miyuki strolling towards him. He’s dressed casual, but not in baseball gear for once - loose jeans and worn converse and a soft-looking striped t-shirt, with his Seido windbreaker hugging his frame tighter than it did in high school. His hair is mostly obscured by a Giants baseball cap, cocked to the side in that way that always pisses Youichi off for some reason, and he peers down his nose through a stupidly-large pair of sunglasses. He’s shaved too; gone are the dark hairs that clung to his jaw, replaced with smooth, tanned skin, and Youichi almost misses them, although he thinks he prefers a clean-shaven Miyuki to the one he’s grown to know over the past few weeks. 

“Finally learnt how to dress yourself?” Youichi snarks, surging onto his toes to pull Miyuki’s cap around to face the front. “Took you long enough.”

Miyuki just rolls his eyes, leaving the cap where it is. “Well, as a celebrity, I have appearances to keep up.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Youichi says, venomless, already striding off to the ticket barriers. He hears Miyuki laugh, loud and stupidly genuine, before he falls into step beside him. 

“Where are we going?” He asks, once they’re waiting at the platform, perched on the cold plastic of the half-seats. 

“You’ll see.” Youichi says, running an absent hand through his hair. He’d put gel in it, spiked it up into a way reminiscent of how he used to style it, back in high school. He wonders if Miyuki had noticed.

The other hums. “Mysterious as ever, Kuraochi.”

“You know me.” 

They take the train out into the suburbs, back towards Seido. It seems strangely fitting that their destination is only half an hour's walk from where they’d first met. He should go visit Seido soon, he idly thinks as he jiggles his leg up and down as the carriage rattles down the tracks - he’d been once or twice since graduating to visit and check up on the team, but not since he’d fully qualified. Last he’d heard, Kataoka was still the coach, and, according to Zono, who taught Maths and was the assistant coach, wasn’t thinking about retiring any time soon.  

They hop off and begin the short walk to their destination in a comfortable almost-silence. They walk close together, their shoulders brushing occasionally in a way that sends electricity spiralling through Youichi’s body. With Miyuki in his Seido windbreaker, it's almost like they’re back in high school, although their height difference felt less pronounced back then - now, even though it's only three inches it feels like Miyuki towers over him. 

When they finally arrive, Youichi skips a few steps in front of the other to stand in front of the gates. “Here we go.” He announces, spreads his arms wide and does sarcastic jazz hands.

Miyuki blinks, once then twice, then turns to Youichi. The shock is evident across his face, deep gold eyes wide where the stupid sunglasses have slipped down his nose. “The batting cages?”

Youichi just nods. 

“You took me,” The other begins, slowly, voice dripping with disbelief, “clean-up batter for the Yomiuri Giants, to batting cages?”

“I thought it would be fun.” He says, shrugs his shoulders. “You haven’t batted in a few weeks if you’ve been doing as you’ve been told, and I’ve not let myself go rusty. Don’t count your chickens before they hatch, asshole.”

At this, Miyuki laughs; not that stupid giggle of his, but an honest, booming laugh. “You’re one of a kind, Kuramochi Youichi.” He bumps their shoulders together, and Youichi finds himself grinning, sharp and wide, all rational thought gone from his mind. 

He’s very surprised Miyuki isn’t recognised as he pays for their cage and equipment hire, especially as there is a literal picture of him and the rest of the current Giants team hanging behind the reception desk, signed by someone whose signature Youichi can’t read from this distance. But somehow, they’re not, and they pull on their helmets and make their way to the cage. 

“I’ll go first.” Youichi announces, spins his bat around and flips it from grip to barrel and back again. Miyuki’s eyes follow the movement, and Youichi senses something simmering within them, almost animalistic. Still, despite the prickle of Miyuki’s gaze on his back, he gets into the batting position, familiar despite the years it's been since he’d last played a proper game, and watches the machine whirr until it spits out a ball, easily 100km. He swings, putting all his energy behind the bat, and with a satisfying crack it flies into the net. 

Miyuki claps, sarcastic. “Nice ball.”

Youichi just nods, doesn’t take his eyes away from the machine that makes a horrible rattling sound until it spits out another ball. This one curves slightly, but he still manages to hit it, although it doesn’t go as far as he would have liked. He winces; maybe he is rustier than he thought. 

After five or so pitches he lets Miyuki take his turn. He stands by the back of the net, watching as Miyuki falls into his batting stance, as clean and effortless as breathing. His eyes follow the tightening of the catcher’s biceps, the bat fading into a blur as he swings and hits. It flies faster than any of Youichi’s hits had, slamming into the back of the net faster than Youichi can blink. 

Miyuki rolls his shoulder back and forth, stretching his arm out and testing the weight of the bat in his hands. 

“All okay?” Youichi asks.

The other twists his head to look in Youichi’s direction. “Will be after a few hits.” He says, grinning, and although it’s still sharp there’s genuine happiness lurking at the corners. Youichi can’t help but smile back, and he’s sure all his dumb feelings are on full display; counts his lucky stars that Miyuki is possibly the most oblivious person known to man, second only to Sawamura. 

The catcher turns back to the machine, shifts his weight from foot to foot, and Youichi takes the opportunity to check out his ass, snug in his jeans. It had always been a nice ass, accentuated perfectly by their baseball uniform trousers, and it had always been a struggle to keep his eyes in more suitable places. Now, though, unless Miyuki had eyes in the back of his head, he was free to look, despite the guilt simmering in his stomach as he did so; after a few seconds he snaps his gaze back to the bat just in time to see it blur and hit the ball with a clean crack. 

They swap again, and again, and Youichi hits ball after ball until the muscles in his arms ache and burn and the sky has begun to darken around them. It's only when the attendant comes to tell them their time is up that they realise how long it's been - it’s like Youichi blinks and the vision he’d built up of being back in high school crumbles around him.

“I win.” Miyuki announces as he tugs his helmet off, shakes his head a few times to get his hair back to its normal, fluffy undercut. Youichi’s own hair feels like he’s had a very salty shower; he feels his brow furrow, and the urge to kick Miyuki roars. How can he look so perfect, after all of that?

“It wasn’t a competition.” He grouches, stalking back off to the front desk.

“But if it was, I definitely won.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, asshole. You, the professional baseball player, won the competition that didn’t even exist. Are you proud of yourself?”

He turns to see Miyuki’s grin widening, this one all teeth, wicked and wild. “Absolutely.”

Youichi shakes his head at his stupidity, and sets about handing their gear back. It’s only once they’re back outside in the cool, autumnal air that he begins to speak again, burying his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket as faces Miyuki.

“Do you wanna get something to eat? It’s almost dinner time.”

Miyuki shrugs. “Sure, I’m getting hungry. Anywhere in particular you had in mind?”

“Not really.” It’s Youichi’s turn to shrug. “I remember seeing a yakitori place not too far away that looked decent. That okay?”

“Sure.” Miyuki says, “Sounds good to me.”

It takes about fifteen minutes to get to the restaurant, and they’re seated almost immediately. It’s quiet, only a few other tables filled, and there’s the quiet murmur of idol music in the background that itches a part of Youichi’s brain with its familiarity - it’s probably Toujou or Sawamura’s fault.

Miyuki orders them beers that come within minutes, and then they order their food; then they’re left alone, just the two of them and the lively beat of the music. 

It's Miyuki that breaks the silence, for once. “What made you decide to get piercings?”

“Dunno.” He says, fiddles with one of his helix piercings; a nervous habit he’d picked up sometime in the past few years. “I just liked the way they looked, I guess. And when I didn’t have to worry about them being ripped out playing baseball I said fuck it.” 

He’d gotten his first one the day after he’d decided to quit baseball for good, two weeks after his grandfather’s funeral. They’d been decently close - it had been his grandfather that had first signed him up for little league, and after he died, Youichi began to rethink everything he thought he’d known about himself, about his future. There was no one to tell him he was good enough, that he could go pro - so he took the cowardly route and quit. He chose physiotherapy because his grandad had undergone some a few months ago, and it let him delude himself that he wasn’t being a wimp; he could still be close to baseball, after all. After he’d gotten one piercing, things began to spiral - a few hookups had complimented him on them, and he’d liked the way they looked on him, so he’d gotten more and more until eventually he got a professional job and decided maybe enough was enough. Although, he’d always fancied a septum piercing; maybe once he was more confident in his job security. 

Miyuki hums. “Well, they suit you.”

Despite himself, Youichi feels the blush curl his ears. “Thanks. I like ‘em too.” He pauses, debating where to take the conversation next. “Would you ever get one?”

“A piercing?” Miyuki asks, then at Youichi’s noise of agreement shakes his head. “Don’t think so. They’re not really my style, and I don’t like unnecessary pain.”

“They don’t hurt that much.” He scoffs.

“Still,” Miyuki says, and Youichi watches his eyes trace the lines of his ears, where he knows the silver and gold hoops are embedded, “Not my style.”

“Whatever you say.” Youichi shrugs, takes a sip of his beer; the head tickles his throat, and he almost coughs. “Not that you have much of a sense of a style, anyway.”

The other man makes a wounded noise, leans back in his chair and clutches dramatically at his heart. “You’re so mean, Mochi.”

The familiar nickname sends a warmth flooding through his body, one which he ignores by rolling his eyes. “Why are you booing me? I’m right.”

“Not anymore, you’re not.” Miyuki gestures to his general body. “I’d say this is pretty stylish, wouldn't you say?”

“You have a stylist though, right?”

“No?” He cocks his head in that way that means he’s genuinely confused. “Why would I have a stylist?”

“Because you’re a celebrity.” The word drips with sarcasm, despite Youichi’s best efforts. “Don’t all of you famous folk have them?”

“If they do then I’m not famous.” Miyuki laughs, swigs his own beer. The head leaves a foamy moustache that Youichi wants to lick away, but, fortunately or unfortunately, it's wiped out of existence by the sleeve of Miyuki’s t-shirt. “The only times I’ve been styled is when I’ve done an interview for a magazine or something, but that’s not too often. Most of the time I’m just in my kit and they just brush my hair or slap some makeup on.”

“Well then I’m very impressed you actually managed to dress yourself this morning.” 

Miyuki just grins back. “Got to dress to impress, right?”

Youichi feels himself grin too, and the sight is familiar, the whole scene is - this is the Miyuki that he’d spent his high school years with, the Miyuki he’d grown to know and love. 

There’s quiet for a few moments whilst the two of them sip their beers, Youichi slipping his phone out of his pocket to check the time and his messages. He struggles to believe that they’ve been together for hours at this point - it feels like only minutes have passed. 

Just has he's dropping his phone back into his pocket Miyuki opens his mouth to break the silence. “Do you have a girlfriend?” 

Youichi, mid-swallow, almost spits out his mouthful of beer. Luckily, he manages to swallow it, and after a few seconds of coughing blinks incredulously at Miyuki. “Where did that come from?”

“Just wondering.” He shrugged. “Surely a handsome guy like you can’t be single, right? So do you have a girlfriend? Or boyfriend.” He adds after a second, and there’s no judgement in his eyes, just something that Youichi can’t figure out.

“Well you think wrong.” He scoffs, takes another, uneventful sip of his beer. “I’m single.” He has been since his second year of college, when he’d had a girlfriend for all of six months before realising that he wasn’t over the man sitting in front of him and never would be. Since then he’s had the odd hookup, goes out clubbing every so often and takes someone home, but nothing serious. It’s all he needs, right now - all he’s going to get.

“Surely not.” Miyuki says, playfulness dancing in his eyes behind his glasses, and Youichi hates this, hates the way his heart races and butterflies flutter in his stomach just at his words, words that mean so much less to Miyuki than they do to him.

“What about you, then?” He asks instead, unsure if he wants to hear the answer. Surely if Miyuki had a girlfriend he would have heard about it from somewhere, right? From Sawamura, or the group chat, or the news if nowhere else.

“Not right now.”

“Surely not.” Youichi echoes, a smirk curling his mouth even as the relief hits him like a freight train.

Miyuki nods. “I’ve never seen anyone else that caught my eye, I guess.”

“Else?” He says before he can stop himself, then snaps his mouth shut with a pop.

The catcher blinks, as though he hadn’t expected Youichi to pick up on that. He stares for a few seconds, fingers finding each other on the table top and threading themselves together. Then, suddenly, he smirks, that stupid attractive smirk that Youichi loves to hate, and it’s like there’s a completely different person sat in front of him than was five seconds ago. “This is very date-like, Mochi.” Miyuki leans forward on his elbows, and his eyes are dark behind his glasses, an emotion in them that Youichi can’t quite identify, “Is this a date?”

It feels like Youichi’s heart stops in his chest, the breath leaving his lungs in a rush. He doesn’t know what to say; does he admit that yes, he’d like for nothing more than for this to be a date? Does he reveal the fact he’s been harbouring feelings for Miyuki for years, feelings that had only grown stronger these past few weeks? He can’t read the expression on Miyuki’s face - is he joking?

“Yes.” The word claws its way out of his strangled oesophagus before he can stop it, and then words are spilling out despite the roaring in his stomach and his head screaming no, stop, before it's too late, “I mean. If you want.”

Miyuki’s eyes blow wide behind his glasses, and he leans back in his chair as he stares, unblinking. “Oh.” He says.

Youichi opens his mouth, the excuses beginning to form in his head, when suddenly a plate of steaming hot food is placed in front of him.

“Your food, sirs.” The waiter says, and smiles, seemingly unaware of what he’s just interrupted.

“Thanks.” Youichi says, politeness taking over, “Could we get two more beers, too? Thanks.”

“No problem.” He says, and then disappears.

There’s a second before Youichi bursts out laughing, burying his head in his hands as he shakes with laughter. He feels like crying - just his fucking luck. “What the fuck.” 

“Seconded.” Miyuki says, and Youichi looks up to see him smiling, but it's soft and sweet; not a smile he’s ever seen on Miyuki before. He might have to update his masterlist; it has been a while, after all. 

He takes a second just to drink him in - it might be the last chance he gets, if he’s fucked everything up. “It doesn’t have to be a date if you don’t want it to.” The words come easier now, although his stomach still feels like it’s in knots. “We can just forget I ever said anything.”

“No.” Miyuki says, almost immediately, and Youichi blinks, surprised. “I want it to be.”

“Oh.” He says. 

“Yeah.” 

They sit together in silence for a while, before the quiet between them becomes too much for Youichi to bear, and he picks up his yakitori skewer. “I don’t know about you,” He begins, shrugs to feign the nonchalance he craves so much, “but I’m gonna start eating now before my food goes cold.”

“That’s probably a good idea.” The sharp, familiar grin is back, and Youichi’s heart starts to race, stomach slowly untwisting; maybe he hasn’t messed everything up after all.

They eat and drink and laugh together, all the previous tension vanished away like magic. This is what Youichi misses, most of all; the times where they’d just sit and talk and it would feel like home, like this was how things were meant to be. They decidedly avoid all talk about relationships or the almost confession that just happened, but the anxiety doesn’t coat his stomach any more. He feels brighter, helped by the fact the food is delicious - they’d made a good choice, and Youichi notes to recommend the place to Zono, given its proximity to Seido. 

After they’ve gotten the bill and finished their drinks, Youichi gathers up all his confidence to ask, “So. We should probably talk?”

“Probably.” Miyuki answers, head propped up on one hand. His expression is light and open, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, and he’s almost never looked more beautiful, “But not here.”

“We can go back to my apartment.” He finds himself saying. “It’s not too far, just a few stops on the train.”

“Sounds good.”

“Good.” Youichi echoes. They stare at each other, the moments drawing long and stretching slow, like molasses; Miyuki’s eyes are almost golden in the low light, and he thinks he can finally see happiness twinkling inside them.

“Come on, then.” Miyuki says, slapping down a wad of bills before Youichi can protest and pushing himself to his feet, the chair scraping back behind him. “Let’s go.”

He holds out his hand, broad and calloused from many years of baseball practice. Youichi’s hands were like that once; now, in the years since he quit, they’ve softened, although there’s still the faint evidence of practice seared into his skin. 

He grins, sees Miyuki grin back in that beautiful, wild way of his, and takes the hand. 

They ride the train back towards Youichi’s apartment in near silence.

There aren’t many passengers about, which is nice because Miyuki forwent his sunglasses sometime between the restaurant and getting on the train, and also no one can see Youichi behaving like a teenager with a crush; he has to suppress the urge to look at Miyuki just because, bumps his shoulders against Miyuki’s multiple times just to feel the other man against him, to reassure himself that holy shit, this is real. 

Miyuki reaches out a hand and rests it on Youichi’s thigh; the touch burns through the corduroy and sears into his skin. He wishes it would brand him, a permanent reminder that Miyuki was there, had been a part of his life. The catcher squeezes, just lightly, but it feels like Youichi has been set on fire and been frozen solid all at once - all he can do is place his hand over Miyuki's own, rubbing a gentle thumb against the other's much broader digits until they get to Youichi's stop and have to pull away.

It feels like simultaneously seconds and an age before they arrive at Youichi’s apartment complex, and Youichi rummages in the pockets of his denim jacket for his keys. “This is me.” He says once the door is open, gesturing for Miyuki to enter, which he does. 

“It’s nice.” 

“It’s nice?” Youichi echoes as he closes and locks the door behind them. “Way to flatter a man.”

Miyuki turns to him, eyebrows furrowed. “What else do you want me to say? It’s an apartment, and a nice one at that.”

“Yeah but ‘it’s nice’ makes it sound like you hate it.”

“But it is nice.” Miyuki says, sounding genuinely confused, “Very… apartmently.”

Youichi snorts. “You’ve always had a way with words.” He begins to stride into the little kitchenette attached to the living room, “Tea? Coffee? Water? I have soda and beer, too.”

“A coffee would be great, thanks.” Miyuki says, making himself at home on the squishy, leather sofa Youichi had found on craigslist back in college. 

“Yes sir.” The sarcasm drips from the words, but he fills up the electric kettle anyway. 

Secretly, he thinks as he watches the steam spiral up from the kettle as it rattles and vibrates, he loves his little apartment. Sure, it could be nicer, but he’s made it home; there’s plants dotted around all the rooms that he’s somehow managed to keep alive, and he’s kept it mostly tidy and in onc piece since he moved in two years ago. It’s a sanctuary, a place he can just relax and be himself. 

He’s pouring water into their mugs when suddenly he’s aware of a presence behind him, and he turns only to immediately be boxed against the fridge-freezer by Miyuki, who slams a hand on the door next to his head.

“I’ve decided I’m tired of waiting.” He says, no more than a whisper.

Youichi blinks up at him, feeling smaller than ever. “Are you seriously kabedon-ing me right now?”

Miyuki’s eyes blow wide behind his glasses, and then he’s giggling, arm holding himself upright buckling so he’s almost completely pressing himself flush against Youichi. “Jeez, Mochi, you’re killing me.” The words come out breathless, soft and light, and Youichi’s heart begins to pick up in his ribcage, fluttering like something out of one of Sawamura’s god-awful shoujou mangas. 

It’s like all the air has been sucked out of his lungs as Miyuki dips his head, and he finds himself pushing himself up onto his toes so that their eyes are at the same level, and he’s only 5’7” but feels so much smaller next to Miyuki’s 5’10”. 

And then they’re kissing, and Youichi forgets about anything else. 

It’s soft, unsure, their lips moving tentatively against each other. Miyuki is warm against him, a burning flame like a stripe up the front of his body, but as Youichi wraps his arms around his neck and buries his hands in the mop of soft brown hair, he feels like Icarus, flying closer and closer to the sun. The other’s lips are chapped and taste a little like vanilla lip balm, like he bites them too much for the chapstick to work properly, and it's the stupidest detail for Youichi to notice but it’s so irrevocably Miyuki that he thinks he falls a little in love. He tugs on the short strands of hair and Miyuki groans, low and rough like it’s been punched out of him. It’s enough of an opening for Youichi to slip his tongue into Miyuki’s mouth, feeling a little weak at the knees.

He’s aware he’s being moved, tugged into the living area of the room but he just goes with it, unwilling to let their lips part. Next thing he knows he’s being pushed back into the couch cushions, the other man a hard weight on top of him. It’s everything he’s ever dreamed of and more, remembers the guilt coating his stomach after waking from dreams much like this, but never would have thought that it could actually happen. 

“I’m sorry.” Miyuki murmurs between kisses, “I’m sorry, Mochi.”

Youichi pulls away to look at him; the other’s gaze is averted to his lap, and his shoulders are hunched, like he’s trying to make himself smaller than he is. 

“What for?”

“For leaving.” The words are quiet, quieter than Miyuki has sounded in a long time. “I should have messaged you, messaged anyone. It was a shitty thing to do.”

“Hey,” Youichi says, pushing himself up. Miyuki easily slides off him and shuffles to the opposite end of the sofa, sits stiffly with his feet planted firmly on the floor. Youichi pulls his legs up to his chest and rests his arms on his knees, wondering where the hell this all came from, “It’s okay. You’re here now.”

Miyuki shakes his head, staring somewhere near the corner of the rug splayed across the wooden floor. “It’s not okay. I’ve hurt you, I’ve hurt everyone.”

Youichi lets out a sigh, heavier than he intended, and rubs his eyes. “Look. It was shit, I’m not going to lie. I kept thinking, “What have I done to make him leave me behind?”. I kept that with me, you know? Especially when I quit baseball after college, it was, “Well, I’m definitely not good enough for Miyuki now.”. But you had your reasons. And if you wanted to get in contact with anyone again I’m sure they’d get it too.”

“I was scared.” The words come out in a rush, like Miyuki needs to get the words out before it's too late, “That’s not a reason at all. I was trying to be a bigger person than I was, and in my mind that meant walking away from everyone I loved.” He swallows, finally turns to face Youichi, and his eyes are molten gold behind his glasses, filled with a mix of emotions that blur into one. “Including you.”

Youichi blinks, once then twice, before the words hit him. “Holy shit.” He blurts. 

Miyuki huffs out an incredulous laugh, but his gaze doesn’t move from Youichi, now burning with a ferocity reminiscent of the one he used to see on the baseball field, when Miyuki would swing his bat and hit home run after home run.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted you to say that?” He continues, lightly smacks Miyuki’s arm. “Since Seido. Can you fucking believe that?”

“I think I’ve been in love with you since then, too.” Miyuki says, and a smile finally curls the corners of his mouth again, small and soft, “It just took me a while to realise it.”

“You took your sweet time.” Youichi rolls his eyes, but leans in closer to press his forehead against Miyuki’s. They breathe in tandem for a few seconds, and his gaze drops from Miyuki’s eyes to the tip of his strong nose, tanned and freckled, to his lips, currently being bitten. “I love you too.” The words come out breathless, and he feels like his entire heart is on display, ready for Miyuki to crush it in his fist.

“Good.” Is the reply, before their lips are pressed together again, and again, and again until Youichi loses count of the amount of kisses they’ve shared. He could get used to this, he thinks absently, as Miyuki runs a hand up and down his back, slipping it beneath his shirt to rest on the bare skin of his lower back. He cups a hand around the other’s cheek, rubbing his thumb against the stubble that is already starting to grow again. It’s been a while since he’s done anything like this, and the fact that it’s with Miyuki, of all people, settles a warmth in his stomach as they kiss, and kiss, and kiss. 

Until, for some reason, his mind wanders, and he remembers.

“Fuck.” He swears, falls back to drape himself over the arm of the sofa dramatically, slapping his face.

Miyuki looks surprised in a way that’s almost comical; eyes wide, hair ruffled, lips red and swollen as he cocks his head, puppy-like. “What?”

“The coffee’s gone cold.”

Miyuki stares, owlishly, then falls into a fit of laughter, collapsing against Youichi. He’s warm and strong, and Youichi never wants to move from this position ever again, wants to stay in this little moment, just the two of them, forever. Once the catcher gets his breath back, he wheezes, “I thought it was something important.”

“This is important! It’s a waste of water and coffee.”

“We can make another.” Miyuki says, “We can make plenty of coffees.”

For some reason, the words feel like they have a deeper meaning. Maybe it’s just Youichi thinking too much into things, hoping for something more than what he’s getting, but he finds he doesn’t care.

“Sure.” He says, and smiles, “Sure we can.”

“Look what the cat dragged in!”

A roar goes up around the room, and Youichi grins, throws an arm around Miyuki’s shoulder and tugs him close. “You guys always called me a cheetah, but that’s taking it too far.”

“You are a cheetah!” Sawamura jumps up from his seat between Haruichi and Furuya, bounds over like the shiba inu puppy he is. “But I still can’t believe you got the tanuki here to come!”

“Yeah, well,” The catcher begins, leaning closer into Youichi’s personal space. He feels how nervous Miyuki is, tense against his body, and he squeezes his shoulder in what he hopes comes across as a reassuring way, “I thought I’d finally bless you guys with my lovely presence.”

“As if we even wanted it!” Jun crows, but the grin on his face as he drags Miyuki over to where their upperclassmen are grouped together says that he doesn’t mean it, not really.

Youichi feels himself smile fondly, just for a second before he’s glomped by an overexcited Sawamura. The headlock he puts the pitcher into is reflex by now. 

“Mochi, come sit with us!” The brunette whines; he’s well practiced at ignoring Youichi’s wrestling moves, too. 

“And why should I?” He quips, rolling his eyes, but loosens his grip and lets himself be hauled over to the opposite end of the room by the over-eager pitcher anyway.

He loses himself for a little while; talks to Toujou and Kanemaru about their new jobs in the city, talks to Haruichi about physiotherapy for a while, talks to Zono and Nabe about Kiyose and his boyfriend. It’s been a while since they’ve all been in a room together like this, but they’re celebrating Seido reaching Koshien again and the atmosphere is light and homely like he’s back in the dorm rooms again. Not everyone is there, of course - Chris is still in California, Shirasu and Nori are visiting Nori’s family, and most of the first years cited reasons why they couldn’t make it - but it feels like he’s back with his family and warmth spreads through his veins, not just from the beer he’s been drinking. 

Every so often he glances over at Miyuki, surrounded on all sides by people begging to talk to him and looking considerably out of his depth. It's the first one of these he’s attending, the first time some people have seen him in person since they graduated - of course he’s going to be a hot commodity. He doesn’t want to interrupt, but still he yearns to put his arms around him, just to feel him close again, to let Miyuki know it's okay, he’s here. 

It's during one of these staring sessions that Ryousuke makes his way over, dropping almost silently into the seat just freed-up when Zono went to get a drink.

“So when were you going to tell us you and Miyuki were dating?”

Youichi almost spits out his mouthful of beer; swallows and it goes down the wrong way, sending him spiralling into a coughing fit. It takes almost a minute for him to recover, head swivelling to Ryou who’s just staring at him with that shit-eating, cat-got-the-cream smile on his face. 

“How’d you know that?” 

“It’s very obvious, if you look.” Ryou relaxes in the chair, nods his head to where Miyuki is currently being accosted by Yuuki - Youichi is very surprised their old captain hasn’t produced a shogi board from somewhere. “The way you look at him. The way he looks at you, when you’re not looking. And the fact that you actually got him to come, something that everyone else has been trying unsuccessfully to do for years.”

Youichi sighs, buries his head in his hands. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” Ryou chirps. 

“Nope, it’s one-hundred-percent hatred at this point.” He drags his head back up, turns to level his gaze with Ryousuke’s own, “It’s only been a few months. We’re not advertising it, but if it gets out tonight we don’t mind.” 

“It started after you gave him physio, right?”

Youichi blinks. “How’d you know that?”

“You told Sawamura, Sawamura told Haruichi, Haruichi told me.” Ryousuke’s eyes have that sparkle in them when he knows he’s right and is just waiting for the other penny to drop - it's infuriating. “It didn’t take much to put two and two together.”

“You’re insufferable.” Youichi says, but he can’t help the smile that curls the corners of his mouth. “Do you think anyone else knows?”

His old partner props his head on his hand, gestures around the room. “These idiots? Not likely. Haruichi, maybe. Toujou and Masuko if they look hard enough, and if Chris was here he would have caught it the second you both walked in.”

Youichi hums, drains the rest of his beer. “They’d be okay with it, right?”

“That’s the stupidest question I’ve ever heard.”

“Good to hear.” 

“Seriously.” Ryou says, bumps his shoulders against Youichi’s in a rare display of affection. “No one would hate you guys. If they did I’d be very surprised, and they’d have me to answer to.”

Youichi shivers; he’s been on the receiving end of Ryousuke’s wrath too many times, and knows that he means every word that drips from his mouth. 

The other man looks up, eyes fixing on something behind Youichi, and rises from his seat. “I’m going to go now, before your man gives me another death glare.”

“Huh-” Youichi begins, but the next thing he knows Ryou has vanished, something he’s stupidly good at for someone with pink hair, and a familiar presence appears behind him. 

“What was the little devil saying?” Miyuki asks, dropping into the seat Ryousuke had just vacated. He’s all long-legged, broad-shouldered grace, and Youichi thinks, not for the first time, just how lucky he is that Miyuki is his. 

“Don’t let him hear you calling him that.” He says, pushing himself back so his chair is balancing on two legs. “He’ll have your head.”

That familiar smirk curls the corners of Miyuki’s grin. “I like to live life dangerously.”

Youichi smacks him. It’s light, and he knows Miyuki doesn’t care, but the catcher clutches his heart like he’s an eighteenth century noblewoman.

“He was asking how long we’ve been dating.” He says, ignoring his boyfriend’s antics. 

Miyuki’s eyes blow wide behind his glasses, and he stiffens in his chair. “Oh.”

“He was chill with it.” He continues, much to Miyuki’s visible relief; his shoulders drop, and he lets out a long, heavy breath, “He was just being a little shit.”

“Little, alright.” Miyuki mutters, so quiet Youichi thinks he wasn’t meant to catch it. Then he looks back at Youichi, that playful twinkle in his eyes that Youichi loves so much. “Shall we give them a show?”

“Yes.” He says, words rushing out in an overeager breath. He didn’t mean to sound so eager, but he can’t help himself - when it comes to Miyuki, he finds all rational thought going out the window. 

His boyfriend grins, the same grin he uses on the field when he’s come up with a particularly tricky play, and places a hand on Youichi’s shoulder, using that to pull him into his lap and crush their lips together. 

It’s barely a kiss, and certainly nothing scandalous; simply their lips pressed together, only a hint of movement. But it's enough for a screech to go up around the room after only a few seconds. 

“My eyes!” Sawamura - for of course it’s Sawamura - wails. “My pure, innocent eyes!”

Youichi pulls himself away, turns his head in the direction of the noise to see Kanemaru give the pitcher a smack around the head. 

“Stop being so loud!” He cries. Sawamura hiccups a few times, the crocodile tears in full force, as he buries his face in Kanemaru’s shoulder. The blond wrinkles his nose, brow creasing, but he lets him do it anyway. 

“I knew it!” Haruichi cries, punching the air before curling in on himself a little. “Sorry.”

“Congratulations!” Toujou says, sounding stupidly wholesome and genuine.

“Congratulations.” Furuya echoes. 

“Thanks.” Miyuki says, blinking like he can’t really believe what’s happening, even though it was his idea to show off in the first place. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Eijun bounds over, tears blinked out of his eyes within seconds. “If it was a secret, I’m good with them!” He mimes zipping his lips shut. 

“That’s a fucking lie.” Youichi snaps, “I told you about breaking my arm when I slipped on the toilet when I was a kid and that somehow got around the group within days.”

Sawamura sniffs loftily. “Yes, well, I’ve changed since then.”

“That was two months ago!”

“We just wanted to get used to things first before telling anyone.” Miyuki says, swinging an arm around Youichi’s shoulder; the weight is warm and familiar, and he settles into the touch. “It’s still quite new.”

The pitcher smiles. “Okay, I get it. Thank you for telling us!”

Toujou nods in agreement. “I wish you guys all the best.”

Youichi opens his mouth to say thanks, but it's immediately covered by Miyuki’s own lips, pressing hard and hot against his own. Everything else just melts away; he’s left with just the now-familiar burn of Miyuki against him, the heat blazing and spreading all the way down to the tips of his toes. No matter how many times this happens, Youichi thinks he’ll never get enough, he’ll never be sated until the day he dies. 

That is, until there’s the sound of fake-retching. Youichi unwillingly tugs himself away to see the entire room looking at them with varying expressions of incredulity and displeasure - not homophobic, he hopes. Of course, its Sawamura and Jun doing the retching, the two of them doubled over as they mime being sick over and over again. 

“Keep it in the bedroom guys, please.” Zono says, covering Nabe’s eyes with his much broader hands as their friend just stands there, stock still. 

“I think I’ve been scarred for life.” Haruichi says, voice small.

Sawamura finally finishes his disgusted act, straightening up to put his hands on his hips and announce, “I’m homophobic now.” 

Youichi sticks his tongue out at him. “Get bent.”

There’s the sound of metal on glass, and they all look towards the sound to see their old captain standing on a chair, cheeks flushed with the tell-tale sign that he’s had a bit too much to drink - if he hadn’t, there’s no way he would be wobbling on the chair like he is now. 

“To Miyuki and Kuramochi.” Yuuki says, raising his drink high in the air. “And their happiness.”

Youichi feels his cheeks flush a bright red, turns to Miyuki to see the catcher’s gaze securely in his lap - Youichi knows him well enough by now to know he’s very, very embarrassed. He bumps their shoulders together as the echo goes up around the group, “To Miyuki and Kuramochi!” 

He raises his glass in solidarity, out of the corner of his eye sees Miyuki do the same, and clinks their glasses together with a small, private smile. “To us.” He says, quiet enough that hopefully no one else hears over the background noise.

Miyuki doesn’t say anything in response, but he smiles back, just as small and just as private. It’s a smile he only sees once in a blue moon - in the bedroom, in the small hours of the morning when Youichi’s made pancakes, when they’re video calling after a long day of practice and work and Miyuki murmurs, “I love you.” before he hangs up. Youichi cherishes every single one - it’s like a gift for him and him alone. 

After a while, people begin to lose interest in them, returning to their own conversations. And Youichi finds himself feeling surprisingly okay with the way things went - he knew it would be the case, but no one cared, everyone was happy for them, and that’s all he could ask for. 

“That went well.” He says, unsure of what else to say. 

“I guess so.” Miyuki says. He leans back in his chair, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “I just never would have guessed six months ago that I’d be here, you know?”

“Yeah.” Youichi replies, because he gets it. Sure, he knows that Miyuki means it differently to the way he does - Miyuki had isolated himself, and Youichi had convinced himself he was happy with knowing that, with not knowing Miyuki. But now they’re together, and slowly but surely, things are changing. 

“Hey, losers!” Jun roars over the noise and chatter, “There’s a karaoke bar across the street, who’s in?”

There’s a chorus of agreement, amongst which Youichi turns to Miyuki with what he knows is wicked glee in his eyes. “You’re coming.”

“I don’t have much choice in the matter, do I?” The catcher rolls his eyes, 

“Nope.” Youichi grins, pops the p. “I’m going to make you sing ponponpon.”

His boyfriend groans, leaning all his weight against Youichi. “Then I’m making you sing snow halation.”

Youichi grimaces; he’s always had an unreasonable hatred for the Love Live franchise, ever since Sawamura got all the second years obsessed with it, played the music non-stop in their dorm room for at least six months. At the expression on his face, Miyuki throws his head back and laughs. 

“Do that and you’re dumped.” Youichi grumbles, which just makes Miyuki laugh harder.

“Never.” His boyfriend grins, that annoying, stupid grin that Youichi has unfortunately come to love, “You love me too much for that.”

He feels the corners of his own mouth twitch up into a smile of his own. “Maybe so.”

Miyuki just raises his eyebrows until they’re almost hidden in the fluff of his fringe. Youichi wiggles his back, refusing to let his admission become a big thing; they’ve said similar things so many times before. 

“I love you too.” Miyuki says eventually, eyes tracing the curve of Youichi’s face, dropping to his lips then back to his eyes. Youichi wants to kiss him again, so badly it hurts - he’d thought after a while the butterflies would vanish and he’d get used to the feeling that Miyuki was his and his alone, but it’s been months and so far they’re still going strong. He finds he doesn’t want them to leave. 

But before Youichi can pull Miyuki close, there comes a raucous from across the room. “Come on, lovebirds!” Sawamura calls, waving his hand that is interlocked with Furuya’s frantically, the other pitcher looking half asleep and completely used to Eijun’s antics. “Or we’ll get you to sing a duet!”

“We’re coming, calm down!” Youichi yells in return, then turns back to Miyuki, letting a smile fall onto his face. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Miyuki says, and takes his hand.