Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sawamura Eijun is a boy who wears his heart on his sleeves, a boy who is loud and sunny and not afraid to show it. He’s a boy who’s all encouraging shouts and sweat shed from hours and hours of hard work. He’s the one you see up earliest in the morning and is the last to leave late into the night. He is the hand held out to those who needed help, and the smile he gives is that of the sun. He’s summer.

Sawamura Eijun is a boy; and he feels so, so much.

There are those dark moments, such as everyone has, when he thinks he’s achieved nothing at all, when it seems that he is stuck in time, held by the chains of his failures and his mind. He still has scars, not the physical kind, but the one that runs deeper than skin and muscle. It’s the kind that soaks him to the marrow of his bone and stays with him when the moon is out.

It’s his second year in Seidou, but he is still kept up at night from a trauma he has never gotten closure to.

It is said that time soothes mourning—no, time makes nothing happen; it merely makes the intensity, the harshness of mourning pass. Time does not bring relief; they all have lied. Time heals nothing; it only rearranges one’s memories. All time ever does is pass and all he ever does is remember.

Time, time, time. It slipped past his fingers so easily, and he wished that he had something more than that to heal him.

He wanted to breathe. Strip his body of all weight. Replace his soul with abstract wings attached to nothing. He wanted comfort, and no one gave it to him. Instead, he was given scathing whispers questioning his worth and no shoulder to lean on. He was, in essence, nothing—he was ignored, not worth their time, and he could do nothing but accept it.

Sawamura didn’t like the feelings he was feeling—envy, anger, grief, fear, guilt—they’re terrible things that bloom thorns in his lungs and draw blood. They're ugly emotions that slip past his ribs and wrap themselves around his heart. It’s confusing, so, so paralyzing—it was rejection that clung to him like a second skin. And yet the only options now are: pay attention, or don’t.

He does. The hole in his chest breathes like a stupid mistake.

It’s his second year in Seidou, and he has pasts inside of him he did not bury properly.

Baseball, the one thing he had whole-heartedly poured his heart and soul into; he loves it so passionately, and now, all he hears are the doubts in his mind piling up. For Sawamura Eijun, it is too much sometimes. The memories of the hours he spent alone, feeling so, so abandoned, flood his mind, and he hates the sleepless nights. Because it's those nights, where he has to muffle the sounds of his sobs as to not wake up his roommates, that he cannot escape the feeling that, below the surface, something is breaking.

Sawamura had never quite recovered from his yips. Not quite yet. Not the after effects. The weakness, the helplessness he felt back then still lingers every time he pitches. Desperate, desperate, desperate.

He doesn’t know what he would’ve done if he didn’t have Chris. He pulled through by a thread, and he’s still hanging on it. Chris was there. He can’t express how grateful he is, how much he owes him.

The thing is, is that he feels so much. He is a cup that is overflowing, and he is filled to the brim with all that he feels. He is so close to spilling over, and the baseball in his hands barely grounds him. But somehow he bares his heart on his sleeve again like he always does, and no one notices the cracks. He has no gold to fill it in.

( Is he not enough?

Look at me! he screams, Look at how hard I’ve worked! How much I’ve improved! It comes out as, Catch for me!

His pleas are left unanswered, and he feels smaller.

He finds himself throwing to a net instead of a catcher’s mitt. He’s not enough. )

“I’m the ace for now! Hey, tanuki-senpai, catch for me!”

His trademark loud laughter follows, and this comes easy for Sawamura. His smiles wide, his eyes crinkling in mirth, his boisterous shouts echoing in the air. It’s easy to be like that. Easier than the frown that threatens to tug at his face. This is his normal. Miyuki rolls his eyes and snickers.

“Of course, of course Ace-kun~! A special privilege for you.”

Ah. Sawamura feels bile pool in his gut. He knows Miyuki didn’t mean anything bad by that. There was nothing wrong with what he said. But his words remind him of unfulfilled promises that had his eyes stinging.

( In the end, he’s still chasing after his back. )

He says nothing of his momentary turmoil.

“Hah! Exactly! So you’ll be catching for me for hours!”

“Hey, I’m not a machine, y’know.”

The one on his back feels heavy, heavy, heavy. He’s earned this, his efforts have been recognized! Sawamura, finally, is the ace. He’s almost in disbelief. His calloused fingers caress the one on his jersey carefully. The number is real. This is real. It’s tangible, within reach, and so very real.

The ace of Seidou.

The title tastes bittersweet on his tongue.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Furuya folding the number eleven in his hands in half to show only the one. Haruichi pats his back at that.

The number in his hands, he remembers, used to belong to Furuya.

His fingers press against his jersey tighter again. He’s the ace now. He needs to work harder. Prove himself.

Sawamura is the ace now. He’s worked hard to get this number, to get where he is now. Pride swells in his chest. His journey here, his effort; it was all worth it.

( He thinks. )

But it all comes crashing down the day he walks to the stadium for the tournament with his team, and he runs ahead in excitement across the street until suddenly he’s rolling to a stop on the ground, pain blossoming on his side. He feels something warm and sticky underneath him, and in a daze—what just happened?—he faintly notices the concrete of the street was rough and dirty.

“Sawamura!”

Just a ways ahead of him, he sees a car. The front of it looks like something had crashed into it, or the car crashed into something. He blinks sluggishly. His brain is slow to register what was happening, and the pain in his body explodes through his limbs, amplifying by the second. Despite himself, a pained groan escapes his lips.

Car. Blood. His hands are slick with crimson.

“Hey, hey, Sawamura, stay awake for us!” He hears someone yell. Panic. The voice is panicked. He only sees blurs and hears voices that weren’t quite clear. Was that Mochi-senpai? He doesn’t remember ever hearing him so worried. Someone in the distance yells for an ambulance. Ah, Sawamura doesn’t quite know, his ears were ringing.

Another throaty whimper leaves his mouth as a jolt of agony pierces his body. He feels more people around him, but his eyes are clenched shut as he feels blood rising up his throat.

“Eijun!” That was Haruichi, he thinks. He feels someone grip his shoulders tightly. He shudders at their touch as he croaks out unintelligible words.

“It hurts,” he rasps out scratchily. “It hurts—“

“Sawamura, hey, look at me.” He blearily opens his eyes—they felt like they were weighed down by tons—and sees the familiar glint of glasses. “Hey, don’t close your eyes. Stay awake. You’re the ace!”

“I’m the ace,” he echoes weakly. Sawamura coughs out blood. Red pools around his battered body. “I’m sorry, Miyuki.”

Miyuki stills, his grip on his shoulders tightening almost painfully, and he can’t make out his expression through his half-lidded eyes. Sawamura feels his hands go numb. His throat is wet with blood, but somehow it felt dry at the same time. “I’m sorry. Couldn’t even— even get to the stadium.”

“You will,” he says sharply, denying what the pitcher was implying. “Just wait. The ambulance will come. Keep your eyes awake.” The trembling of his voice betrays the fear he was feeling.

Sawamura doesn’t answer, already knowing what was going to happen. Tears burned in the back of his eyes. His lungs heaved for breath as more blood dripped down his face. The sky was clear. A cloudless day. It would’ve been a nice day to play baseball. The sight blurs as tears mix with the blood. He was bleary with agony.

There’s white noise everywhere. He doesn’t register much anymore, everything fading. The pain aching in his body numbs himself.

“...Wanna play with you guys,” he slurs.

He feels someone grab his hand. He’s not entirely sure, having lost feeling in his hands long ago. It’s cold. So cold. The only warmth he feels is the blood beneath him, albeit barely. A shuddering sigh.

His hands twitch to try to feel the hand gripping it. Still so numb, still so cold.

Sawamura is a boy; he is mortal; he dies in July.

He wakes up, in his third year of Akagi Junior High, with his chest tight and his breath heavy. His hands splayed against his torso in an attempt to calm his heart that threatens to burst out of his chest. A shaky breath leaves him.

Alive, he thinks, eyes wide. He feels so very alive.

Chapter Text

Grief, Sawamura learns, feels like fear.

The distant ache of his body fades away as he sits blankly on his head. He massages his temple, trying to rid of the headache that throbbed in his head painfully. His other hand clenched the sheets around him on the bed as he grit his teeth.

Another shaky breath leaves him, as if he wasn’t sure he was alive. A breath of air in. A breath of air out. Was this some sort of cruel dream?

Sawamura stumbles up from his bed, his legs knocking together before he manages to regain his balance. Almost instinctively he raises a hand up to his forehead again, feeling for blood. Nothing. He blinks once, twice, then roams around his familiar bedroom. His eyebrows scrunched together as he tried to remember where everything was, two years of living in the Seidou dorms having made his memory spotty.

Seidou. His gaze immediately darts to the calendar hanging above his desk in the corner of the room. Walking closer, his breath hitches in surprise and shock, and his hand moves to grip the chair in front of him.

It’s the April of his last year in Akagi Junior High.

He raises both of his hands to eye-level, turning them over to inspect them before doing the same to the rest of himself as he peered at his arms and legs. Thinner. He’s thinner, scrawnier. The muscles he’s gained from two years of training were gone. A quiet sense of loss flashed in him, but he shakes his head to get rid of the thought.

Grabbing the calendar, he drills holes in it with his stare. Real, this was real. Somehow, someway, he had come to the past. His memories were foggy when it came to his—

His death.

Sawamura gulped, hands shaking.

Car. Blood. Panic. For a moment, he sees red staining his skin. Instantly withdrawing his hands and letting go of the calendar, he rubs his arms to ground himself. The memory wasn’t very clear. He feels cold, numb.

( He’s an incredibly, stupidly sensitive person to everything that happens around him—everything he experiences feels so, so intense. He feels everything harshly and without rest. And when you feel as deeply as he does you think a lot, and you think about how you feel and you learn a little more about yourself. He does just that.

So his brain shakes with how much of this sense of displacement, grief, and regrets plagued his mind like a fog. )

The clock reads 5:27 A.M. The sun still had yet to fully wake, slinking on the horizons as its light timidly peaked through his windows. In the mornings, he would usually run. He glances at the door to his bedroom and tentatively pushes it open. Peeking out, not sure why he was being so cautious, he turns his head to see if anybody was in the hallway.

No one. He lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. Fully stepping out of his room, he pads down the hallway barefooted towards the kitchen. He needed to eat if he was going to go out on a run.

But walking into the kitchen, Sawamura doesn’t expect to see his grandfather sitting on the table with newspaper between his hands. They both snap their heads towards each other and their eyes widen at the same time.

“Eijun, what are you doing up so early?” His grandfather pauses, then, “Oho, are you that excited for your first day of school?”

Sawamura blinks, not answering for a moment before he waves his hands in front of him. “What, no! Just had a— a weird dream.”

Eitoku raises a brow as he folds the newspaper together and sets it on the tabletop. “Weird dream?” he echoes, raising an inquisitive brow. “Did you have a nightmare?”

“No!” Sawamura is quick to reply, shaking his head to deny it. “I— no, but I figured I wanted to go on a run. Get my mind off it or something. But I gotta eat before that.” His grandfather scrutinizes him for a minute, and Sawamura can’t help but fidget in his spot. He would have to get used to living with his family again this year, he realizes.

...How would they’ve reacted to the news of his death?

“Don’t be gone too long,” Eitoku says finally, picking up his newspaper. “Grab some food in the fridge. Don’t want to run on an empty stomach.”

“I know, I know. I’ll be back for breakfast!”

Sawamura calms himself down, trying to push away the dawning realization of what exactly was happening to him. Steadying his hands so as to not give away the fact that he was shaking—Sawamura Eijun does not shake—he grabs a quick snack. His grandfather watches his back retreat down the hallway, briefly wondering what kind of dream he had to get him of all people looking shaken. Sawamura goes back to his room to change into proper running clothes. He had forgotten he was in his pajamas.

He’s forgetting a lot of things. Already the memory of the— the accident was starting to fade, as if his mind was blocking it out. Trying to distract himself, he bites into the snack in his hands as he enters his room again. He closes the door and stands there still, half-eaten snack in hand.

The clock reads 5:35 A.M. Around three more hours until school starts. Shoving the rest of the snack into his mouth, he opens his closet and pulls off his pajamas to change.

Dead, is the word pops up into his mind when he sees his red shirt hanging off the clothes hanger. He flexes his hand into a fist. His heart beats steadily against his chest, and now he is so very aware of the movement of his chest as he inhales and the blood that runs through his veins. Alive, is the next word that comes to his head. Sawamura feels his lungs swelling with life.

A deep breath in.

A deep breath out.

He really wanted to run.

—

The sight of his middle school hit him with nostalgia, the feeling crashing into him like a freight train. Sawamura scrunches his brows together, tugging at his school uniform. He remembers Seidou.

He misses them.

His run had helped take the edge off of his thoughts, because now what mattered was the fact that he wasn’t dead; he wasn’t lying on the street bleeding out. He was so very much alive.

Alive and in the past. He wanted to scream. Tell someone, even if he knew that was really stupid. He was stupid. He was in the past. That thought keeps repeating over and over in his head like a mantra. His fingers pinch his arm for the fourth time this morning, the same sting bringing him out of his slight stupor.

Then once more, he’s thrown out of his thoughts when an arm slings itself around his neck and onto his shoulders, and a familiar laugh sounds next to his ear. “Eijun, what’s up with you looking so gloomy?”

He jolts at that, whipping his head to send an affronted look at Nobu. “Gloomy?! This Sawamura Eijun is not gloomy!”

“Probably just wants to play baseball,” he hears Wakana muse, the girl appearing by his side with an amused smile. “Pretty sure that’s all that goes on in his head.”

“Rude!”

Sawamura huffs out in mock offense, quickening his pace towards the school. He hears more laughter behind him and feels his own smile creep up on his face. It’s as if he never left Nagano before, the way he can just talk with them as easily as ever. Nobu catches up to him once he sees the boy slow down.

“You didn’t deny it, what she said,” he teases more, and Sawamura shouts empty threats at him as he tries to kick at Nobu’s legs.

“Went out on a run this morning,” he says, tilting his head up to look at the cloudy skies. He thinks of the clear sky before. “My energy has been depleted! But I will recharge once more when baseball practice starts!”

“Of course you will.”

“Why are you saying it to me like that?!”

The mention of baseball has an odd exhilaration thrumming forcefully in his chest. He licks his lips and his hands clench around a ball that is not there. His mouth sets into a neutral line as he walks in thought, Nobu and Wakana conversing with each other while sending him curious gazes.

“Be careful though. Are you making this run your daily thing?” Wakana asks. She tilts her head at Sawamura, catching his attention again.

“Yes!” he answers enthusiastically. “I want to improve my baseball now, more than ever. So I gotta train more!”

Pitches, he thinks, a shock of excitement tingling through his spine. His numbers. Blinking repeatedly, his usual smile is plastered on his face again as he lets out a boisterous laugh, true to himself. “Man, I really want to pitch now!”

“We have to get to the opening ceremony first, Ei-chan.”

“When did you run anyways?” Nobu asks with interest, arching a brow. Sawamura nervously laughs.

“Uh, around five in the morning. But it was very fulfilling!”

“How did you wake up at five?” His friend voices his shock exaggeratedly, cupping his hand over his mouth for dramatic effect, his eyes widening almost comically. Wakana lets out a noise of surprise, and Sawamura deadpans at them. “You’re always sleeping in!”

“That is not—!” A pause, and then, “I mean, not always! I’m taking this seriously!” His ears flush, either because of embarrassment or irritation, as they snort at his expense. For a brief moment, he forgets about his worries.

“Yeah, yeah,” Nobu pats his back. “Let’s hurry, we’ll be late.”

Sawamura glances to the side, the old baseball field next to the school worn and small. The pitcher’s mound is empty. When he blinks, he sees an achingly familiar white uniform worn on his form on the mound. He sees himself, ball in hand, ready to pitch, and other people ( pink hair, glasses, quick legs dashing to get the ball, home runs batted— ) surrounding him on base. He could hear their shouts, the crowd surrounding them, could envision the batter of the opposing team readying themselves in front of home plate.

When he blinks again, the field is empty. The weathered field had never felt so hollow.

“Yeah,” he says in reply to Nobu. Now, his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes as he turned back to face forward. “Let’s go.”

He springs ahead with them, deciding to push the memory of blood everywhere, of missed opportunities, and of old friends down with the rest of the lingering memories. He’ll see them soon, he tells himself. There’s nothing to worry about now. He’s okay. He has to be.

Because he’s Sawamura Eijun.

( The smile on his face, for once, felt painful.

Ah, he thinks, his cheeks were starting to hurt. )

Chapter Text

Nagano isn’t quite the same anymore.

It’s home. It’s where he grew up, where he fell in love with baseball for the first time. It’s the familiar, his childhood.

Sawamura misses Tokyo all the same.

Akagi Junior High is set to close down, his year being the last to ever attend it. He’s come to terms with that a long while ago, and he knows his plan of going to nationals to keep the school afloat was nothing but a pipe dream. His friends are surprised, to say the least, at how he wasn’t shouting his plans to take their baseball team to nationals with his usual fervor. Instead he’s actually doing something they could’ve never imagined him to do:

“Ei-chan, are you studying?”

Wakana stares owlishly at the boy who sits by his desk in his bedroom, Nobu peeking in behind her with just as much shock. Sawamura glances at them, then turns his eyes back at the books on his desk, pencil in hand. “You guys don’t have to look so surprised,” he grumbles, quickly scribbling something down.

They both let out a noise that’s the mix of disbelief and acceptance, and they step into his room. Wakana still hovers over his shoulder, staring at his notes while Nobu makes himself comfortable on Sawamura’s bed.

“Wait,” Wakana says, picking up one of the books stacked on top of each other. “Is this a book about baseball?” Nobu snorts and flips onto his stomach.

“Geez, Eijun, we thought you were actually studying for school. What a let-down,” he teases, watching Sawamura spin around in his chair to point his pencil at him.

“I am studying for school!” Sawamura huffs indignantly, crossing his arms. “It’s just— I’m looking at the books about pitching right now. I’ll have you know that I did study for the math exams!”

“Amazing.”

“At least try to sound more excited!”

“This is a lot,” Wakana pipes in, flipping through the pitching guide carefully. “Do you understand what it’s talking about anyways?”

“This is an insult on my intelligence!” Sawamura squawks, gesturing his hands in the air vaguely. “And yes! I do!”

“You’ve tried it out?” Nobu asks, curiosity lacing his tone. Sawamura nods confidently, hands clenching together unconsciously.

“Mind catching for me?”

They all find themselves in Sawamura’s backyard, Nobu crouched down with a catcher’s mitt in hand and Sawamura a distance away, warming up and stretching. He has a baseball grasped between his fingers, studying his hand as he alternates the grip every once in a while, and Wakana observes from the sidelines with interest. Sawamura, they learn, is someone that always keeps you on your toes.

A loud cackle escapes from his lips as he steadies himself to pitch. “Prepare to be blown away!”

( Sawamura’s pitching was always a sight to behold; so passionate, so earnest, so captivating, it made playing with him something they looked forward to. He was so damn interesting, maddeningly so. )

He raises his leg impossibly high, his balance unwavering, before his left arm snaps forward suddenly and the ball is hurtling towards the mitt. Nobu’s eyes widen as the ball comes towards him, something different about its speed, and he couldn’t even react when the ball breaks.

The ball lands on the dirt, rolling away behind him as Nobu stares at where it landed. He looks back up at Sawamura and blinks. “Eijun… Was that a breaking ball?”

“Yeah!” Sawamura answers, unperturbed by their astonished expressions. He feels pride rise up in his chest. More, he wants to pitch more. “My vulcan change-up! And there’s more where that came from!”

A grin stretches across Nobu’s face. Sawamura, he thinks, never disappoints.

—

Takashima Rei brings an unfamiliar boy with golden eyes to Seidou High School.

No one notices him, not at first. The two are talking, the boy gesturing to the field and Takashima-sensei nodding as she replies to whatever he said. She's giving him a tour, most likely since she's scouted him for next year. But then the boy hears Azuma.

Of course, Azuma was never one for niceties. The third year stands in the batting cage, his bat clenched between his meaty hands, as he screams insults at the pitcher pitching to him. Spittle flies out of his mouth, and the leering sneer on his face is all teeth, no charm. Well, he was here because of his batting skills, not his looks.

But this is when the players take notice of this golden-eyed boy that Rei has decided to scout. He doesn't do much, really, not shouting at the batter, not making a loud commotion or some grand entrance.

Instead, this boy fixes a glare on Azuma, the kind that has a sharp anger, an anger that’s dry and jagged and leering. His glare is a quiet kind of furious, because this boy is all but happy about the scene in front of him. It’s deep-seated fury, because he’s reminded that not everybody appreciates having a team.

It's the kind of glare that Azuma has to notice. And he does, and when he turns to meet gazes with him, he feels his shoulders tense. Gritting his teeth, he rolls his neck and directs his bat towards him. Immediately, he yells at him.

"Who the hell are you glaring at, bastard?!"

Azuma is a loud guy, not in a good way, but his words have most switching their attention on his newly selected target of his rage. It's a middle schooler. It’s Sawamura Eijun.

And that boy opens his mouth to speak. "Sorry," he apologizes, his tone insincere and his expression obviously unapologetic. He doesn't look scared of the large batter at all, only straightening up to make proper eye contact with him. He gives a half-hearted bow, then grins. "Just wonderin' if you can even run to base fast enough with that stomach of yours."

Sawamura has never been one to back down from a fight anyways.

The tell-tale signs of chaos begin to creep along the field, and everybody's swept up into it. Takashima-sensei, from behind the boy, sighs and adjusts her glasses, but it does nothing to hide the sly smirk stretching across her face. Azuma snarls furiously.

"You brat, did you just insult my cute belly?!"

The obvious disgust that paints the preteen's face is enough to force snickers out of some of those watching the scene, and his eyebrows furrow together in repulsion. "I really don't want to know what your standards are for what cute is."

Azuma is, predictably, being caught in by the bait a boy who isn't even in high school yet had laid in front of him. He's red in the face by now as he stomps towards the boy with nerves of steel. Sawamura doesn't so much as flinch seeing Azuma tower over him, the older trying and failing to intimidate him.

"Who the hell are you, brat?! You should know that I'm going pro right after high school!"

The boy looks skeptical at best, frowning as he casts a glance towards Takashima-sensei. She doesn't say anything, only briefly meeting his gaze before smiling secretively. He looks back at the fuming third year and scratches the back of his head.

"If that's true, I dunno if you're good enough to get away with being an asshole too though," he says, something akin to concern lacing his voice, but the expression on his face gave away the fact that it was anything but genuine. Before Azuma could even say anything back, he continues. "But hey, fatso, maybe you'll stand a better chance if you slim down a little!"

This time, most players are either gaping in shock at the balls of this kid, or poorly attempting to hide their shaking shoulders and snickers from sight. If Azuma was angry before, now he was practically steaming. The boy certainly knew how to press his buttons.

"Azuma-san," Takashima-sensei interrupts, causing the both of them to turn their eyes to her. "If you wouldn't mind, you could show him the true power of your batting."

Sawamura, almost unnoticeably, quirks his lips into a smile, but Azuma mistakes his silence for hesitance, and a wide, malicious grin grows on his face at her suggestion.

"This is a baseball field, is it not?" she asks, looking directly at Sawamura. "So why not solve your problem with baseball?"

A booming, ugly laugh escapes the third year as he looks down at the boy. "Hah, you'll regret ever crossing me, brat!" Sawamura only deadpans in response, shaking his head in what appeared to be disappointment.

"Is 'brat' your only insult in your vocabulary? Not that it surprises me that much."

There was a growing crowd of spectators surrounding them from a distance, but Sawamura hardly paid them much mind. Right now, he was focused on Azuma, memories of his past encounter with the third year making this face-off all the more exciting for him.

So he almost forgets that there was another person involved in this. He hears amused snickering behind him, and he turns his head to face Takashima-sensei and a certain sneaky catcher.

The sight of him sears his throat speechless for a moment as torrents of flashbacks burn through his head, but he’s quick to shake it off. Clearing his mind, he makes eye contact with him, gold to brown.

“Y’know, if you’re planning on coming here for high school, maybe embarrassing yourself in front of the whole team isn’t the way to go,” Miyuki drawls, his usual infuriating smirk drawn on his face. Sawamura eyes him, resisting the urge to punch him. Miyuki was still Miyuki, it seemed.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he snaps back, a little more aggressively than he meant it to be. Miyuki didn’t seem to be fazed, not that he expected him to be anyways, and Sawamura continues to act like he doesn’t know him. “Who are you?”

The catcher plasters on a charismatic grin that makes his face even more punchable. “Miyuki Kazuya, at your service,” he says teasingly, doing a mock bow. “Say, why don’t I catch for you? I want to see if you have the bite to match all that bark.”

Ah, how could he forget about how annoying this guy was? Sawamura purses his lips. “Since you offered.”

“I’m doing you a favor here, you could at least say thank you,” Miyuki says flippantly, observing the boy with interest to see how he would react.

“I rather not,” Sawamura grumbles, moving away from him. Even now, Miyuki was never good at first impressions. “I’m sure there’s a lot of other good catchers here anyways.” He thinks of Chris-senpai and Miyauchi-senpai, then looks back at Miyuki. He wonders how the catchers went from reliable to irritating.

“Maybe,” Miyuki shrugs, his expression nothing short of provocative, “but I’m the starting one.”

Takashima-sensei sighs, watching the two get along like a house on fire. Resting her hand on Miyuki’s shoulders, she says to Sawamura, “Ah, Sawamura-san, why don’t you stretch near the bullpen? Kazuya-san will join you in a moment.”

The boy switches his gaze between the two, arching a brow, before nodding and heading off. Miyuki averts his gaze from his back and shoots a questioning look at Takashima-Sensei. “What’s up with that, Rei-chan?”

She stays silent for a moment, adjusting her glasses. Miyuki tilts his head and asks, “You sure that guy knows what he’s doing? He just came and he already got Azuma all wound up. He’s a riot for sure, but where’d you find him anyways?”

“Nagano,” she answers, amused. “Thing is, I talked a little with him on the way here. And he has at least eight pitches.”

A pause, and then a loud laugh. “Hey, Rei-chan, you saying that bozo is a baseball genius or something?”

“His talent was never noticed because of his baseball team,” she continues. “They weren’t too bad, but they were hardly anything to write home about. Too much fielding errors and the like. But his pitching kept them afloat. I was lucky to find him when I was scouting.”

She smiles with a satisfaction she has when she knows she found a gem. “I think you should look forward to catching for him.”

Miyuki grins wickedly, his hands in his pockets. “Real interesting hearing this praise from you for him! Now I really want to see what he’s all about.”

He grabs some catching gear and puts them on, then approaches Sawamura who was finishing up his stretching.

“Took you long enough,” Sawamura puffs out, standing up straight. Miyuki lets out a snicker and waves his mitt in the air.

“Let’s play a little catch real quick.”

They warm up with each other by throwing a few balls back and forth, Sawamura’s throws getting progressively faster and powerful. But Miyuki has yet to be fully impressed, eyes watching him from behind the catcher’s helmet. Azuma, from the batter’s box not too far away, shouts at Sawamura.

“Hey, for all that talk, I’m sure I could hit those balls you’re throwing with my eyes closed!” He’s still sour at their spat, that much is obvious, and the next throw Sawamura does is harder. Miyuki chuckles under his breath, throwing the ball back and standing up from his crouching position.

“Alright, I think you’ve warmed up,” he says, heading towards home plate. He sends a challenging smirk to the pitcher and offers a thumbs up with his free hand. “Can’t wait to see what pitches you got, country boy~!”

“Don’t call me that!”

Sawamura comes to the mound, and when he steps onto it he’s hit with an overwhelming feeling—something was telling him this was right. This is where he belonged, in Seidou, standing tall on the pitcher’s mound. His shoulders relax, any stiffness he had leaving his body as he adjusted his feet on the dirt. A relieved breath leaves him, and he remembers what had happened here before.

“Oi, Miyuki Kazuya, take this seriously!” he barks, jabbing a finger right at him. Miyuki blinks, turning his head to the mound with his brows raised. “No fooling around!”

“Maybe I should be the one whose supposed to be saying that,” Miyuki deadpans. “Hey, I’m your senpai. Ever hear of treating them with respect?”

Then he pauses, glancing back at an angry Azuma swinging his bat, then back at Sawamura. “Ah wait. Never mind.”

“No funny business!” Sawamura shouts again, opting to ignore what Miyuki had said, and he waves a dismissive hand while nodding.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Geez, put a little more trust in me.”

Settling himself behind the home plate, Miyuki watches Azuma fall into his batting stance, his huge stature intimidating and with a presence that anyone couldn’t help but notice. But Sawamura himself looked relaxed. It was as if it were a normal day and he wasn’t pitching to fucking Azuma of all people, who was drafted to go pro after he graduated.

Miyuki hummed under his breath, a wide smile on his face. He was getting excited. More people were starting to surround the field to spectate. He decided to keep it simple, a fastball down the middle right where Azuma excelled at hitting. His favorite course.

Just to mess with Sawamura a bit, he thinks, his grin widening. A small wake-up call.

But Sawamura takes a moment to stare at them, golden eyes drilling holes. Miyuki can’t help but shiver, and he sees Azuma grip his bat tighter. A breath leaves Sawamura, looking like something he expected had come to happen. He mutters something under his breath before he moves naturally into his pitching form.

It’s fluid and something about it is painfully familiar. It’s as if Miyuki’s seen this before, as if he had been in this same position catching a thrilling ball from this boy; it’s a nauseating hit of deja vu that clamps his throat. But as soon as it comes it’s gone, and he’s left breathless as Sawamura winds up his leg amazingly high with an equally amazing balance to match.

His left arm is hidden behind him, before it snaps forward in a flash and the ball flies right in Azuma’s favorite course. He notices this, and he swings true to his ability as a pro-level batter. His swing is nothing to scoff at, but to everyone watching they hear none of the powerful collision they were expecting. Instead there’s an odd twack as the ball pops up into the air, and Miyuki stands up on autopilot to catch the ball as it falls back down.

“Out,” he says, a strange delighted grin edging on his mouth. He has a thought: He wants to catch more for this kid. “Azuma, looks like you’re out~!”

“What the fuck,” Azuma says, whipping his head back and forth between the two of them. The red in his face is back again. “That— that was a fluke! It won’t happen again!”

“Sure,” Sawamura snickers, all giddy and smug. “Well then, I guess that was my win!”

Miyuki stares at the ball in his mitt, his mouth quirking up even higher. That was obviously going to be a clear hit, but he saw the ball break at the batter’s chest, even though he asked for a fastball.

“Hey, Miyuki Kazuya, what did I say?” Sawamura shoots him a stink-eye, and Miyuki raises his hands in mock surrender. “He would’ve totally hit if I followed what you told me to throw!”

“But you didn’t throw it,” Miyuki says, arching a brow. “Did you know or something?”

“Felt like he was gonna hit,” Sawamura replies, a little quieter. A glossy look to his eyes; and then he raises his head, a dazzling smile on his face when he turns to Azuma. He lets out a triumphant laugh. “Take that, fatso!”

“You—!”

“Ahem,” Takashima-sensei steps in, clearing her throat. “I’ll have to take him back to Nagano now.”

The crowd of spectators murmur together, having watched the whole thing play out. Sawamura leaves all of them behind, walking out the school gates with Takashima-sensei leading before Miyuki can even ask him more about his pitching. He was here as quickly as he was gone.

Miyuki slips off his catcher’s gear, and he hears some people behind him.

“What the hell,” says one of them, and Miyuki turns around to see his senpai—Tetsu-senpai, Ryousuke-senpai, Jun-senpai—standing there. Jun was the one who spoke, his arms crossed. “Did that middle schooler just get Azuma out on his first swing?”

“Yup,” Miyuki affirms, popping the ‘p’. He sets the vest down on the bench next to him. “I think he threw some kind of changeup.”

“I don’t recognize him from any articles,” Ryousuke mutters, his eyebrows furrowed together. Tetsu, as serious as ever, has a fierce smile on his own face.

“I want to bat against him,” he says, and they all lean back from the determination and challenge that rolled off of him in waves. Ryousuke pats his back as Jun shouts something about him needing to practice his batting more then. Miyuki’s eyes wander back to the gates, wondering about the pitcher.

“Think he’ll come next year?”

Miyuki looks back at Ryousuke, who looked at him questioningly. At least he thinks he was; the pink-haired second baseman was as unreadable as ever with his closed eyes and scary smile. Miyuki could only shrug in response, not sure as well.

“Guess we’ll see when next year rolls around.”

Chapter Text

Sawamura stands in front of the room he would be staying at for the years to come. It’s a sight that has him reminiscent and giddy as he rolls on the balls his feet with his bag slung carelessly over his shoulders. A sly grin is on his face as he remembers their room’s tradition.

He doesn’t knock; instead he muses to himself about what he should do to get back at them.

Should he just not react? No, that’d be too easy. Prank them back? But how would he do that? What would he do? Ah, he should’ve remembered this tradition earlier so he could’ve prepared more thoroughly. Too late for regrets now though.

He huffs through his nose, grabbing the strap of his bag and knocking on the door. Whatever, he’d get his revenge later. He hasn’t seen Kuramochi and Masuko for a long while, but he makes sure to remind himself not to blow his cover.

The door ominously swings open, and Sawamura is met face to face with the bloodied face of Kuramochi, eyes rolled up as he leans out of the room menacingly. And see, as much as Sawamura expected this, the sight of red dripping down his face triggers his fight-or-flight instinct: obviously, he chooses fight.

Instantly, he moves and reacts by launching his bag right at Kuramochi’s face as he steps back with his eyes widened. A muffled yelp leaves the second year as he stumbles back from the force of the bag colliding with his face. Sawamura, after two seconds, realizes what he’s done and shrieks, and he sees Masuko behind Kuramochi trying to keep a straight face as his shoulders shake from silent laughter.

“Oi!” Kuramochi lowers the bag, the fake blood dripping down his forehead. Sawamura holds back to urge to flinch. “What was that for?”

He wasn’t entirely pissed, moreso amused and interested in his new roommate at how he reacted to their little prank, but he put on a scowl anyways. The golden-eyed boy in front of him seems familiar, then a memory of someone getting Azuma out in one pitch comes to mind and he feels his scowl slipping off his face.

“You scared me!” Sawamura splutters, jabbing a finger at them. He knows he saw it coming, but he couldn’t help it! “I just reacted!”

Kuramochi has a wide grin on his expression now, guffawing while patting Sawamura’s back hard enough to get the boy wheezing from the force of it. “It’s our room tradition! Last year when they did it to me, I was so scared I couldn’t get up!”

Masuko steps forward to get Sawamura’s attention and lifts up a board scrawled with surprisingly neat kanji, saying ‘Nice to meet you.’ Blinking, Sawamura offers a bright grin and a loud greeting back in return. Kuramochi, after handing back the bag, heads into the room while rummaging for video games. “Don’t mind him, he made a mistake in a match the other day, so he banned himself from speaking.”

A pause, and then, “Oh right! I’m Kuramochi Youichi! This big guy,” he points at the other silent teen, “is Masuko Tooru!”

“Nice to meet you too!” Sawamura shouts. “I’m Sawamura Eijun!”

“I remember you,” Kuramochi mentions off-handedly. Picking up one of the video games, he sends a sharp smirk towards him. “Because of Azuma. Don’t be getting a big head though.”

“I wouldn’t!”

“Anyways, let’s have a video game tournament! I’ve picked some games out for us, so we can bond as roommates!” His grin is good-natured but devious, and Sawamura knows exactly what he’s up to. Setting his bag by the empty bed, he pouts.

“Aw, but I heard we got early practice tomorrow,” he innocently points out, scratching the back of his head. Masuko’s lips twitch up a bit as Kuramochi taps the game controller in his hands a tad impatiently. “Don’t want to be late on the first day because we stayed up late playing games.”

Masuko gives Kuramochi a look, entertained by the first year, and Kuramochi’s grin becomes tight. “It wouldn’t hurt to do it for a few hours. What, are you scared?”

Sawamura’s eyebrows twitch at the obvious taunt, gulping down the challenge that was rising up his throat. “Of course not!” he denies, furiously shaking his head and raising his arms up to form an x. “This Sawamura Eijun would never!”

“Oh c’mon then, what’s stopping you?”

“My sleep schedule!”

His answer has Masuko letting out an unattractive snort and Kuramochi’s brows raise up. Sawamura shrugs off his jacket as he plops himself on his bed. He watches Kuramochi groan in disappointment, Masuko quickly scribbling something on the board before revealing it to him. ‘He sees right through you. Smart kid.’

“Shut it.”

Sawamura feels a smile growing on his face. Something warm, something homely settled in his bones.

His homesickness doesn’t quite ring as loudly in his ears anymore.

—

He wakes up early.

This is the usual morning for him: there’s something hazy in his mind that has his heart threatening to burst out of his chest, some kind of memory he faintly remembers.

( He knows exactly what he dreamt about. But it’s different than knowing what it is than actually, really, thinking about it.

It’s so very easy to treat it as a vague nightmare. )

Then Sawamura stays in his bed, staring at nothing until the fog clears. He goes on a run, both for conditioning and to clear his mind. He’s careful not to wake his sleeping roommates. It’s early in the morning, always when he wakes up. The air isn’t as crisp and fresh as Nagano, he thinks as he runs around the perimeter of the field.

The Tokyo morning sky is a pretty sight, but he prefers nighttime at Nagano to the one here. The city lights in Tokyo didn’t let him see the same stars as he did before.

The sun was rising lazily along the horizon, just enough for orange and gold to color the sky, fading to a pleasant blue. Sawamura’s legs felt slightly sore, and he slowed his pace as he neared his last lap. It was too bad he didn’t have his tire yet.

His first day at Seidou wouldn’t be as much of a disaster as it was before. Thinking back, he can’t help the embarrassed quiet laugh bubbling up that leaves his mouth as he comes to a stop next to a bench where he had set his water at. Catching his breath, he grabs the bottle and gulps down half of the water in it, then wipes off the sweat beading his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Gotta take a shower after this,” he mumbles under his breath as he walks back to his dorm to fetch a change of clothes. No one was up yet, but it’d only be a matter of time before some do. Lifting his shirt up a bit to take a quick sniff, his nose scrunches up in disgust. “Yeesh, I smell like sweat.”

Approaching his room, he opens the door carefully only to find that his two roommates were already up. Kuramochi was slipping on his shirt and Masuko was preparing for his morning shower when he entered, and they both turned their heads to him when he stepped in.

“Look at you, early bird,” Kuramochi leers, his usual grin on his face. He arches a brow when he sees Sawamura’s sweaty form. “You go on a run or something?”

Masuko grunts in agreement, as if to echo his question as he sends him a questioning look as well. Sawamura nods as he rummages through his clothes to wear after his shower. His uniform lay on his bedside.

“Yeah, I do it every morning,” he says, slinging a towel over his shoulder. The other two have their own towels in hand as they all ready themselves to take their short morning showers before practice. “A few laps around the field and I’m wide awake!”

“What time did you even wake up?” Kuramochi asks, peering at the clock. He gives it a disbelieving look. “It’s like six right now.”

“Is it?” Sawamura replies a bit dazed. “Oh, then I must’ve woken up around five then.”

Masuko looks at him oddly and Kuramochi pushes open the door. “Geez, why would you wake up that early to run, man? How many laps did you do?”

Sawamura just shrugged, answering with a half-truth. “Used to waking up that early,” he answers. “And I think I ran... ten laps, give or take.”

For some reason, Kuramochi lets out a loud laugh, sounding like a mix of a cackle and a howl, and Masuko only shakes his head. Sawamura stares at them confusedly as they walk out of the room. “Y’know, I really wanna see you pitch!”

Sawamura puffs out his chest, confidence and pride oozing off of him. “Hah, my pitching is awesome, so just you wait!”

“Hey, hey, what’d I say about getting full of yourself?”

“Confidence! It’s confidence!” Sawamura insists, waving around his towel. He narrowly misses Kuramochi’s head as he continues, the other boy kicking at Sawamura’s ankle in response. “There’s a difference between being—ow! Why’d you kick me?!—ahem, being full of myself and confidence!”

“Yeah, sure,” Kuramochi assents, although not entirely sincere. “But you’re walking the thin line between the two.”

“Excuse me, senpai?!”

“You heard me, idiot. Bakamura.”

Sawamura realizes now how Miyuki and Kuramochi became friends. He resigns himself to the relentless torrent of insults mixed with teasing he would have to get used to again. Masuko only grunts while observing them with amusement, looking off into the distance every once in a while to wonder about which pudding flavor to eat. So much for relying on his senpai.

Speaking of Miyuki… Sawamura glances in the direction he remembers his dorm to be. Despite himself, a gleeful grin slips on his face. Ah, to see Miyuki getting chewed out by the coach instead would make him a happy man. Karma for setting Sawamura up last time.

“What are you all smiley about?”

“Just excited for baseball practice!”

After they were done getting ready, uniform and all, Sawamura had joined the rest of the first years lining up to introduce themselves in front of the team and the coach. Miyuki was nowhere in sight, and Sawamura spotted a familiar head of pink hair amongst the rest of the newcomers. He picked up his pace as he approached him, taking the empty spot next to the boy.

They had yet to begin the introductions, so Sawamura took this chance to do it himself to him. Softly nudging the smaller boy on the arm, he beams at him and makes sure to lower his voice. He was excited to see his closest friend from before here again! “Hi there! I’m Sawamura Eijun, it’s nice to meet you!”

The pink-haired boy jolts at the sudden acknowledgement, a blush covering his cheeks as he hid behind his bangs. Fumbling with his fingers, he mumbles out his own greeting.

“Ah, hello. I’m— I’m Kominato. K-Kominato Haruichi.”

If possible, Haruichi watches this strange boy’s grin grow wider. Still confused why Sawamura had decided to approach him, he bows his head as Sawamura talks more.

“Ooh, I’m excited for practice now,” he whispers, although it did nothing to hide his bright enthusiasm. “Kominato-san— wait, can I call you Haruichi? Haruichi-san, I bet you’re really good at what you do. You look like you would be a real good batter!”

Haruichi’s face reddened further, unused to the compliments that came flying his way. Opening his mouth to try to return the gesture, he’s interrupted by the intimidating coach standing tall in front of all of them.

“Is this everyone who wants to join the team?”

His question prompts all of them to shout, “Yes, sir!”

The coach, Kataoka Tesshin, nods at their response, still stone-faced as ever. Sawamura could see some of his peers flinching whenever the coach looked at them. He didn’t blame them, sure that he would’ve been one of them if not for the fact that he was already familiar with his fierce expression. “All of you, introduce yourself in order.”

Sawamura only pays half-attention to them to make sure he didn’t miss his turn, casting side glances to where he remembered he bumped into Miyuki. He catches a view of the top of a cap peeking out, and purses his lips to keep himself from smiling and snickering like a maniac. Haruichi gives him a concerned look at the odd expression on his face.

“I’m Ooshima Hiroshi, from Miyagawa Shinia! I hope to play shortstop! I have confidence in my defense!”

Realizing it was his turn to step up next, Sawamura clears his throat. He makes brief eye-contact with his roommates, Masuko giving a thumbs-up and Kuramochi lazily yawning while raising his hand with a half-hearted okay sign.

“I’m Sawamura Eijun, from Akagi Junior High! As a pitcher, I hope to bring this team to Koshien!”

His bold declaration turned heads towards him, but he said those words fully intending to make sure he would make it come true. It would be overly cocky of him to say he would be ace, so he settled for saying he’d bring them to Koshien. He doesn’t notice the awed glance Haruichi sends him at his confident words.

From where the regulars were standing, Jun loudly whispers to them, “Hey, isn’t that Sawamura guy the one who struck out Azuma a few months ago?”

Ryousuke’s smile becomes eerie as he moves to the side to catch a glimpse of said boy, spotting him next to his brother. Tetsu clenches his fist as if holding onto a bat, muttering something about wanting to bat.

Stepping back into his position next to Haruichi, the pink-haired boy steps up to introduce himself as well. As the next first years step up after, the coach eventually finds Miyuki trying to sneak back into the line behind him without getting caught. Sawamura snorts as Miyuki is forced to run around the field with the tire, and Haruichi wonders if he had something against the guy.

After the introductions ended, they all headed to breakfast, Sawamura sticking next to Haruichi. Despite this being the first time Haruichi had met him, Sawamura kept up the conversation easily, as his prior experience and years spent with him made it natural.

“So your brother is one of the regulars?” Sawamura thinks back to scary Ryousuke-senpai, and an involuntary shiver runs down his spine. “So both of you are good!”

“Sawamura-san,” Haruichi sighs, “you’ve never seen me play.”

“But I bet you’re good,” Sawamura says adamantly. “Call it a gut feeling! Besides, shouldn’t you think you’re decent as well?”

“Well—”

“Yo, firsties! Eat up all three bowls before practice starts!”

Haruichi tries to force down his third bowl, but Sawamura, used to this amount due to his diet at home, manages barely to plate it, setting down the now empty bowl on the table with a resounding clatter. Drinking some water to help it go down better, he leans into the back of his chair.

“Practice is going to be painful,” Haruichi murmurs, shoving a spoonful of rice into his mouth. Sawamura laughs.

They cleaned up their bowls and trays, and as soon as everyone finished they were all heading to the field. The coach tells the newcomers to head to the B field for testing themselves for their desired position. Sawamura contemplates which pitches he would be able to show properly when they ask. Haruichi, noticing his thoughtful expression, tilts his head. “Don’t worry about the testing,” he assures, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll do great, Sawamura-san.”

“Haruichi-kun…” Sawamura pats his own chest, a touched look in his eyes. “Thanks! You can call me Eijun if you want!”

“Uh, Sawamura-kun is fine.”

“How about Eijun?”

“Um—”

“First-years, over here!” Someone yells in the distance, catching Sawamura’s attention. He lights up and gives a small goodbye to Haruichi.

“Oh, guess it’s our turn! Watch me!”

Haruichi can’t help the fond smile on his face, lips twitching up in exasperation. “Sure, but hurry up. Don’t want to be late.”

“I would never!”

Sawamura bounced over to where the other pitchers were, eyes searching through the small crowd until they landed on Furuya with Haruichi in tow. But before he could come over to introduce himself, the person in charge of seeing their skills grabbed everyone’s attention.

“We’ll be testing your grip strength first.” Holding up the device for the grip strength testing, the man continues. “After we record your results, we’ll go see your batting and base running. For pitchers, you’ll inform us what pitches you have and throw them as well.”

Haruichi watched as Sawamura practically vibrated in excitement, a small laugh escaping his lips. He was like an over-excited dog, he muses as the boy in question fidgets in his spot. Tapping on his shoulder repeatedly, Sawamura urges them to move. “Let’s go, let’s go! I can’t wait to pitch!”

“Okay, calm down a bit first, or you won’t be able to pitch your best, Sawamura-kun.”

As they settle down, Sawamura lifts up the device and forms a fist, squeezing his fingers together with all his strength. After a few seconds, he lets go, scrutinizing the 47 kg. score on it. He hums in satisfaction, turning to Haruichi to catch a glimpse of his score. The pink-haired boy stares at Sawamura’s, blinking.

“That’s… a really good score.”

“Thank you! I’ve trained a lot!”

They hear surprised gasps and whispers about one of the other’s results, and the few words they can latch onto makes Sawamura’s face amused and Haruichi’s face shocked.

“54 kg.?” Haruichi mumbles quietly to himself. “Geez, how strong is that guy?”

Furuya was still a monster in terms of that like before, Sawamura thinks dryly, a chuckle leaving himself. After their results were written down, they moved onto the next tests. He was proud to say he was leagues better at batting than when he had first come to Seidou before, although it would be much to say he was on par with the regulars. He could make decent contact, and he knew that already was an improvement from before.

But, he thinks smugly as the pitching machine launches a ball towards him, he was still the bunting master. Switching his grip, he perfectly killed the ball’s momentum and directed it to the right, where it would’ve rolled down along the baseline to first base.

“That’s your third perfect consecutive bunt,” Haruichi says, impressed. His turn for batting had passed already. Sawamura takes his statement as a compliment and thanks him as usual.

“I knew you were super good at batting,” he beams, roughly patting the smaller boy’s back. “What did I say? Were you doubting me and yourself?”

“You’re very liberal with your compliments,” Haruichi points out, shoulders slumped. He had gotten more used to his excessive praises now, but pink still tinted his ears.

“Only for good reason!”

The test for pitchers was starting, and Sawamura reminds Haruichi to keep a look out for him, telling him ‘I’m totally awesome, just wait and see!’ Haruichi finds himself believing that.

Some others had gone first in order of their surnames, and watching Furuya shock the people watching with his bullet of a fastball had Sawamura feeling a mix of old envy and satisfaction. The acknowledgment of Furuya was well-deserved, and this was his rival! It was only right. But old memories bring out old envy; Sawamura shoves it down to the bottom of his gut.

“Sawamura Eijun! It’s your turn.”

Startled out of his reverie by the sound of his name, he jogs up to the girl holding up the clipboard that documented their info. The manager doesn’t look up, eyes focused on the paper as she asks the boy, “Sawamura Eijun, pitcher, correct? How many pitches can you throw, and what kind?”

Sawamura bites his lip softly, taking a second to reply. Not all of his pitches were stable enough to throw yet, so he’ll hold back on them for now. He doesn’t notice some of the glances being thrown his way by some of the first years, who were curious as well. “I can throw about… eight?”

A beat of silence. The manager looks up from her clipboard.

“Eight?”

“Eight,” Sawamura repeats.

The manager blinks once. Sawamura stares back. The girl blinks again, then furiously scribbles something down, the sound of pen against paper loud between them. She lifts her head again, a vigor to her movements that wasn’t present before.

“What pitches can you throw?”

“Well,” he says contemplatively, holding up a hand to keep count. “I have three change-ups, a two-seamer, a four-seamer, a crossfire pitch, a curveball, and a cutter.” Going over them in his head, he nods to himself while oblivious to the flabbergasted looks he was getting. The manager quickly wrote it all down, a wide smile on her face.

“Great, great, can you pitch them now?” she asks excitedly, bouncing on her heels. Sawamura brightens at the chance to show off, answering with an enthusiastic agreement.

Stepping up to the mound, he feels a rush of euphoria flow through him, to his fingertips and to his toes. Turning to the home plate, he lets out a noise of surprise when he sees a familiar stoic face step up to the batter’s box. He wasn’t the only one surprised, those watching staring at the batter baffled.

“Sawamura-san, you wouldn’t mind pitching to me, would you?”

“Ah, captain-sama!”

Yuuki Tetsuya stood in front of home plate, helmet on and bat in hand, power and competitiveness radiating from his form. Sawamura feels sweat on his back, a sharp smile on his face that he sends to the captain. He raised his hand with the baseball grasped between his fingers.

“Challenge accepted!”

Chapter Text

The thrill of being here—at Seidou, pitching to them—has his heart thrumming in his chest, his eyes wide alight with a thirst to prove himself, and a smile that falls easily onto his face. Sawamura falls in love with baseball for the second time today.

Tetsuya stands in his batting position, his form strong, and Sawamura knows how much power he held, how scary a batter he was. The thought of it stretched his grin wider. Someone steps up, donning a catcher’s gear, and Sawamura recognizes the glint of glasses from underneath the helmet.

“Miyuki Kazuya!”

“That’s my name,” the teen in question replies, moving closer to the mound. “So you remember me.”

“So do you!”

He shrugs, not denying it. Sawamura made for one of the most interesting days of his first year, and there was that strange feeling he got when he caught for him. “Well then, guess we’re partners again today. You’ve got the captain as your first opponent here.” A snicker slips past him, eyes looking at Sawamura in obvious mirth. “You’re a real troublemaker, aren’t you? First Azuma, now Tetsu; who's your next target, hm?”

“I should be the one calling you a troublemaker! Late on the first morning practice, Miyuki Kazuya!”

The catcher’s eye twitches. “It looks like you still haven’t learned respect for your senpai.”

“Nonsense! I treat Mochi-senpai and Pudding-senpai with the respect they deserve!” Sawamura narrows his eyes at Miyuki, the second year gasping at his words.

“You give Kuramochi respect and not me? Your priorities are screwed!”

“I have them in perfect order,” he says matter-of-factly. “Like right now, shouldn’t we discuss my pitches?”

They stare at each other. Miyuki sighs. “Your pitches. You said you had eight?” Sawamura repeats what he had told the manager, and Miyuki’s face shifts from annoyance to a devious grin. His expression screams mischief, and Sawamura leans back slowly at the sight of it, fearing what would happen in the future when he learns that he, in fact, had eleven pitches.

“Oh, you’re fun.” Miyuki smirks. “We’re gonna have a ball!”

Returning back to home plate, Miyuki and Tetsuya exchange nods. Adjusting the helmet on himself, Miyuki feels that same overwhelming feeling of deja vu, like he’s done this before but no clear memory came to mind when he thought about it. Raising the mitt, he holds out two fingers under it. A two-seamer.

Sawamura nods, and then there’s that unique posture of his when he pitches, the way his legs raise up and his left arm disappears behind him that has the both of them reeling for a split second. And in a flash, his arm snaps forward and the ball flies to Tetsuya. Tightening his hold on the bat, the captain watches its course and swings, the sound of wood slicing through air ringing in everyone’s ears.

But the ball breaks in towards his chest and down, and he misses. It lands in Miyuki’s mitt, the catcher barely having to move it. Tetsuya’s smile is feral now, excited at the prospect of facing a tricky pitcher.

“Strike!”

Sawamura, atop the mound, pumps a fist in victory. Tetsu-senpai was scary to face, and Sawamura, as much as he’s improved, was still not the same as his second year self. He catches the ball Miyuki throws back at him, and shifts his grip on the ball. Miyuki crouches back down.

“Oi, Tetsu! You better not lose to some newbie!” Jun roars from a distance away. A small amount of the regulars were watching the mound with slight interest, curious about the first year their captain wanted to face. Jun’s loud voice could be heard from the other field. “I’ll beat the shit out of you if you do— ow!”

He’s interrupted by Ryousuke jabbing his hand on the back of his neck, his sickly sweet smile unwavering. “Jun-san~ What do you think you’re doing, yelling like some rabid dog during practice?”

“Wha— Who are you calling a rabid dog?!”

“Dammit, the captain’s gone when you need him!”

From the mound, Sawamura quietly laughs to himself when seeing how energetic they were. It was only right he matched them since he was the one pitching. The captain’s fierce aura only flared when he heard their ragging.

Miyuki shakes his head and holds out another signal. His circle changeup. Sawamura immediately goes into his pitching form again, keeping up a fast pace. Tetsuya tenses as the ball sails through the air towards him as he swings, but he realizes a second too late that it’s off-speed. He grits his teeth and changes his footing, barely managing to skim the ball with his bat. The ball crashes against the chain-link fence behind them.

“Foul!”

The chattering of the spectating crowd gets louder as Sawamura wipes off the sweat starting to form on his forehead. He breathes out harshly, an insatiable grin on his face. That was close, he thinks. He managed to touch it. Again, this face-off reinforced his idea of the strength his captain had.

“That was decent,” Miyuki shouts at him, throwing back the ball. “But this is our captain, after all~! Step it up!”

“Shut up, Miyuki Kazuya!”

The next ball is another two-seamer to a different corner. Tetsuya manages to touch it by a hair, fouling it again. A few yells from Juns are heard again as Miyuki throws the ball back to him. Sawamura licks his lips in anticipation for this next pitch.

Squeezing the ball, he looks at him for another signal. And of course, Miyuki decided to ask for a four-seamer to the outside, fast and simple. His grin is impish. Sawamura inhales deeply, then exhales. It was time to prove his mettle. Arm stretched back, he forces as much power as he could into his fingertips as he throws the ball to Miyuki’s mitt. He inhales sharply when he realizes the course is slightly off.

Tetsuya, true to his position as the four-hole batter and captain, notices and swings. It hit with a resounding clang, and the pitcher watched in awe as the ball soared overhead into the outfield, just short of the fence. It would’ve been a double if this were a game. Despite him not being able to strike Tetsuya out, Sawamura looked somewhat giddy, strangely enough.

To him, he did good not letting him take a homerun, although he did hope to strike him out. But that was still too much to ask of the moment for first year Sawamura.

“Ooh, that was a scary swing!” Sawamura gushes, bounding over to where the captain stood. He ignored Miyuki completely, instead singing praises about Tetsuya’s batting. “Your batting is super good! It was all ‘whoosh’ and ‘baam’ and—”

“Are you a child?” Miyuki cuts in, unimpressed. Sawamura glares at him, but Tetsuya diffuses the situation by patting Sawamura’s shoulder.

“Your pitching is tricky to hit,” he says, nodding in approval. “Your form and the way it breaks would make it hell for anybody to face.”

Sawamura preens under the praise given, bashfully rubbing the back of his neck. “Thank you, Tetsu-senpai!”

“You do know there’s other people waiting their turns now, right?” Miyuki snarkily asks, jabbing a finger in the direction of the other first years. “Still want some time in whatever moment you’re having?”

“I’m going, I’m going!” Cursing him under his breath, he walks off the field with them close behind to stand next to Haruichi. But before he could reach him, the regulars watching had already come to where they were. A sharp howl of laughter peals from one of them.

“Look at you, Sawamura! Already pitching to the captain,” Kuramochi says, roughly slapping his back. “Good on you!”

“He’s your roommate?” Ryousuke asks, directing his question to Kuramochi and Masuko. They both confirm the fact with a nod, and Ryousuke’s smile twitches up subtly. “Mm. Hey loudmouth.”

He looks pointedly at Sawamura when he says that, the boy himself flinching because of, in his opinion, the most intimidating of his senpai, disregarding the coach. Sawamura doesn’t even bother refuting the insult he had been addressed by. “A-ah, Ryousuke-senpai! Is there something you need?”

“Why so stiff?” Despite the height difference, the scene looked like Ryousuke was the one intimidating the other. Kuramochi mutters a low, ‘poor guy’ and everyone leans away from them. “Who taught you how to pitch?”

Caught off-guard by the question, Sawamura blanks for a moment. The others were curious as well, hearing that he had eight pitches in his arsenal already. He fumbles with his words for a minute, opening his mouth to answer. “Um, I- I didn’t have a formal coach. I taught myself.” It was sort of true, considering this past year he had been training on strengthening his pitches and batting on his own, but these pitches had come from before. Ryousuke stares, his smile tight.

“You taught yourself.”

Blinking confusedly, he nods, repeating himself. “Yes. I taught myself.”

Sawamura’s gaze moves off of them and makes contact with Haruichi, who was standing a bit away in a mix of awkwardness and nervousness. He lets out a small noise, excusing himself from his senpai before bouncing over to Haruichi so they could continue their testing.

A beat passes. “What the hell.”

“Is the guy some kind of genius? For some reason that thought pisses me off.”

“Jealous much?”

“Shut up!”

“I want to bat against him more.”

“Tetsu, you’re doing that thing again.”

“It’s normal, let him be.”

“Hey, wait— Captain, stop, we have practice!”

—

Sawamura is an idiot.

As obvious as it was, he just realized that right now. It’s not a nice realization, but as he stares at the empty lot blankly, he has the urge to scream. That wouldn’t do anything for him though, so he holds back.

The bus had left for Ichidaisan, as Seidou had a scheduled practice match with them today. Last time, he didn’t come along since he believed it would be better if he stayed back and trained. Now this time, he finds the chance to observe. And of course, he royally messes up.

“They left without me!”

He kicked the ground, ruffling his hair frustratedly. He just hopped off to go grab something he forgot, and when he came back they were gone! Sawamura promises himself to annoy Kuramochi about this, irked that his roommate had forgotten as well. An even worse possibility was that he didn’t mention him on purpose.

“No way,” he mutters, “Mochi-senpai wouldn’t be that mean, right?”

A leaf smacks into his face in answer.

He supposes the only option now was to practice more. By himself. So no catching then. Throwing the leaf off his face, he heads to the shed to get some baseballs to pitch into the net. Standing in the middle of the empty shed, he stills for a moment, thinking.

He hasn’t been able to be alone, considering he had roommates and practice, then school. It was a rare moment of quiet for him, even if hadn’t meant for it to be. It seems like in both lives he wasn’t meant to see that game.

Remembering he was living a second time always jarred him, and it was times like these he felt as if he wasn’t really there, like he was an outsider looking into the world around him. Shaking his head to get rid of the disturbing feeling—it’d only dredge up bad memories—he begins his search through all the gear scattered around.

“Tanba-senpai got demoted from ace at this game, right?” he asks himself, stepping deeper into the shed. “And then… what happened after that?”

Rummaging around, he finds the crate filled with them and walks out of the shed. As he does, he meets eyes with another boy.

He almost yells out his name, but manages to shut himself up as to not look stupid. The boy in front of him raises a brow at the crate of baseballs in his hands.

“If you want someone to play with, how about me?”

A boy with black hair that brushed against his neck stood leaning against one of the poles, eyes fixed on the crate of baseballs. Sawamura is hit with a similar memory to this, when he was pathetically trying to play catch with himself and he had witnessed the entire spectacle. “Furuya, right?”

He nods. “Sawamura Eijun. I saw your pitching earlier. What’re you doing here?”

“I could ask the same thing!” Sawamura purses his lips. “I went to get something, but they left without me.”

“Went for a bathroom break,” Furuya offers his own explanation, clipped and short. “Don’t feel like trying to go after them. So catch?”

After slipping on their gloves and grabbing a baseball, they move to a more open area, the field. They warm up by tossing to each other, eventually getting stronger throws as time passes. Sawamura has his satisfied smile, content with seeing Furuya again and playing catch with him.

As Furuya caught one of Sawamura’s balls, almost slipping, he stared at it in his mitt. He looked deep in thought, and Sawamura tilts his head in wonderment. “You good?”

“Your throws… they’re hard to catch.”

“Huh?” Sawamura blurts out, before realizing what he meant. “Oh, yeah! ‘Cuz of my pitching form.”

“Mm.” He rolls his shoulders, ball in hand as he continues in his flat voice. “Hard to catch, hard to hit. Oh, I’m warmed up now. Mind if I throw hard?”

Sawamura can’t help the gleeful laugh that escapes him, making Furuya give him an odd look. “Sure! I don’t mind.”

“Thanks.”

Furuya winds his arm, muscles flexing, then it whips forward as the ball rockets like a bullet towards Sawamura. Although he had seen it coming, he barely managed to catch the monstrously powerful ball in his glove, his hand moving back from the force of it. He could feel the faint numbness of his hand, and he lowered it while taking the ball back with his left hand.

The stoic pitcher looked surprised that he caught the ball at all, his eyes widening minisculely as Sawamura let out another boisterous laugh. “Whoa, that ball is a monster!” He shakes his arm to get rid of the dull ache he got from catching the powerful ball. “What, was that 145 km.? Higher?”

“You caught it,” Furuya states more than asks. Something changed in the way he looked at him. “No one in Hokkaido could catch for me.”

“Well I barely got it,” Sawamura brushes off, tossing the ball up and down. He felt rather accomplished, seeing as he was quite literally blown away when he first caught for Furuya in the past. “And people in Nagano couldn’t really catch for me too, with my weird pitches and all.” They look at each other in silent solidarity. Furuya puffs out a breath.

“I saw an article,” he starts, “about Miyuki Kazuya. So I applied here. Because if it’s him, I could pitch with full power.” The air becomes thick around them, but Sawamura chuckles, breaking the build-up of the tense atmosphere between them.

“That’d be fun to watch.” Furuya gives him a questioning gaze. Sawamura elaborates, “Your pitches. Although…”

Sawamura’s grin is all determination and challenging as he holds out the ball to him. “I’m planning on becoming the ace here. And trust me, I’m not going to make this easy for you.”

Furuya doesn’t even realize he’s smiling, something that’s a mix of warmth and numbness flaring in his chest telling him he knows this boy, knows he’s someone of his word, knows this boy is familiar, familiar, familiar. He racks his brain for something to tell him how he knew this, but he gets nothing. Well, it wouldn’t be possible to know him anyways; Sawamura was from Nagano.

“Wouldn’t want you to.”

Sawamura grins again, this time softer and pleased. His eyes shine, honey and gold. “Say, Furuya-san, let’s play some more catch. I wanna see more of your monster pitches.”

Familiar, Furuya thinks. Those golden eyes of his; he’s seen them before.

“Sure. Those pitches of yours… I’d like to see them too.”

By the time the team comes back from the practice match from Ichidaisan, the two pitchers had tired themselves out from the small competitions they ( read: Sawamura ) challenged each other to, sweaty and dirty and panting on the ground. They stare at the blue sky, tiny clouds above that lazily drift along the winds, as their chest heaves up and down.

“I should introduce you to Harucchi.”

“...Is that his name?”

“Uh. Well, Haruichi-kun, Harucchi, no difference!”

“...”

“Furuya? Oh, wait— Don’t fall asleep here!”

He tugs him up, causing the both of them to stumble as they stand. “Hey, save the sleeping for after dinner!”

“Huh?”

Pushing his back towards the mess hall, Sawamura continues to shout in Furuya’s ear to keep him awake, the sleepy pitcher blearily blinking his eyes and trying to lean away from Sawamgrha’s loud voice.

“Are you even going to be able to eat all three bowls?”

“Mhm.”

“This tired already? Talk about having piss poor stamina! How the hell are ya gonna be ace if you’re exhausted after this?” At those provocative words, Furuya snaps to attention, trying to rub away the sleepiness in his eyes.

“M’ not tired.”

“You sure sound like it!”

Sawamura pushes the doors to the mess hall for them to be met with the sight of loud, sweaty teenage boys eating and talking. After grabbing their food, he searches the tables for Haruichi and spots the first year with some others. Spotting Kanemaru and Toujou there as well, he lights up as he pulls Furuya’s sluggish form over to that table.

“Harucchi!”

The pink-haired boy turns his head at his voice, raising a brow upon seeing Sawamura hauling Furuya—that’s what he remembers his name to be—to their table. “Harucchi? Um, never mind, Sawamura-kun, you weren’t on the bus?”

The boy sits himself next to Haruichi, as the spot was open, and Furuya slides into the seat quietly while setting his food in front of him. “Oh, the bus left without me when I went to get something! It wasn’t like I could chase after it, so I just stayed!”

“Sorry I didn’t notice until we were already half-way there,” Haruichi apologizes, then gestures to the other boy. “And what about him?”

“Left behind too!”

“It’s like two idiots in a pod,” someone sitting across from them snorts. Sawamura’s eyes dart over to him, and his lips twist into a pout.

“This Sawamura Eijun is no idiot!”

“What’s with that kind of speaking?” The blond who spoke shoots him a judgemental look before sighing and giving a short nod. “Kanemaru Shinji.”

The other one next to him, with light brown hair, smiles, his gaze friendly. “Don’t mind him, he’s always like that.”

“Always like— Hey, what did that mean?”

“I’m Toujou Hideaki,” he continues, ignoring the affronted look Kanemaru wore on his face. “Nice to meet you, Sawamura.”

“You too! This guy is Furuya Satoru!” He points at Furuya, who looked ready to take a nap right then and there. Sawamura promptly kicks him in the shin, jolting the boy up and making him send Sawamura a look that screamed, I want to die. Sawamura only smiled, patting his back while choosing to ignore his grumbling. “He was left behind when he went to the bathroom! So we played catch and practiced together!”

“I won,” Furuya says, shoving a spoonful of rice into his mouth. Sawamura balks at his words.

“No you didn’t! I obviously did!”

“How are you louder than half the room?”

“Kanemaru-kun! That’s rude!”

“Then stop proving my point.”

“Ah, guys, we still have to eat…”

“Oh, Furuya’s asleep.”

“How did he fall asleep next to someone as loud as him?”

“I’m right here, y’know!”

Chapter Text

Sawamura dreams of an empty street.

It’s an unfamiliar one, yet he feels as if he has been here before. As if he’s walked along those buildings, living and breathing inside of them. He stands in the middle of an intersection, the looming buildings and bright lights around him telling him this is Tokyo. But it’s not quite Tokyo; it’s hollow here, the quiet, the emptiness. This wasn’t Tokyo.

The sky, he notices, is blue. Clear, with no clouds in sight. Summer heat bled on his skin, but he only felt cold.

His limbs dragged like lead, heavy and numb, but he walks ahead anyways.

He walks and walks and walks down the street with no goal in mind; his steps have a destination of their own. What is his destination?—where is he going?—what is he doing here?—what is this place?—

His lips feel dry, throat searing hot with something that feels like red, something that spreads through his body like vines curling around forgotten buildings long abandoned. His veins fill with fog, his lungs swelling with wilted flowers, caving in itself. The world goes off-kilter, off-balance, and it spins; Not-quite-Tokyo spins.

Sawamura is falling. The sky is red now.

Soundless screams leave his lips, his throat left raw in the aftermath, and dark, dark, dark is everywhere. He can’t see anything, but then the loud screeching of rubber against concrete, the deafening blaring of a car—it’s the sound that crashes into him, first his ears, then his head.

Metal collides with skin. Pain shoots through his side, and Sawamura isn’t falling anymore.

Instead he lays on the street, bruised, battered, alone below a swirling sky a mix of bloody crimson and beautiful blue. They don’t go together well, he thinks. But he had his own pool of crimson to match the sky. It’s still cloudless. Everything aches, nerves on fire, but nothing makes it out of his mouth. Everything hurts, but it is shoved down as far as it can be; bottled up and never to rise again.

“You’re the ace, Sawamura.”

He turns his head to the side, only to see his reflection in the glass walls of the building next to him. It’s him, lying on the ground pathetically while gasping for air—it’s futile anyways. But the reflection of him grins, blood trailing down its lips, painting them a gruesome red.

“Almost is the saddest word, you know?” his reflection says, slowly getting up. The way it stands and moves is unnatural, stiff, joints locking together and smile all too wide as if it didn’t know how to smile right. “Think of it this way: you almost made it.”

Sawamura finds the will to get up falter, his hands by his sides loosening their hold on the ground.

“Not so loud now, huh?” The reflection of his giggles, now fully upright. “Ei-chan, why are you still there at Seidou? To go through the same things? But it gets repetitive too, so boring. And we all hate boring, right?”

Sawamura finds himself wobbling up, warm blood sticking to his skin and dripping over his eyes. He sees his own reflection through red-tinted shades, watching it grin.

“What makes you think they’ll choose you this time around?”

His hands wipe off the blood coating his eyes, rid of the red that tinted his sight. His reflection is gone, the glass walls now replaced with concrete. Sawamura’s lips part, and suddenly a voice whispers next to his ear,

“Ei-chan, there’s a reason no one was there for you.”

He hears someone scream.

Then his eyes snap open, breathing hot and heavy as he immediately sits up on his bed. His sudden motion made his bed creak, but he can’t find it in himself to care right now.

A nightmare, he realizes, and one that was worse than usual. His head was buzzing with white noise as he stared up at the ceiling. He could hear Kuramochi’s quiet snoring below him, and Masuko’s occasional mumbling while he laid on his bed to clear his mind.

Fumbling for his phone, he clicks it open and is temporarily blinded by its brightness. After lowering it, he squints his eyes at the numbers shown on the top of the screen. 3:47 A.M. A groan tumbled from his mouth as he threw his arm over his eyes. Ah, they’re wet.

Weariness settles into his bones. He’s tired, and wasn’t in the mood to go on a run at this hour to try to calm himself. So he leans against the wall, staring out the window. The thought is sudden, but he thinks he missed Nagano’s skies. He misses the stars; here wasn’t the same.

Sweat clings to his back and sticks his shirt to his skin. Sawamura doesn’t bother with it. His heart calms, its beat dully echoing in his ears.

“Car crash,” he mutters inaudibly. It sounded like he was trying to remind himself of something. “Tokyo.”

He hates thinking about this, but it doesn’t stop him from doing it anyways. He rolls over to his side, staring into the darkness of their room. It was barely lit by the moonlight filtering through the window. His eyes trail over to it, tracing the way the faint light lit up small corners of the room, and the shadows that followed. Eventually, his gaze lands on the baseball mitt resting on a cabinet.

Tomorrow is the day of the intersquad game, he remembers. When Furuya was immediately promoted to first-string and Haruichi and him to second-string. His fingers curl around his sheets.

He’d prove himself. Show them he wasn’t to be taken light of. His pitches would do all the talking needed.

Then a thought hit him, memories dragged up from his mind. His eyes widened as he sat up rigidly.

“Chris-senpai,” he says breathily. How could he forget? He’s the one who helped him when he was struggling and succumbing to the yips. And now, Chris was struggling as well. It was only right that he had to repay the favor.

He slams his head into his pillow, softly groaning. He couldn’t even get proper sleep. Feeling Kuramochi shift on the bed underneath him, he stills, waiting to hear his roommate’s snoring resume. When he does, he relaxes slightly.

Shutting his eyes closed, he drowns himself in his storm of thoughts, all insecurity and trauma. He figures that’s why he had that kind of nightmare. Words like that don’t come to attack someone unless they already thought those kinds of things. He presses his face further into his pillow.

No way, he tells himself, there’s no way you, Sawamura Eijun, aren’t confident! You’re going to be the ace! It’s been a few weeks since you’ve started already, and you’re doing fine.

“You’re going to be fine,” he tries to reassure himself. It doesn’t quite work. His voice is muffled by his pillow. He can’t fall asleep. It’s 4:02 A.M.

Well then. Running it is.

Sawamura slowly climbs down the bed, lowering himself while watching the others for any signs of waking up. They don’t stir. As quietly as he can, he pulls on jogging pants and a new t-shirt, and grabs his windbreaker.

It was still dark out. Right now, he prefers that. He thinks of all the things bad: the past, his yips, Chris-senpai being unable to play, being left behind, and those thoughts fall through the cracks. They fill it in and set, there to stay until Sawamura is able to replace it with gold. But he isn’t.

He doesn’t start running immediately. Instead, he shoves his cold hands deep into his pockets, rubbing his fingers with his thumb under the cloth. His feet tap up and down—he needs to move, move in some kind of way—as he stares straight ahead, unblinking. The field is as empty as it should be at this kind of time, but he can’t help but wish somebody else was there. Or maybe not. He wasn’t sure if he wanted anybody to see him like this.

His hands push deeper into his pockets, tugging his jacket tighter around him. It’s colder than he thought it would be. Ah, but it was four in the morning. What was he expecting?

The shed was within sight, the dim lights of the dorms just barely letting him see the way without running into anything. He wanted his tire.

He flexes his hand, fingers tense against his palm, then spreads them back open to grab the tire and rope in the shed. Pulling them out, he winces at the resounding thud it makes when it falls onto the ground. His eyes dart around the area, cautionary. No one. He pulls the tire to the outskirts of the field.

He stretches first, warming up before he begins his run. He can only hear his breathing and the occasional wind passing by. The rope is coarse under his hands as he tightly ties it around his waist when he finishes stretching. Taking in a deep breath, he starts.

As emotional as he is, he finds that he’s good at tucking away those feelings—the kind that sinks into his skin like winter’s frost, the kind that tucks itself into the space between himself and his heart, the kind that pulls at his lips when he’s smiling like he always does. Running or hiding. Both a coward’s move. He’s not a coward ( he tells himself ). It’s always easier to show than hide for him.

But he hides it anyway.

He pumps his legs harder, faster, stronger, anything to keep his mind off of thinking. He only focuses on the rapid beat of his heart in his throat, the rushed breathing reaching his ears, and the ache in his legs. The tire feels heavier. His shoulders tense.

Another lap done. More to go. No sign of sleepiness weighs on his shoulders. But his shoulders remain rigid; that’s not good for running. The sound of the tire dragging on the dirt behind him rings in his head.

( Not enough, something whispers.

Not enough? he asks back. No answer. He’s not sure if this was about running or himself. )

Sawamura’s out of breath. He doesn’t stop running.

Oh well. He’s always had good stamina.

—

Furuya shines in the bullpen. It’s to be expected; his monster fastball quite literally blew the person catching for him away, the impact of it against the mitt then the ground making a sound loud enough to reach those who stood even off the field.

Sawamura, this time, has the pleasure of seeing this up close in the bullpen itself. Leaning against one of the metal poles there, he watches Furuya give a small apology to the catcher, who looked completely shaken up after seeing his fastball rocket towards him. After leaving the shocked catcher to his own devices, Furuya spots Sawamura tossing a ball up and down nearby.

“Sawamura-san,” he acknowledges, observing the way those golden eyes sweep over him almost appraisingly before they light up in its usual mirth.

“Furuya-kun!” Sawamura greets back, obviously more enthused than the other. “Your pitches are looking as wild as ever!”

Furuya’s brows knit together at that. “Wild?”

“I mean, it was like it was roaring when you threw it,” Sawamura explains, making a noise in an attempt to mimic what he meant. Furuya raises a brow, but Sawamura continues on unperturbed. “And it was real fast! But I’m not sure on your- uh, your control.”

The blank pitcher’s lips twitch. “Yeah.”

“Sawamura-san! Warm-up at the bullpen now!”

One of the catchers yell out. Sawamura excuses himself to Furuya before trotting off into the same place Furuya had pitched moments before, but with a different catcher. Furuya opts to watch him pitch like Sawamura had to him. Might as well.

( For lack of better words, he felt intimately familiar with this boy’s pitching. It was a familiarity that came from watching it grow and evolve as you did as well, but the feeling is jarring. So jarring.

Because he had never seen Sawamura’s pitching before in his life. )

Sawamura makes easy chatter with the catcher with him, his grin infectious as they both exchange words about pitching. Furuya’s gaze fixes on him as he points to the ball in his hand and makes some odd exaggerated gesture. The catcher looked confused at that; Furuya didn’t blame him. The bright pitcher was strange like that, always so bare with how he felt.

“Alright,” Sawamura says, his voice loud enough for Furuya to hear, “Let’s start!”

For the first time, Furuya sees Sawamura really pitch.

( For the nth time, he sees Sawamura really pitch. )

His form, flexible and balanced, makes the course he’s going to throw unreadable, his arm hidden from sight from the batter’s point of view. Furuya, unconsciously, steps forward. An odd sense of disconnected want, as if he was seeing someone he long thought was gone, surfaces in his head.

Sawamura throws. The ball lands perfectly in the catcher’s mitt with an impressive thud. Not as loud as his though.

Furuya hears a distant crash in his ears.

The odd feeling disappears. Furuya frowns, fingers ghosting over his head. Weird. He wasn’t that tired from yesterday with Sawamura to the point he’d end up hearing things, right?

“That was a good throw, Sawamura-san.”

“Thanks! I’ll be throwing my changeups now!”

The gaze of the coach felt as if they were burning holes into the bullpen. At least, to Furuya, it did. He’s not sure why. Sawamura didn’t look affected; in fact, he really didn’t seem fazed by most things others would be intimidated by. The coach, the senpai challenging him, an entirely different environment than the countryside, all of those never seemed to make him falter.

Furuya looks at him a little harder. He doesn’t feel anymore of that odd deja vu again, but the memory of it has him staring down the other pitcher anyways. Sawamura notices.

“What?” he asks out loud, looking straight at Furuya. He tilts his head. “Do you need something?”

“No.” A hesitant pause. The question comes out before he can stop it. “...Have we met before?”

Sawamura, for a brief moment, looked both unnerved and reminiscent at the same time, before that expression slipped away into that of confusion. “No? I’ve been in Nagano my entire life.”

“Oh.”

The conversation ends there. Sawamura walks back to the catcher to start pitching again. Furuya doesn’t forget this feeling. As the ball sails through the air again, he’s not there to watch it. He’s gone from the bullpen.

—

Classes, as arduous as they were, were easier. Maybe this was cheating, but hey, Sawamura knew the stuff now. Although he wasn’t exactly a model student before, he remembered most of it now that he was relearning it in class.

He considered it an accomplishment how he wasn’t sleeping in. He wouldn’t have to ask Kanemaru to help catch up for schoolwork like last time now. In fact, maybe he’d get higher scores than him as well. The thought makes him snicker.

Numbers swarmed in his head dizzyingly as the teacher continued to lecture about math and algebra, something he was never quite good at. But he wasn’t planning on failing any classes; that’d get him off the team. So he remains lucid and scribbles down the occasional notes, feeling Kanemaru’s surprised eyes glancing over to him.

Did he look that unreliable with studying?

Before they know it, it’s dinner, afternoon practice done and leaving the crowd of baseball boys tired, sweaty, and hungry. Sawamura finds his place with the rest of the first years he knew: Haruichi, Kanemaru, and Toujou, the other first years sitting farther down. Furuya though, isn’t present. Sawamura doesn’t pay it too much mind.

“Didn’t take you for the type to actually pay attention in class,” Kanemaru says, picking at his massive bowl of rice. He makes a face at Sawamura, who was easily shoving it down his throat.

“I’m being attacked,” Sawamura bemoans, looking to Haruichi for help. “Harucchi! Do I look like I don’t study?”

He’s silent for a second too long. “Sawamura-kun, you’re very dedicated to baseball.”

“That wasn’t an answer!”

The quiet clattering of chopsticks and spoons echo in the mess hall, everyone being unusually quiet. Sawamura realizes why. The match between them and the second and third years. Then he hears Miyuki’s voice from behind him.

“Looks like you’re eating your fill and being just as loud as usual.”

Sawamura snaps his head to retort back, but before he could get a word out Miyuki already made himself comfortable at their table. Haruichi, Kanemaru, and Toujou sent each other awkward looks as Sawamura stewed in his spot. “What are you doing here?”

“What, I can’t sit where I want to?”

It’s at that moment Furuya arrives with his tray of rice in hand, glancing at Miyuki. He promptly shoves himself right next to him and calmly speaks.

“Miyuki,” he says, “I don’t feel like anybody’s going to hit my pitches at tomorrow’s match. If that happens, would you be my catcher?”

The instant his words leave his lips the atmosphere in the room immediately turns tense, the temperature dropping a few degrees. Sawamura, with a jolt, remembers this exact scene playing out and drops his shoulders, resigning himself to just watch the other players send scathing glares at the Furuya. Some of them stand up and approach their table, and the first year group send each other defeated looks.

“Can’t believe he’s the bigger dumbass of the two,” Kanemaru grumbles, moving his chair away from the livid group of upperclassmen surrounding Furuya. Toujou nods sagely, and Sawamura doesn’t bother responding. Haruichi hunches his shoulders together.

“Right in front of my rice…”

Tanba speaks up from the farther end of the room, the former ace sending a sharp look to where they sat. “Enough with the bullshit. We’re settling this tomorrow.” Everyone could practically see the sparks between Tanba and Furuya as they made eye contact.

“How are we supposed to eat like this,” Toujou whispers, eyes darting between the two. “I feel like I’d be interrupting something here.”

Sawamura shoves two spoonfuls of rice into his mouth without pause. “Whaddya mean?” They stare. He looks back unblinkingly.

“Nothing.”

Dinner after that is uneventful as it could’ve been after that stunt Furuya pulled. As soon as the leering upperclassmen left their table Furuya continued to eat as if that never happened, and only gave them confused looks when they sent unimpressed looks his way.

Everyone leaves the mess hall in a mood, either those still pissed off by Furuya or put off by the atmosphere caused by Furuya.

Furuya does have a reason for that confidence though, Sawamura muses to himself. He walks down the dorms, towel slung over his shoulders as he thinks about tomorrow's game. What could he do? What should he do? What would get him to first-string?

Stuck in his thoughts, he doesn’t even realize someone’s ahead of him until he crashes right into them. He lets out a noise of surprise, stumbling backwards and barely managing to catch himself. Looking up, he makes eye contact with dull brown eyes. Unconsciously, he blurts out his name.

“Chris-senpai!”

Chris turns to him with his eyebrow raised in skepticism. “Do I know you?”

Realizing his mistake, Sawamura quickly makes up a lie on the spot. “Ah, no, but when I was in middle school I saw one of your games!” He thinks back to when Chris caught for him, and a smile flickers onto his face. “It was really cool! I’ve— I’ve always wanted to pitch to you!”

He reddens. Ah, was that too much to say? Chris stares at him silently, surprise on his face.

“Oh,” he says blandly, then blinks. “I mean, thank you. I’m flattered.”

“Of course!” Sawamura pauses, debating with himself. “I’m Sawamura Eijun! Um, if it wouldn’t be any trouble, would you be able to… catch for me?”

Chris’s eyes widen, fingers flexing against his palm. His lips part, something pained flashing through his eyes before it’s gone. “I’m a manager right now,” he says, those words sounding like a refusal. “Not a player.”

Sawamura doesn’t relent. “And?”

“What?”

“You still didn’t answer my question,” Sawamura points out, golden eyes gleaming. “Would you be able to catch for me?”

A ‘no’ sat on the tip of his tongue, ready to refuse his request until he fully made eye contact with the boy. Something pools in the bottom of his gut, something he doesn't recognize that burns at his eyes and steals his breath. It feels something like nostalgia, but different; more somber, as if he was seeing someone he had long believed he would never see again.

“Yes,” comes out, and he looked surprised at the words that came out of his own mouth. But nothing else does when Sawamura beams as if he just won the lottery.

“Thank you, Chris-senpai!”

And then he’s gone, leaving Chris to stand outside alone near the dorms. Chris feels his lips twitch up for the briefest of seconds as he tries to sort out the strange mess of feelings that came over him.

He wonders who that kid is.

Chapter Text

Even from across the diamond, the intimidating aura emanating from the second string players could be felt from where the first years were. Low murmurs of disbelief ripple through them, wondering how they’d even stand a chance against them when they’ve only been here for barely a month.

“The second string is something else,” mutters one of them, shivering at the expressions of the players in the other dugout. “Damn, I’m so nervous!”

“They weren’t kidding about the crowd.”

Everyone directs their gaze to the growing crowd of reporters, alumni, and more. Another ripple of nervousness collectively goes through them. Sawamura, tucked further in the dugout, doesn’t even glance at them though. His eyes fix themselves on the mound, fist clenching and unclenching, knees bouncing up and down. Haruichi, sitting next to him, fidgets in his place.

“Sawamura-kun,” he whispers, sending worried glances at the second string’s dugout. “Are you nervous?”

Sawamura doesn’t answer immediately, his golden stare unmoving from the field. The bouncing of his knees slows. “No,” he answers finally, honest eyes darting over to Haruichi. The pink-haired boy doesn’t find his reply all that surprising. “I’m just- I’m really excited.”

There’s an evenness to his voice that matches with the fire in his eyes that flicker alight when the sunlight hits his face. A grin, wide enough it looked like it would split his cheeks, paints his lips. Eager; that’s what he looked like. Eager to play, eager to fight it out on the baseball field.

That eagerness rolls off of him in waves. Haruichi feels himself get caught up in it as well, excitement flaring up inside of him. Then he wonders if his brother was watching. Sawamura raises his hand and points as if in answer to his thoughts.

“They’re over there,” Sawamura says, jabbing his thumb over in the direction of where the first string players were watching. “If you’re wondering.” Haruichi startles, not expecting to be read so easily, and follows to where he was pointing. He spots a familiar closed-eye smile among them and balls his hands into fists in determination.

The match starts with a bang.

Tanba shows them exactly why he was the ace before, and although he was taken down from that number, it doesn’t mean they’re to think this would be any sort of easy.

The batter flinches harshly from the sharp breaking ball Tanba throws, falling to the ground with a thud. The dugout gasps at the wicked curve of the ball, and the atmosphere of the dugout drops. Another pitch is thrown. The batter is struck out.

They feel the presence of the Coach Tesshin as he stands behind home plate as umpire, and feel cold sweat run down their backs. What could they do in this situation? How could they stand a chance?

The atmosphere in the first year’s dugout freezes over, everybody quickly losing hope of ever standing a chance against their senpai. Haruichi watches them with worry, unable to do anything to fix it. Almost unconsciously, his gaze averts to Sawamura besides him. The thought takes root in his mind: if anybody, Sawamura could do something.

The boy in question had an irritated frown on his face, seeing everybody give up so quickly. It left a sour taste in his mouth. Was this all they amounted to right now? How could they think they would ever make it onto the first string with weak mindsets like that?

But at the same time, he didn’t entirely blame them. Looking up at the scoreboard, he winced at the sight of the pathetic sight.

0-11. First years to third years. First inning.

Another yell booms across the field, and his eyes dart back. Tojou looked dead tired as he heaved for breath on the mound. Sawamura grits his teeth as the scoreboard changes again.

0-12.

He wants to pitch.

Tanba gets another three strikeouts. Six strikeouts in a row. Haruichi mutters something worriedly under his breath. The second inning starts off.

Sawamura doesn’t want to play outfield. He doesn’t want to play just any defense.

A victorious roar comes from the third year dugout, loud enough it was almost as if the ground shook with their volume.

Sawamura wants to stand on the mound.

Coach Tesshin steps up as the third years score their ninth point this inning. Sawamura and Haruichi let out a quiet breath of relief. The match was getting hard to watch.

“Pitcher change! Satoru Furuya, get on the mound!”

There’s a small twinge of disappointment that bubbles in his chest at the sound of a name that wasn’t his being called up to be the pitcher. But this is what happened last time, he remembers faintly. Furuya got called up, and brought himself to the first string with one pitch.

Could Sawamura do that?

Furuya raises his leg, stance poised, before his arm snaps forward and a bullet raced forward towards the batter. The catcher, eyes wide with shock and fright, panics as he attempts to catch a ball that before he knew it, was right in front of him. He reacts, but the ball suddenly lifts up and ricochets off the edge of the mitt, colliding with a loud thud into—

The coach’s face.

His helmet tumbles to the ground, rattling as the coach’s head is thrown back by the force of the ball. There’s a pregnant silence between everyone as the coach rolls his head back. To everyone’s surprise, a satisfied smirk grew on his lips.

“Satoru,” he rumbles, staring straight at the pitcher, “Be at the first string practice tomorrow!”

A ripple of dissent and disbelief spreads through the crowd immediately after his words, people gawking at what had just happened. Sawamura only frowns slightly, but says nothing about it. There was nothing to say; he already knew this was going to happen.

“Lucky him,” Haruichi murmurs. “First string already, and with only one pitch.”

“Yeah,,” Sawamura replies, eyes fixed on the mound Furuya stood upon. “Lucky him.”

“You’ll be on it too, y’know,” Haruichi says suddenly, turning to him. “There’s no way they’d pass up on a guy with eight pitches, even if he isn’t the brightest.”

“I know they wouldn’t! I’m definitely going to make it onto the first string,” Sawamura declares, then pauses. He thinks. And then, “Wait. Harruchi!” Dramatically, he spins his body to face him. “I am not stupid!”

Haruichi opens his mouth to retort, but they both notice Furuya as he reenters the bullpen after his one pitch. Everyone was shooting him mixed looks of wonderment and envy, and seeing this, Sawamura suppressed the scowl that threatened to form on his expression.

If they wanted to be on the first string, then the least they could do was try on this match without giving up completely.

His hands twitch. Ah, well. Might as well ask.

He stands up, catching the attention of everyone around him, before stepping forward and cupping his hands around his mouth.

“Hey boss!” he yells out, directing it at the coach. Coach Tesshin, as well as most people on the field, turns their head to the boy. Sawamura, unperturbed, continues to yell out. “Since Furuya’s out, why don’t you let me pitch?”

“Sawamura!” Haruichi whisper-shouts behind him on the bench, wide-eyed. “What are you trying to do?” Sawamura briefly mouths to him a silent reassurance, then returns his gaze back to the field.

The coach looks back at him, his stone-cold face eerily still. His brows furrowed together in thought, only serving to make him look more intimidating and angry than he was before. There’s a subtle twitch of his mouth before he nods his head to the mound.

“If you’re so confident,” he says, a barely-there amusement underneath his tone, “then step up and pitch.”

A grin stretches wide across Sawamura’s face, and his hands feel less tense and more free. Finally! His chance was here, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to make full use of it.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Kanemaru and some others look at him incredulously. “You— you can’t just yell at the coach to put you in! Who do you think you are?”

Sawamura rolls his shoulders, staring at them with a hardened look that wasn’t quite a glare, but nothing friendly.

“I’m Sawamura Eijun,” he says, none of the bright loud boy from moments ago seen. His voice is steady, but not cold. “Pitcher, and the guy who wants to make it to Koshien.”

Before any of them can retort, he continues. “Chances aren’t given here. They’re earned. Nothing is going to be handed out on a silver platter.” He steps closer to them, golden eyes gleaming with a will they don’t quite understand, because they’re not Sawamura, the boy who grows up loving a sport he has always been losing to. “You guys can go sulk about how the senpai are too strong and that there’s nothing we can do about it. Whine all you want if you think that’s going to get you onto the first string.”

He points to the field, his grin reappearing on his face, but there’s something more wild to it than any of his previous ones, something feral and greedy.

“But I’m going out there so everyone knows this: I’m Sawamura Eijun, a pitcher, and the guy who’s going to bring this team to Koshien.”

He turns and leaves a silent bullpen, slipping his mitt onto his right hand as he jogs onto the mound. The feeling of the whole field and bullpen of third years drilling holes into him with their gazes burns through him, and anticipation coils in his gut.

“Oh,” he mutters quietly, “this is going to be so much fun.”

Adjusting himself and digging his feet into the dirt, he lifts his head up from his mitt and to the batter that stood several feet away next to home plate. The coach, as umpire, stands behind them, and there’s a smirk on his face that prompts Sawamura to smile.

The game starts up again, and when Sawamura pitches and pitches and pitches—

The third years are left staring at the scoreboard when the game is over.

They’ve only gotten two runs after he stepped in as pitcher.

—

“Harucchi, can you help me with batting?”

Sawamura pleads to the pink-haired boy, blissfully unaware ( or maybe purposefully ignorant ) of the stares and looks he was receiving because of his game today.

He had gotten into the first string, and Haruichi, the second. Of course, the news had made him overjoyed; he had made it!

“Eijun,” Haruichi sighs, the previous match having led to Sawamura managing to convince him to finally call him by his first name. “What are you saying—”

“Now that I’ve actually made it, I need to work harder,” he says determinedly, clenching his fist. Haruichi would’ve thought he looked cool if he didn’t have grains of rice sticking to his mouth messily. “My batting is okay, but just okay isn’t enough! You’re the lucky boy and an awesome batter, so can’t you please help a friend out?”

Haruichi averts his gaze, his hair brushing over his eyelids protectively. He picks at his rice tentatively before letting out a resigned sigh. He has a feeling he was going to be doing a lot of that. “Fine.”

“Yes!” Sawamura cheered, pumping his fist, then like an afterthought, spares a glance to his half-empty bowl of rice and dives into it. Haruichi thinks he might choke at the rate he shoved spoonfuls of rice into his mouth.

“Someone’s lively today,” someone jabs from behind them. Sawamura swallows down his food and turns his head to face whoever it was.

“Oh, Kanemaru-kun. Toujou-kun,” he greets, a bright grin on his face at the sight of them. Kanemaru shifts on his feet awkwardly as Toujou returns Sawamura’s grin with his own smaller weary one.

“Sawamura-kun,” Toujou says back, “you don’t mind if we sit here, right?”

“Why would I?” Sawamura asks, shrugging his shoulders dismissively. “You guys can sit wherever you want. And you sat there before too anyways.”

At his words, they send each other a glance, before settling themselves into the seats across from Sawamura and Haruichi. Haruichi gives them a silent nod in hello, his eyes hidden behind his bangs.

Toujou nudges Kanemaru with his elbow, gesturing towards the other two with a nod of his head. Kanemaru scowls, then sighs in defeat. “Uh, sorry about earlier. During the match, I mean.”

Sawamura makes a noise of realization, tilting his head to the side. “Oh, that. It’s fine, This Sawamura Eijun was frustrated as well, so I decided I might as well try my luck out there.”

“Right,” Kanemaru says, unable to find another answer. “So. Congratulations on making it to the first string.”

“Thanks!” Sawamura chirps cheerfully. “The defense really stepped up after, so it wasn’t entirely me.”

“Your impromptu speech probably riled them up,” Haruichi points out amusedly. Sawamura blinks several times, before barking out a laugh.

“Speech? Eh, that was more of some kind of declaration, wasn’t it?” Sawamura pats Haruichi on the shoulders a few times before waving Haruichi’s earlier words off. “Besides, I spoke for like ten seconds. That’s not a speech.”

“You’re right,” Kanemaru agrees, “because that sounded like you were trying to imitate some dramatic shounen anime protagonist declaring that he’ll prove his worth to everyone who underestimated him.”

“What,” Haruichi says.

“That was oddly specific,” Toujou notes, looking at his friend weirdly. “Are you okay?”

“Peachy.”

“I totally would be a shounen protagonist,” Sawamura muses, and they all deadpan. Of course this is what he would pick up on. “I’d be so cool.”

“You would not.”

“Why wouldn’t I?!”

“Would you give up pitching for that?”

“Ah.” A debating pause, then an adamant “No.”

“I think that’s your answer.”

“A shame! The world would be missing out on a future star!”

“His ego is starting to push out his brain.”