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Sanada Shunpei was bored out of his mind. 

Tilting his head back, he let out a half-strangled groan, crawling its way out of his throat and dying at the tips of his lips. Silence buzzed in his ears, irritatingly quiet. He’d already counted all the cracks in the paint on his bedroom ceiling— 12, with a new one forming at the corner above his door— but nothing could quell his boredom. 

And, as an unfortunate side effect of said boredom, came the thoughts of baseball and of Raichi (no, he corrected himself, quickly, of the team. Raichi doesn’t make up the whole team). 

Summer had passed months ago, the unrelenting heat drizzling away with autumn rain, engulfed with winter snow that melted into spring. At this point, it had been almost half a year but the day they lost to Ichidai still replayed in his mind constantly. Every time he closed his eyes, he could do nothing but remember. Sanada could still feel the sweat dripping down his forehead; still smell the clay dirt, scorching his nostrils. He could still hear the sickening clang of a metal bat, the hurried sound of cleats rounding home base, and the roaring shout of the umpire. 

“GAME SET.” 

And it was over. 

Now, it was spring and there were 12, almost 13, cracks on Sanada’s ceiling. 

It was spring, there were 12 cracks, and graduation was only a month away so Sanada did the only thing he could think of to chase away the boredom that seeped into his skull, a growing restlessness gnawing at his gut. 

He wrote a list. 

Things To Do Before Graduation 

1. pants mishima
2. replace coach’s coffee with soy sauce
3. go to the top of the tokyo tower
4. fill the club room with water cups
5. visit my grandparents

Sanada stared at the list, pencil stilling in his hand as he scribbled quickly into the notebook in front of him. 

He read it over in his mind. Once. Twice. Three times, and pretended like he didn’t know what was missing until he could no longer lie to himself anymore. That familiar, resounding laughter echoed in Sanada’s head; it wouldn’t go away until he picked up his pencil again and wrote

6. tell raichi how i feel about him 

Every morning, without fail, Raichi waited for Sanada at the school's front gates. 

The pitcher didn’t know when the tradition started but Sanada had come to expect it, cherished fleeting moments with the younger. Every morning, as he climbed the hill that led to the school building, nothing felt better than Raichi’s figure coming into view, standing by the brick columns as his eyes darted around, nervously searching for Sanada. 

“G-good morning, Nada-senpai,” Raichi greeted, that particular morning. 

Even all this time later, he still had that habit that he couldn’t shake off of getting flustered off-field. No matter how loud, how boisterous, he was inside the batter's box, the tips of his ears would still flush, all the same, when Sanada appeared at the entrance of the Yakushi High School.

Sometimes, even though Sanada knew better, the pitcher liked to pretend that the abashed flush was exclusive for him. That Raichi’s shy squeaks and stuttering breathes were just for Sanada, no one else.

“Morning Raichi,” Sanada replied, a grin tugged upwards at the corners of his lips. He shifted his weight so his school bag rested more comfortably on his shoulders. “Did you eat yet?” 

Raichi paused, glanced down at his scuffed-up uniform shoes and fiddled with the hems of his sleeves before saying, shyly, “Not yet.” 

Sanada gestured towards the building as nonchalant as possible. 

“Let’s go to the food hall.” A pause. “I’ll buy you something to eat.”

Raichi’s eyes widened at that and, in an instant, he stepped forward to grab onto Sanada’s uniform sleeve, tugging ever so slightly on the fabric. Sanada could’ve sworn his heart clenched beneath his ribcage, cutting off all air for a brief second. 

“You don’t have to do that, Nada-senpai,” insisted Raichi, quietly. 

“I don’t have to do anything,” replied Sanada, reaching down to unhook Raichi’s hand from his coat. His perpetually-calloused fingers were hard and rough against Sanada’s soft palm, blemishes from baseball— gripping bat handles and pitching fastballs— had long-since healed and worn over. “I want to…C’mon.” 

Raichi trailed Sanada’s steps as they made their way to the cafeteria, weaving in and out of students who stared and murmured at the odd, confusing relationship the two of them had. Sanada paid no mind but he knew Raichi was acutely aware of every rumor, every whisper, tossed their way.  

Neither spoke of it. 

“My rotten old man told me to stop mooching off you,” Raichi said after Sanada paid, handing the younger two buns— one pork and one red bean since he knew Raichi could never make up his mind between the two flavors. 

Sanada let out a little huff of laughter as he placed his change back into his pants pockets, smooth coins jangling next to his house keys. 

“Coach doesn’t mean it,” Sanada replied, cooly. “If anything, he’s happy to be a free-loader.” 

Raichi didn’t reply, just sunk his mouth into the gooey bun. Wisps of steam danced from the filling, still warm, and Raichi hummed in satisfaction as he ate. It was only March and the weather still sent shivers up Sanada’s spine as they stood in the courtyard, waiting for first period to begin.

“How’s the team doing?” Sanada asked after Raichi finished scarfing down the pork bun and began to unwrap the red bean, condensation forming on the inside of the plastic package. 

“Miss-shima is trying to control his forkball,” Raichi said, voice muffled in between bites. “I can still blow it away though, kahaha!”

Fondness and nostalgia, affection and jealousy bubbled in Sanada’s chest, all at once. Clashing emotions raced inside him as he leaned forward to wipe a crumb off of the side of Raichi’s cheek, just above his lips. 

Raichi’s skin flushed at the contact so Sanada pulled away with a sheepish smile. 

Sanada was a selfish man, he knew that all too well. He wanted Raichi’s heart to skip a beat, same as Sanada’s did, when they talked. He wanted to see Raichi’s cheeks glow red, wanted to see him smile and laugh in a way that was only for Sanada’s eyes. 

Sanada Shunpei was a selfish, selfish man— he wanted Raichi to miss him. 

And, evidently, he got what he wanted when Raichi spoke up again, a gust of mid-March wind blowing past tufts of dark brown hair, falling into beady, black eyes. 

“It’s not the same without Nada-senpai,” Raichi murmured in a voice so low that Sanada almost missed it. He didn’t, though, and the words reverberated in his ears, echoing and repeating. “Are you going to come to practice soon?” 

“Actually, Raichi, speaking of practice, I wanted to ask you for your help with something…” 

The space underneath the baseball field’s bleachers was suffocatingly small and stuffy, the dirt caked underneath the metal rods filled the congested air. Sanada resisted the urge to cough, crouched beneath the benches, as the sounds of the team practicing rung out. 

It was a little nostalgic, a hard pill to swallow. Everything seemed the same— the same bats, the same gloves, the same voices clamoring to be heard against the sea of other shouts. Everything seemed the same… even without Sanada there. 

Still, he had no time to be wistful, drown in bittersweet feelings that could smother him if he dwelled on them for too long. He’d devised a carefully crafted plan that he couldn’t be distracted from. 

Peaking out from where he was hidden, Sanada surveyed the scene. 

They were doing fielding simulations, to which Raichi had eagerly offered to join in on. The rest of the team had been shocked at his willingness to participate, knowing the slugger usually much preferred to spend the duration of practice, hollering his head off in the batting cages. 

But, no. Raichi needed to be pitching in order for Sanada’s plan to come to fruition.

It was then that the younger caught Sanada’s furrowed, careful gaze. A smile spread across his cheeks, the faded scar folding into small, barely-noticeable dimples as he winked, lacking any subtly, at Sanada. 

Sanada chuckled softly, ignoring the heat that crept up the back of his neck, and winked back. 

“Raichi, focus!” Akiba shouted from behind home plate. The stand-in runner on second base began to take off in a poor attempt to steal. Akiba stood from a crouching position, lifting up his face guard to point. “Ball to third, Raichi!” 

In any other instance, it would’ve been an easy out at third but Raichi unconvincingly threw the ball straight over Mishima’s head in a poorly acted out attempt to look natural, a raucous bout of laughter ringing through the field as ball rolled towards where Sanada was squatted down by the bleachers. 

“Oops!” Raichi yelled out, in between laughs, so obvious it was almost comical.

Mishima chased after it, shouting out a string of curses and insult. 

“Dumbass! Idiot! Where the hell were you even throwing? I can’t bel—“

Now!

Sanada lunged forward, a mischievous smile threatening to break across his face as he reached his arms out just as Mishima ran past the open side of the bleachers, yanking the poor soul’s pants down with one forceful jerk. 

Mishima froze, unable to move or speak, as all eyes slowly turned to look at him. Even the people in the bullpen caught wind of what was happening, Coach Todoroki’s eyes widening from where he was supervising practice in the dugout. Mishima’s baseball uniform pants pooled at his ankles, revealing boxers with yellow smiley faces decorating them.

No one said a word before Raichi, nervously, stepped forward to point a finger at the stunned first baseman. 

“Ha…haha!” he stuttered out, red-faced. “Me and Nada-senpai got you, Miss-shima!” 

It was then that Sanada lost it, unable to hold it in any longer as a breathy snort exploded past his puffed-out cheeks, the catalyst for a roar of laughter to erupt through the field. 

Even Akiba, Mishima’s greatest ally against the whims of the Todoroki Family, couldn’t keep it in, shaking with laughter and clutching his sides from where he keeled over, behind home plate. 

“Oh man,” Raizou managed to gasp out, just as childish (if not more) as the rest of his players. “They got you good, Miss-shima!” 

“Don’t call me Miss-shima!” the second-year stuttered out in a strangled scream, struggling to pull his pants back up, fumbling with the belt buckle. “I should’ve freakin’ known! You never want to do fielding! I hate you, Raichi! You’re dead meat, you hear?” 

But Raichi didn’t hear, too busy running towards the bleachers where Sanada emerged, a self-satisfied smirk finding its way onto full, rosy lips. The younger skidded to a stop in front of the former pitcher, eyes glowing with pride. 

“Good job,” praised Sanada, voice dropping low so only Raichi could hear. He lifted his hand for a high five, to which Raichi eagerly slapped the extended palm. If Sanada’s skin burned where Raichi’s hand made contact, he wouldn’t say.

After a couple more seconds, the laughter died down to hushed giggles and Raizou clapped his hands together. 

“Alright, that was funny—“

“Coach!” squawked Mishima, mortified. 

“— but back to work, everyone.” 

Raichi cast one last look at Sanada before running back towards the mound, an abashed Mishima chasing after him with shaking fists and empty threats. 

Sanada chuckled before turning to leave, hands finding their way into his pockets, when Raizou’s voice stopped him, calling out his name. 

“Sanada!” he shouted, walking towards the former ace, arms folded tightly across his chest. 

Raizou offered him a strained and rueful grin, sort of apologetic (Apologetic for what? For a lot of things, probably. For Sanada’s summer, cut too short, too soon. For Sanada’s leg, that still quivered uselessly when he put too much pressure on it). 

Sanada didn’t like it— the pity, the remorse— but still, he swallowed it down because, well, what else was there to do?

“Yeah, Coach?” 

“Well… just…” Raizou gave a frustrated grunt, averting eye contact as he ran a hand through his hair. “Bullpen’s open… if you want to throw a few.” 

Sanada’s face softened. A tinge of warmth spread through his chest and he cursed himself for being so sentimental, something he prided himself on being shed of. For the most part, anyway. 

“I might just take you up on that, Coach.” 

Things To Do Before Graduation 

1. pants mishima
2. replace coach’s coffee with soy sauce
3. go to the top of the tokyo tower
4. fill the club room with water cups
5. visit my grandparents
6. tell raichi how i feel about him

Sanada wasn’t a catcher; observation and careful, well-laid plans weren’t his forte. No, it was brute strength and skillful pitches, heavy on his legs when he stepped forward on the mound. So being able to cross the second bullet off his list was a hefty task that required surveillance. 

It wasn’t just that he needed to time it just so but also that Raizou clung to his thermos of morning coffee like a raft in the open sea. It was rarely left out of his hands, clutching it tightly as he shouted out plays from the dugout so Sanada knew he’d have to get creative. 

Particularly, he knew that he couldn’t just attack the thermos but rather the coffee pot as a whole. 

Sanada woke up early that morning, rolled out of bed with a strangled groan just as the sun began to peek through the cracks in his blinds. His joints always hurt the most when he first woke up, sore layers of damaged muscle aching when he stood. 

With a grunt and a wince, he stretched out his arms and headed to the shower. 

“Mom?” he called, peaking into the kitchen with one towel wrapped loosely around his waist and the other slung over his hair, still damp and dripping. “Do we have any soy sauce?” 

She looked over at him, confusion passing through her features.

“Soy sauce?” she repeated, tapping her chin. “Hmm… I think so. What for?” 

“Er—“ Sanada muttered, trying to come up with an answer. “For… a friend?” 

“Can’t your friend buy their own soy sauce?”

With a cheeky, sheepish grin, he just replied, “I’ll tell them you said that,” before ducking back into his bedroom to change into his uniform. 

Morning practice took place every other day so he’d have to get there extra early, even before Coach unlocked the club room. The night-time breeze still lingered in the crisp air as he headed towards the train station, the soles of his uniform shoes squelching underneath dewy gravel. 

I wonder what Raichi is doing right now. 

Then, after a second of realization, he reprimanded himself for thinking that way. Raichi doesn’t deserve to be held day by someone like me, clipped wings and unable to fly forward again. Raichi was a star, Raichi was destined for great things—

The sound of the train, roaring into the station, shook him from thoughts he too often lost himself in. 

Coach always left his office unlocked— something most definitely against the school rules— just in case he needed somewhere to stay during the night or if he went out drinking and didn’t want Raichi to see him messed up. Subsequently, he always left his coffee machine on the table next to his desk and, if Sanada timed it just so that when Raizou left his office to unlock the baseball club room and get the bats and balls out of the supplies shed, Sanada could slip in. 

He crept through the empty halls, practically no one was there except the Student Council members and the morning clubs. His feet padded lightly against the linoleum flooring as he clutched his bag tightly to his side, trying to keep the contents from jangling. 

Ducking behind a row of lockers, right around the corner from Raizou’s office, Sanada peered out into the hallway. 

No more than a minute later, Raizou came out of the door, as expected, whistling a stupid little tune and spinning his set of keys around his pointer finger. 

Sanada grinned.

He’s too predictable. 

That was the thing Sanada admired most about the Todoroki family. There were never any surprises; all disturbingly-honest intentions laid, bare, for the world to see. The day Raizou told the team— told Sanada— to take him to Koshien Stadium, it was the most brutal honesty Sanada had ever witnessed from an adult in his life. 

And maybe— just maybe— that path was never supposed to have a happy ending, maybe the destination was never fated to be anything more than a dream, thorns and bruises littered along the way, but Sanada didn’t regret it. No matter how much his leg hurt on days that it rained, how much he had hid his face and silently cried on the bus ride back from that fated game with Ichidai, half a year ago, he didn’t regret it. He never had, never would. 

So, as a thank you for that and for everything else, he was putting soy sauce in his Coach’s coffee (because, well, obviously). 

He moved quickly and as quietly as possible, making his way into the office. 

Sure enough, a pot of freshly brewed coffee sat on the desk. Sanada opened his bag and pulled out the bottle of soy sauce he’d taken from his mother, who eyed him warily. 

Uncapping it, he pressed down on the handle of the pot to open the lid. He poured a generous amount in; just enough to make it taste god-awful but not enough for the smell to get too heavy and tip Raizou off that something was amiss. 

Sanada chuckled to himself, awfully proud of such a juvenile thing. Well, he reasoned to himself as he screwed the cap back on and put the bottle back in his bag, it’s not like I have a lot of time left to be juvenile. Might as well capitalize on it. 

Not wanting to waste any unnecessary time and get caught, Sanada headed to leave but right as he got to the door, hand pressed against the metal doorknob, something in the corner of his eye caught his attention. 

Turning away, he tentatively picked up a framed photo, sitting on the corner of Coach Todoroki’s desk. 

“Heh,” he couldn’t help but let out a little laugh in spite of himself, as the many faces of the team stared back at him through the glossy finish of the glass frame. “So cheesy, Coach.” 

Eye skimmed through the photo quickly until his gaze settled on Raichi. Raichi was never photogenic, got too fidgety and nervous right before the camera went off so— true to his nature— he was clutching his bat and laughing, face a blurry, smiley mess in the photo. It was endearing and funny, all at once. 

Something warm spread through Sanada’s chest, pinching his lungs when his breath caught on his throat. 

Slowly, almost as if he was restraining himself, he ran the pad of his thumb over Raichi’s smiling face, smudging the glass, ever so slightly. 

Then, not allowing himself to linger any further (irrationally afraid of drowning in uncovered feelings), he placed the picture frame back on the desk and darted out of sight, just as he heard the faintly approaching steps of Raizou coming back to his office. 

Sanada, wanting to see the results of his prank come to fruition, made his way back to the baseball field, hands tucked in his pockets. 

Players started flooding into the club room, Mishima and Akiba coming together, chattering amongst themselves as they began to change into their practice uniforms. Tomobe followed them, silent as his manga rested in the palm of his hand. The rest of the team came in, not long after. 

But there was one person distinctly missing. It wasn’t hard to know who because nothing felt fully complete without that loud, cacophonous laughter. The angry clatter of his wooden Money Tree bat banging into things. 

“Miss-shima,” called Sanada, leaning against one of the lockers, arms crossed to his chest in faux-nonchalance. “Where’s Raichi?” 

“I don’t kno—“

“30 laps around the field!” Raizou’s voice interrupted, piercing the air of the club room, far too loud for 8 in the morning. He clapped his hands together, punctuating his words as he shouted, “Go! Go! Go!” 

Grumbles and grouses of dissent passed through the crowd of disgruntled Yakushi players but they all complied, far too used to this because, really, was there anything better? 

It was then that, as the rest of the team started their sprints around the field, Raichi came running up to the club room, still dressed in his uniform and clutching the strap of his bag. He was out of breath, huffing harshly as he came to a stop in front of Sanada, waiting at the door. 

“Raichi, where were yo—“

Sanada’s words died on his tongue, falling away when Raichi’s face lifted up to meet his gaze. The expression twisted on his features looked utterly crestfallen, lips pulled taut and eyes widened. 

“I was waiting for you, Nada-senpai,” he explained, breathlessly with his voice wavering dangerously. “L-like we always do… at the school entrance.”

Shit, Sanada thought, heartbeat quickening in his chest. How could he have forgotten? He and Raichi always meet up there in the mornings. It was an unspoken rule since longer than Sanada could even remember and he’d just forgotten, left Raichi there to wait by himself. 

“I-I thought… I didn’t… I…” Raichi stammered, face flushed as he couldn’t quite string together the words. 

“I’m sorry,” blurted out Sanada, seizing Raichi by the shoulders. He felt the younger batter tense up against the sudden touch. It was so wildly out of character to be so frantic, but he couldn’t keep the words from spilling out. “I was—“

A strangled, choking scream cut Sanada off and, slowly, both boys turned their heads to Raizou who was standing in the dugout and spitting out his coffee with far too much gusto. The thermos laid, thrown down and abandoned, in the dirt beside him, dark liquid trickling out into the grass. 

Face curled up in disgust, Raizou shouted, “Haha! Very funny! Is this freakin soy sauce? Who the hell’s idea of a prank is this?! I bet it was you, Akiba!”

“What?! Coach!”

“Was it you, Taniguchi? Oooh, I bet my ass it was you!”  

“I was doing… well, that,” Sanada finished with a sheepish grin, Raizou’s loud curses and wild accusations drowning out in the sound of his own heartbeat, thrumming heavily. “Sorry I didn’t let you know beforehand, Raichi.” 

Raichi looked down, his body still rigid before relaxing, ever so slightly, in Sanada’s grip. 

“I thought Sanada-senpai… forgot,” mumbled Raichi, perturbed, “about me.” 

“No,” Sanada replied, automatically; a little too quickly for his own personal comfort. “I wouldn’t.” 

“Then,” Raichi started, finally lifting his head up to stare back at Sanada. If Sanada was a less-composed man, he might’ve passed out on spot at those earnest eyes, full of conviction, “can I help you next time? Like when we pants’d Miss-shima?” 

Sanada let out a soft, shuddery breath of laughter, finally releasing Raichi from his grip and letting his hands fall to his side.

And, for the first time, he thought maybe there are still some surprises left in the Todoroki family. 

“I’d be honored.”

(If Sanada bought Raichi 3 buns the next morning to make up for forgetting, well, that was nobody’s business)

Things To Do Before Graduation 

1. pants mishima
2. replace coach’s coffee with soy sauce
3. go to the top of the tokyo tower
4. fill the club room with water cups
5. visit my grandparents
6. tell raichi how i feel about him

Contrary to popular belief, Sanada didn’t have many friends. Sure, he had classmates— acquaintances, students who saw their Fall Tournament games on the local news— but pretty much any opportunity for friendship had been snuffed away by baseball practice. And, when that chapter came to a screeching halt, all his free time was spent at physical therapy, working to undo 2 and a half years of fruitless damage. 

“Huh?” said Hirahata, tilting his head in confusion. “The Tokyo Tower?” 

“Yeah,” repeated Sanada, shrugging his shoulders, “the Tokyo Tower.” 

The former Yakushi captain flashed him a questioning look. 

“But…why?” 

“Why not?” countered Sanada, easily. “C’mon Captain, it’ll be fun. We’ll make a day out of it. ‘Sides you already got accepted into University so it’s not like you have stuff to do.” 

Sanada was irritatingly persistent so it wasn’t long before Hirahata gave in, a huffy sigh masking the small smile, threatening to pull at the corners of his lips. 

“Fine,” he replied, in agreement. “Is Saturday good for you?” 

“Yeah, we can meet at the station.”

Hirahata turned to leave but stopped himself, turning back to look at the former pitcher and saying, “Shun, you don’t have to call me ‘Captain' anymore, you know?” 

Sanada blinked for a second, taken off guard, before rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, a soft chuckle escaping his parted lips. 

“Ah. Sorry. Force of habit.” 

“I’ve never been to the Tokyo Tower before, you know,” said Sanada, hands pressed snug into the pockets of his jeans, “even though I’ve lived in Tokyo my whole life.”

“You haven’t?” asked Hirahata, eyeing him with surprise. It was pretty warm for mid-March, but maybe it was the sun, not a cloud in sight over the blue sky. 

“Is that weird or something?”

“No,” replied the former fielder, looking up at the large structure, piercing the sky a few blocks in front of the pair. “Not particularly.” 

Sanada liked Hirahata Ryou. He had a steady head on his shoulders, he was an endlessly hard worker and, unlike the rest of the players on their team, he didn’t stand out in any way. He wasn’t loud like Raichi or Mishima, wasn’t overly flashy, but there was something alluring about him. Maybe it was the dedication. 

Maybe it was the quiet devotion to a game that offered them nothing much in return. 

It wasn’t overly crowded but there were quite a few tourists in line in front of them. Sanada didn’t mind waiting, though, because, after all, he was here for the full experience, wasn’t he?

The elevator ride to the top observation deck was admittedly pretty cool and Sanada found that he couldn’t resist the urge to press his fingers against the cool, tempered glass in awe. 

“Woah,” he murmured, in astonishment as the buildings surrounding them became smaller and smaller as they ascended, “it’s pretty high, huh? That’s kinda awesome.” 

Hirahata chuckled and Sanada tore his gaze from the Tokyo skyline to the former captain behind him, flashing him a questioning look.

“It’s just…” Hirahata explained, “you sort of sounded like Raichi, there.” 

Sanada couldn’t stop his eyes from widening, an embarrassingly hot flash of heat crawling up the nape of his neck and prickling the tips of his ears. Then, his features softened up a little and he turned back towards the window. 

Raichi. 

As he stared down at the streets of Tokyo, the people that flooded the streets becoming barely-discernible, blurry dots, the thought of Raichi being somewhere down there— probably swinging his bat at the edge of a riverbank or going out to meet with Mishima and Akiba— made him far too giddy for his own comfort. 

“Is that so?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. A soft laugh. “I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

When did I become so cheesy? So far gone? It was a mystery. 

The observation deck was bright, lined with windows that towered over the rest of the city. The two of them made their way towards the edge of the deck, weaving in and out of clamoring tourists, a group of rowdy elementary students on a field trip. 

“So,” Sanada started after a couple of minutes of knowing silence that had settled between them as they stared at the view, “University of Tokyo, huh?”

“Yeah,” Hirahata replied. “I thought it’d be best to stay near home. How about you?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Sanada told him, in all honesty. “I’m thinking of Kyoto University. Keio reached out too, but they said it was only for a sports scholarship, nothing else.” 

Then, when there was no reply, Sanada spoke up again. 

“You going to keep playing baseball, Captain?”

Hirahata paused for a second, pressed his palm onto the shiny metal railing that lined the wall of windows, eyebrows knitted together pensively. 

“No,” he finally said. “Maybe if there’s a club or something low stakes but… I don’t think so. It’s not like I was ever that good, anyway. Not like the rest of you guys.”

“I see,” Sanada hummed. “Me neither.” 

“What?” Hirahata asked, whipping his head around to stare at Sanada with an aghast expression as if the mere notion of the former pitcher leaving the sport behind was unthinkable. 

Only half a year ago, it would’ve been unthinkable to me, too.

“W-why? I mean… if that’s your decision, Shun, but…”

“Why?” Sanada repeated with a huff of breath, a laugh in spite of himself. “I’m kind of broken over here, Captain. After the summer, I could barely even pitch 5 innings.”

“Injuries can heal,” reasoned Hirahata, always rational. It was what made him a good captain. 

“Maybe,” Sanada agreed; watched a bird perch on a building, the bustle of traffic beneath them, “but lately I’ve been thinking I’m not cut out for it. I’m not like Raichi or Narumiya Mei or any other ace in West Tokyo. Hell, I didn’t even take being a pitcher seriously until Coach came. What use does the pro-league have for someone like me?” 

“Shun, I—“

“I don’t regret it,” Sanada interrupted, leaning his folded arms against the railing. “My injuries, my decisions, just so you know. I’ve made my peace with it.” 

There was a pause, long and eerie, before Hirahata spoke up again, quiet words reaching into the depths of Sanada’s soul. 

“Have you really?” he asked in a low tone. The question was so simple, so genuine and so earnest, coming from someone who was best at looking at the full picture, that Sanada faltered for a second, questioning his own words. 

Had he? 

And, with a resigned, breathy sigh. A sad smile that pulled his lips taut, for the first Sanada finally allowed himself to admit it (to Hirahata and, just maybe, to himself, too).

“No. But I’m trying to.” 

“This was fun,” Hirahata said as they made their way back to the station. This was where they parted, taking two separate lines in the opposite direction. It was late now, the sun already starting to set. A bright orange was painted across the once-blue sky. 

“It was,” Sanada agreed, above the clamor of commuters, making their way home after a long day. “Why didn’t we do this sooner?” 

“Because,” Hirahata replied with that all-too-knowing grin of his, “I don’t think it was really me you wanted to do this with, right?”

Sanada sputtered, uselessly, too shocked to form coherent words. Was he really that obvious? 

Hirahata just laughed, good-naturedly. 

“I’m glad I came today, Shun,” he said with a wave of farewell. Then, right before he turned to leave, he stopped and faced Sanada, once again, conviction passing through his facial features. “Whatever you do, Shun… about college and baseball… I know it’ll be the right decision.” 

Sanada Shunpei liked Hirahata Ryou; his genuine honesty surprising you when you least expected it, understand and saying what you need to hear. Sanada Shunpei liked Hirahata Ryou and he was glad to have met him. He was glad someone like him led their team, no matter what the ending had been. 

“Right back at’cha… Captain.” 

Things To Do Before Graduation 

1. pants mishima
2. replace coach’s coffee with soy sauce
3. go to the top of the tokyo tower
4. fill the club room with water cups
5. visit my grandparents
6. tell raichi how i feel about him

Raichi was a big, energetic ball of contradictions, oppositions, and paradoxes. In his comfort zone, that vast green field, he was an explosive batter, infamous across all of West Tokyo. He was noisy— not just in the way he spoke and laughed and shouted out—but through his hits that struck fear in even the most confident of pitchers. 

Yet, in high school, he was anything but that. Quiet and introverted whenever Sanada snuck a peek into his classroom, he was always alone. At least now that he was a second year, he had Akiba in his class but, still, when Sanada lazily strolled through the sliding doors of Class 2-C during lunch, Raichi was sitting by himself. 

His desk was next to the window and he stared out, listlessly, body curled in on himself. 

The sea of chatters that filled the second year classroom died down to a lull, murmurs and whispers rising as Sanada made his way to Raichi’s desk, all eyes on him. 

“What’s that third year doing here?” one girl’s voice hissed. 

“He’s actually pretty hot,” murmured another. 

“Don’t bother. People say he only has eyes for Todoroki.” 

Sanada could’ve laughed at that, doubled over and sobbed with heavy giggles because, damn, if that wasn’t the truest thing he’d ever heard about himself. Still, it was best to ignore it. The last thing the former pitcher wanted to do was stir up trouble for Raichi, give him any unnecessary grief. Especially because in less than a month, he’d be gone. He’d be gone for good, leaving Raichi and the team behind and—

“Nada-senpai?” Raichi asked, staring up at him from where he sat. He fidgeted nervously in his seat, kicking his feet against the ground, eyes darting around the room before settling on the elder in front of him. “What are you doing here?” 

“What do you think?” Sanada replied, pulling up an abandoned chair to sit down on the other side of the small, wooden desk. “Looking for you, of course!” 

“O-oh! Okay!” An anxious chatter of laughter escaped pursed lips. “Here I am!” 

“Here you are,” Sanada agreed. Then, “Where’s Akiba?” 

“Aki went to go get something from the food hall,” said Raichi, twiddling his fingers as Sanada propped up his chin with his elbows, unable to quell the fondness that bubbled up in his chest. 

“I see… well, that’s perfect because I have something top secret to ask you.”

Raichi’s eyes widened and he leaned in closer, voice dropping to a hushed whisper, “A secret?”

“Yup!” 

“What kind of secret?” 

A mischievous sparkle twinkled in Sanada’s eye as he pulled his lips towards Raichi’s ear, cupping a hand over his mouth to whisper for dramatic effect.

“The prank kind.” 

Sanada divulged the details of what he wanted to do as Raichi listened, eagerly and intently, nodding his head as enthusiastically as possible. It was charming in a clunky, disjointed way and Sanada wanted to always see him grin. 

“Won’t my dad get mad?” Raichi asked after Sanada finished explaining the plan. 

“Probably,” Sanada answered, “but don’t worry. If he gets really upset, I’ll take the blame.” 

There was quiet for a minute, settling in between them like a warm blanket. Snug and comfortable and never awkward— not with Raichi, at least. 

“My old man really likes you, you know,” Raichi said, suddenly. It was so out of nowhere that Sanada felt his heart still in his chest, skipping a beat as it dropped to the pits of his stomach. “He’s always talkin’ about you and your awesome pitching and… stuff. A-and! I do, too. B-because… I think Sanada-senpai is the coolest! Kahaha!” 

It, in all honestly, took a few seconds for the words to fully sink in, Sanada blinking at Raichi in owlish shock before pulling away to lean back in the chair. He dangled his neck off the headrest and pulled his forearm over his face to cover his eyes, afraid that if he looked at Raichi, he might implode, right then and there.

“Ahh,” Sanada drawled, a long, shaky sigh, “that makes me really happy, for some reason.”

It was moments like these, soft and loud and warm, that Sanada remembered why he liked Raichi so much. Earnest, wonderful Raichi. But, even more, it was moments like these that Sanada was scared of just how large his feelings had grown to be.

Someone like him deserves more than someone like me. 

Still, try as he might, he couldn’t stop the happiness, the unadulterated affection, from creeping into him, all the same. 

Maybe, just maybe, he was a creature of contradictions too. 

He opened his mouth to say something but the shrill ringing of the school bell cut him off, signaling the end of lunch. In Sanada’s opinion, it came too fast. 

Being a retired player meant no longer seeing Raichi (the team, he corrected himself, sharply. No longer seeing the team) twice a day. It meant no longer spending hours, panting and sweating under the sun, pants stained with grass and caked with dirt. Rather, these stolen little moments were all he had and, no matter what, they never felt long enough. They never felt as satisfying as the dull ache that came with a long practice, stretching past dark. 

With a grunt, a stretch of his arms, Sanada stood up. 

“So I’ll buy the cups and meet you at the club room tomorrow morning, right?” he asked as he put the chair back where he found it. 

“R-right!” affirmed Raichi, nodding his head emphatically. 

Sanada couldn’t resist the urge— something deep within him taking control— to reach over and ruffle Raichi’s hair, fingers threading through unruly tufts of silky dark brown. 

And, even more surprising than his spontaneous act of tenderness, Raichi leaned into the touch like a purring cat. 

Good lord, a less rational part of Sanada’s brain screamed. This boy might really be the death of me someday. 

Before he could do anything stupid (because he liked to think the former ace inside of him had at least a little self-control), Sanada pulled his hand away, opting to scratch his chin and chuckle, inanely.  

“Have a good practice later,” he told Raichi with a little wave before turning heel and leaving, cheeks burning in the best way possible. 

He couldn’t see through the tunnel vision, couldn’t hear anything over the pounding in his chest. He didn’t even realize that he was being stopped by someone until he felt a hand reach out and seize his arm once he stepped through the threshold of the classroom, into the hallway. 

“Huh?” Sanada managed to say, snapping out of his trance to see a concerned Akiba, staring up at him. “Oh! Akiba. Do you need something?” 

The boy blinked a few times, glancing up and down like he wasn’t really sure what he wanted to say. He chewed on his bottom lip before taking a deep breath. 

“Sanada-senpai,” he mused, voice hushed with caution, “just… just be careful with him, okay?” 

Sanada didn’t need to ask who the catcher was talking about, he knew. 

Akiba continued, turning to gaze into the classroom, “Raichi may seem clueless about this sort of stuff but—“

“I know,” Sanada cut him off, waving his hand in dismissal. “I get it, don’t worry.” 

Akiba offered him a grateful smile. 

Besides, Sanada thought as he walked back towards the third year hall, hands tucked behind his back, it’s not like he feels the same way about me. 

127 plastic cups, 3 jugs of water, and 45 minutes of labor amounted to a pretty good prank if Sanada did say so himself. 

Hands on his hips, he puffed out his chest with a toothy, cocky grin; the same one he used to wear on the mound, staring down batters inside the box. 

“See?” he said to Raichi, who was standing beside him at the door to the club room. A sea of red cups engulfed the entire floor of the room, wall to wall, all filled half-way with water. “And we didn’t even spill that much.”

Around the 30 minute mark, there had been a mishap with him and Raichi bumping into each other that led to a very heart-wrenching splash but they were able to save the prank. 

“Nada-senpai,” Raichi’s voice was awestruck, “you’re like an evil genius!”

Sanada nudged him in the side, lightly. 

“Hardly,” he dismissed. “It’s you that’s the prodigy, after all.”  

“No! It’s—“

“Shhh!” Sanada interrupted, slapping a hand over his lips and tugging him out of view. Footsteps approached, the unmissable voice of Mishima getting louder. “Someone’s coming.” 

Raichi said something in response but it was muffled through Sanada’s fingers, clamped tightly over his mouth, and the former pitcher looked down to find their position, smushed together. Raichi’s body was tucked comfortably into the curve of Sanada’s stomach; Sanada’s chin brushing over the crown of his head, loose strands of hair tickling him. His palms cupped Raichi’s face, skin brushing over the faded scar on his cheek. 

“Sorry,” Sanada apologized quickly, removing his hand. And, he found, he immediately missed the touch, the warm sensation washing over him that was Todoroki Raichi, in all his unusual glory. 

“We’re gonna get Miss-shima again!” Raichi whispered in a strangled hiss, unable to contain his excitement. He was shaking in anticipation, fists clenched tightly. Evidently, it was contagious because Sanada was smiling, involuntarily, back. 

Mishima was going on a long tirade about something or the other and— the idiot he was— wasn’t looking where he was going. By the time he stepped through the door, it was too late, foot catching on one of the cups, tilting over and splashing water over the pant leg. He moved to fall forward but Akiba caught him, just in time, yanking him back by the collar of his shirt.

“Yuuta!”

Unfortunately for the catcher, who always meant well, the momentum of Mishima falling was too strong to stop, sending the two of them— Akiba now latched on to the other second year’s back— falling into the sea of cups. 

Taniguchi and Kuroki, who were following their upperclassmen into the room, couldn’t react fast enough and tripped over the splayed-out bodies with yelps and shouts. Cups clattered and rolled and Tomobe, the only safe one, watched from outside the door, barely even looking up from his manga. 

The ruckus strangled out curses alerted Raizou, who came running from the dugout just in time to see the mess. 

“What the hell?” was all he could offer, hands reaching up to pull at his hair. 

“Haha!” Raichi jumped out into view before Sanada could stop him or pull him back, his finger wagging at their unfortunate victims, uniforms now soaked and dripping with water. “We got you!” 

“Raichi, you freakin’ ass! I’m gonna kill you!” That was Mishima, of course. 

“I’m all wet!” 

Raizou’s face twisted up in exhausted ire, grabbing his son by the front of his shirt and shaking him around, accusingly. 

“Sanada! Get out here!” he shouted, knowing that whenever there was trouble, surely there’d be the former ace, to which Sanada could only pitifully emerge from where he hid, hands tucked behind his back with sheepish smirk and bout of contrite laughter. 

“Which one of you knuckleheads did this?! Huh?!” 

Sanada opened his mouth to take the blame like he’d promised Raichi he would but the younger spoke up before he got the chance to. 

“We both did! Kahaha! Me and Nada-senpai are a team!” 

The sentiment was more than nice, sending stupidly strong shivers down Sanada’s spine, parted lips twitching in shocked affection, rolling through the pitcher in waves he couldn’t control. 

And, even as he spent the entire morning mopping up the floor and tossing out cups, Raichi’s overjoyed giggle, that heartfelt statement— “Me and Nada-senpai are a team”— echoed in his ears on repeat; Sanada knew it was worth it. 

Things To Do Before Graduation 

1. pants mishima
2. replace coach’s coffee with soy sauce
3. go to the top of the tokyo tower
4. fill the club room with water cups
5. visit my grandparents
6. tell raichi how i feel about him

“An onsen?” Hirahata asked, his eyebrow raised all the way up as he looked at Sanada with an incredulous expression. “Shun, you’re great… but I’m not going to an onsen with you.” 

It figures, Sanada thought, leaning against the outer brick wall of their school. 

“My grandparents own a tiny onsen in Kamakura,” Sanada explained, tilting his head back to look up at the sky. It was cloudy today. “It’s a nice little place, got a couple of rooms…” his voice trailed off. “I was gonna visit them before graduation but I don’t really want to go by myself.” 

“Why not invite Raichi?” Hirahata asked. Sanada’s eyes widened, chin snapping up to look at the former captain. 

“Raichi?” repeated Sanada, feigning innocence. Pretending he didn’t know why someone would ask that. 

“I’m sure Coach would let him. He’d probably be happy for Raichi to be away for the weekend,” Hirahata huffed out a laugh, arms folded across his chest as he gave Sanada a pointed stare. When the former pitcher didn’t reply, he continued, “Graduation is in 2 weeks, Shun.” 

I know, Sanada’s thought told him. His mouth was incredibly dry. I know. 

“Besides,” Hirahata said, looking up as the bell rang to signal lunch was over, He hoisted his bag further up his shoulder, turning to walk back into the building and tossing Sanada a final, knowing glance behind his shoulder as he left, “I know it’s him that you really want to go with.”

So that was how Sanada found himself in front of the train station, overnight bag settled by his feet, glancing down at his wristwatch, waiting for Todoroki Raichi. 

Of course Raizou had been downright delighted when Sanada asked if Raichi could join him in Kamakura, just an hour or so outside of Tokyo. He’d agreed emphatically, slapping Raichi on the back, pushing him towards the elder, and not-so-teasingly demanding that they bring him back a bottle of sake in return. 

Raichi had been red-faced, staring up at Sanada with a wobbly smile. 

“Can I really come?” he had asked once Raizou left them alone, out of an earshot. 

“Sure,” Sanada had offered him a warm smile. “It’ll be fun. You have a yukata?” 

The air was crisp, an early-afternoon breeze nipping at his nose until the skin turned ruddy. Spring reminded Sanada of beginnings and ends. Beginnings like the day he stepped onto the Yakushi practice field for the first time, an aimless first year with no real conviction or goals. Ends like the day rushing towards him at a rapid pace, lying just 2 weeks in front of him. 

The trees prattled nervously, lining the train station entrance. 

“Sanada-senpai!” Raichi’s voice permeated the unnerving whistle of wind, snapping Sanada out of his thoughts as an easy, buttery smile spread involuntarily across his lips. 

Raichi was wearing a tattered, puffy coat; he didn’t own an overnight bag so his sports duffel was slung across his chest, knocking about as he ran towards the station, a white scarf wrapped around his neck, chin tucked in the knitted folds.  

“I was starting to think you got lost,” Sanada said once the younger skidded to a stop, panting heavily and pressing his hands to his knees as he tried to catch his breath. Raichi lifted his head to offer him a shy smile. 

“Ready?” Sanada asked him, averting his eyes in fear of the blush that threatening to break out on his cheekbones. 

“Mmhmm,” hummed Raichi, trailing Sanada’s steps as they entered the station.

They made their train with less than a minute to spare, squishing themselves into the seats, pressed shoulder to shoulder and sandwiched between strangers. In fact, the whole car was filled. Sanada knew that by half an hour, the crowd would gradually trickle out but, from the corner of his eye, he saw Raichi fidgeting nervously.

“You okay?” Sanada murmured, voice low. He tugged at the hem of Raichi’s jacket sleeve to grab the younger’s attention, whose eyes were too busy darting back and forth between the crowd of commuters that filled his view. 

“I…I’m…”

“Nervous?” Sanada supplied, knowing all too well how crowds made Raichi anxious. 

He remembered the opening ceremony for the Summer Tournament, the hot stadium packed to the brim with players; remembered the way Raichi wriggled with jitters the whole time, unable to stand still. 

He remembered the roar of the crowd, the people who screamed and waved excitedly when they stepped out of their janky Yakushi bus with air conditioning that didn’t work. He remembered the thrill of opening their first game of the tournament, the way Raichi swung his bat incessantly as he waited for the blow of the umpire’s whistle that signaled the start. He could still feel the hot Jingu sun, scorching down on him, he—

“There’s a lot of people,” Raichi’s voice cut through invasive thoughts, “kinda like the Summer Tournament ceremony.” 

Sanada was speechless for a second, blinked in awe at Raichi before shaking his head slowly, a low laugh rumbling in his stomach. Of course he took the words right out of my head.

“Yeah,” he agreed, leaning the back of his head to rest on the cool glass of the train window. “You’re right.”

His gaze drifted downwards towards their laps, legs pressed together in the tiny seats. Raichi’s hand was twitching, shaking ever so slightly, and in a feverish moment of impulsivity, Sanada reached down to take the younger’s palm into his own. 

Raichi, to his sinking horror, flinched away, jerking his hand out of Sanada’s grasp. 

“Sorry,” Sanada began to apologize, immediately, “I’m sorry, I didn’t—“

“My hand,” Raichi stammered out, clutching his fist to his chest. He looked ashamed, refusing to meet Sanada’s intensely gaping stare. “It’s really hard ‘cuz of my bat, ‘cuz I’m always swinging it ’n stuff. I don’t… you…”

Sanada’s tense features softened in realization of what the boy was trying to say. He's embarrassed of his callouses. 

“Raichi,” he said, taking his hand once more, unfurling Raichi’s balled up fingers and threading them through his own, squeezing tightly. “I don’t care about stuff like that.” 

“You don’t?” he implored, shocked. 

“Why would I?” Sanada said like it was the most obvious answer in the world. Yet, to Raichi, that answer seemed to have held all the meaning in the world. 

Raichi’s eyes widened, leaning down ever-so-slightly to stare at their interlaced fingers before glancing back up at Sanada in shock like he couldn’t quite grasp the concept.

He looked impossibly innocent and, selfishly, Sanada wanted that look— that doe-eyed expression— all to himself.

West Tokyo, the world, could have the monster slugger, the batting prodigy player with the killer swing but Sanada? Sanada wanted Todoroki Raichi, the one who was soft and rough around the edge and had never held hands before. He wanted to hide that part of Raichi away, steal it for himself. 

Maybe I’m a bad person, he couldn’t help but vaguely think. I'm too selfish. 

They held hands for the rest of the hour and a half ride. It was sweaty and uncomfortable, awkward at times when the train jostled about but Sanada would sooner jump off the tracks than let go. 

It was almost evening by the time they got off the train, the sun starting to set in orange-ish blues. It was chillier earlier and goosebumps prickled on Sanada's skin (but, unfortunately, he wasn't sure if it was from the cold or, maybe, it was from how close Raichi was standing, pressed up against Sanada's back as they made their way out of the station). 

“Tired?” Sanada asked as Raichi bit back a yawn, following the elder. Luckily the inn wasn’t too far from the train, just a couple of minutes walk. 

“No,” Raichi lied. 

They walked in silence after that, footsteps thudding against the pavement that blended seamlessly into a dusty road, crumbly against the soles of Sanada’s sneakers. 

His grandparent’s onsen was off to the side, near a bunch of other old-fashioned shops in a lazy little town. The air was crisp, fresh unlike that of Tokyo’s and Sanada took in a deep breath. Raichi peered up at him with observant eyes before following suit. 

When they stepped through the doors, they were greeted with the faint sound of bells jangling, dancing around, and the creak of old wooden, straining underneath their feet. Sanada could vaguely remember the summers he spent in Kamakura when he was younger, back when the wood was just a little more polished and the bell that hung on the front door was slightly less rusty. 

The entrance was empty, the tiny check-in desk abandoned at the front so Sanada cupped a hand over his mouth, dropping his bag by the genkan, and called out, “We’re here!” 

A cozy sensation enveloped him, quietness and some form of tranquility buzzing in his ear. Raichi fiddled with the zipper on his coat. 

His grandma appeared from the back not long after, her soft face twisting into a slightly-wrinkled smile. 

“Shunpei,” she greeted, happily and he leaned down to give her a warm hug. “Look how big you’ve gotten.”

Sanada managed a small laugh, breaths coming out in tiny heaves. 

“It hasn’t been that long, grandma.” 

Then, when his eyes landed back on Raichi who stood in the doorway, clumsily removing his shoes, he stepped back to gesture towards this younger. 

“This is my— uh— f...friend. We were on the baseball team together.” 

“Oh!” his grandmother said, face twisting up in recognition. “I saw you on the television! When you and Shunpei were at Koshien. You were great.” 

Raichi flushed, cheeks reddening like a ripe fruit at the sudden compliment. 

“T-thank you, ma’am,” he managed to say and Sanada wished, something carnal inside him that he worked effortlessly to push down, that he could kiss up that bashful little look. Raichi bowed his head down, respectfully. “Pardon the intrusion.”

“Oh,” his grandmother’s voice was warm when she dismissed him with a friendly little wave, “none of that. Any friend of Shunpei’s is welcome here.”

She turned towards Sanada, motioning towards the stairs that led to the handful of rooms the onsen offered. 

“I set up Room 4 for you guys,” she told him. “You can drop off your stuff before you head down for a bath and dinner.” 

“Thanks,” Sanada replied, hoisting up his bag once more and motioning for Raichi to follow him. 

As they ascended up the wooden steps, Sanada heard— in the smallest voice ever, words clearly not meant for Sanada’s ears—Raichi quietly whisper, “Shunpei.” 

It took him by such a surprise that he stopped in his tracks, Raichi’s face smashing right into his back, letting out a strangled little grunt. 

Sanada whipped around, heart slamming dangerously fast against his ribcage.

“W-what did you just say?” he asked, trying his best to maintain his composure. Shunpei, he said my name. He said Shunpei. 

Raichi hesitated before replying, tentatively, “Shunpei. Y-your grandma called you by your first name and… um, I wanted to try.” 

Shunpei. 

It felt so right, hearing it from Raichi’s lips. In his voice. Sanada’s throat constricted tightly, preventing any air or words from leaving him. 

Still, by some miracle, he was able to stutter out a selfish request. 

“Can you say it again, Raichi?” he asked. 

This time Raichi was louder, emboldened with a little more confidence when he said, “Shunpei.” 

Leaning against the stair railing, Sanada pressed his forehead to his folded-up arms and squeezed his eye shut, tightly. A giddiness filled him, it reminded him of being at the Spring Senbatsu. It reminded him of when he first learned the shootball, when he first perfected it in a game but all of that tenfold. 

“That makes me really happy, Raichi,” he said with a wary laugh, smile fluttering across lips pulled taut in self-restraint. 

“It does?” Raichi asked. 

“Yeah,” Sanada breathed out. Then, after a pause, “You can call me that if you want. Some people on the team already do. Besides, it’s only fair. I call you by your first name.” 

Raichi nodded, gulping nervously before speaking again. 

“Shun-senpai…” Raichi’s voice wavered, it felt foreign on his tongue yet distinctly familiar at the same time and Sanada’s stomach flipped. 

“Come on,” he said, not knowing what he might do if they kept this conversation going for any longer. “Let’s see our room.” 

Two futons lay in the center of the room, done up neatly against tatami mats with a small TV in the corner. In an adjoining room was a traditional short-legged table and a closet with a folding door to put their stuff in. 

“Your grandparents own this onsen?” Raichi asked, crawling over to sit cross-legged on one of the futons, wiggling his toes on the white sheets. 

“Yeah,” Sanada said as he hoisted up his bag into the closet. “Apparently my great-grandfather fixed this place up. It’s gonna go down to my aunt and uncle, next.” 

With a sigh, Raichi flopped down, back pressed against the futon as he stared upwards at the ceiling. Sanada watched, something akin to affection or fondness of some kind bubbling in his chest, as the younger’s long eyelashes fluttered for a few seconds before closing. 

Sanada made his way his way over, kneeling down next to Raichi. 

“Oi,” he said, poking Raichi’s cheek with his finger, “don’t fall asleep on me. We haven’t even gone to the hot spring yet.” 

“This futon,” Raichi ignored him in favor of rolling over to face the elder. His bangs fell over his forehead in unruly tufts, loose strands tumbling into brown eyes, cheek smushed up against the pillow, “is more comfy than my one at home. It’s not lumpy like mine.” 

Sanada’s mouth felt dry for a second before he turned his head to stare out the window, averting his gaze. 

“Tell Coach to buy you a new one.” 

Raichi let out a hushed hum of agreement and Sanada closed his eyes, pretended this moment could be stretched out until the end of time, playing again and again (but he’d never get sick of it). 

When Sanada mustered up the courage to turn his head and look at Raichi a couple of minutes later, the younger was sprawled out on the plush, quilted mattress with his eye shut. He’d fallen asleep. His chest rose and fell with shaky, shallow exhales escaping slightly parted lips. 

“Shun-senpai,” Raichi whispered out, voice heavy and worn rough with drowsiness. 

No, Sanada couldn’t help but think as he gingerly reached his hand to tuck Raichi’s unkempt hair behind his ear, I’d never get sick of it. 

Dinner was typical ryokan food— grilled fish, sashimi, miso soup, the works— but Raichi gawked at it in awe as if he was in heaven, wasting no time in gobbling up everything.

Sanada could’ve sworn there were cartoon hearts in his pupils when they placed the food down in front of Raichi. 

“You’ll choke,” Sanada couldn’t help but say between bites of rice but Raichi ignored him, too busy eating, and Sanada figured it was okay to let him pig out on something that wasn’t bananas and Pocari Sweat drinks for once. 

By the time they were satiated, stomachs full, the sun had fully melted into the dark night sky so the two of them changed into their yukatas and headed down towards the hot spring bath, behind the inn. 

Steam and damp warmth enveloped Sanada’s senses as they walked out through the sliding doors, limpid music floating through the speakers. The water was astonishingly blue and lit up against the evening darkness. 

Slowly, they shed their cotton robes and stepped in. The contrast of the scaldingly hot water and the cold mid-spring air sent shivers crawling down Sanada’s spine as he waded in the waist-high spring. 

They settled against some rocks that lined the pool and the resistance of the water against his body made Sanada wince as a pang of hot pain made itself known, leg bending slightly in the wrong way.

“Are you okay?” Raichi asked, not missing a beat. 

“Fine,” Sanada dismissed through a hiss but Raichi didn’t let it go as easily as he’d hoped. 

“Is it your leg, Nada—erm— Shun-senpai?” 

Sanada couldn’t exactly lie to Raichi so, resigned, he answered, “Yeah, but it’s no big deal.” 

“Does it hurt a lot?” Raichi pressed on, not taking the hint to drop it. 

Yes, Sanada immediately thought. Yes, but what hurts isn’t what you think hurts. Yes, because I will never stand on the mound again, never pitch a full-game, never get to win the Championship. Yes, because I will never play baseball with you again. 

“No,” he lied. “Not always.” 

“Good,” Raichi said, leaning back against the stones. A calm smile spread across his rosy lips and he closed his eyes, envisioning something Sanada could not chase after, “because Shun-senpai has to make a full recovery so we can play together again someday. Just wait, I'll come and meet you then, we’ll blow everyone away! Kahaha!” 

At that confident admission, Sanada’s eyes widened, slowly. A bitterness spread through him that he would blame on the intense heat of the onsen. 

It hurts. 

It hurts. 

And the scariest thought out all:  I want that, too. 

There was nothing to say to Raichi— no response that wouldn’t ruin the carefully crafted atmosphere of the night, no response that wouldn’t cast an ugly stain across them— so Sanada ignored it, tilted his head back and gazed up. To his surprise, he could make out some stars, faintly twinkling above in the sky.

“Raichi,” he said, lifting his hand out of the water to point upwards at the vast darkness. “Stars.” 

“Woah,” Raichi gasped out, twisting around to hoist his body further up, hands pressed firmly against the rocks. He grinned widely, mouth gaping open in an o-shape. Airy laughs bubbled up out of his stomach as he said, “Shun-senpai, look!”

And Sanada did. 

Only, it wasn’t the stars he was looking so intently at— it was the other boy. The glow of the lit-up water illuminated the younger’s body, limning Raichi in a silvery glow. He had always been spectacular but, just this once, his body was shining iridescently to match what was already inside. 

Raichi paused, turning his body over to meet Sanada’s gaze. His excited face twisted into one of confusion.

“What are you doing, Shun-senpai?” he asked, tilting his head. 

The answer was simple. 

“Remembering this.” 

The rest of the weekend went by fast— too fast, if you asked Sanada, especially considering what was waiting for him in the upcoming weeks—and by Sunday afternoon, they were back at the entrance of the inn, packed up and ready to catch the train.

“It was nice of you to visit us,” said Sanada’s grandmother, standing in the genkan to see them off. “I can’t believe you’re graduating already.” 

“Well,” Sanada replied as he tugged on his jacket. He glanced over at Raichi, tying his shoes, “time goes by fast, I guess.”

His grandmother gave him a knowing look, reaching over to give him a quick hug. Once she released him from his grasp, Raichi stepped forward with a bow. 

“Thank you for having me!”

“Nonsense,” she replied, lips pulling upwards in a kind smile. “Thank you for coming.” 

“Bye, grandma,” Sanada bid her farewell, pulling open the sliding door and shuffling out with Raichi in tow. 

“Bye, Shunpei!” she called after them. “Say hi to your mother for me!” 

The walk to the train station was silent, Raichi’s feet crunched under the dirt path. The shouts of neighborhood kids, chasing away the last of their weekend, permeating through the chilly air. 

Right as the station came into view, peeking over the tops of the trees that lined the path, Raichi spoke up.

“I had fun,” he said, looking ahead, the corners of his eyelids crinkling in pensiveness, “Not like baseball fun, like when you get to blow the ball away… but, um, a different kind of fun. The kind of fun I always have when I’m with you, Shun-senpai.”

Sanada’s eyes widened before softening, allowing a wave of content joy to wash over him. And maybe it was a little bit sad, though Sanada would never admit it because Raichi was wonderful and oblivious and Sanada loved him so, so much. 

“Good,” he replied. Then, after a brief moment of consideration. “Me too, Raichi.”

By the time their train pulled back into the city, the sun was on the cusp of going down— almost setting but not quiet. Blues threatening to be overtaken by yellow, the air prickling at Sanada’s skin as they ascended up the steps from the station. 

“I’ll walk you back to your place,” Sanada offered before Raichi opened his mouth to say his parting words. The younger faltered at that, pausing. 

“You don’t have to,” insisted Raichi, shyly hiding his rubescent cheeks between the folds of his scarf. Sanada wanted to kiss up every last red splotch on his skin, run his thumbs over his cheekbone. 

He turned his head instead, crossing his arms loosely to his chest. 

“I will,” Sanada replied, firmly, unable to back down. “I have the bottle of sake for Coach, anyway, so I’ll carry it over.”

It was a flimsy, dumb excuse and he knew it but something deep within him— the same part of him that throbbed with love when Raichi was near, the same part of him that bough Raichi pork buns in the morning, worked his leg to death for the hope of the batter one day standing in front of the nation, and wrote bullet number 6 on his bucket list— didn’t allow him to end their weekend quite yet. 

“O-okay,” Raichi conceded, face warping into a bashful grin.

So, wordlessly, the two of them started down the sidewalk, walking side-by-side.

After a couple of minutes, Sanada spoke up to cut the silence that had inadvertently settled between them.  

“You excited to become a third year?” Sanada asked as they strolled down the street towards Raichi’s apartment building. “Two more weeks.” 

“Mmhmm,” Raichi murmured in agreement, voice muffled. “We’re gonna beat Sawamura an' Amahisa! I’m gonna blow them both away this time! Kahaha!”

“Make sure you bring Coach to Koshien,” Sanada told him. It was sort of bittersweet. Sanada wished he could’ve added ‘again’ to that statement, tack it out at the end proudly but, by now, the wound of failure had already scabbed over and healed, leaving a faded scar. And all he could do was hope that Raichi carried the banner.

But he trusted Raichi with their— his— dream. In fact, he couldn’t think of anyone more capable to hand it over to. 

For the rest of the walk, they chatted about little nothings. Raichi told him about how he was learning grips for his pitches and how he kept accidentally dozing off during literature class. Sanada chuckled, lightly teasing him and bringing up little stories from before Raichi had joined Yakushi. 

It meant nothing and everything at the same time and Sanada couldn’t help but wonder, vaguely, if he’d ever get a chance to do this again. 

By the time they got to the younger’s apartment building, their bodies were brushing up against each other and, even through their thick coats, the sides of their arms were burning from where they were pressed together. 

“Ah,” Raichi hummed out, looking down at his feet then up at the building entrance. “This is me.”  

Sanada’s breath hitched, gazing over at the younger. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so light, so free of burden. And it was all due to him. 

The sun was setting now, the golden light that streamed down backlit Raichi, casting a yellowy shadow over his tanned, unblemished skin. It was breathtaking and scary, all at once, and the usually-composed ace's thoughts only screamed one thing: Raichi, Raichi, Raichi. 

“Thank you for everything, Shun-sen—“ he started, hands tucked together. 

And then it came out all at once, before Sanada could even think or stop it, words pouring out of him in overwhelming honest, pools of emotions that he could no longer suppress. 

“Raichi,” he said, “I love you.” 

Things To Do Before Graduation 

1. pants mishima
2. replace coach’s coffee with soy sauce
3. go to the top of the tokyo tower
4. fill the club room with water cups
5. visit my grandparents
6. tell raichi how i feel about him

Sanada Shunpei was bored out of his mind. 

Sanada Shunpei was graduating, sitting in the Yakushi High School auditorium, waiting for his name to be called, and he was bored out of his mind. The freshly-tailored school uniform he wore was creased uncomfortably, too tight around his legs and the auditorium was stuffy as all hell. 

Fidgeting with the collar of his shirt and glancing around, he looked over at the teachers, who were lined up in between the rows of auditorium seats, diligently clapping for every student. 

When Hirahata had been called, the former captain rose up from his seat and walked up to receive his diploma with his head held high and Sanada could’ve sworn he heard a little sob come suspiciously close to where the coaching staff stood. 

Raizou, predictably, had been crying the whole time. 

Sanada chuckled, it had happened with the third years last year too, he was a sobbing mess. The family resemblance was all too clear. 

Sanada grimaced a little at the thought of their family, a mix between a chastened yet content smile. It still stung, just a little.  

He had no one else to blame but himself, putting Raichi on the spot like that. 

Of course the shy younger boy wouldn’t have reacted well to that, his eyes had blown up wide and he couldn’t even stutter out a proper response. Sanada wasn’t sure Raichi had ever gotten a confession before, not knowing what to make of such a sudden, unabashed declaration of love. 

But Sanada wasn’t upset, hadn’t cried or gotten angry. If anything, despite the hurt that still twinged in his heart, he was glad. Glad to have gotten it off his chest, glad to have put it out into the world, glad to have crossed off the last bullet point on his bucket list, officially closing the high school chapter of his life. 

And, most of all, glad Raichi knew that he loved him because, god, Sanada Shunpei loved Todoroki Raichi. 

So when, throughout the course of the last two weeks of his high school career, Raichi had adamantly avoided him, blushed a terrifyingly bright shade of red, and looked away whenever their eyes met, Sanada was at least glad he had that closure. 

“Sanada Shunpei.” The sound of his voice being called through the microphone broke him out of his thoughts. 

Well, he thought, as he hoisted himself out of his seat and made his way to the front of the stage, maybe I do have some regrets.

The sound of scattered clapping filled the stuffy chamber, sparse at first but picking up to a loud roar as he accepted the scroll of paper with a firm shake of their principal’s hand. He could’ve laughed when he heard Raizou shout out his name, proudly. 

I have more regrets than I can count but not baseball. Not loving Raichi. Loving Raichi will never be one of them. 

And, with that, Sananda Shunpei officially graduated. 

After the ceremony had finished with the singing of their school song, low and barely-harmonious (Sanada hadn’t practiced, lazily pretending to sing by mouthing the words), they all flooded into the courtyard of the school.

The rest of the team approached the newly-graduated players, Mishima just as teary-eyed as their Coach was, who was currently clasping onto Hirahata’s shoulders and giving him a spiel about the future in an indecipherably choked-up voice. 

“Sanada,” said Raizou, turning to him, finally releasing the former captain from his death-grip. There were, unsurpsingly, tears welling in his eyes. 

“Coach,” Sanada drawled out with a lazy grin, holding his diploma near his neck as he stretched his back out, “you really shouldn’t cry so much, it—“

“I’m proud of you,” Raizou interrupted and for a split second, Sanada faltered, taken aback. “And I’m grateful for everything you did for this team.” 

A pause. 

“Don’t be,” he replied with a chuckle that sounded sadder than he'd intended it to, running a hand through his hair. “I did it ‘cuz I… I love baseball.” 

They stood around talking for a while, kouhais (well, technically they weren’t his kouhais anymore) coming up to congratulate him, bowing their head down and wishing him luck in the future to which Sanada replied with a promise to see their games, fleeting messages of vague encouragement. 

Slowly, though, everyone began to disperse and go on their own way so Sanada gave one last look at the school, his eyes lingering at the practice field— the chainlink fence, the clay-dirt caked in the mound. The dugout’s rusty cover, the old batting cages. Everything that encapsulated his three years, the placed that housed the most important things to him.

Then, he began to turn his back and walk away. The sounds of his footsteps, each one hitting the pavement with more conviction than the last, echoed in his ears, when—

“Shun-senpai!” 

... that unmissable voice permeated the spring air. 

“‘Shun-senpai?’ Why is that idiot calling Sanada-senpai that?” Sanada could vaguely hear Mishima ask in the background but most sound was drowned out by the deep thudding of his own heart, beating so hard it was almost painful, as he whipped his head around to see Raichi chasing after him. 

The younger skidded to a halt in front of Sanada, huffing loudly but a look of self-assurance passed through his face. In fact, Sanada had never seen him look so confident off of the field before. 

“Raichi,” Sanada breathed out his words, slowly, like he couldn’t quite believe what was happening. “What’s—“

“Here!” With no warning, Raichi suddenly thrust his fist towards Sanada, dropping something in the elder’s hand. “This is f-for you!” 

Slowly, Sanada unfurled his fingers to reveal a metal button, pressed into his palm. 

It dawned on him, slowly at first then all at once. 

Raichi’s second button, a sign of someone’s most beloved person. 

And then Sanada laughed.

He laughed and laughed and laughed until he couldn’t breathe, clutching the button to his heart as he keeled over, doubling down with giggles and wheezes that wouldn't stop coming. It was pantsing Mishima, soy sauce in Raizou’s coffee and water cups, lining every inch of the club room, all at once, clashing inside him simultaneously. 

“Raichi,” he managed to gasp out between bouts of laughter. His heart squeezed tightly in his chest. It ached and ached but in all the best ways, love threatening to pour out of every inch of him. “It’s the person graduating who gives the button, you dummy. It should be me giving my button to you.” 

The younger jolted, stepping back with embarrassment before covering his face with his hands.

When the laughter finally tapered off, stray tears prickling his eyes and leaving only unadulterated fondness tingling through him in warm waves, Sanada stood back up. 

He tentatively leaned forward, gently placing his hand over Raichi’s. The younger’s fingers shook, ever so slightly, tensing up when Sanada made contact. 

Slowly, the elder removed Raichi’s hands from where they hid his eyes, gingerly touch the side of Raichi’s face, cupping his cheek. The younger didn’t pull away. 

“Here,” Sanada said, reaching his free hand down to yank off his own button, loosening it from the uniform. He tenderly spread Raichi’s fingers open and placed the button in the center of the younger’s palm, clasping his fingers over it. “You can have mine and I’ll take yours. Okay?”

Raichi didn’t say anything, just looked down at it then back up at Sanada, searching eyes unsure of what to do next. 

“Raichi,” Sanada asked, slowly and cautiously. He didn’t know what was provoking him to ask but he wanted to know, all the same. Because he was selfish.  “How do you feel… about me?” 

The lazy March breeze rustling through the trees, shaking the branches of trees that danced above them. Their school loomed in the distance, members of their team whooping and cheering in the background. 

But, even so, to Sanada it all melted away. It was only them, in the world, alone in this quiet moment they'd somehow stolen. 

“I, um… I’m not so good with… stuff like this, Shun-senpai, b-but when you’re around, it makes my heart go crazy. Crazy like when I smack away someone’s fastball or… get a home run, you know? But also… not like that at the same time,” Raichi stuttered out. For the first time, he refused to break eye-contact with Sanada as he spoke in a wavering voice. “It’s different but it’s a good different because you make me happy and… and…and… ”

“It’s okay,” Sanada whispered, cutting him off. He carded a hand through Raichi's hair, smoothing it down. “You don’t have to force yourself.”

“B-but!” Raichi tensed up, leaning forward suddenly. “Shun-senpai said it to me! So I have to say it back! Because I do! I love you, too!” 

Sanada once thought that he admired the Todoroki family because they were predictable, never full of surprises. He thought he liked them because their intentions were always laid bare for the world to see but maybe, just maybe, he was starting to realize he was wrong. 

He always had been. 

Because there was nothing more pleasantly shocking, surprising the former pitcher to his very core, than those 4 little words that rung out, sending shivers down his whole body. 

I love you, too. 

“Raichi,” Sanada mumbled, pressing his forehead against Raichi’s. The skin was warm. “Can I kiss you?” 

Raichi let out a shocked little squeak before, ever so softly, shaking his head in a nod of approval.

That was all it took, Sanada wasted no time in feverishly pressing their lips together, closing the tiny space between them. 

It wasn’t a very skilled kiss, neither had much true experience in the matter, but Raichi’s lips were balmy and warm and when they parted against Sanada’s, the elder could’ve melted into the touch. Shakily, Sanada reached his hand to caress the side of Raichi’s face, running the pad of his thumb across the younger’s high cheekbone before holding his jaw, firmly.

They kissed and kissed and kissed and Sanada swore that, in a day full of endings and lasts, this kiss would only be the first out of many to come.

Things To Do Before Raichi Comes to Visit Keio

1. reschedule physical therapy appointment 
2. talk to coach about placement for raichi on the team next year
3. find a way to sneak him into the field
4. confirm his train ticket 
5. make reservations at a restaurant 
6. give him a kiss <3