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Kazuya had been fumbling with his shoelaces, fingers stiff and blue from the cold when a loud rap on the door startled him, making him lose the knot in his laces. The digital clock next to his bedside table read 22:47 and it was way too late for an intruding guest, but he grumbled to himself and got up anyway, managing to toe off his training shoes and discarding them randomly on the floor. Whoever thought it was a clever idea to disturb him at this stupidly late hour was probably an idiot and Kazuya only knew of one (well maybe two.) As he opened the door–his sneaking suspicion confirmed–he resigned himself to the messy brown hair and bright grin peeking out under layers upon layers of winter clothing that made Kazuya’s troublesome pitcher look like a fluffy marshmallow.
“No. Definitely not. I’m not catching for you,” Kazuya said on reflex, used to shutting Sawamura down whenever he came begging with puppy eyes and a baseball already in hand.
The first-year’s mouth had opened in a greeting, but it snapped shut with indignation at Kazuya’s quick rebuff. “That’s not what I’m here for!” Sawamura’s eyes narrowed at Kazuya’s mock disbelief. “I’m here to give you something.”
At that, Kazuya raised his eyebrows, intrigued though slightly cautious. While it was not unusual for Sawamura to hang out in Kazuya’s room–he often came to read Kazuya’s baseball magazines, hang out with the team or review their matches on tape–the purpose was always tied to their love of baseball. But to give him something like a present? The idea was so unbelievable that Kazuya half expected Kuramochi to jump out with a camera and capture his stunned face to use as blackmail material for the rest of their highschool career.
“Oh, a present for me? What’s the occasion?” Kazuya leant against the door frame with a smirk. “Or is this a surprise confession? You know how rumours fly.” He watched Sawamura go from slightly pink from the cold air to bright red in a heartbeat.
“W-what are you saying, Miyuki Kazuya?!” Sawamura shook his fist at him and it was then that Kazuya noticed a glass jar held precariously underneath Sawamura’s left arm. The contents were shielded from him, but Kazuya could tell that whatever was inside was dark brown and huge. Kazuya suddenly felt uneasy.
“Sawamura, what’s that?” He nodded towards the container, trying to get a better look. Confusion briefly passed over Sawamura’s face, as if he’d forgotten the jar under his arm–the purpose of his visit taking second place to Kazuya’s taunting–before he glanced down and a smile spread across his mouth.
“Oh! Yes, this!” He grabbed the jar and shoved it enthusiastically into Kazuya’s face like a dog showing off an impressive stick to its owner. “Tada! A stag beetle–I found it behind the fields just now.”
As quickly as if he’d been stung, Kazuya reeled back, flinching at the massive ugly brown thing that was glued to a leaf inside of the jar. It was slightly larger than the length of his thumb, and underneath its hard exoskeleton, Kazuya could see the signs of folded wings, ready to spring open at any given moment the minute it was released from its confinements. The sight of it sent shivers down Kazuya’s spine and a cold sweat began to accumulate on the back of his neck. He tried to visualise Sawamura catching that thing with his bare hands and felt the hairs on his arms raise in horror. It was truly a beast of nightmares.
Sawamura, oblivious to Kazuya’s plight, continued to wave the trapped beetle in front of his face. “Why are you standing back there? Have a closer look–it’s awesome.” He took off his shoes, entering the room before Kazuya could think better of it.
“Woah, woah, hold it right there Sawamura! Don’t take another step.” Kazuya’s voice pitched unusually high as he stumbled back. Sawamura knew many things about Kazuya; it was a side effect of being a battery together, and admittedly, he’d let the pitcher get closer to him than anyone else ever had over the past six months. But this was one thing he really didn’t want Sawamura to have leverage on. He could see it now: Sawamura’s taunting, the sneaky grins like a Cheshire cat, and the never-ending ribalding and jokes from him (and the rest of the team) until the cows came home. Because if there was one thing Sawamura was good at, besides being unbearably loud, was that he was persistent like a wart on the bottom of your foot.
Unfortunately for Kazuya, there was nothing he could do about the instinctual desire to leap across the room and give a wide berth to Sawamura and his new friend, except that he’d probably die of shame first before he’d let his senpai status get shattered like that. Not that Sawamura ever called him that.
The boy in question must have sensed something was afoot because he paused a few feet from Kazuya and peered at him curiously.
“What’s wrong? Why are you backing away as if you’re-” Realisation dawned in those cursed brown eyes.
Ah, here we go , Kazuya thought. This is it; I’m done for.
Eyes glinting with glee, a smile slowly stretched across Sawamura’s face until it almost rivalled Kazuya’s signature tanuki-grin, and if he weren’t deeply concerned by the fact that Sawamura had a giant ass beetle at his disposal, Kazuya would have been proud.
“What are you doing?” Kazuya’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Nothing.” Face uncharacteristically calm despite the demonic grin just moments before, Sawamura held the jar up as if to get a closer look. Then he raised a hand and began to unscrew the lid.
“I will never catch for you again if you open that. I swear to god, Sawamura.” Panicked, Kazuya held up his hands in defence, ready to fight Sawamura off if necessary. He wasn’t prone to violence, but Sawamura always managed to bring out new sides to him that even he was unaware of.
With delight clear on his face, Sawamura waved the jar in Kazuya’s direction a few more times, laughing at the expense of his senpai. The fact that he didn’t even hesitate in tormenting him meant that Sawamura hadn’t even taken him seriously, the brat .
“Don’t worry,”–between laughs–“It’s not even alive. It’s just the shell. Stag beetles only live a few weeks in summer, don’t you know, Miyuki-senpai?” Wiping tears from his eyes, Sawamura began to unscrew the lid.
“Stop! I don’t care if it’s dead. Don’t open it in my room.” Kazuya rushed forward, clamping a hand firmly on Sawamura’s to keep the lid closed. He felt the cold touch of fingers beneath his palm and noticed the slight pinking of Sawamura’s face at their contact. Looking at where they touched, Kazuya’s own face began to slightly warm. He slowly withdrew his hand.
“Why not?” Sawamura said.
Kazuya paused, then swallowed hard. “What if it's playing dead? It could crawl onto my face while I’m sleeping.” The minute he spoke, he felt a hot flush of embarrassment crawl up his neck. Simply being in close proximity to Sawamura made him say all sorts of stupid things. Maybe he was becoming one of the team idiots himself.
Sawamura looked at him as if he were slightly deranged and snorted. “Don’t be silly Miyuki-senpai. It’s just a bug.”
“Just take that thing away from my room, okay?”
“Alright, alright.” Sawamura gave in, a small smile on his face as he placed the jar outside the room and closed the door firmly. Relief flooded through Kazuya, and now that the danger had passed, he eyed Sawamura carefully. Did he only come here to taunt Kazuya with his mortal fear? Sawamura was beginning to seem a lot more like Kazuya than he realised. “Still, I didn’t think you’d be so afraid of a little beetle. That’s kind of surprising,” Sawamura continued, moving to sit on the spare dormitory bed.
“Little? That thing was the size of my thumb. Only you could call something like that little.” Kazuya sat opposite on his bed. “Anyway, I’m not afraid of them. I just don’t like them. There’s a difference.”
Sawamura rolled his eyes. “That looked a lot like fear to me, but whatever you tell yourself to sleep at night.”
Kazuya ignored him. “So, why are you here so late?” With the previous excitement over, he’d forgotten why the first-year had originally come here. Surely he didn’t come here to give Kazuya that jar? A brief moment of blankness appeared on Sawamura’s face before his eyes widened and he looked down, fidgeting with his hands. Kazuya thought he almost looked embarrassed, but if he knew anything about Sawamura, such a word didn’t belong in his vocabulary. In fact, words like shameless, brazen, and rambunctious went hand in hand with someone like him.
Then Kazuya noticed a package crudely wrapped in tacky baseball patterned paper stuffed into the pocket of Sawamura’s down coat and his eyebrows raised. Following Kazuya’s gaze, Sawamura retreated into himself, huffing as he jammed his hands inside his pocket to pull out the present before he handed it to Kazuya, cheeks bright red. Sawamura’s feet shuffled awkwardly and he looked like he wanted to flee from the room as soon as possible to avoid whatever reaction awaited him.
“What’s this?” Kazuya asked, bemused at Sawamura’s obvious discomfort.
“It’s…well—” Sawamura mumbled into his muffler, then coughed to clear his throat as if to gain confidence. Kazuya felt his heart warm, the action endearing. “Uh, I heard it was your birthday last week and I had this prepared for ages, but I missed the timing to give it to you…” Sawamura’s voice trailed off, seemingly embarrassed by such admittance, the flaming red of his cheeks now reaching even into his hairline and down his neck.
The present didn't look impressive and it was smothered in tape, but much to Kazuya’s surprise, the warmth in his heart spread throughout the rest of his body, lighting him up inside like a little Christmas tree. To think that Sawamura had been thoughtful enough to think that far ahead, despite his head being filled with nothing but baseball, did something to Kazuya’s heartbeat; a feeling he had yet to process, but had been slowly developing with their interactions no matter how much Kazuya turned a blind eye to it. It grew like a stubborn weed between the cracks of concrete that was Kazuya’s heart.
“A birthday present? Should I be expecting a Christmas date next? I haven’t even received a love confession yet.” Kazuya teased, trying to smother the fuzzy feeling enveloping his body with humour instead.
Sawamura spluttered. "Sh-shut up! Or I'll take it back, you jerk!" He made a lunge for the present, but Kazuya dodged, laughing out loud.
"No way! This is a present my precious kouhai gave me–the first of many."
“You mean the last, ever.”
They danced around each other, Kazuya with his signature shit-eating grin as Sawamura tried to take back the wrapped gift with grasping hands. Kazuya shook the offending item in the air as they both circled the room, sizing each other up. Until suddenly, the world was tilting and Kazuya went tumbling backwards over his previously discarded training shoes with a hard oomph onto the floor. Taking advantage of Kazuya’s blunder, Sawamura pounced, tearing the present from Kazuya’s fingers and holding it up in victory. Sawamura was so preoccupied with his triumph that he had failed to realise their current position.
Kazuya flushed.
Sawamura sat straddling Kazuya’s hips with his thighs, and as he jostled about on top, their crotches rubbed together. Kazuya’s hands immediately shot out to grab Sawamura’s thighs, halting his movement. His heartbeat thudded in his chest. Underneath his palms, Sawamura’s thighs were firm with months of training. If he slid his hands up any higher, they would–
Kazuya swallowed.
“Uh, Sawamura, this position is a bit–” He gestured in defeat.
In response, Sawamura looked down, and realising the situation they were in, yelped, spluttered and looked so flustered Kazuya was sure he could light a match with the heat radiating off his face.
“So-sorry, I didn’t realise- I was just!“ Sawamura scrambled off like he’d been burned. Kazuya sat up then, heartbeat pounding in his ears and the back of his neck tingled–hot. He wondered if he was suffering from a fever. It seemed like it, felt like it, though he’d been plagued with these symptoms for the past few months whenever it came to Sawamura. He probably knew what this was all about; he wasn’t stupid, but Kazuya still couldn’t believe that out of all people it had to be Sawamura Eijun, who was loud, annoying, emotional, and crazy passionate about baseball. Just like Kazuya. But Sawamura had managed to worm his way into Kazuya’s everyday routine as if he simply belonged there. Kazuya had let him because unbeknownst to even himself, he craved affection and attention second to only baseball.
They sat opposite each other now, avoiding eye contact in the silence of the room, the present lying innocently in Sawamura’s hands–the culprit of it all. Kazuya sighed, feeling himself calm down.
“Alright, give it here. I actually want to open it.” Kazuya held out his hand and Sawamura reluctantly returned it, face still pink. “Seriously, did you have to use so much tape?” Kazuya said as he began to tear at the tape with a bit of struggle.
“Sorry I suck at wrapping! Just be grateful!”
Kazuya chuckled. Finally, underneath the baseball patterned paper, a pair of gloves revealed themselves. They were navy blue with the tips cut off, and as Kazuya turned them over in his hands, he noticed a small ‘S’ for Seidō knitted into the base of the thumb. Soft to the touch, Kazuya could immediately tell they were hand-knitted by none other than the pitcher who sat before him, but the quality was surprisingly impressive—Kazuya didn’t know Sawamura could knit (he filed that new piece of information away in his ‘Surprising-Things-About-Sawamura’ folder in his brain.)
Sawamura wriggled in his spot, a sweet flush turning the tips of his nose and ears red. Kazuya couldn’t look away.
“Y-you’re always complaining about cold hands during practice and I thought since you're my catcher, you have to look after your hands,” Sawamura mumbled and Kazuya noticed the way he said ‘ my catcher’, the way it rolled off his tongue with ease, like Sawamura had entertained the thought more than once and had practised speaking it into existence.
“I’m not just yours,” said Kazuya. “And you’re not mine. You’re one of Seidō’s pitchers. That means you need to take care of your hands even more than me.” Sawamura was always caring for others and rarely thinking of himself.
“I know that!”
“Did you make these?”
“Yeah…they’re not that good though.” Sawamura nodded shyly.
Oh. Oh no. Kazuya looked at the gloves in his hands, heart full. It was true that he always complained about cold hands during winter practice, but to think that Sawamura had been paying close enough attention made him giddy. I'm done for.
“Thank you. I really appreciate it.” Kazuya mumbled, slipping the gloves on immediately. When he looked up, Sawamura was beaming at him as if he was his most favourite person in the world. Kazuya thought he almost knew how that felt. He reached over and put the pitcher into a headlock, ruffling his hair roughly in an effort to hide the stupid grin on his face. Sneakily, Kazuya pressed his lips to the top of Sawamura’s head, so fleeting that the other wouldn't even realise and then tightened his arm around Sawamura’s neck–to cover his bases so to speak. Though he’d been trapped by this boy the moment he’d caught his first pitch, Kazuya wasn’t ready to show his emotions so clearly on his face. At least not yet.
"Ugh Miyuki Kazuya! You're being creepy!" Sawamura complained, throwing him off while Kazuya just laughed, eyes bright behind his glasses. "I'm going back!" He quickly put his shoes on, turning to Kazuya as if he wanted to say something, but then thought better of it. Instead he jammed a finger towards Kazuya, face full of determination. “You better wear those tomorrow during practice!” Then Sawamura fled, leaving as abruptly as he had arrived like a hurricane.
Kazuya looked down at his hands again. He couldn’t say it yet. He wasn’t as brave, hadn’t summoned the courage to do so, and words like these often twisted and turned on his tongue, complicated and heavy. But as he examined the careful stitch work of his birthday present, the detail of the embroidered ‘S’, and the way Sawamura had beamed so brightly, he thought that maybe he could say it soon.
And underneath that layer of concrete over his heart, something took root and bloomed, bright and hopeful.
—
Back in his room, Eijun smiled, touching the top of his head where Miyuki had kissed him. Just a small press of lips, but he’d felt it just the same. He thought his heart was going to burst out of his chest.
Next time I'll tell him for sure.
—
The next morning Kazuya was proudly wearing his new gloves, glad for the warmth they provided for his hands as they were getting ready to set up the field for practice. Kuramochi noticed and snickered.
"Got those from your girlfriend, huh Miyuki?"
"Yep!" At that point Sawamura walked past the pair and the catcher smirked. This is my revenge for last night. "Thanks for the gloves, Sa~wa~mu~ra." Kazuya called out to him, and Sawamura whipped around, his face red as he shouted with fists raised.
"MIYUKI KAZUYA! SHUT UP!"
Kuramochi just looked on in disgust.