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Kazuya grows up loving baseball and only baseball. So it doesn't entirely come as a surprise to him that the first time he realizes he's in love with a person, it's when he's watching them on the field. It's no shock, but Kazuya still feels like he's been punched in the gut.
On the mound of his second summer Koshien, Sawamura stands so much taller and broader than Kazuya remembers. He'd last seen Sawamura a mere four months ago, but from where Kazuya sits with the other Seido OB behind home plate, he has a clear view of the bundle of muscle on Sawamura's thigh bulging beneath his white britches as his right cleat slams down into the dirt. The cutter that he throws makes the batter flinch back. The ball slams into Okumura's mitt with a ferocious crack.
Kazuya's hand twitches with the phantom impact of receiving the pitch that he'd helped create—but it's like looking at the roaring lion that you used to know as a baby cub. He'd given Sawamura tons of shit about never being able to settle down to watch a game he's not playing in, but he's starting to understand a little better how Sawamura feels.
Seido wins their first game at Koshien 5-1. Kazuya had planned to stick around, maybe give Furuya a hard time about his five four-balls and Sawamura about his balk in the 1st inning, but with a keen sense of apprehension, he watches Sawamura scan the section where Kazuya's sitting as he jogs back to the dug-out after a round of handshakes. When he spots Kazuya, his whole face splits into a grin that's as bright as a nuclear reaction. Kazuya is paralyzed in the aftermath, and all he is able to think is shit shit shit shit shit shit shit as he regains purchase of his limbs and mumbles something to Kuramochi about a stomach ache and then he's out of the park like a backscreen home run.
Later, after Kazuya is tucked back into the comforts of his dorm room at Keio, Sawamura texts him, You never came back, Miyuki Kazuya! How rude!
Then, an hour later, Are you okay?? I thought you were just trying to avoid socializing, but Mochi-senpai said you weren't feeling well!
When still Kazuya doesn't find any words of reply that sound remotely airy or backhanded-compliment-y, Sawamura says, You better at least come congratulate us when we win at the finals!!! And specifically compliment my pitching!!!
Finally, just as Kazuya abandons the scorebook he's failing to study, resolving just to sleep off his feelings like a pesky cold: I still think about that last strike I pitched to you, all the time
Hope Furuya gets to close this year :) Kazuya sends back.
The string of indignant keysmashes it provokes out of Sawamura isn't as satisfying as he'd hoped.
—
All throughout the month of August, Kazuya receives updates from various ex-teammates about Seido advancing into the quarterfinals, then the semifinals. His text thread with Sawamura remains eerily quiet.
In the dorm lounge, Kazuya watches as Seido plays Komadai into extra innings, and just when things felt doomed to go into a fifteenth inning, Kanemaru sends a pitch that drifts slightly high deep into the outfield between right and center, bringing Tojo home.
And that's it.
Seido wins the right to defend their summer Koshien championship.
Kazuya is sitting behind first base this time, the crowd going wild way up the stands. But the cheers are for the opposition. Seido is behind Hakuryu by 8 runs in the 7th inning, and in any other tournament the game would have been called. A string of unfortunate fielding errors and four-balls have destroyed the rhythm of the defense and the morale of their offense is crumbling fast, too. No one has conceded to defeat quite yet but their steps grow heavier by the inning.
Seido have two outs against them. Seto has been slowly stealing up to third, but Sawamura is up to bat so no one is holding their breath.
That's a lie. Kazuya is. Kazuya is holding his breath because that's what he does now when he looks at Sawamura Eijun, apparently. Furuya has mentioned off-handedly in rambling LINE messages about how recently Sawamura has been hogging all of Tojo's time for batting practice when everyone wants to practice hitting live balls, so maybe, just maybe—
Sawamura jams the ball into the air, straight into the glove of the short stop. Kazuya's heart sinks deep into his stomach. He has half a mind to go up there himself, except they're already changing sides and Sawamura is no longer his pitcher to put at ease.
Both Tojo and Furuya having been benched in the second and sixth inning, Sawamura is the last hope of the pitcher relay. The pressure might be debilitating to some, but Sawamura's eyes radiate determination as he takes the mound, standing tall and proud with the ace number on his back.
"A pinch is only a chance waiting for a breakthrough, everyone! What's a true battle without a bit of dramatic upset at the very end?! Let's take them out one at a time and hit ‘em out of the park in our offense!" He's got one glove raised up in the air, pointing straight up to the sky, the broad sun of midday haloing his strong body, so all Kazuya should be able to see is just the silhouette of him but he's...
He's so fucking bright that Kazuya sees every shining, goddamn detail.
The team delivers in response to Sawamura's pep talk. They keep Hakuryu at their 8 runs, but they're still stuck in the same situation they've been in since three innings ago. The only difference—the key difference—is that the team's eyes have grown fierce, now that they've just taken out Hakuryu's 3-4-5-hole in quick succession.
When Little Kominato makes contact squarely with a change-up that's barely even in the zone, Kazuya can only think, Ah, this is exactly the way it was meant to happen. And in front of his eyes, batter after batter hit fouls and grounders on the Hakuryu pitchers' winning shot until the pitches start to go wild and Yuki Masashi is right there to drive the ball all the way into the stands, scoring a three-point home run and bringing Seido's score to a total of 7. They've seduced the crowd into switching sides. Everyone's hungering for the upset that Sawamura prophesied.
It's the ninth inning, and more likely than not, the last inning Sawamura will play in his high school career. It's over far too soon.
Kazuya is warm with pride for him even as he aches for more. Everyone is hollering Sawamura's Yes, yes yes! back at him and Kazuya doesn't even realize he, too, has joined in until Kuramochi gapes at him for three full seconds, then throws an arm around Kazuya's shoulder and shouts Yes, yes yes! right into his ear.
The crowd, the ringing in his ear, Kuramochi's heavy-ass arm that he's leaning all his weight into--all of that fall away when he meets Sawamura's gaze, triumphant and magnetic and pulling Kazuya irrevocably into its orbit.
The game ends on Okumura's bat. The team spills onto the field, dogpiling on top of one another in a mess of tears and dirt and cheers.
All of them look like they're floating off the ground, drunk on glory, when Kazuya and the others catch up to them later, in between the game and the awards ceremony. The first to find Kazuya is Furuya.
"Congratul—"
"Miyuki-senpai," Furuya says, his cheeks and eyes pink and soft. "What did you think?"
"I think you guys won a second Koshien title," Kazuya says. "What, is that not enough for you?"
"Not by far," Furuya says, without missing a beat. "I wasn't the ace and gave up too many runs. It was my fault that we had to chase back so many points at the end."
Kazuya shrugs. "Wasn't just you. The team had a slow start today."
"Eijun pitched three perfect innings." And there it is, Furuya's aura coming to life at the mention of Sawamura. "And Haruichi scored two runs."
"So what's your goal, to pitch a perfect game and bat a grand slam home run to seal the deal?" Kazuya asks.
"At the World Series," Furuya answers, dead serious.
The laughter that rips from Kazuya's throat turns many heads in the narrow hall where they're congregated. Kazuya puts a hand on Furuya's pitching shoulder. "Wouldn't that be something to see."
Furuya pins Kazuya down with his steely blue eyes, raging with resolve. "Are you going to catch for me then?"
"Well, I've got four years of college ball to play first," Kazuya says, "so it'll be a while—"
"Miyuki Kazuya! Are you making promises to catch for Furuya??" Sawamura emerges from the throng of people that have gathered around him and charges in a beeline toward Kazuya. His face is blotchy all over and voice rough from the loud bawling that must have happened after handshakes. But by god if Kazuya doesn't want to kiss him square on his red, chapped lips.
"What's with the bird's nest?" Kazuya lifts a hand to ruffle his hair, pausing half a beat when he realizes that Sawamura's overtaken him in height—just by a few centimeters, but still. The slight shift of vantage point from staring down at the shadow Sawamura's eyelashes cast on his cheeks to staring up at the constellation of sun-kissed freckles spattered out across his nose is distracting enough that Kazuya drops his hand. It slides down from Sawamura's head to his wrist, and Kazuya tugs at Sawamura to follow, ignoring his protests of Hey, are you just trying to avoid my question about catching for Furuya?
They haven't cleared the mound yet. The stands are still full of people waiting for the awards ceremony. Kazuya loosens his grip on Sawamura.
"Are you okay?" Kazuya asks, looking out into the empty field.
"You know we just won, right?!" Sawamura demands. "And you still haven't even complimented my pitching yet, Miyuki—"
"You couldn't have done a better job today," Kazuya says, meeting Sawamura's eyes just to see them widen with surprise, then pure, unadulterated joy. Kazuya can't help but smile as he turns back away toward the field. "But what I'm asking you is: are you okay with that? The fact that the last pitch of your high school career wasn't to me."
Sawamura takes an audible breath behind him. When he speaks, his voice is almost a normal, non-country bumpkin volume: "The fact that you're always going to be one year ahead of me isn't something that I can help."
"The mound is free now, Ace-sama," Kazuya says, rapping his knuckles against the rail of the dug-out to emphasize his point.
"Are you—" Sawamura sputters. "Are you okay, Miyuki Kazuya, if that is in fact you in there?!"
Kazuya laughs as he shakes his head, peering at Sawamura's beet red face out of the corner of his eyes. No need for Sawamura to point it out; he feels dramatic and ridiculous enough on his own. "I honestly don't even know."
For a stretch of time that might be just a few seconds, or many, many minutes, Sawamura doesn't say anything. His breathing is loud, though, so Kazuya focuses on that instead of the drowning feeling his chest, which seems currently to be trying to fashion a drum set out of his ribs and lungs. Kazuya is not sure what he expects Sawamura to say after deliberating for so long, but he winces when Sawamura says, "I'll pass."
And there it is, isn't it? His answer. He will just consider himself dumped before he even has the chance to confess.
Not that he was going to.
…Right?
But then: "Rather than throwing a crappy pitch with a cooled down arm to you now, I'd rather throw thousands more pitches that'll make you proud in the future."
Sawamura beams at him, this time soft around the edges, which might possibly be far, far more destructive than any he's ever seen. Kazuya is glad his body is blocking Sawamura out from the sights of the people sitting around the opposing dugout because the look on Sawamura's face is for Kazuya, and Kazuya, more than anything right now, does not want to share.
"Right, partner?!"
Somewhere in the logical, well-guarded recesses of Kazuya's mind, he means to laugh Sawamura off with a snappy, "Sorry, I've got a prior arrangement with Furuya!" or "Pass! That already sounds exhausting!" Even an earnest "I'm already so proud of you" would have been better. But that part of him abandons post for a split-second and passes the reigns to the Kazuya that reaches across the space between them, tracing the broad curve of Sawamura's smile with a tenderness that cannot possibly be interpreted any other way.
"Oh," Sawamura breathes.
"Partners," Kazuya says.
"Partners," Sawamura echoes, with new meaning. He watches Kazuya's hand drop away. "You want— You mean— You want me."
In Kazuya's head, words are printed out in black 80pt font text on a blank white trifold. He can do nothing but laugh, not loud nor harsh, just a soft sputter of sound as he kicks his shoe into the concrete. How long had he spent, hardly daring to believe it? But looking back over the years, it feels almost inevitable that in the time Sawamura had imprinted on him as his mother duck, Kazuya had found himself needing Sawamura, too. Not just his pitching or his team spirit but the way Sawamura himself had filled in all the silences in Kazuya's life with colorful chatter; the way Sawamura had crammed his warm (and often sticky) body against a cold spot on Kazuya's side; the way he laughed and laughed and laughed with his mouth so wide as if to swallow Kazuya's loneliness whole.
So yes, yes, Kazuya wants him.
"I'm the catcher and you're the ace," he says, insides stirring with none of the composure his shrug connotes. "How could it be anyone but you?"
This is how Okumura finds them thirty seconds later: Sawamura's fingers grasping corner of Kazuya's blue and red K-O- the Competition t-shirt and Kazuya's face so loose with happiness he doesn't even know how his glasses manage to stay on. Okumura hardly raises a brow, only quietly muttering out a reminder that Sawamura should get ready for the ceremony.
—
Kazuya grows up loving baseball and only baseball. He'd never counted on having room in his life for anything else. But what do you know: Sawamura fits just right, snug in the center of his glove.