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“Strike! Batter out!”
The umpire’s voice is almost drowned out by the cheering of the crowd that has gathered to watch the game. This is just a practice game, but Seido’s return to Koshien in the spring has unquestionably reinvigorated the team’s reputation as one of West Tokyo’s baseball powerhouses, and with the newfound popularity has come a surge of new fans.
And the numbers on the scoreboard are proof of that. “Game set! Seido High School are the victors!”
Tearing off his catcher’s mask, Kazuya stands up from his crouch behind home plate and joins his teammates who are streaming out of the dugout to swarm Sawamura on the mound.
Distantly, he can hear Kuramochi’s hyena laugh, Haruichi's “nice pitching, Eijun-kun!” echoed by Tojou, Kanemaru, and the rest of the first string.
With every game he pitches, Sawamura grows by leaps and bounds. And ever since he earned the number one emblazoned on his back, he has truly become the ideal ace, strengthened by the twin pillars of the entire team’s trust in one hand and a pitcher’s pride in his abilities in the other.
The team loves Sawamura, Kazuya muses, as they should rising to complete the thought from the depths of his mind.
He smiles despite himself, a real smile devoid of the cutting edge that graces his usual smirk. At a time like this, Kazuya reflects as he stands at the fringes of the little crowd that has formed around Sawamura, the rest of the team inexorably drawn to the pitcher like Icarus to the sun, he will allow himself this rare moment of honesty.
Because Kazuya can finally put a name to the swooping feeling in his chest every time he looks at Sawamura, at those fiery golden eyes that meet his across 60 feet and 6 inches of dirt, at the absolute trust and hunger for victory he sees reflected back at him in an infinite loop.
He is in love with Sawamura Eijun.
Partner, he had called Sawamura on a whim, the first day the other boy burst into his life with the intensity of a typhoon, leaving his once-ordered thoughts splintered in his wake.
There was just something about the middle school pitcher that had Kazuya, who never, ever went out of his way to do things for other people, offer to catch this stranger’s pitches and impart upon him the wisdom that the best pitches are works of art produced by the pitcher and catcher working as one.
He had never before seen such an interesting pitcher, and he’s worked with quite a few talented ones in his career thus far. Even Mei, his childhood friend turned rival turned whatever they are now, has never quite captured and held his attention the way Sawamura does.
He knows he should be filled with trepidation at this discovery, but he isn’t. It feels inevitable, really, that Kazuya would end up here. The only thing he’s surprised about is that it took him this long to realize.
A shoulder jostles his, and he is pulled out of his reverie. He realizes he’s been staring at Sawamura for a beat too long, but just as he is about to tear his gaze away—it’s hard to look away, not when the other boy is nigh incandescent, when he is the burning red supergiant Betelgeuse that anchors Orion's left shoulder, outshining even the cold blue-white Rigel, pulling everyone around him into his gravity well—Sawamura turns away from the press of bodies to fix his luminous golden eyes on Kazuya.
“Miyuki Kazuya!” the pitcher exclaims loudly, pride in his voice and delight in his expression.
Several team members who are standing too close to the source wince at the volume, and Kazuya distinctly hears the younger Kominato’s admonishing “Eijun-kun” amidst the groans.
“Yes, Bakamura?” Kazuya responds, falling back on the nickname that has long since lost its bite and tempered into something asymptotic to fondness in these last two years.
“Did you see that? A shutout game! I’ve gotten better, haven’t I?”
Only Sawamura would ask for praise at a time like this, Kazuya thinks to himself with a wry grin. What a riot.
Meanwhile, Sawamura directs his gaze to the rest of the team crowded around him.
“See, you guys! This Sawamura Eijun won’t let you down!”
And before he fully recognizes what he is doing, Kazuya crosses the several meters that separate them to rest his mitt over Sawamura’s heart. It’s their pre-game ritual, as natural and inevitable as breathing, the last thing Kazuya does before he leaves the mound to crouch behind home plate, awaiting Sawamura’s pitch to his mitt.
But it’s always been something of their own, just the two of them standing on the mound. Here, surrounded in full view of the entire team, it seems almost sacrilegious to showcase such an intimate act in front of their audience. The words spill unbidden from his lips.
“Nice pitching, partner.”
Because he is standing so close to the pitcher, Kazuya can see the moment the praise registers in Sawamura’s mind, the way a blush blooms on his lightly freckled cheeks and sweeps across his face, painting his skin crimson.
Curious reaction, Kazuya thinks. Cute, too. He quickly stops that train of thought in its tracks. No use getting his hopes up that the pitcher returns his affections.
And as Kazuya takes his hand back, if his mitt feels strangely bereft, and not just because of the lack of a baseball nestled in the worn leather pocket, that is something for no one but himself to know.
Sawamura sputters for a few seconds before he goes cat-eyed, pointing an accusatory finger at Kazuya’s retreating back.
“T-thanks! Hey wait! Come back here Miyuki Kazuya! What are you being so nice for? Does this mean you’ll catch for me when we get back to campus? Miyuki Kazuya!”
As he walks past Kuramochi, Kazuya pretends he does not see the shortstop’s sharp gray gaze sliding to him, lingering for, he thinks, far longer than necessary, the unspoken we will talk later, don’t even bother trying to avoid me conveyed succinctly in a single glance.
Cold, calculating, critical Miyuki Kazuya, undone by this boy of unfiltered sunlight. Fate really is a cruel mistress. Well, nothing to do about it now that he recognizes the feeling—and it is love, even if his mind shys away from using the word; Kazuya could never lie to himself the way he can lie to the world—except to hide it as best he can.
Even if by some miracle Sawamura returned his feelings, the other boy deserves someone better than him for a boyfriend.
Kazuya knows what other people say about him. At best, he’s got a twisted personality; at worst he’s a cruel, unrepentant asshole.
After all, his reputation is one he has worked carefully these last three years to craft, carbide drill carving the myth of Miyuki Kazuya into unforgiving granite, each strike of the hammer chipping away at the excess until all that remained was a fortress of a boy with a diamond heart.
A pretty face, the genius catcher-captain-cleanup-cannon of Seidou, the most important player on the diamond, though off the diamond is another matter entirely.
***
Kuramochi ambushes him as he attempts to sneak quietly to the baths later that night. Even though they had just played a game today, he feels a restless energy thrumming just under his skin the entire bus ride back to Seido.
Normally when Kazuya feels this way, he locks himself in his room to study the scorebook and Nabe’s notes on their next opponents, the necessary brainpower required to come up with a plan to strike out each opposing batter marshalling his thoughts into orderly focus.
But today, he just can’t seem to get himself to concentrate. The numbers and letters on the page all blur together until the only thing occupying Kazuya’s mind is the look on Sawamura’s face, right after he had called the other boy partner again.
Scowling, Kazuya slams the scorebook closed and grabs his bat. If he can’t work off this excess energy mentally, the next best thing he can do is to swing his bat until his body is physically tired enough that he can finally snatch a few hours of rest before he has to do this all again tomorrow.
“I thought I’d find you here,” Kuramochi says from behind him, as Kazuya enters the bathhouse, intending to take a quick shower before he heads to bed.
Kazuya does not jump at the unexpected voice, but it’s a near thing. The vice captain leans against the doorframe, arms crossed with an unamused expression on his face.
“Kuramochi,” Kazuya says by way of greeting, body and mind too exhausted to put much effort into coming up with one of his usual snarky greetings.
It’s a testament to how three years of living, studying, eating, and practicing in close proximity to one another has tempered their relationship, such that Kuramochi doesn’t immediately jump into asking what he so clearly wants to.
The shortstop has always been a little too perceptive, especially when it comes to him.
If the situation had been the reverse, he is not sure he would have granted the other boy this small mercy. In fact, he knows he didn’t, knows he was never this considerate when Kuramochi was working through his own feelings for Ryousuke last year.
Now that the tables have turned, Kazuya feels a brief moment of regret that he hadn’t been more attentive to Kuramochi’s whole situation.
Kazuya sighs and pushes his bangs back from where they have fallen into his face. Briefly, he entertains the idea of making a run for it, before coming to terms with the fact that despite his many talents, even he would not be able to outrun their team’s perpetual leadoff man and fastest runner.
Besides, the two of them see each other every single day, and it wouldn’t be worth the effort or the fallout to try to avoid Kuramochi at this juncture. Best to rip off the bandaid and just get this over with now.
“So,” Kuramochi ventures into the silence that stretches between them and trails off, a clear prompt for Kazuya to pick up his end of the conversation. When Kazuya makes no move to respond, he continues. “What’s going on with you and Sawamura? You two looked like you were having a moment there on the mound today.”
Kazuya turns his head to let the overhead lights glint off his glasses. The new angle casts his face half in shadow, and with the characteristic lenses obscuring his eyes, it’s harder for Kuramochi to tell what he’s thinking at the moment.
Maybe it's the late hour, or the weariness of the day seeping into his muscles, or the perennial bone-deep exhaustion that comes from having to constantly juggle his many roles, but Kazuya feels himself respond with far more honesty than usual.
Even still, he only offers up a small fraction of his thoughts on the topic at hand—the feelings that have been plaguing his every waking thoughts once he recognized them for what they were, a mere six hours ago—leaving the rest of the mass floating just beneath the surface of his thoughts like an iceberg.
It wouldn’t do to uncharacteristically bare his soul to another person, even if that someone is the closest thing he has to a best friend.
The corner of his mouth quirks up in a smirk as he responds. “We weren’t having a moment, Mochi, don’t be so dramatic. I was just complimenting our ace on his pitching during today’s practice game.”
“Uh huh,” Kuramochi says drily, and Kazuya does not like the knowing gleam in his eyes.
“That’s funny,” he adds, “because my idiot of a roommate has been alternately staring off into space and cursing out a certain tanuki bastard under his breath for the last couple of hours now, and if I didn’t know any better I’d say that this has something to do with you.”
Kazuya can’t help the way his head snaps up at that, expression unguarded for a fraction of a second, but it’s enough. He scowls at the smug look that breaks like dawn across Kuramochi’s face. The other boy knows he’s got him now, hook line and sinker.
“Has he now?” Kazuya inquires evenly, hoping beyond hope that his voice betrays none of the turmoil he is currently feeling.
The swooping feeling is back in his chest, and his heart has taken up residence in his throat. He feels weightless at the possibility, suspended in the moment when an airplane’s wheels leave the runway, engines working overtime to propel the craft skyward and away from the alluring pull of gravity, towards the sun.
“Yep. I swear, if I have to hear one more word from Sawamura about whether I think you will catch for him more now that he’s the ace,” Kuramochi says, cracking his knuckles in warning.
Kazuya laughs. “Well, as the main catcher, you know I have to take care of all my pitchers. But yes, I’ll probably catch more for our Ace-san now. Don’t tell him I said that, though, we don’t need him getting a bigger head than he has already.”
“Sure, sure, the only reason you’re favoring Sawamura is because he’s the ace now. No other reason at all, captain,” Kuramochi says, throwing out the title like a curse.
Honestly, between Kuramochi and Sawamura, Kazuya receives absolutely none of the respect that he should be getting as their captain.
“Of course,” Kazuya replies, voice dripping with false innocence. “What other reason could I possibly have?”
Kuramochi fixes him with an unimpressed stare for several seconds, before he apparently comes to an internal decision. “Look, Miyuki,” he says, expression suddenly serious, “whatever’s going on between you and Sawamura is your own business, but I know he adores you and really looks up to you.”
He continues, as if he wants to get this out before he thinks better of it. “You should ask him sometime why he chose to come to Seido, I think the story would interest you.”
“Thanks for the advice, but Sawamura’s told me that already. He’s actually used it as a reason why I should catch his pitches more.” Kazuya can’t help the fondness that washes over his expression as he remembers the day he and Sawamura had first met, and yeah. He’s totally fucked.
“Has he now?” Kuramochi asks, narrowing his eyes. “Well alright then. This should be interesting,” he mutters to himself.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing, nothing,” Kuramochi says, waving his hand dismissively.
“So? What are you gonna do about it?” he asks, changing tack.
Kazuya thinks about working with Sawamura during the off season to develop the Numbers. The awful helplessness he felt when Sawamura had the yips and nothing he tried to do helped to bring him out of it, until he finally brought in the one person who could get through to the pitcher. All the little things Sawamura says and does every day that pushes everyone around him to do better, be better, if only to stay in his orbit for a little longer.
After all, the sun is a star in its own right, appearing every day without fail to bestow its life-giving rays on the planets caught in its gravity well. Kazuya thinks the sixty feet and six inches that separate the mound from home plate might as well be the distance between the sun and the farthest object in the solar system, a hundred and twenty astronomical units away.
Sawamura has always been the one declaring that he would catch up to Kazuya one day, that he would make Kazuya acknowledge him. If only he would open his eyes and see what is right in front of him, that he’s had Kazuya wrapped around his fingers this whole time.
“Nothing,” Kazuya says, resolute. “I’m not going to do anything. Not right now, at least. We have a real chance at making Koshien again this year, and I’m not going to risk messing up our battery just because of...this.”
He waves his hand in the space between them, as if he can brush away the specters of his feelings if he tries hard enough.
“Okay, if that’s what you really want,” Kuramochi says, “but don’t come crying to me if someone ends up asking him out before you finally get around to it.”
The look he gives Kazuya speaks volumes. As the vice captain, Kuramochi has been tasked not only with ensuring that the team runs smoothly, but also to take care of its captain, both on the diamond and off.
Kazuya narrows his eyes. “What, do you know anyone who is planning to?”
“No, but I’m saying that it’s definitely probable. Maybe even highly possible. You know how popular he is around school, and especially more so now that he’s the Ace.”
Then, he adds, almost as an afterthought, “and not to mention he’s friends with people from other schools too. Amahisa, Sanada, Raichi,” he ticks off the names on his fingers as he lists them.
Kazuya feels a scowl beginning to form on his face, and he fights to keep it from his expression. Kuramochi is only speaking in hypotheticals. Besides, it’s not like he’s Sawamura’s boyfriend. There is nothing between them for him to be jealous over.
“As long as he’s happy with them, and they treat him well. I can’t fault him for that.” He congratulates himself for how even his voice sounds.
As long as he’s happy, even if it’s not with me.
Kuramochi gives him a considering look. “Oh. You’re serious about this. Miyuki...” he says, not unkindly, his words imbued with the weight of understanding borne from shared experience. Kazuya doesn’t like it one bit. “It’s not just a crush, is it?”
Kazuya would rather be anywhere else than here, in the bathhouse, trapped into having a conversation he is ill equipped to handle. He doesn’t want to answer that, can’t answer that, so instead he drops his gaze. Strange, how he’s never before noticed the subtle and quite interesting patterns in the tiles on the bathroom floor. But the non-answer is all that Kuramochi needs.
Despite Kuramochi’s protests to the contrary, Kazuya knows that he’s fond of Sawamura, knows that despite the shortstop constantly practicing his wrestling moves on their recently crowned Ace, despite the way he always pokes fun at their resident mood maker, it’s always with an undercurrent of genuine concern for his well-being.
Kazuya feels a bit like a new boyfriend being introduced to the family and sized up by his partner’s protective older brother, and he would laugh if he weren’t the one currently facing this predicament.
“Well, if you ever want to talk about it with someone,” Kuramochi offers, though it seems that he’s gotten the words out only through great effort, “you know where to find me.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Kazuya has absolutely no desire to speak about this topic with Kuramochi ever again, but he is oddly touched at the other boy’s care for his feelings. He turns to go, but the shortstop isn’t finished.
“I know you’re you and this doesn’t really need to be said, but if this ever gets to a point where it’s affecting your performance on the field…” he trails off.
Kazuya winces. He knows exactly what Kuramochi is referencing, his mind flashing back to when he had been hiding his injury last year, and how the other boy had told him he needed to get through it or he would tell the rest of the team.
The comparison turns something sour in his chest. His feelings aren’t a negative thing like his injury was, though if he’s not careful they can become just as debilitating in their own right.
Kazuya is the first to break eye contact. “I’ll manage,” he says, eventually.
Kuramochi eyes him skeptically. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Miyuki.”
As Kuramochi walks away, Kazuya, so quietly he’s sure the other boy can’t hear him, whispers, “Me too.”
***
Bright sunlight pierces through the cracks in his blinds the next morning, uncaring of the earth shattering revelations he had gone through just yesterday. Kazuya peels off his eye mask and yawns. Squinting at his phone, he sees that it’s 6:00 in the morning; far too early, he thinks, for a person to be awake. But breakfast is starting soon, and he needs to get up to face another day.
During Japanese Literature class, Kazuya catches Kuramochi giving him a concerned glance out of the corner of his eye on several occasions. He hadn’t slept well, and from the sideways glances he had gotten in the cafeteria this morning he knows that he looks only slightly better than death warmed over.
He knows that Kuramochi is just looking out for him, but he can’t help the irritation that flashes through him. This is exactly why he didn’t want to tell anyone about his partiality towards Sawamura. As the captain and main catcher, he can ill afford to be seen showing anything remotely resembling favoritism.
Then again, he hasn’t gone and developed a whole pitching system with any of his non-Sawamura pitchers. It’s pretty clear that he does play favorites, despite his protests to the contrary.
He frowns, pressing the tip of his pencil with more force than necessary into the paper of his notebook as the teacher drones on at the front of the classroom.
All of this is a moot point, anyways, because it’s not like Sawamura would ever return his feelings. And even if he did? Well, Kazuya has always been a pragmatic person. There’s no chance of that ever happening, so it’s best not to think too hard about it.
He and Sawamura are two parallel lines: forever travelling in the same direction, but doomed to never intersect. No, that is not quite accurate. He and Sawamura are two asymptotic lines; no matter how close they get, they will never quite touch.
***
Practice has become a special kind of torture, because it is here that he is subjected to several consecutive hours in close proximity with one Sawamura Eijun. During class hours, he doesn’t see the pitcher much except for when he comes to visit his classroom, which spares him from experiencing the full force of Sawamura’s particular brand of concentrated sunshine personality.
Not so during the hours that make up baseball practice, after baseball practice, and sometimes even before baseball practice. Kazuya has never before had a reason to feel anything other than anticipation and excitement as the hours count down to the start of team practice, but today he finds himself feeling a little apprehensive at the prospect.
Now that he recognizes his feelings, Kazuya can’t help but notice Sawamura everywhere he turns. Since the day they first met, Kazuya has always maintained a special Sawamura Radar in his mind, a sixth sense that allows him to automatically detect where the pitcher is located on the diamond at any given point in time.
Usually, Sawamura is the one seeking him out, his request of “catch for me, Miyuki Kazuya!” trailing Kazuya everywhere he goes. But now, he finds that what was once a blessing has now become something resembling a curse.
At this very moment, his eyes are glued to Sawamura as the other boy runs laps with his trusty tire.
He really has grown so much, Kazuya muses, as he watches Okumura and some of the other first years picking up their own tires to join the pitcher like a row of ducklings trailing after their parent, everyone shouting and yelling as they each try to one-up the other.
Mentor Sawamura. A year ago, he would never have expected this from the pitcher. But Sawamura’s skills in baseball have grown in leaps and bounds. It shouldn’t be a surprise that his leadership abilities have grown accordingly.
Fondness crests in his heart as he watches the scene unfold. Sawamura is often still the noisiest person on the diamond, but he’s so much more than their resident moodmaker now. The loudmouthed boy with more fire in his spirit than skill in his repertoire is gone; in his place stands an indomitable ace secure in his abilities.
Sawamura always manages to exceed his every expectation.
If Kazuya is the beating heart of the team, their unshakable pillar, then Sawamura is their soul. The blood of a challenger runs unwaveringly through his veins.
Kazuya stumbles a little as he feels a bony shin connecting with the backs of his thighs, and it’s only thanks to his quick catcher’s reflexes that he doesn’t spill the open bottle of water in his hand.
When he turns around with a glare, Kuramochi meets his stare head on.
“Really, Miyuki?” the shortstop asks, cocking an unamused eyebrow in his direction.
“What?” he asks, though he already knows.
“Dude,” Kuramochi says, shaking his head, before checking to see if anyone is within earshot. When he finds that it’s all clear, he continues. “We’re literally in public, the least you could do is not be so obvious about it.”
“I’m not being obvious,” Kazuya responds defensively, but he knows it’s a lie. At least it had been Kuramochi and not someone else. He winces as he imagines Maezono or one of the other third years calling him out on it, and yeah, he really needs to get a grip. He can feel Kuramochi’s eyes following him as he grabs his bat and walks away.
***
“Miyuki? Can I talk to you for a minute?”
The final bell has just rung, and Kazuya and Kuramochi are on their way to the dorms to drop off their school bags and pick up their equipment for practice.
Kazuya is a little surprised to see Takahiro from history class standing in front of him. The other boy seems a bit nervous, and Kazuya wracks his brain to try to think of a reason why his classmate would want to speak to him right now.
The two of them had worked on a group project together, but it had wrapped up over two weeks ago, and they had all received passing, though not excellent, grades. And outside of that, Kazuya can count the times he’s spoken to the other boy on the fingers of one hand.
“Sure, what is it?” he asks. He’s truly curious to know.
“Um. I’d prefer to speak to you alone, if you please,” Takahiro responds, glancing meaningfully at Kuramochi who is standing by Kazuya’s side.
The shortstop takes the hint. “See you at practice, Miyuki,” he says with a wave, and continues on ahead.
Once Kuramochi is out of earshot, Takahiro motions for Kazuya to walk with him, and begins leading the catcher to a quieter place down the hall, away from the prying eyes of others, until they reach a deserted corner in the stairwell. If Kazuya hadn’t already realized what was happening, the location would have instantly clued him in.
This particular stairwell is the most popular place for confessions on campus, it’s out of the way location and sparse foot traffic the perfect place for an enterprising student to confess to their crush.
Kazuya knows this place well. Over the course of his time at Seido, he’s been here numerous times, always as the person being confessed to, never the confessor. And though he’s never accepted a confession, that hasn’t deterred people from trying.
He hasn’t received a confession in a couple of months though, not since Fujimoto from the volleyball team had allegedly burst into tears after Kazuya turned him down. He has no idea how that happened—he’s quite certain he had been nothing but civil to the other boy, and Fujimoto had seemed fine when they parted ways—but apparently, Kazuya’s particular brand of blunt honesty is not always conducive to letting a confessor down gently.
And ever since then, the waves of confessions he had been receiving on an almost biweekly basis has slowed down to a mere trickle.
It’s curious that Takahiro has decided to confess to him now. Maybe he feels that Kazuya will be more receptive to his confession since they’ve at least talked to each other before.
Kazuya sighs, mind already hard at work putting together a speech to let the other boy down gently. He’s certainly learned his lesson from the last time, and besides, despite how he seems sometimes, he’s not actually a heartless bastard.
“I know you usually don’t accept confessions, but I would never forgive myself if I didn’t at least try,” Takahiro begins, earnestly. “Miyuki, I know you don’t know me very well outside of class, but I really admire you a lot, both as the captain of our baseball team and as a person. And,” here, he blushes, “I think you’re really handsome.” He takes a deep breath and says in a rush, “please go out with me!”
Takahiro seems like a nice guy, Kazuya muses, and he almost feels bad about having to let him down. But realistically, between his classes and baseball he has no time to get to know someone and go on dates with them. If he did decide to accept a confession, he knows that the other person would grow to resent him for not spending enough time together, and the whole thing would end in heartbreak.
And even if that weren’t the case, Sawamura has already taken up permanent residence in his heart. There is no room within those hallowed chambers for someone else.
“Ah, thank you Takahiro-kun. I’m sorry, but I don’t feel the same way. I can’t accept your confession,” Kazuya responds.
Takahiro sighs shakily, but his face is resolute when he lifts his head to hold Kazuya’s gaze. “I understand. I kind of expected you would say that, but I had to try anyways,” he says, with a small rueful chuckle. “Thank you for your time, Miyuki.”
Well that went about as well as it could have. Hopefully class won’t be awkward now, although Kazuya doesn’t think there is any reason for it to be. He’s been in the same class as several of his previous confessors, and it’s turned out just fine.
The two bid each other goodbye, and Kazuya walks down the stairs to finally head to his room. If he’s quick about it, he can probably even grab a snack before he has to show up to the field.
As he turns the corner, he bumps into the one person he didn’t expect to see.
“Miyuki Kazuya?? What are you doing here?” Sawamura asks, eyes wide with shock. Then, he narrows them, pointing an accusing finger in Kazuya’s direction.
“Are you following me?” he asks, with a glare that is frankly theatrical in its intensity.
“No? I’m literally just g—wait, I don’t need to explain myself to you. What are you doing here? You’re gonna be late to practice.”
Honestly, what is Sawamura doing here? This part of campus is out of the way of the route between the main classrooms and the dorms, so there isn’t really a reason for Sawamura to be out here.
Unless, of course, he’s confessing to someone. Or receiving a confession. Something in Kazuya’s gut twists sourly at the prospect.
“I asked you first!” Sawamura exclaims. “But if you have to know, I had to stay behind to ask my teacher some questions after class, and I decided to take the long way around to the dorms since it’s such a nice day out!”
Kazuya lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Okay, so Sawamura wasn’t here for the same reason he was. But still.
Then, Sawamura seems to finally notice where they are. “Wait,” he asks, curiosity evident in his voice, “were you just getting a confession?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“Yes I would, that’s why I asked!”
Kazuya laughs, but doesn’t deign that with a response.
Sawamura scowls, and shakes his head. “Fine, fine, don’t tell me. You know, people might think you’re good looking, but that’s only because they don’t know how annoying and mean you actually are.”
“Oh, so you think I’m good looking?” Kazuya asks, choosing to ignore the second half of the sentence.
“S-Shut up, I didn’t say that! I said people, as in other people at our school.”
“No need to demur, Sawamura, I’m very flattered.”
“Ugh! You’re impossible. I’ll see you at practice,” Sawamura replies as he storms off.
Kazuya chuckles quietly to himself as he watches Sawamura walk away. Well, that was certainly an interesting interaction.
He allows himself one brief moment to imagine Sawamura confessing to someone. To Kazuya himself, even.
How would he do it? Would he be confident or would he be a little hesitant? What would he say? Kazuya knows that Sawamura loves literature and shoujo manga, so his confession would likely be a mix of the two, both lyrical and cheesily romantic in its own right.
He hasn’t heard of Sawamura accepting anyone’s confession, or confessing to anyone in all the time that he’s known him, but that doesn’t mean anything. Maybe he’s busy; as someone on the exact same practice schedule, Kazuya knows just how little free time the first string members of the Seido baseball team have. Or maybe he just hasn’t found the right person yet.
Whoever Sawamura ends up with, Kazuya knows they will be the luckiest person in the world.
He shakes his head to banish the thought from his mind. Even if Sawamura confessed to someone, Kazuya would be the last person he would ever find himself catching feelings for.
After all, their partnership exists only within the carefully defined limits of the baseball diamond. Outside of the sport that connects them, he and Sawamura are just friends. Nothing more.
***
Ever since that day when he finally recognized his feelings for what they were, Kazuya has felt slightly unbalanced, as if his world has tilted several degrees and he is still scrambling to compensate.
Sometimes, he wishes he was still in the dark. At least it was easier, then, to not know.
He’s lucky that Sawamura hasn’t picked up on how strangely he’s been acting recently. And he knows he’s been acting differently, because Kuramochi has oh so kindly pointed it out to him several times.
Despite his declaration that he isn’t going to do anything about his feelings until at least the conclusion of the Summer Tournament, it seems that changes have happened regardless, especially in the way that he interacts with Sawamura.
Sure, he’s still the same teasing, irritating tanuki bastard that Sawamura knows and tolerates. But increasingly, he’s found that his words have lost their biting edge. Where before he would say things just to rile Sawamura up, now he finds himself saying things to make Sawamura laugh or smile, anything at all to remain in his orbit.
At the same time, he’s found through trial and error that attempting to disrupt the careful equilibrium that he’s built between them does not, unfortunately, lead to the positive outcomes that he wants.
Kazuya’s experience with relationships is admittedly slim to none, but even he knows that typically, a person should compliment their crush and act nicely towards them. There are lots of things he likes about Sawamura, so he feels that it shouldn’t be too hard to pay the pitcher a genuine compliment.
He doesn’t want to try it in front of the rest of the team, because he doesn’t need anyone else—especially Kuramochi—bearing witness if it goes poorly, so he bides his time and waits patiently.
He gets his opportunity on a Wednesday. He’s not hosting his “cram school” this evening, but more often than not Sawamura tends to show up at his room and read manga or do his homework after practice, and thankfully, today is one of those days.
Sawamura is a surprisingly good study partner, Kazuya has found, and he’s looked forward to their study sessions even before he recognized his feelings for the pitcher. When it’s just the two of them, Sawamura is much more reserved in his speech and his mannerisms, though he still retains a tendency to share small anecdotes about his day as well as updates about the family and friends he left back home.
Over these last several months of weekly meetings, he feels that he has come to understand the other boy much better than he did before.
Today, Kazuya is sitting at his desk, twirling a pen around in his hand as he reads a scorebook that one of the managers had given him in preparation for their upcoming practice game. He has his back turned away from Sawamura, who is stretched out on the floor with his literature textbook and a volume of Chihayafuru both opened in front of him.
The other boy is dressed in a red and white tee and gray sweatpants, hair still slightly damp at the ends from his shower, and Kazuya’s heart constricts at the domesticity of the scene. Sawamura fits seamlessly into the space of Kazuya’s room, just like how he’s slotted himself seamlessly into the contours of Kazuya’s heart.
It’s silent in the room except for the soft tapping of the pen as it lands in Kazuya’s grip after every rotation and the dry rustling of the page as Sawamura progresses through his reading.
Kazuya fakes a yawn as a pretense, and turns his head to look at Sawamura surreptitiously. It’s the perfect moment. The other boy is fully absorbed in his reading, and Kazuya can see the play of emotions across his face as he speeds through the volume of manga, his textbook lying forgotten by his side.
Sawamura really is an open book, Kazuya muses, one that he wants to understand the ins and outs of as intimately as he knows the baseball scorebook in front of him. He almost doesn’t want to interrupt this moment, and yet. Nothing ventured, nothing gained and all that.
“Sawamura,” he says, turning around in his chair to face the pitcher fully.
“Hm?” Sawamura blinks, and turns to look at Kazuya.
Under the full force of Sawamura’s bright gaze, Kazuya realizes belatedly that he might have made a grave miscalculation. He falters, words sticking in his throat like honey, and he swallows thickly before he is able to speak.
“I, uh, like your shirt,” is what he finally comes out with, and he winces internally. Seriously, could he have said anything else? Anything at all?
“What?” the pitcher asks, giving him a confused look. “Wait,” he adds, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Are you making fun of me again? Mean, Miyuki Kazuya!” he chides, before turning back to his book.
Embarrassment floods through his system, and Kazuya is immensely grateful that he decided to attempt this in private. He wishes he had a time machine so he could go back in time and stop himself from ever opening his mouth.
But he hadn’t been making things up entirely. Something about the shirt had caught his attention, and he finally remembers why.
“Wait,” he asks, “is that my shirt? The one I let you borrow a couple months ago? I’ve been looking for it for ages.”
“Uh, maybe,” Sawamura replies, cheeks burning. “I swear I forgot I had it! And I didn’t do my laundry this week so this was the only thing I had that was clean since Kuramochi-senpai wouldn’t let me wear one of his shirts.” The corners of his lips tug down into a pout as he recalls the memory.
Kazuya feels a slight frisson of jealousy at the thought of Sawamura wearing Kuramochi’s clothes, and alright, that’s enough of that. He is not going to be jealous of Kuramochi of all people.
“Well alright then, you can keep it,” he says, waving his hand magnanimously. “I’m always happy to lend a helping hand to my favourite kouhai.”
“Thanks.” Sawamura squints at him for a moment, as if trying to judge whether Kazuya is being serious, before he shrugs and turns back to his book.
Kazuya turns back to his own reading material, but he can’t get himself to focus. He can’t deny that he likes seeing Sawamura in his clothes, but this was just a one-off situation.
More importantly, this is exactly why Kazuya can't confess now, because Sawamura will just think it's all a joke. Considering the way he reacted when Kazuya had complimented him, there is no way that a confession will go over well.
And why would he think that? A voice whispers in his head that sounds a whole lot like his conscience. It’s not like you’ve given him any indication that you like him as more than just a friend.
Kuramochi is full of shit, Kazuya thinks. If he were really being so “obvious” about his feelings, as the shortstop claims, then Sawamura would have figured Kazuya out a long time ago.
***
In another irritating development, Kazuya has also found that Sawamura’s pleas for extra pitching practice have become harder to ignore. The number one on the pitcher’s back rests heavy with the weight of responsibility, and every time Kazuya responds to a request to “catch for me, Miyuki Kazuya!” with a “not today, Sawamura,” he almost feels that he is neglecting his duties.
More and more though, he finds himself relenting to those beguiling eyes. Honestly, Kazuya’s pretty sure he’s got Sawamura all figured out. The ace pitcher might have everyone else fooled into thinking that he’s a nice, sweet albeit loud boy, but Kazuya knows better.
Kazuya himself has a nasty personality that he wears like armor. Sawamura can be equally as nasty, but that side of him only really comes out when he’s standing on the mound. It’s why they make such an exceptional battery, twin smirks hidden behind their gloves as they come up with the most devastating sequences of pitches to not just strike out the enemy batters this inning, but to set up for psychological warfare in the innings to come.
“Last one, okay, Sawamura,” Kazuya says. He’s agreed to extra pitching practice with Sawamura today, and he and the ace have taken up residence in the indoor training area.
“Fine, fine,” Sawamura replies, and winds up.
“How was that one, Cap?” he asks as he sends a perfectly angled cutter into Kazuya’s waiting glove. Under the fluorescent lights, Sawamura looks washed out, a pale facsimile of his daytime sun-dipped glow. Kazuya thinks that he shines nonetheless.
“Perfect,” Kazuya says, and throws the ball back. Sawamura grins at him, and Kazuya feels a warmth spreading through his chest as he basks in it.
Get a grip, Kazuya, he tells himself, shaking his head.
“Alright! Come on, one more.” Sawamura is relentless when he wants to be, and Kazuya can already feel himself wanting to waver. But no.
“Sawamura, you need to rest. You’re starting in tomorrow’s game, I don’t want you to overexert yourself.”
“Ugh, fine.” the pitcher responds with a pout, but he relents. He pulls off his glove and walks towards where he left his water bottle.
There isn’t very much to clean up, just a couple of stray balls and equipment that needs to be stacked. Kazuya drops the balls into the crate as Sawamura fills up the space between them with chatter about his day, the catcher’s attention split between Sawamura and going over the strategy for tomorrow’s game one last time in his mind.
It is for this reason that Kazuya does a double take when he finally tunes in again and actually hears what Sawamura is saying.
“...feel like it would be kinda scary to confess. Like what if the other person doesn’t reciprocate your feelings? Or what if they don’t even realize you are confessing? Kuramochi had to explain to me that Wakana had basically confessed to me over email, honestly I wouldn’t have realized at all if he hadn’t pointed it out.” He laughs quietly at his oblivious younger self, before he continues as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened.
Kazuya’s brain, meanwhile, has abandoned all thoughts of tomorrow’s game and is scrambling to try to piece together how they arrived on this topic. All he’s able to come up with after an attempt to backtrack through their conversation is a tenuous connection to the latest manga Sawamura had been reading. Otherwise, Kazuya really doesn’t remember a single thing the pitcher said before just now.
Quite frankly, he had forgotten about the subject of confessions entirely. A week has passed since Takahiro had confessed to him, and he hasn’t had a reason to dwell on the memory since then.
“What brought this on, Sawamura?” he asks. He almost doesn’t want to hear the answer to his next question, but he asks it anyway before he can think better of it. “What, are you planning on confessing to someone?”
If Sawamura says no, his traitorous heart will start to think that he has a chance. And if Sawamura says yes—
“Well, there is someone I want to confess to, but he’s kind of oblivious.” Sawamura is looking straight at Kazuya as he says this, and his eyes seem to flash with hidden meaning.
Kazuya’s fingers freeze where they are working to unbuckle the straps of his gear. Kuramochi’s words from their conversation in the bath house ring in his ears, a refrain of too late, too late echoing in his mind. It’s only been a few weeks since then, but it feels like a lifetime ago.
“Oh?” He fights to keep his voice neutral, but inside his heart splintering in his chest. Of course Sawamura wants to confess to someone. He’s always been popular, with an approachable personality that’s earned him friends from every class on campus.
Maybe that day he bumped into Sawamura by the stairwell, the pitcher had been going to confess to someone, but Kazuya had interrupted his plans.
Between their battery telepathy and his general ability to read the pitcher’s body language, Kazuya has always been able to tell what Sawamura is thinking. And as a catcher, he is accustomed to being the one giving the signals. But now that he’s on the other side of things, he finds that he can’t seem to recognize the signs.
“Well, you get a lot of confessions, right? So you’ve probably heard lots of different variations on what people say by now,” Sawamura says, completely oblivious to the turmoil going on inside Kazuya’s mind.
Kazuya nods, not trusting himself to speak.
“What do you think are the qualities of a good confession?” Sawamura asks, curious gaze still fixed on Kazuya’s face.
Why is Sawamura asking him for advice? Doesn’t he know?
But of course, that is exactly the problem. Sawamura has no idea that Kazuya is in love with him, and now, Kazuya is more convinced than ever that his decision to conceal his feelings has been the correct one.
Sawamura isn’t finished. “Like, what would someone need to say to you, for example, for you to accept them?” he adds.
You don’t need to ask. I’m already yours.
Kazuya takes a deep breath, and resumes taking off his gear to give himself some time to consider the question.
He’s never really considered accepting anyone’s confession before, but there have been a couple that have given him pause, and he thinks about what parts of those confessions had been particularly compelling.
This is the last thing he wants to be doing right now, but if advice is what Sawamura needs, then advice is what he will provide.
“Honestly, I haven’t really thought about it,” he says with a shrug. “But no matter what you say, be straightforward. Honest, but not pushy. It’s up to them whether or not they will be accepting you. All you can do is put yourself out there.”
Sawamura considers that for a moment, brow furrowed as he examines Kazuya’s words from all angles, before he nods. “Well said, Miyuki Kazuya. I guess you can be a useful upperclassman sometimes.”
“Hey!” Kazuya retorts, but it's nothing more than a reflex at this point.
Kazuya is a catcher first and foremost, and he will always, always take care of his pitchers. And if that includes playing matchmaker for the boy he’s in love with to confess to someone else? That’s just part of the job.
***
Kazuya lasts approximately the entire weekend before he gives in and asks Kuramochi about it. As Sawamura’s roommate, Kuramochi is privy to information that Kazuya himself is not, no matter how much time he and Sawamura spend together on a regular basis.
To Kazuya’s endless consternation, Kuramochi is not only unhelpful, but the other boy starts laughing even before Kazuya is finished with his question. He quickly stops when he notices Kazuya scowling in genuine irritation.
“Oh. You’re serious,” Kuramochi says, when it’s clear that Kazuya does not find the situation funny.
“Of course I’m serious. Why would I ask you if I wasn’t?” Kazuya asks, squinting at his friend. “Nevermind, forget it,” he mutters, and turns to walk away.
“No, no, wait. I’m sorry, come back.” Kuramochi shoots out a hand to stop him before he can leave.
Kazuya turns back, one eyebrow raised in question. “So you do know who it is, and you’re just not telling me?”
“Honestly, I thought you knew already.”
“How would I know already? I didn’t even know he liked anyone.”
“You didn’t—”
“No. Well, out with it, who is it?”
Kuramochi only stares at him.
“If you don’t tell me, I’m going to start guessing.” True to his word, Kazuya begins to list off the members of the first string team.
“Is it Furuya? Haruichi? Kanemaru? Toujou?” He pauses. “Wait is it you? This whole time? That’s really low, even for you. You know how I feel about him.”
“What?! Hello, dumbass, did you forget I literally have a boyfriend?”
“Right, right,” Kazuya nods to himself, before he opens his mouth to resume his guesses.
Kuramochi interrupts him before he can go through the member roll of the entire baseball team. “I just think this is something that Sawamura needs to tell you himself.”
In any other situation, Kazuya would admire Kuramochi’s loyalty to his roommate. But right now, he feels his frustration rising, and he works to keep it from his voice.
Kuramochi is probably right, but still. Whoever it is, he doesn’t think he will like the answer one bit.
***
Kazuya toes the door of his room shut behind him, and drops face first onto his bed with a groan. He had seen Okumura out earlier with Seto and some of the other first years, and Kimura is nowhere to be seen. Finally, he has some time to himself. If he’s going to do this, it has to be now.
I’m just curious, he justifies to himself, but even he can tell how flimsy the excuse is. What would it be like, if he confessed to Sawamura? If he finally gave voice to all these feelings which have taken root in his heart?
Taking a deep breath, he gathers himself and stands in front of the small mirror that hangs next to his desk.
Here goes nothing.
His palms are sweaty where his hands hang useless by his side. This is so much harder than he expected, but Kazuya’s never backed down from a challenge before and he’s not about to start now. He’s never been on this side of a confession, and briefly, he feels a sense of newfound admiration for Takahiro and everyone else who has confessed to him before.
It’s never an easy thing, carving out the feelings that have made a home for themselves in his chest and offering them up to another, for him to do as he will.
It feels a little weird to stare and speak at his own reflection, but this will have to suffice. Having another person in front of him, even if it’s his own reflection, makes the whole exercise seem more real.
If he were really serious about this, he would ask another person to stand in so he can really get a feel for it, but there’s nobody that he is willing to ask. Kuramochi would never let him live this down, and he’s not close enough with any of the other members of the team to request this from one of them. This will just be a quiet, one off thing, and then he will banish the thought from his brain until at least the end of Koshien, if they even get that far.
He clears his throat. “Sawamura,” he says, and nods to himself.
Alright, this shouldn’t be too hard.
“I, uh, I—I just wanted to say—”
Nevermind, why is this so hard.
His feelings rest securely in his heart, and the weight of them is a comforting presence. It’s when he opens his mouth that the issue arises. The words are there, but they don’t want to come out.
He tries again.
“Sawamura, almost from the first day we met I’ve—“ He shakes his head. There’s no need for him to go into overly long detail about how he came to realize his feelings. If all goes well, that can come later.
He remembers the advice he had given Sawamura. Straightforward, be honest about your feelings, though that’s much easier said than done.
Briefly, he wonders if the pitcher has confessed yet to his mystery person. He hasn’t been acting any differently, nor has he been skipping extra practice or their study sessions to go hang out with a significant other, but the ever present thought that Sawamura would be doing so at some point in the near future hangs over his mind like a storm cloud.
He already doesn’t have much time left with Sawamura. Just one more summer, where they will take on the best that high school baseball has to offer and go as far as they can at Koshien.
It’s really unfair, he thinks, that even if he does confess to Sawamura, they won’t have much time together before they have to go their separate ways.
Suddenly, he knows exactly what he is going to say.
“Sawamura, I like you. Will you go out with me?” he says to his reflection in the mirror. Simple, easy, straightforward enough that even someone as dense as Sawamura will understand. Even though he hasn’t actually confessed yet, just saying the words out loud has him feeling lighter than he has in days.
“Eh, Cap? What are you doing?”
Kazuya whirls around. Sawamura is standing in his open door, face scrunched up adorably in confusion. He feels his face burning. He supposes he does look a bit weird, standing in front of his mirror and mumbling to himself. The walls of the dorms are thin, but thankfully it seems that Sawamura didn’t actually hear what he said.
“Haven’t you heard of knocking?” Kazuya responds, neatly sidestepping the question.
“Your door was open,” Sawamura says, as if that answers everything.
Sawamura walks over to where Kazuya stands in front of the mirror, and Kazuya feels a brief moment of panic. Maybe Sawamura did hear him earlier.
He looks like he’s about to say something, but ultimately he does nothing more than spin around and drop to his usual spot on the floor.
Soon, the room fills with the soft scratching of pencil on paper. Kazuya moves to sit at his desk, but he finds it difficult to focus after the adrenaline rush from earlier.
That was much too close for comfort.
During the study session, Kazuya can feel Sawamura’s eyes burning a hole into the back of his head. The weight of the Ace’s stare is almost a physical thing, and several times he almost turns around and asks Sawamura about it.
But every time he is about to do so, Sawamura will sigh, or turn the page of his book, and he feels that the moment has passed.
Finally, the pitcher opens his mouth. “Miyuki?” he asks, “can I ask you something?”
Kazuya still feels the residual embarrassment from his earlier actions, and he keeps his eyes on the page when he replies. “If you’re asking me about your literature reading again, I’m not gonna be able to help you. I don’t remember anything from that class.”
“No, it’s not that. Can you come here for a second?”
Kazuya notes his spot in the textbook, and turns around to sit down on the ground next to Sawamura.
“Alright, what is it?”
Sawamura eyes him, before he sits up so they are sitting at the same eye level. Then he reaches forward to hold Kazuya’s hands in his own, and alright, now Kazuya really has no idea what is going on.
“Sawamura?” he asks in confusion. “What’s all this about?”
This close, Kazuya can make out the smattering of summer freckles that have just begun to dust Sawamura’s nose and cheeks.
Sawamura takes a deep breath, and meets his gaze unflinchingly. “Miyuki, I like you a lot. Please go out with me!”
Kazuya’s brain screeches to a halt, because there is no way he heard what he did just now. He stares at Sawamura for a moment, before he starts to chuckle at the absurdity of the situation.
This whole time.
Small huffs of laughter spill out between his lips, and he can’t help it even though this is the worst possible moment for it.
“Hey, if you’re gonna reject a guy, you don’t have to be an asshole about it,” Sawamura’s hopeful expression shutters, and he drops Kazuya’s hands. The pitcher moves to stand up as if to leave, and Kazuya’s brain finally catches up.
“No, no, no,” Kazuya says quickly. “Wait, sorry. I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing at myself.”
Sawamura squints at him, but he sits back down, arms folded across his chest. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t believe this is happening. You really never knew?”
“Knew what?”
“Sawamura, I like you so much.” Kazuya has never been more sincere about anything in his life, but Sawamura still seems a bit miffed about his reaction earlier.
There’s nothing to lose now. Might as well come out and say it.
Kazuya’s face burns, but he pushes through the embarrassment. He needs to show Sawamura that he’s serious about this.
“Do you know what I was doing in here just now, before you came in?”
“What?”
“I was practicing confessing to you. I didn’t want to do anything before Koshien because I thought it would mess up our battery if you didn’t feel the same way. I guess I should’ve known that you would exceed my every expectation.”
Sawamura laughs. “Miyuki Kazuya, I know everyone thinks you’re a genius, but sometimes you can be so dumb! I’ve been dropping hints for months, I thought I was being so obvious about it but you never seemed to respond.”
Kazuya shakes his head ruefully. “God, we’re so stupid.”
Then, he remembers something that gives him pause. “Wait, what about the person you wanted to confess to? The one you asked me for advice for when we were practicing the other day?”
“It’s you. The person I wanted to confess to was you.” Sawamura says, and gives him an exasperated look.
“Oh,” Kazuya says, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Wow, you really asked me for advice on how to confess to me? Bold move, Sawamura.”
“Well, I just didn’t want to be another one of the dozens of confessions you’ve gotten before, so who better to ask than the source?” Sawamura replies, with a cheeky grin.
“You could never be just anyone to me.”
The smile is back on Sawamura’s face as they fall into their usual banter, but there’s still an uncertainty to the pitcher’s expression. “So, what’s your answer?” he asks, bright gaze focused on Kazuya.
“Yes. Of course it’s yes, Eijun,” Kazuya responds, meeting him halfway.
He can’t wait for them to take on Koshien, together. Seido’s golden battery, now true partners, both on and off the field. Victory is in sight, and there’s nobody else he would rather have by his side.