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Tetsu has gotten taller.
That’s the first thing Kazuya notices when he greets the group of Seido’s alumni at the back of the bar. Tetsu has gotten taller, but Jun hasn’t , and neither has Ryousuke.
Kanemaru is still just as bossy as he always was, a mother hen clucking at his chickens, clapping Furuya and Haruichi on the back when they arrive, asking if they want anything to drink. Toujou smiles warmly at them all, asking about their commute, making room for them at their table.
Kuramochi arrives with a cackle, kicking Kazuya in the back before slipping off to catch up with the Kominato brothers. Shirasu and Nori arrive together, settling in to chat with Zono and Nabe once they all order a round of drinks and a basket of French fries.
And among them all, there’s Sawamura Eijun.
Kazuya takes a swig of his beer as he watches Sawamura flit from person to person, eager and excited, his invisible tail wagging behind him like the overenthusiastic puppy he’s always been.
He’s been chatting with everyone, catching up, handing out hugs - even a kiss on the cheek here or there once he finished his first drink. He’d thrown his arms around Okumura’s neck when he’d arrived with Seto and Asada in tow, and Kazuya had snorted into his drink when Sawamura had yelled Wolfboy!, dropping a kiss to the side of his jaw, causing Okumura’s cheeks to stain pink in response.
Kanemaru had reacted the same, nearly stumbling back into Toujou with red ears when Sawamura planted a kiss on his cheek after stealing a fry from his plate. Haruichi was the only one who hadn’t been exceptionally thrown off by Sawamura’s affection, having grown used to it by now. Even Furuya had blushed when Sawamura beamed up at him, smiling from ear to ear.
Sawamura is clearly having a good time, mingling and interacting with everyone -
Everyone except Kazuya.
Kazuya gets it - Sawamura and Kazuya were both drafted to the same team, so they see each other almost every day at the Giants’ practice field. They play in games together nearly every week, have lunch together most afternoons. Sawamura gets to see Kazuya on a regular basis - he only gets to see some of the Seido alumni once a year, if that.
Still, it wouldn’t hurt Sawamura to come say hi, would it?
“Are you going to sit over here and sulk all night?”
Kazuya raises his gaze to Kuramochi’s familiar one, watching as he plops down into the vacant seat next to him. “I’m not sulking,” Kazuya claims, raising a brow. “I’m enjoying the show.”
Kuramochi rolls his eyes and knocks his knee against Kazuya’s as he sips at his drink, something dark and smokey. “Is that what we’re calling it now?” he drawls, swirling the ice in his glass. “If you want to be included, just go over there.” He gestures towards where Sawamura is currently flailing around Kanemaru while Kanemaru’s cheeks redden with fond exasperation. “I can feel you pining from all the way across the room.”
Kazuya’s neck burns beneath the accusation. He watches as Sawamura links his arms with Toujou and Furuya before dropping his gaze to stare down at his bottle, peeling at the label. “I’m not pining,” he mutters. He’s not. Really. “I’m just enjoying watching Sawamura make a fool of himself.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Kuramochi mutters, swiping his finger along the rim of his glass. “I can’t stand you sometimes.”
Kazuya grins, grateful for the easy change in topic. “Thank you!”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
He chats with Kuramochi for a while after that, going back and forth with their familiar banter until Kuramochi gets pulled away by Haruichi and Ryosuke to go get another round of drinks. Kazuya leans back in his chair as he watches Kuramochi go, sweeping his gaze back around the bar as he fiddles with his beer.
He’s not looking for anyone in particular. He’s not searching for tawny irises and a bright smile. He’s just surveying his old teammates, taking in the -
“Miyuki Kazuya!”
Ah, there he is.
Kazuya’s lips quirk up before he can stop them - a reflex, almost, in response to Sawamura’s insistent use of Kazuya’s full name. “Well, look who it is,” Kazuya drawls, raising a brow as Sawamura skips into his corner. “I thought maybe you’d forgotten about me with how preoccupied you’ve been with our old teammates.”
Sawamura puffs out his cheeks. “Like I could ever forget about you,” he responds, and Kazuya immediately itches to know what that means. He reaches out and tugs at Kazuya’s sleeve. “Stop being a wallflower and come play pool with me!”
Kazuya snorts and arches a brow, but he doesn’t resist as Sawamura pulls him out of his chair with a hand at his wrist. “Oh, I see. You only want my attention because no one else will play with you.”
Sawamura shoots him an bland look over his shoulder. “Don’t be stupid, Miyuki Kazuya,” he reaponds, entirely unimpressed by Kazuya’s teasing. “I want to play with you so I can beat you.”
He offers Kazuya a crooked grin as they approach the rack of pool sticks. Kazuya’s cheeks warm beneath the weight of that smile and the feel of Sawamura’s fingers on his skin. “Oh, please,” Kazuya responds, glancing away for a moment. “Like I’m going to lose at a game that requires strategy.”
“It’s pool,” Sawamura retorts, furrowing his brows. “You just hold the stick and you hit the balls.”
Kazuya rolls his lips into his mouth to keep himself from grinning like a teenage boy, mind heading straight to the gutter. “Oh yeah? Tell me more. Why don’t you show me exactly how you hold the stick?”
Maybe he shouldn’t add fuel to the fire, maybe he shouldn’t try to rile Sawamura up, but Kazuya can’t help it. He likes having Sawamura’s attention like this. Likes that Sawamura’s cheeks darken in response to his playful jibe and not someone else’s. Likes that Sawamura’s eyes are currently looking at him instead of Okumura and Kanemaru and Tetsu.
They’re a battery. They’re partners. That’s normal, right?
Totally normal.
It means nothing.
Sawamura’s eyes widen as he realizes how suggestive his comment has come off. “You - ugh, you tanuki bastard!” he mumbles, kicking at Kazuya’s shoe childishly before grabbing a cue stick. “I will show you,” he quips.
Sawamura’s shoulder brushes against Kazuya’s as he chalks the tip of his cue, warm and present at Kazuya’s side, and Kazuya’s heart pounds loudly in ears, too aware of the touch.
Nothing. It means nothing.
If he just keeps repeating that in his mind, maybe he’ll be able to convince himself that it’s true.
“All right then,” Kazuya says, swallowing down the odd flutter at the back of his throat. “Show me what you’ve got.”
Sawamura grins. “Get ready to lose, Miyuki Kazuya.”
It’s more of a bantering session than a game of pool in the end. Sawamura knocks balls into pockets and grins hotly in Kazuya’s direction, saying, “See, that’s how you hold the stick properly, Miyuki Kazuya.”
Kazuya raises a brow and knocks three balls into three different pockets with one hit, smirking when Sawamura’s eyes go wide, impressed. “What was that?” he drawls. “You sure you don’t need me to teach you how it’s done, Sawamura?”
Sawamura knocks Kazuya in the back of the thigh with his cue and Kazuya pokes Sawamura in the ribs when he leans over the table to take his turn. Sawamura squawks and yanks Kazuya around by the belt loop, shoving him away from the table playfully.
Kazuya ends up winning, but not by much.
Kazuya smiles the whole time, cheeks aching by the end of the game. “Want to go again?” Kazuya asks, leaning over the edge of the table as he collects the balls. “Best two out of three?”
Sawamura reaches into one of the pockets at the same time Kazuya does, fingers catching on Kazuya’s as they fish out the same ball. Kazuya’s heart stutters when Sawamura’s touch lingers brushing over Kazuya’s knuckles as he drops his hand. “You’re on,” Sawamura says. “But what’s in it for the winner?”
Kazuya raises his brows and watches the way Sawamura’s gaze darts between his eyes and then down the bridge of his nose, over his chin, lingering. Kazuya licks his lips subconsciously, skin burning when Sawamura’s lips part in return.
Kazuya can’t help but wonder what exactly Sawamura would want as his prize.
Kazuya swallows and fiddles with his cue stick. “How about the winner - “
“Sawamura-senpai.”
Kazuya and Sawamura both startle at the interruption, turning to see Okumura standing on the other side of the pool table. His cerulean irises skip between Kazuya and Sawamura for a moment before he continues. “Can you come here for a moment?”
Sawamura blinks, glancing between Okumura and Kazuya like he isn’t quite sure what to do, what he wants, but in the end, he yields to Okumura’s request, ever the charming, caring senpai. “Sure thing, Wolfboy!” he says before looking back at Kazuya. “I'm not done with you, Miyuki Kazuya! You better prepare for our rematch while I’m gone!”
Kazuya does prepare for their rematch while Sawamura is gone, replaying their previous game in his mind as he gets himself another drink, settling back into the seat Sawamura had dragged him from earlier. He thinks of the way Sawamura’s fingers grazed his back as he circled around him, the way he grinned and joked and hit him with his pool stick.
Kazuya had been so focused on Sawamura that he’d completely forgotten about everything else, their friends fading into the background, blurred images behind the steady shimmering focus of Sawamura.
He thinks of the way Sawamura’s fingers danced over his knuckles, the way Sawamura had startled when Okumura interrupted them, and thinks that maybe Sawamura had been just as focused on him, too.
Kazuya is so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice that there’s a person suddenly standing in front of his chair until he feels something kick at his shoe. When he looks up, he finds Sawamura back in his vision again.
“Hi,” Sawamura greets, blinking pretty hazel eyes down at Kazuya. “Is this seat taken?”
Kazuya’s stomach flips, mind reeling through all the interactions they’ve had tonight. He glances at the chair next to him and leans back, throwing his free arm over the back of it as he takes a swig of his beer. “Nope,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady. “It’s all yours.”
Sawamura’s mouth stretches into a smile, the same one he gives Kazuya when he agrees to play catch on their day off. Sawamura steps forward and sets his drink down on the chair, and before Kazuya can ask what he’s doing, he takes his seat.
On Kazuya’s lap.
Kazuya is so startled that he nearly drops his own bottle, barely managing to catch it before he sends beer flying everywhere. “Sawamura,” Kazuya sputters, heart stumbling in his chest, neck burning as Sawamura straddles him like it’s no big deal. “What are you - what.”
Sawamura gives him a cheeky grin. “You said this seat wasn’t taken!” he explains, eyes bright with mischief. Kazuya decides right then that Sawamura shouldn’t be trusted ever again. “You said it was all mine.”
He drags the words out playfully and Kazuya tries to fight the heat of his flush from spreading up to his ears.
God, he was not prepared for this.
Even after all these years, Sawamura continues to surprise him.
“You should have come with a warning label,” Kazuya mumbles, glancing away because Sawamura’s face is too close, so much so that Kazuya can see the caramel freckles forming constellations over Sawamura’s nose. “Are you drunk?”
Sawamura scowls as if offended by the question. “Of course not!” he proclaims, mouth frowning in a pout. He slides his palms over Kazuya’s shoulders, along the meat of his trapezius, hands dangling near his nape, sparking electricity down Kazuya’s spine. “I’ve only had a couple drinks.”
Kazuya resists the urge to squirm beneath Sawamura’s touch. He flails a bit because he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. “Just checking,” Kazuya responds, voice rasping over the words. “It’s not every day that my battery partner decides to use me as a seat when there’s a perfectly good chair available.”
“Well, you’ve been looking at me all night like you’re trying to solve a puzzle,” Sawamura accuses, like that’s a perfectly good explanation for why he’s decided to perch on Kazuya’s lap. “What else was I supposed to do?”
Kazuya takes a steadying inhale before tentatively resting a hand at Sawamura’s waist, palm splaying wide along his ribs as he sets his drink next to Sawamura’s on the chair. “I have not,” he declares, lies, denies.
“You have,” Sawamura states, eyes darting between Kazuya’s own before sliding to his mouth. “You’re always doing that. You’re always looking at me but you never do anything.”
Well then.
This is not how Kazuya thought his night would go.
This is not how Kazuya thought his life would go.
There are certain things Kazuya expected to catch when Sawamura traipsed into his life with his bright yellow hoodie and vibrant eyes four years ago - a whacky moving fastball, a cutterball, maybe a slider, if he got lucky.
What Kazuya didn’t expect to catch, however, was this - a throat full of butterflies and the nervous flutter of his pulse. This lingering, simmering attraction and the inescapable desire for Sawamura’s attention.
Feelings.
Kazuya caught feelings.
For Sawamura, of all people. Loudmouthed, brazen, hotheaded Sawamura.
And here he is, sitting on Kazuya’s lap with a boyish smile and rosy cheeks, his fingers toying with the hair curling behind Kazuya’s ears and the gentle waft of his shampoo permeating Kazuya’s senses.
Kazuya clears his throat. “And what exactly would you like me to do, then?”
Sawamura chews the corner of his lip and Kazuya locks onto the action, fingers flexing at Sawamura’s side. He can’t help but wonder what it might be like to be the one to bite that lip instead. “Stop thinking about everything so hard,” Sawamura answers, fingers tentatively brushing along Kazuya’s hairline at the back of his neck.
Kazuya swallows thickly, heat pooling beneath his skin. “I think about everything a normal amount,” he says. “You just don’t think about things enough.”
Sawamura rolls his eyes, dragging one of his hands around along Kazuya’s jawline, thumb sweeping over his cheek, and Kazuya nearly forgets how to breathe. “Sometimes you don’t need to think about things at all,” he murmurs, thumbprint brushing the corner of Kazuya’s mouth. “Sometimes, you just need to do what feels right.”
Kazuya’s lashes flutter when Sawamura’s palm drops down to rest over his collarbone. “What feels right for you, then?” he finds himself asking, Adam’s apple bobbing beneath Sawamura’s lingering touch.
Sawamura bites his lip and looks at Kazuya from beneath the hood of his lashes. “This,” he says softly, bringing his free hand around to cup at Kazuya’s jaw. “Don’t you think so?” he asks, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Don’t you want to kiss me, Miyuki Kazuya?”
Oh.
Kazuya’s brain stalls over Sawamura’s words, stumbling to believe that this is actually his current reality.
And, really - what an unfair question.
Who wouldn’t want to kiss Sawamura right now, honestly?
He’s pretty and warm and charming, forward and flirty in Kazuya’s lap, asking for what he wants and making Kazuya burn beneath him with nothing more than his stare and the light brush of his fingerprints.
This is not at all what Kazuya expected to come out of that fateful day he met those blazing golden irises and phenomenal callused hands.
“What if I do, then?” Kazuya manages to respond, taking a shaky inhale. “Want to kiss you?”
Sawamura hums and traces the shell of Kazuya’s ear with his forefinger. “You can,” Sawamura says candidly, openly, honestly, and God, Kazuya isn’t sure he can handle this. “If you beat me in our rematch.”
Kazuya’s heart rattles against his ribcage, entirely too enticed by the offer being placed on the table. “Are you really challenging me again after you just lost?” Kazuya taunts even though his nerves are sparking as he tries to maintain some semblance of composure. “And what happens if I lose?”
Sawamura bites his lip. “If you win, you get to kiss me,” he says, breath caressing the skin of Kazuya’s cheek, making Kazuya yearn to close the space between them. “If I win… then I get to kiss you."
Kazuya blinks. Then, he laughs.
He can’t help it, really, because this is ridiculous. Sawamura is too endearing for his own good. His head tips back in delight, unadulterated affection blossoming in his chest. “Wow,” he says once he pulls himself together. “What a hard bargain.”
“Is it a deal, then?” Sawamura asks, eyes dancing as he gives Kazuya a crooked grin.
Kazuya can’t help his smile. “Yeah, it’s a deal.”
—
Kazuya loses.
But he wins, anyway.