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Eijun looks at Furuya and feels the inexplicable urge to push, to prod and poke at that stony mask for a glimpse of the intensity he knows lies underneath. He wants to be enough of a force to move him.
He’s seen glimpses of what lies underneath Furuya's indifferent exterior before, when watching the other pitcher with rapt attention on the field. Something about seeing that though, seeing the hunger Furuya has in-game, renders Eijun a starving man.
He doesn’t think about why he’s so invested in knowing Furuya, in burrowing under his skin. All Eijun knows is that he is famished, always hungry for another peek, another taste of what it feels like to be the one to elicit a reaction from the other boy.
Eijun spends an inordinate amount of time thinking about Furuya; about the small smile he’s only ever seen once, and the way his eyebrows scrunch up when he’s confused. Eijun wonders what his laugh would sound like. He’s only ever heard Furuya huff, only ever watched him purse his lips to prevent the amusement from building.
Eijun asks himself why Furuya does that; why he’s so frustratingly adamant at not sharing his delight. Something about that grates at him.
So, thinking about Furuya turns into looking at Furuya.
Too much of the time. All the time.
During classes, during the time they spend together outside of them; even during practice, oddly enough. Eijun can’t seem to take his eyes off him, to the point that he almost gets hit in the head with the ball that Okumura throws at him. When he looks at his catcher, the other boy is scowling. Eijun only chuckles self-consciously and apologizes, before returning to practice.
He’s been far too distracted lately.
He wonders about that.
It’s no secret to him, or anyone else, that he’s always paid attention to Furuya. He is Eijun’s biggest rival, he’s always had to watch him – but this is different.
What started as a studious interest in a rival pitcher’s technique, snowballed into whatever this is. Into whatever it means for Eijun to look – for too long, he knows – at the way Furuya bites his lip when he’s concentrating on a particularly difficult assignment when they study together.
And though Eijun had begun looking, really looking at Furuya, with the intention of finding ways past his armor some time ago – now he just... looks. He looks at Furuya, because he’s realized he likes looking at Furuya.
When Eijun tells Haurichi and Kanemaru about this, he only gets two exasperated sighs and a pat on the shoulder. It’s not very helpful.
So Eijun keeps watching him, thinking about him, doing everything in his power to curb the new impulse to touch Furuya; to hold his hand, maybe.
The week before, when the team had gone to Inashiro for a practice match, he sat next to Furuya on the bus. On the way back, Furuya had fallen asleep with his head on Eijun’s shoulder.
Eijun had never documented himself feeling that magnitude of panic and happiness simultaneously. For a fleeting moment, when his heart jumped out of his chest, he had thought he would die. He wanted it to happen again.
When he tells Haruichi and Kanemaru about that, Kanemaru walks out of the room with a disgruntled, “I do not get paid for this.”
Haruichi only grabs Eijun’s face between his hands, squishing his cheeks, and looking into his eyes gravely. “Eijun-kun,” he says, already sounding exhausted, “have you ever considered that you might like him?”
Eijun looks at Haruichi with a scrunched up nose and says, “Of course I like Satoru? We’re friends, Harucchi.”
Haruichi only sighs, and looks at the ceiling as though he’s praying for strength. Eijun hopes the gods give Haruichi a proper answer to his own questions as well.
It’s only when he and Furuya are walking back to Eijun’s room after dinner does he realize what Haruichi meant. They’re close together, their shoulders and hands brushing, and Eijun almost reaches out to curl their fingers together. He thinks about that, thinks about the persisting urge he has to be near Furuya, to talk to Furuya, to look at Furuya, to kiss the stupid cute smile right off his face and–
Oh.
He likes Furuya.
Romantically.
As in not only platonically.
As in he has a crush on Furuya.
Oh.
Well fuck.
He comes back to himself when Furuya bumps their shoulders together, and asks, “You okay?”
Eijun only nods, too violently and almost yelling, “Mhmm! Yeah! Everything’s normal!”
Furuya opens his mouth to speak, seeming more concerned. Eijun interjects by grabbing his hand and pulling Furuya into his room. “Come on! Why don’t we play a game?!”
Furuya furrows his brows for a moment – Eijun has to chase away the urge to run his thumbs over them – before they smooth themselves out and Furuya smiles that lovely smile at him. “Okay. I’m gonna beat you this time, by the way.”
Eijun retorts, and they find themselves back in familiar territory – competing. And if neither of them let go of the other’s hand until they have to pick up the controller, and then sit far too close to each other as they play. Well, nobody but the two of them need to know about it.
This, Eijun can do easily. There is nothing new about their closeness. For now, this is enough. Eijun fears his heart would give out from anything more, especially when he's only just realized the nature of his feelings.
So he will take these small moments and keep them safe; let them build until the budding thing sitting in the miniscule space between them forces itself into tangibility.
Two months from now, on a night like this one, Furuya will push it into existence himself with a too-blunt confession at the batting nets.
But for now, Eijun thinks, this is more than enough.