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last game
Furuya had never been nervous before a game. Not when he was the starting pitcher, nor when he was the relief one.
At the beginning, in his first year of high school, it was because he had never played before. Well, excluding the games with a wall acting as a catcher and nothing but a worn-out baseball and a glove. So no, he had never really played a full baseball game, as long as he could remember.
Coming to Seidou, having an actual catcher – and not an ordinary one, but Miyuki Kazuya – and being on the first string right away, it was all so overwhelming in the most positive way for Furuya that he couldn’t even feel some sort of nervousness.
Then he became the ace and yes, he started to feel the pressure coming from being the pillar of the team, the representative of the whole string on the pitch and on the mound. But he didn’t feel twitchy, because he was ready to have that role. That was all he had ever dreamt about, that number on his back that was so little but so meaningful nonetheless.
The year after, he lost the ace number to his greatest rival. He lost some of his confidence, too. He was struggling to find his way of living, the meaning behind being a pitcher, behind being an ace. But even then he never felt nervous when he was about to play. Hell, Sawamura was more terrified in his first game as the Seidou ace than Furuya had ever been.
Even in their third year, when Miyuki was already part of a professional team and had left Seidou’s main catcher role for months, Furuya felt fine. Yes, Miyuki was the reason he had come to this school, but he wasn’t the only reason Furuya stayed. So it was still good. The first few months were struggling, with Yui and Okumura fighting for the main position and the whole battery-building phase. Training together was a thing, but until the year before the homebase was Miyuki’s territory and that, they all never doubted. It was something the first and second years knew to be temporary, but the captain was so perfect in his role that they ended up relying on him too much even though Miyuki himself said not to so many times, and this had made the new batteries struggling way more than they thought they would.
But still, Furuya hadn’t felt nervous at all during the whole Spring tournament, when they lost to Yakushi in the final, and the Summer one.
So yeah, it really was a problem today. It was the night before the final. His - their - last summer tournament final. And he suddenly was nervous. He had tried to read his favorite animal book, the one that explained a lot about polar bears and that Furuya considered his all-time comfort book, but the bears hadn’t worked. He had tried to listen to Yui’s song recommendations, but he couldn’t stay still, his head was wandering in the baseball world distracting him from the notes playing in his ears. Which was the exact opposite of what he should’ve done. Nothing had really worked, so he tried one last thing.
It was a pondered decision. Furuya was not an impulsive kind of person, and his presence in front of room 5’s door was totally thought out. The Furuya from two years before probably wouldn’t have had the courage to do it, but the long time he spent with Eijun transformed him into the boy he was today. The boy who had a team, the boy who had a group of friends, the boy who had a soulmate in his biggest rival who was just a few steps away.
He knocked just once, as he didn’t hear any noise from behind the door, meaning if there was someone – if there was Eijun – inside, they would’ve heard anyway.
It was indeed Eijun the one who opened the door, even though both Asada and Mihashi, their freshman roommate, were there too, peeking from behind Eijun’s figure.
«Ah! Furuya – Eijun shouted, making Mihashi flinch. Furuya just smiled. He was used to it by now, to Eijun’s loud presence in his life, and it didn’t really bother him. Well, it hadn’t bothered him at all since the beginning, if he were being honest. – What’s up?»
Furuya sighed. «Can you come outside for a bit?»
And that’s how Furuya found himself sitting with his legs flexed and his arms around his knees on the mound of the school diamond, Eijun laying beside him in the almost complete darkness of the night. There were a couple of lampposts in the distance, but the two boys were just illuminated by the bright and clear night sky full of stars.
«The moon’s beautiful tonight,» Furuya broke the silence with a sentence he remembered saying two years before. That night was cloudy, to be honest, and Furuya didn’t even know why he had said something that dumb - that Eijun hadn’t missed to point out, of course. But today the moon was shining bright in the sky, not totally full but bright enough to bring a sense of peace to the pitchers who were admiring it.
«It is,» Eijun agreed with a big smile.
«How do you feel?» Furuya asked in a whisper. He wanted to talk, to do anything to relieve the pressure he felt in his body, the stress that was so unusual for him he was afraid he could explode.
Eijun caught Furuya’s intentions at a glance. He smiled even more than he had before. «About the game? Excited. In a good way. I’m sad our last Summer tournament final is not against Yakushi, Raichi is gonna think he’s better than me! Man, I wanted to strike him out in all his at-bats after that damn home run! But I’m happy we can have a revenge against Seiko, you know? Well, not that we lost in that Fall tournament, but I want to show them that this team is not just the great Miyuki Kazuya . It also has this amazing Sawamura Eijun, the super captain Kominato Harucchi and the flamethrower Furuya Satoru!»
Furuya found himself putting on a little smile at those words. They recalled so many memories that warmed his heart. That win in the semifinals of the Fall tournament in their first year, the new captain proclamation, when Haruichi went redder than a tomato and flew behind Furuya’s back as soon as coach Kataoka finished his speech, the time Furuya himself beated his own record and threw a 160 km/h ball that nearly destroyed Okumura’s mitt. They were just a few memories of the time he had spent in those familiar training grounds at Seidou and in the big and scary Meiji Jingu Stadium, memories he probably wouldn’t forget anytime soon. They were part of the boy he was, of the pitcher he was slowly becoming. He was somehow eager to let the world outside of high school baseball know how good Seidou was not only in the game but also in bringing up teenagers, although he didn’t want his time at high school to finish soon.
«But it may be our last game,» he said in a pout, lowering his head and fixing his eyes on the grass right off the mound.
«And what about it?» Eijun replied.
Furuya was caught off guard by the other’s tone, so he stated the obvious. «If we lose tomorrow, it’s over. No more high school games. No more battery with Okumura and Yui. We… - he breathed heavily. - won’t be teammates anymore.»
Eijun laughed. It wasn't his usual loud and big laugh, more like a grin matched with a little chuckle that slipped out unintentionally.
«Oi, Furuya. – Eijun bumped his right shoulder into Furuya's left one. It didn't hurt, but still Furuya was grateful that they both took into account their pitching arms. – Don't tell me you're scared of baseball.»
Furuya's heart skipped a heartbeat. Scared ? Was he afraid of the only thing in his mind and in his life? It couldn’t be.
«That's not it, I…» he tried to explain, failing at sorting his thoughts out to let Eijun understand his feelings. Maybe his nervousness was in reality fear, but he couldn’t grasp the whole thing at all. He wasn’t worried about pitching, about walking a batter, not even about giving up a run. He was afraid of having his teammates torn away from him before he could come to terms with that.
«What if this is not our last game? – Eijun interrupted him. – What if we win and go to Koshien? Then you don't have to be nervous about tomorrow.»
The simplicity in Eijun's words was overwhelming. How was it possible to be that calm? How could Eijun not be afraid of the future?
«And even if we lose… – Eijun continued. He was talking about the worst case scenario and even then he was grinning . – In the future, do you think you would be happy recalling tomorrow as the day when you were so nervous you didn't pitch like you wanted to? Rather than the day when you pitched with all your might with this team that has and always had your back?»
Furuya was smiling before he could realize it. Eijun had that effect. He had become a reliable player and an amazing friend for Furuya. Furuya wasn’t really into fate and that kind of stuff, but if he thought about it, what were the odds that he could find his soulmate , the one who could understand his heart with just one glance, the one who knew exactly what Furuya needed to hear at the perfect time, in high school? In Tokyo? Who could have thought that a loud boy from Nagano prefecture and a quiet boy from Hokkaido were two puzzle pieces that fit so perfectly together?
Furuya nodded, the stress in his muscles slowly releasing. He probably would ask Yui to massage his shoulder and his neck before going to bed, but Eijun had done the most in calming Furuya’s nerves and mind.
«Thank you,» the tall boy said, getting up from the mound, distractedly cleaning his trousers from the grass and the dirt, more out of habit than because they were actually dirty.
Eijun did the same seconds later, a smile on his face that beamed his whole figure. «Don’t mention it, I didn’t do anything, Monster Prince. See ya tomorrow, I’ll be the guy running around the field with the number one on his back!» he took his leave to the dorm, still grinning like he couldn’t do anything else.
Furuya knew Eijun’s words were purposely sharp, but they had already grown past the point when they got pissed off at each other’s digs. Furuya smiled as he returned to his room, a warm, comforting feeling growing in his chest.
It was the bottom of the sixth. One out, runners on first and third. One ball, one strike.
Seidou was leading, 5-2. It wasn’t a desperate situation, if it weren’t for the fact that the two runs Seiko scored had been given up by Furuya himself in that exact inning, and he could give up another one very soon, seeing the way the runner on third was looking at him with a smug smile, challenging him.
It wasn't the hot weather. Furuya got used to it in the previous years, practicing all year long and staying in the sun as long as he could, talking with Eijun and Haruichi during school breaks and eating lunch outside even if he sweated so much and he just wanted to take a restful nap.
It wasn’t the stamina. It still was his main problem as a pitcher, but he worked so much on it, running with the tire whenever he can, even giving up on some good night sleep to train his body, and he finally had his first full-game in the Fall tournament months before. He didn’t feel tired at all, and his count didn’t even reach triple-digit, so that wasn’t it.
It wasn’t the control, either. When he had started he just thought about pitching with all his strength into that cool mitt, and his being a strikeout pitcher meant he had less control than someone like Eijun, or Nori-senpai, or Narumiya-san, or even Mukai-san. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t improve. He followed coach Ochiai’s suggestion to enhance his control, to avoid giving up so many four balls, and he really got better in the years.
Furuya started the windup, noticing with the corner of his eye some movement in the Seidou dugout. He still managed to focus on the pitch, a splitter that took the eighth batter off guard and got the battery another strike. Okumura threw the ball back and gave him a quick nod, his bright blue eyes focused more than ever. The call was good, but the pitch met the expectations, too. Furuya put on a little grin as he removed the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his compression shirt. I’m still here. I’m still the one on the mound.
Okumura put one finger down and placed the mitt in the low outside corner. A slider. Furuya nodded. He wasn’t a pitcher like Narumiya-san or like Eijun, who could follow their battery mates’ reasoning and calling strategies and who sometimes shook their head at the call, suggesting another pitch with just their expression. Furuya trusted his catchers through the whole game. It was tough on them, he knew, and he made sure to always tell them, multiple times. He didn’t want them to feel more responsible than they should, he didn’t want them to feel guilty about game calling if it turned out to be… not the best. But that was just how he was, he nodded if he felt he could throw the pitch and he shook his head if he didn’t feel he could throw it the way the catcher wanted. That was it, simple as it looked.
Furuya made the mistake to watch the dugout again. There, near Coach Kataoka, stood Eijun, a smile so big his teeth reflected the brightness of the sun and almost blinded Furuya, even if there were more than twenty meters between them.
Furuya knew what that meant. He was going to be subbed out, probably even before he could end the inning with just two more outs. He knew it wasn’t the weather, or the stamina, or the control. It wasn’t something he could fix, not during the game, not even before. That was the reason behind Eijun’s smile: it wasn’t Furuya’s fault. It was just how the game of baseball works. You face the lineup a lot of times and if those batters aren’t mediocre, before the game is over someone fixes their batting timing with your pitches. It wasn’t that Furuya wasn’t good enough. It was just that this time he only lasted six innings.
Furuya took a deep breath, and started his last windup of the tournament. He smiled halfway through it, probably scaring the batter, probably flooring Okumura. Eijun was right. He wouldn’t want to look back at his memories and find a nervous himself who threw away all of his training, all of his sweat and tears just for a stupid worry. He wanted to be able to look at the past, at this exact game, and think that he really did his best, regardless of the result.
When the ball left his fingers with the best feeling he ever felt, he watched it go. Furuya saw the batter preparing to hit as if he was watching a video in slow motion. Some of the dirt flying around the shoe the batter hammered into the ground, his arm muscles flexing as he started to swing. The ball breaking at home plate and the bat almost reaching it. And then everything returned to normal speed when Okumura’s mitt caught the ball, with a loud sound that resonated throughout the whole stadium.
Seidou’s brass band and his teammates in the stands started cheering for the second out, Kanemaru from third base roared, Toujou from the back complimented him, but Furuya was too busy searching for Eijun’s eyes to become aware of it all.
He found them soon, getting closer and closer as Coach Kataoka made a change sign and the speakers activated. «Change for Seidou High. Replacing number 11, Furuya-kun, is number 1, Sawamura-kun. Batting sixth, pitcher, Sawamura-kun. Replacing number 7, Yuuki-kun, is number 11, Furuya-kun. Batting fifth, left fielder, Furuya-kun».
Eijun got on the mound at the same time as all the infielders and Masashi, who was quick to take Furuya’s pitcher’s glove and give him his fielder’s one. He then ran off to the dugout.
«Why aren’t you pissed off?» Eijun asked in a smirk. He knew, of course he knew, but he still wanted Furuya to say that aloud. Furuya didn’t know if that made him happy or if that was what was gonna piss him off.
«Oh. I am, about the runs. I wished I could pass the baton with a clean sheet on our side, but it didn’t go as planned,» Furuya replied, sliding Masashi’s glove on. «So please, Ace, pitch well and bring us to Koshien.»
Eijun’s laugh could probably be heard even from the farthest of the standings. «Leave it to me. But Boss left you on the field, so do your best and try to hit a home run for me, Monster Prince.»
Furuya smiled, ignoring his cheeks heating up for all the reasons except the hot weather. He lifted the glove, just a little bit away from Eijun’s chest, and then he tapped the other’s uniform, just where the kanji of their school name were embroidered, just where Eijun’s heart was. «I’m counting on you.»
Eijun’s smile grew bigger, if that was even possible. His eyes lit up, and an aura of confidence shone all around him.
As Furuya jogged back to the right side of the field, a smile still lingering on his lips, he felt that same warm feeling he felt the night before while Eijun shouted his trademark speech.
«We’re here to show how Seidou plays baseball! Balls will go flying your way, so fielders, thank you in advance for defending!»
Watching the pitcher’s back while standing so far away from the mound wasn’t really the best feeling. If it was another day, if it was another game, that is.
But, watching Eijun’s back, watching the number one on his shirt shining under the sun during the windup, watching the way Eijun wasn’t scared at all, but how he was enjoying every bit of his time on the mound, that was something Furuya could compare to his best memories.
He couldn’t explain how or why he felt so much happiness and so much pride when he wasn’t the one on the mound. He liked to think it was that soulmate thing. He hadn’t felt that way for anyone before, especially for a pitcher. If it were anyone else, Furuya would have hated the way he was in the left field and not on that mound, pitching for the whole game. He was a selfish pitcher after all, never willing to leave that position, never willing to be anywhere but under the spotlight. But knowing Eijun had made his life so much better. Eijun made his days brighter, his practice funnier, his pitching more interesting and more challenging. Eijun changed him for the better without even realizing it, just with his presence in Furuya’s daily life.
So it wasn’t a surprise for Furuya to not feel even the slightest envy for the guy on the mound, in the bottom of the ninth, just a strike away from their victory.
Yes, maybe Furuya wanted to be there, to play as long as he could as a pitcher, on that mound that felt like home. But as long as Eijun was there, as long as Eijun was his ace, anything Eijun did, Furuya’s pride would have suffocated anything else.
It was funny, how a changeup ended the final that was opened by a 157 km/h fastball.
Furuya’s legs moved before he could even think about moving them, running to Eijun so fast he didn’t even breathe. But he wanted to be the first, and he was.
They looked at each other for some seconds that felt like ages, smiling and panting, one from the running and the other from the tension of pitching.
They stared at each other until Eijun, glove still in his hand, jumped in the arms of Furuya, locking his ankles on the other’s back and his arms behind the other’s neck. Furuya didn’t even realize he was holding his friend, his arms had moved automatically, until Eijun was staring at him from so close , closer than he ever did. He could feel Eijun’s breath on his own face, he could see all the shades of brown in Eijun’s irises, he could feel his own stomach flipping over because he was surprised not only by Eijun who was this close but also by how Furuya wanted him to be even closer.
He pressed his lips in a thin line, afraid of what he could do on adrenaline and in the middle of the field, when they were surrounded by all those people.
Eijun, though, didn’t really help, as he leaned in until his forehead and Furuya’s were touching.
Eijun’s eyes were glowing so much that Furuya thought he could get lost in them.
«See? We’re going to Koshien. Our summer isn’t over yet,» he simply said, every word reaching Furuya’s ears so fast and so softly he shivered.
Furuya didn’t have a response to that, so he just hugged the other guy thigher. Their teammates, from the field and from the bench, started surrounding them, but Furuya could only hear Eijun’s accelerated breath near his ear and his pumping heartbeat against his own chest.
In some time, probably sooner than he expected, he and Eijun wouldn’t be teammates at Seidou anymore. Maybe they would be teammates in a college team, maybe they would be drafted by fate in the same pro team. Or maybe they would be rivals, training miles and miles away from each other and meeting only for actual games.
But as of now, they had just won the Summer Tournament and Koshien was waiting for them. Eijun was beaming, still clinging onto Furuya while their teammates were celebrating around them, and Furuya smiled so happily he felt his cheeks hurting.
His chest was feeling warm, his shoulders relaxed even after all the pitching he did. He wasn’t nervous anymore. He was happy. The happiest he had ever been.