Archive of Our Own

“Huh? What do you mean?”

Retrograde amnesia, the doctor calls it. When you lose existing, previously made memories prior to an injury, in this case, a blunt hit to the head by a baseball.

Kazuya prepared for this, he swears. He already readied himself the moment they told him that Sawamura-san might forget some things, but please don’t worry, he’ll eventually start remembering them. He knows and he braced himself, expecting the worst, but the sudden pain and heaviness of those words thrown at him still caught him off-guard at how unfamiliar and different they were. 

They’re only five words, and Kazuya can already feel his resolve snapping. 

He feels Chris’ hand on his shoulders, and briefly catches Kuramochi saying, “Sawamura, it’s Miyuki—he’s your boyfriend.”

He impulsively expects those golden eyes to shine brightly, for Sawamura to leap up from the hospital bed and come barreling towards him, arms to tighten around him as a heartwarming, giddy “Kazuya” gets whispered into his ear. 

But all he gets is Sawamura’s blank expression. Not one filled with contempt, confusion, or fear, just… nothingness. Gut-wrenching nothingness.

Then, he laughs.

“Is that a joke, Mochi-senpai? Why would I ever date Miyuki Kazuya?”

i. if you go away

It’s been a week and he’s still “Miyuki.” Not “Kazuya,” no—just his catcher, his “up-to-no-good, teasing tanuki senpai and teammate.” Upon hearing the seriousness of Sawamura’s injury, the media had been in a frenzy, deliberating on how it would affect the pitcher’s performance and whether or not he would be ready to go back to pitching. Despite the difficulties he’s faced, Sawamura was adamant that with some PT and rehabilitation, he would be able to play again.

Kazuya tells the few people who knew about their relationship to never say anything about it; doesn’t want to disturb Sawamura and make him even more scared and confused than he already is. A small, selfless side of him is grateful the two had decided to keep their relationship largely a secret, or else now he would be experiencing serious collateral damage.

Their place—their home—is still clattered with memories and everything that screams them. The many photos journeying from their time in high school to their debut into the pro leagues, hung up on their wall. The chore list on the refrigerator. Newspaper clippings, articles with bold headlines that proudly proclaim about the indestructible battery that will take the league by storm. Plans, upcoming games, I love you but don't forget to do the laundry, Bakamura. A calendar that’s littered with anniversary marks and date reminders.

He imagines, for a second, Sawamura running around the apartment. Today is a Friday, meaning a movie night. He imagines both of them hunched over the stack of movies they have, cases all over the floor, bickering over what movie to watch while sorting through each category. Haven’t watched yet. Recommended by Kuramochi. The downright-so-bad-it’s-good movie that has become a tradition in the Sawamura-Miyuki household. The cliché, cheesy rom-com that Sawamura wanted to see.

Standing in the middle of them all, they all seem so long ago, even if it has been less than three weeks since they sat on that very same couch, binge-watching some sit-com that Kazuya had yet to know the name of, with Sawamura tucked underneath his chin, curled up as if they were in their own world free from troubles.

Sawamura still knows how to pitch, still knows how to stun a whole crowd with a terrifying fastball. He still knows that “Miyuki-senpai” was the reason why he joined Seidou, but doesn’t know how Kazuya likes his coffee served every morning waking up together, or their first date at Meiji Jingu Stadium, or their second date, or their third date after that—

He can’t even cry, can't even do anything. Just ragged breaths and fragmented memories. His chest starts to hurt and his throat feels like it’s being scratched up, and he bites his lip, hard, because everything just hurts, everything is just awful and it’s all sucking him in, the past tenses, the secrets, the pain and heaviness and—

He just wants him back.

Sawamura Eijun has always been his anchor.

He made Kazuya feel loved, made him more than just a glove and compiled statistics. When he tried to hide from Sawamura, that stubborn boy kept following him, despite all the difficulties the catcher had given him, until Kazuya got tired of running away. 

And Sawamura was still there, always a few steps behind, when Kazuya finally stopped to turn around. “Caught up to you, Miyuki Kazuya,” Sawamura said with a laugh, intertwining his fingers with his. 

Now, when Kazuya turns around, Sawamura isn’t there anymore. 

When Sawamura arrives at their apartment, it’s clean of any trace of a whole different life.

Kazuya's already separated his things from Sawamura’s. Threw away the silly “I love you” notes, too. Replaced the calendar with a blank one. Stashed away the photos that once hung on their beloved, shared wall. 

Everything was rid of, just the way it was meant to.

However, he kept their newspaper article about them winning Koshien, because he couldn't bring himself to hide them.

But Sawamura adores the apartment and teases him about how he’s so organized most of the time. He rolls his eyes and makes a snide remark before going over the chore rotation, and then the basic rundown of their apartment. “Wow, this is awesome,” Sawamura says. “So familiar. It's like I’ve been here for years!”

You have, Kazuya wants to say. You have, ever since you picked this apartment and immediately fell in love with it.

But he holds himself down. This is not the Sawamura he’s used to—not the one who proclaimed that he would follow him all the way to the top, not the one who confessed his love and kissed him in the most cliché, melodramatic way possible. This is not his Sawamura. This Sawamura does not remember him.

This Sawamura does not love him. 

Yet, a voice in his head, sounding irritably like Kuramochi, chides.

He drinks his coffee and turns the TV on, Sawamura's overexcited, raucous voice reaching his place from the bedroom to the living room. It’s such a nostalgic sound that he almost cries. Almost.

“What,” is Kuramochi’s only reaction to Eijun’s declaration.

Eijun pouts; he was expecting something better, something like "congratulations, Bakamura, I knew you could do it," but all he got is Kuramochi staring at him, looking like he'd lost his mind. Why? What’s so bad about getting a girlfriend? From what he remembers, Kuramochi was always teasing him about her being his girlfriend. So it’s about time he got around to asking her out. What’s so bad about that?

“I said I asked out Wakana—”

“I heard it the first time!” He’s honestly dumbfounded—Kuramochi looks so distressed and grief-stricken. But why? “Why did you? I mean, what about—”

He stops himself before he finishes his sentence, opting to clench his teeth and just stare back at Eijun, obviously pissed off. 

Eijun’s feeling a little irritated too. The hesitance, the looks. No one seems to be telling him anything, acting as though he’s some sort of monster for not being who they want him to be. As much as he tries—tries to act, tries to pretend, tries to remember—he can’t seem to satisfy anyone.

Finally, Kuramochi sighs. “Ah, it's okay, Sawamura. Make her happy.”

“Why are you so mad?” Eijun pleads.

“Nothing, just…” Kuramochi looks away. “Forget about it. Congratulations, though.”

Eijun frowns. “Thanks, Mochi-senpai.”

It’s now Kuramochi who accompanies Kazuya on his movie nights, when Sawamura is out on dates with Wakana.

“What’s it today?” Kuramochi asks, settling on a chair nearby, while Kazuya puts the DVD into the player.

Once in his usual spot on the couch, blankets huddled around his body, he answers with a sly grin, “The Human Centipede.”

Kuramochi scowls at him. That bastard, he knows damn well that he hates that movie with a burning passion, ever since Ryousuke showed it to him after tricking him into thinking it’s a playful, adventurous movie. 

It’s during the point when Dr. Heiter is performing the surgery when Kuramochi blurts out, “Sawamura has a girlfriend.”

The room seems to stand still and quiet, despite the blood-curdling screams in the background playing, and Kazuya stiffens. Kuramochi nervously glances at him, but he can’t see Kazuya’s expression—that poker face, that distant, blank slate that withdraws any slight trace of emotion. It’s an expression Kuramochi hasn’t seen in a long time.

Finally, Kazuya softly chuckles. “Good for him,” he says quietly. “Good for him.”

They continue watching the movie in silence, the dark tension never leaving them.

“What is this?” is what Sawamura asks him when he got home, presumably from Haruichi's.

Kazuya, who was cooking tonight's dinner, looks at him, a skeptical expression on his face, until he sees the paper Sawamura is showing him. He takes it, confused, and feels his stomach drop upon reading it.

Bakamura, don’t work too hard during practice. Don’t want my stupid pitcher passing out!

        - Kazuya <3

It’s one of the earliest notes he gave; they had yet to reach first-name basis since Sawamura would combust after saying one syllable, but Sawamura was so ridiculously happy when he gave it, taping it on the energy drink and packed lunch before heading off to morning practice. Kazuya can still remember it as if it was yesterday. 

“How did you find this?” he asks, throat dry.

“It was in my jacket,” Sawamura says. He shifts around, as though he isn’t sure what to say next. “In the past, did we… do this a lot?”

And Sawamura looks so helpless that Kazuya can’t even tell the truth. He can’t imagine what the other’s reaction would be; would he be disgusted or feel betrayed that Kazuya has been deceiving him all this time? Would he leave, never to come back?

He can’t afford that. He can’t afford to lose him more.

“It was a running joke between us,” he nonchalantly says with a shrug, putting the note in his pocket. His hands are shaking again, but he grips them to each other tightly. “It’s a thing to call battery partners married couples. Our teammates used to tease us all the time about it, and it just caught on.” (Battery partners, not partners)

Sawamura blinks, then brightens up. “Ah, I see! But who'd want to marry a person as grumpy as you, Miyuki Kazuya?!”

“Shut up, stupid,” Kazuya manages to snarkily reply, ignoring the gutted sensation he feels at the sight of relief washing over Sawamura's features. He sets down Sawamura's plate and whacks the pitcher's head. “Now eat up, I know you're hungry.”

Sawamura never remembered. A multitude of memories eventually came back to him—such as leading Seidou to their Koshien win the summer of his second year, the spontaneous trip to California he and his friends took after graduating high school, his reunion with Kazuya upon debuting with the Seibu Lions and singing the national anthem drunkenly with their teammates upon being crowned the Japan Series champions two years later—but he still never remembered the shared moments he had with Kazuya during their relationship.

Days turned into weeks and weeks into months and before they knew it, Sawamura had already moved on, removed from being a permanent fixture. He still kept Kazuya posted with a multitude of texts every day, but seeing such distant, platonic texts from Sawamura seemed so alien to Kazuya.

Kazuya and Kuramochi are watching The Exorcist, once again in awkward silence, when Kuramochi clears his throat. 

“They’re looking for homes right now… it seems it has gotten pretty serious.”

Kazuya knows how to keep his feelings in check. It’s been his trademark, and some may call him heartless because of it. He knows how to hide when he needs to, to build a facade with a quick sneer and faster tongue.

But sometimes, he isn’t strong enough. 

Kazuya nods, saying quietly, “That idiot wouldn’t stop talking about it on the phone.”

Towards the end of June, Sawamura moves out of their apartment. Aotsuki and Sawamura buy a house in Saitama, where they round up a few friends and family for a housewarming party. Despite the notion that witnessing Sawamura move onto this new stage of life makes Kazuya sick to his stomach, he goes regardless.

Maybe he’s a masochist, letting himself be hurt over and over again for the one he loves. 

It’s a beautiful home; the perfect size to start a family. He can’t help but bitterly think that, if the universe hadn’t been so fucked up, there could’ve been a possible future in which this place could’ve been their home, a place to raise a family of their own. Tossing baseballs in the backyard, the sound of laughter ringing throughout the hallways, bedtime stories: maybe this could’ve been theirs if fate had decided to give Kazuya a chance. 

However, things didn’t work out that way, and now he’s stuck on the sidelines, a front seat ticket of watching Sawamura Eijun’s life pass by without him in it. 

Towards the end of the party, Sawamura comes up to him, nervously twiddling his fingers.

“Miyuki Kazuya—argh, I don’t know how to say this to you—you’re… you’re literally the worst person to ever exist on this planet, but you’re really special to me, you know? And I wanted to let you know that I truly appreciate your support throughout my recovery… I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Kazuya raises an eyebrow. “What’s this, Sawamura? Are you finally acknowledging my good deeds and angelic personality?”

Sawamura scowls. “Don’t push it, bastard!”

“Hm, I wonder what Wakana-chan would think if you called your dear senpai such a terrible name.”

“Don’t you dare, Miyu— Miyuki?! Hey, Miyuki, are you laughing at me?! YOU WANNA FIGHT?!”

Kazuya just laughs and laughs and laughs, forcing a smile, the biggest smile he can muster when the person he loves loves someone else, when he knows he’s forgotten, now, forever. When he knows that all he used to have are now just pieces of papers and worn-out pictures in his cabinet and drawer, dusty recordings of their high school baseball highlights. 

Because he can’t be selfish. Not when he loves him this much.

So he does what he does best, with a saccharine smile and laughter to muffle out the pain that has been fixed into his jagged heart.

“I’m just happy for you, stupid.”

“Miyuki Kazuya!”

Kazuya turns around. Sawamura is standing there, breathing heavily and face flushed a pretty shade of red. Around them, pastel cherry blossoms fall from the trees, and the sun shines its radiant glow from the bright blue spring sky. 

Just like his shoujo manga, Kazuya can’t help but think.

“W-wait for me!” Sawamura says. “When you reach the top, I’ll join you! And I’m going to make you acknowledge me all over again!”

A promised future together. Kazuya smiles down at the button gripped tightly in the pitcher’s shaky, bone-white hands, and smiles even wider when he notices that the second button on Sawamura’s blazer is gone. 

Stupidly just like your shoujo manga. This is exactly why I love you.

“I’ll be waiting, partner.”

Kazuya rushes to the bathroom and washes his face, clawing his skin until it’s raw. 

The door swings open, and Kuramochi rushes in. “Oi, Miyuki, you okay—” He stops when he sees tears falling down Kazuya’s face.

“Why,” he begins, voice cracked, broken with sorrow, “why did he have to forget about us?”

While his personal life at the moment is a fucking dumpster fire mess (“That’s a massive understatement,” Kuramochi would probably say), on the diamond, Kazuya can finally let himself fall into the monotonous rhythm of what he loves the most (now): baseball.

Even if Sawamura’s presence is a constant both off and on the diamond, whether Kazuya likes it or not. Despite all the personal issues, he refuses to let it get in the way of his professional career and puts all his efforts into perfecting the battery he’s developed with Sawamura.

Because even if he can’t be Sawamura’s true life partner, at least he has this. 

A harsh clang of a beverage can slamming against the wall breaks Kazuya’s train of thought, and he turns to Sawamura, scoffing, “What the hell, idiot, do you want to ruin my eardrums or somethi—”

“I’d like to know what I did.”

Kazuya opens his mouth, then clamps it shut, pulse quickening. “What do you mean?”

Sawamura scowls. “You know damn well what I mean!” he snaps. “Everyone—Kuramochi, Chris-senpai, Harucchi, Onii-san, hell, even Furuya —has been acting so weirdly around me, as if I’m some stranger! Especially you!” He combs his fingers through his hair—a habit of his when he’s distressed, Kazuya had found out—while pacing around the locker room. He then turns to Kazuya and clasps his hand over Kazuya’s wrist, softly saying, “Please, Miyuki. Please tell me what I did wrong.”

And by the vending machine lights, a soft, green glow washing over his features, Sawamura just looks so nice, so nostalgic that his insides stir and his heart threatens to burst. Kazuya is reminded of his first kiss, back in his last year at Seidou—by the vending machine, a calloused hand over his jaw as tentative lips brush his. He wants to touch him. Even just once. For one last time, something he can hold on to—

He leans over, kisses Sawamura lightly on the lips, and smiles bitterly.

“Goodbye, Eijun.”

ii. i’ll be dying slowly till your next ‘hello’

two years later

Kazuya stopped playing professional baseball after his past injury finally caught up to him, ending his five-season career as the Lions’ star catcher. It was bitter—an old injury from his high school days, reopened during the last game of the Japan Series. 

They lost, bottom ninth inning, three runs behind.

He was sent to the hospital, where he received the news that he would never be able to play pro ever again. The medical jargon and carefully filtered words from the doctor fall deaf on Kazuya’s ears, all white noise compared to the singular sentence: “Miyuki-san, I’m sorry.” 

And just like that, he’d lost the second love of his life.

His dad came to visit, their conversations awkward as ever, but it was the notion that counted. Kuramochi also did, slightly less awkward but more stilted than their usual banter. Even Narumiya visited, hard eyes and spitfire words snapping that he better not entirely quit baseball—which was quite refreshing for Kazuya after a week of pity parties.

When Sawamura visited, he pretended to be asleep; Kazuya couldn’t bear to see Sawamura when he was in his most vulnerable state, tied to a hospital bed and dreams utterly crushed. When he finally summoned the courage to open his eyes, he looked over to the bedside table and saw a bouquet of radiant sunflowers. Tied around the neck of the vase was a small note.

I’m always here for you. - Eijun

He currently coaches for Seidou after receiving an invitation from the now-retired Kataoka Tesshin, while Sawamura’s still taking storm as the Seibu Lions’ ace pitcher. As it should be. He never told Sawamura where he was going, even after saying his farewell to the Lions. It’s been two years since he walked out, severing any last contact between him and the person he once called his. 

“There it is! The Lions’ Sawamura Eijun strikes out the Giants’ third baseman with a ferocious 150 km/h fastball!” Cheers ring out on live TV as Sawamura pumps his fist in the air, the blinding stadium lights shining on his figure on the mound. As it should be, he always wanted to be on the top.

Kazuya takes the remote and turns off the TV. He stares at the dark, blank screen before getting up from his seat.

It's been two years since he walked out, and Kazuya, by no means, is going to go back.

“E-Eijun-kun?” Haruichi says, startled. He opens the door wider to let the man in. While Eijun shrugs off his coat and takes off his shoes, Haruichi continues to stare at him, perplexed. “What are you doing here?”

“Can’t a friend just come and visit another friend?” Eijun barks a laugh. Haruichi raises an eyebrow.

“At four in the morning?”

Eijun winces at his skeptical tone.

It has only been a month since he proposed to Wakana, and he feels as though everything is spiraling out of his control. It’s been a hectic month of wedding planning and baseball, and it seemed like both aspects demand his full effort: Wakana would become upset if he didn’t prioritize the wedding even though it was postseason playoffs, and baseball was, well, his life. 

He thought that if he had it all—a prosperous career, a supportive family, a loving fiancée—then he would truly be happy, and finally fill the void he’s felt since he woke up in that hospital two years ago.

And yet he’s just so… exhausted.

What would Miyuki say if he saw me like this? he bitterly thinks to himself, before immediately shaking away the thought. No, Miyuki is gone, he reminds himself. Miyuki left him and never even told him where he’d gone after retiring. 

The hurt is still fresh in his mind even after all this time, remembering how the man just disappeared without a goodbye and no form of contact; when he tried to reach his cell, Eijun was only met with silence.

He’d thought that out of everyone, at least Miyuki would stay. Why did everyone seem so quick to leave him?

With Haruichi though—Haruichi won’t do that to him, right? 

“Why not?” Eijun whines. He puts his hands together. “Harucchi, I just wanna see my awesome friend, that’s all!”

Haruichi sighs. “Alright,” he says, resigned. He gestures to the couch. “Take a seat, I’ll go and pour you something.”

Eijun grins. “Tea’s fine!” He flashes a thumbs up and crows, “You’re the best, Harucchi!”

“Just don’t break anything,” Haruichi warns, narrowing his eyes.

Eijun salutes. “Yessir!”

Haruichi shakes his head, smiling slightly as he heads to the kitchen. 

While the tea kettle hisses, Eijun hops to his feet and starts wandering around the room. It’s been a while since he last visited Haruichi’s apartment, especially since the accident. He notices that Haruichi has hung up new photos on his wall; there’s one with Onii-san during his graduation ceremony, a few of them during Haruichi’s time in university—something Eijun missed out on when he decided to head straight to the pros after graduation. And there is a good chunk with Furuya in them, which is something Eijun will definitely be asking about later.

However, as his eyes scan each row, he finds himself stopping at one particular photo off to the right side.

It was during their Seidou days. The main focus of the shot was them three—Haruichi, Furuya, and him—but it looked as though the photo was taken last-minute, since on the far edge of the photo, a slightly-blurred Miyuki had entered the frame with his stupid hat jauntily worn sideways. The Eijun in the photo had turned his head to look at Miyuki, but it was the expression he wore that made Eijun pause, chest tightening.

In the photo, although he was scolding Miyuki for rudely photo-bombing the picture, there was a certain intimacy woven in his features that Eijun himself couldn’t explain. His mouth was curved in a bright, beatific grin, and his eyes shone with fond exasperation and adoration. Eijun’s eyes then re-directed to Miyuki in the photo, and sure enough, Miyuki wore the same cheeky grin, as though they both were sharing an inside joke.

Did… he always look at Miyuki like that?

“That was during our second year. The seniors had just retired, but they still came around once in a while to help us during practice. Do you remember this photo?”

Eijun jumps, startled, and whirls around to see Haruichi leaning against the wall, two steaming mugs of tea in his hands. Eijun looks down at his feet bashfully. “No, not really,” he answers, scratching the back of his neck. “Was it important?”

“Mm, no.” Haruichi shrugs, setting down the cups. “Just the photography club doing its thing, crashing into our practice to take photos. After all, they made the most profit by selling photos of the baseball team.”

Eijun points at his face in the picture, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. “Why do I… look like that?”

“Like what, Eijun-kun?”

“I’m looking at Miyuki-senpai in… that way.” He faces Haruichi, confused. “Why?”

Haruichi pauses. He takes down the photo and opens up the frame, taking out the photo and straightening it out gingerly. “That’s for you to find out, Eijun-kun,” he says finally. He turns to Eijun and hands it out. “The only person who can answer that for you is yourself. Not me, not Aotsuki-san, not Miyuki-senpai—only you.”

Eijun looks down at the photo, looks at the expressions both he and Miyuki wore when they looked at each other. 

“Harucchi,” he says, voice wavering. “I can’t remember what people want me to remember, and I don’t think I ever will. I just—I don’t know what to do.”

Haruichi says sternly, “Eijun-kun, none of this was your fault. All of this was in the past, a past that’s no longer part of who you are now.” His hardened face softens, and he places a hand on Eijun’s shoulder. “Don’t make yourself feel guilty over something you don’t have control over. Follow what you believe in, not what others are telling you. After all, you’re your own person; there’s only one Sawamura Eijun, and that’s you.”

Haruichi hands Eijun his cup of tea. “Now drink up, and don’t ever drop in at my place at four in the morning.”

Eijun grins. “I will… if you tell me what’s going on with you and Furuya,” he sing-songs.

Haruichi groans into his hands, blushing.

“Wolf Boy, catch for me, pleeeaase!” Sawamura pleas, practically clinging to the first-year.

Okumura, being the blunt, straight-to-the-point boy he is, flat out says, “No.”

“B-but I’m your senpai! Obey your senpai!!”

Everybody is too busy laughing at the scene to notice the cloudy expression on Miyuki’s face. Kominato Haruichi notices it, of course. It’s barely noticeable, but if you look at him at the right time, there are times when you can see through the cracks of the mask the captain displays. Quietly, Haruichi tells him, “It’s okay, you know.”

Miyuki blinks and snaps his attention to the second baseman. “What was that, Kominato?”

“It’s okay to be upset,” Haruichi says, matter-of-factly. When Miyuki still stares back at him cluelessly, the second year nods his head towards Sawamura and Okumura, who are now in a heated argument over the respectable relationship kohai must have for their senpai. 

Miyuki scoffs. “Why would I be upset by this? They’re finally bonding, like a battery should. They’re going to have to get along. Koshien is near, and once summer is over, I’ll be gone. And that is why he and Okumura will have to learn to strengthen their battery, which is definitely going well; I’ve seen great improvement, and I know that they’ll be a tough battery to beat in the future.” He glances over at Haruichi, eyes sharp. “So, I am, in fact, quite happy.”

“Senpai, you know what I mean,” Haruichi sighs in a light, patient tone. “It’s okay to be happy about this, even if something else is upsetting you. People aren’t built to only feel one thing at a time.” 

Miyuki draws back. His jaw clenches stiffly. “Who said I was upset? What do I have to be upset about?”  

Haruichi simply shrugs. “You don’t have to have something you’re upset about. Sometimes, we’re just upset. It’s an emotion, not an effect. They don't always make sense, Miyuki-senpai. 

“But don’t keep Eijun-kun waiting; you know how impatient he is.”

Miyuki stays silent before chuckling. 

“You know, Kominato. You’re becoming your brother more and more each passing day.”

Haruichi laughs. “I wish you good luck, Miyuki-senpai.” Then, he adds knowingly, “You’re going to need it.”

Miyuki has nothing to say to that. The younger Kominato smiles again, that signature spine-tingling, ghostly grin, before taking his leave.

“Holy shit, is that Sawamura Eijun?!”

The boys immediately put their practice at a halt when they notice the Lions' star pitcher, the one and only Sawamura Eijun, standing at the entrance of their practice field. Kazuya looks up from his clipboard to see what the commotion was about, and when he sees him, his stomach drops.

Sawamura makes eye contact with him and grins, waving. “Oi, Miyuki Kazuya! It's been a while!” The way he greeted him was like catching up with an old friend, not one that fucking kissed him and disappeared from his life right afterward. Kazuya isn’t sure if Sawamura’s just trying not to cause a scene, or if he was just plain stupid to show up like nothing was wrong. When Sawamura walks over to where he is, still bright and optimistic and so different from his genuine ones, Kazuya grips his wrist and drags him behind the dugout, away from prying eyes and curious ears.

“How did you find me?” Kazuya hisses.

Sawamura's enthusiastic demeanor vanishes, finally dropping the beat-around-the-bush game. “I asked Kuramochi-senpai. Why did you never tell me where you went?”

“You sure as hell know why, Sawamura.”

“But that doesn't mean that you can just drop off the face of the earth like that! I'm still your friend!”

“A friend that kissed you, in case you forgot,” Kazuya snaps. He narrows his eyes. “Why are you here, Sawamura?”

No answer follows, and Kazuya scoffs, shaking his head.

“Look, if you’re going to drop in here while we're practicing, you can help out. I’m sure the boys will appreciate that.”

Sawamura doesn’t say anything and merely nods. Once the players greet him with starry-eyed admiration and excitement, Sawamura adopts that cheerful, ecstatic smile, answering each of their rapid questions with patience and enthusiasm. He’s dragged into a scrimmage when one of the first-year pitchers haughtily challenges Sawamura, huffing about how he will one day surpass him and be the far superior pitcher. Kazuya wants to laugh, because none of them stand a flying chance against Sawamura.

The scrimmage begins, and Sawamura is the first on the mound. His form, just as weird as ever, has been long perfected since the last time Sawamura had last stood on this mound all those years ago. And when he finally pitches a flawless fastball, arm snapping out like a whip, the ball’s in the catcher’s mitt before the batter can even register it passing, and it completely steals Kazuya’s breath away. 

The ferocity of Sawamura when he’s pitching, like roaring fire that cannot be kept untamed, is something Kazuya can never get tired of watching.

By the end of practice, Sawamura has wiped out Seidou’s line-up, running every single one of the players ragged. The boys bow and shout, “ Thank you very much!” before running off, presumably to tell their parents and friends they played against the Sawamura Eijun, leaving him and Sawamura to be the only ones left on the field. 

Kazuya passes over a towel and a can of green tea to Sawamura. “Nice job today.”

“Thanks!” Sawamura says. “You've trained your kids well, Coach Miyuki. They’ll be tough to beat during the run for nationals, I bet.”

“Well, I wasn't really a driving force for it; it was all their doing.”

Sawamura smiles. “Kinda like us back then.”

Kazuya can’t help but chuckle back. “Yeah, just like us…”

Sawamura circles a finger around the can’s rim, silently contemplating, before facing Kazuya and saying, “I want us to be the way we were before, as best friends. That’s why I came here.” And then, in a soft, gentle voice, “I miss you, Miyuki.”

Kazuya widens his eyes, the confession slapping his face and completely stunning him. 

I miss you.

I miss you.

I miss you.

And Sawamura sounds so desperate, for a second, that Kazuya wonders if he's back—if the Sawamura that loved him is back, the carefree boy with sunshine in his smile and love in his laughter, golden eyes shining when he looked directly at him from under the curved bill of his cap.

But he isn’t. That Sawamura is gone.

And Kazuya has moved on.

“You know we can't,” he responds levelly, “and I think it's time you go. I’m sure your fiancée is waiting for you at home.” He tosses his can and starts walking away, never meeting those haunting, golden eyes filled with hurt.

Weeks pass by, and Sawamura never comes by again.

Kazuya learns to stop waiting. 

When Kazuya gets up from his bed for a late-night drink to quench his thirst, he sees a dark figure hanging by the vending machine. It takes him a moment to realize that it’s none other than Sawamura, and he clicks his tongue.

This brat. Shouldn’t he be in bed right now?

“Oi, Sawamura!” he calls out, and he stifles a laugh as Sawamura visibly jumps and nearly bangs his head against the vending machine. The pitcher is rubbing his forehead as Kazuya makes his way down the stairs, coins jangling in his hand.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” Kazuya asks. He slots the coins in and punches in the numbers for a bottle of green tea. 

Sawamura scowls, grumbling, “Couldn’t sleep.”

A loud clank comes from the machine, and Kazuya reaches down to grab his drink. “Suck it up. I don’t wanna deal with a sleep-deprived pitcher in the bullpen.” He side-glances at the second-year as he takes a long swig of tea. “What’s got you thinking? The fact that you’re using your brain scares me.”

“OI! MIYUKI KAZUYA!” Sawamura shouts, and Kazuya throws his head back and laughs.

“Bakamura, keep it down. People are sleeping, ya know,” Kazuya patronizes. “And one of those people should be you. You’re setting a bad example for your kouhai. I’m ashamed of you, Sawamura, I truly am.”

“Shut up, you shouldn’t be talking!” Sawamura retorts, jabbing his index finger. “I still remember that mean trick you pulled on me on my first day of practice!”

“Haha! That was brilliant!”

“No, it wasn’t! It was mean and you should be sorry for treating your favorite pitcher like that!”

Kazuya grins. “Favorite pitcher?” he repeats. “Now where on earth did you get that idea?”

Sawamura crosses his arms. “Hmph! It’s obvious I am!” he says smugly.

“I don’t know about that.” Kazuya strokes his chin. “Furuya’s been on my mind lately—”

“Don’t you dare!” Sawamura immediately snaps, and Kazuya laughs.

“Kidding, kidding!”

Sawamura narrows his eyes. “Admit it, though. I’m your favorite.”

Kazuya rubs the back of his neck. “Oi, Bakamura, what are you getting at…” he sighs.

“You’re retiring soon.”

He pauses. “Yes,” he slowly answers, “I am…”

“And you won’t be around anymore.” A glum expression washes over Sawamura’s face.

Kazuya lets out an awkward chuckle, unsure of what to do or say. “Idiot, I’m not dead or anything. I’ll still be around, just not here all the time.”

“But then after that, you won’t be here at all!” Sawamura says. His hands clench into fists. “And I just wanted to hear you say it, before you go and I won’t be able to hear it any longer!”

Kazuya rolls his eyes. “I thought it was pretty clear what I feel.”

Sawamura stands firm, indignant as ever. “I wanna hear it directly from you, Miyuki Kazuya!”

This punk… He sighs, rubbing his neck. This kid is going to be the death of him for sure. “Alright, Sawamura, listen well. I will only tell you this one and only time,” he says solemnly, and he nearly cackles in glee when Sawamura scoots forward, eyes wide with excitement. “You got it?”

“Yes!”

“Alright.” Kazuya clears his throat. “My favorite pitcher…”

Sawamura moves in closer… 

“Is…”

And even closer…

“Furuya.”

There’s a pause, the only sound filling in the space being the chirping of cicadas, and then:

“MIYUKI KAZUYA!!!!” Sawamura wraps his fist around the collar of Miyuki’s shirt and starts wrangling him. “HOW DARE YOU?!”

“I was only telling the truth,” Kazuya simply responds with a smirk. “Furuya is my absolute favorite pitcher in the whole wide world.”

Sawamura stops shaking him to tug on the collar, bringing their faces close to each other. “You’re lying,” he grumbles. 

Kazuya cocks his head to the side. “How do you know? Can you read minds now?”

“Because I know you,” Sawamura says, softly. “And I know you like me too much to do that to me.”

Kazuya laughs out loud. “That’s a pretty bold assumption,” he snorts. 

“Not true.” The pitcher smiles, and Kazuya’s stomach flutters. “I’m pretty confident about this one!”

For once, Kazuya is at a loss of words. He swallows, steeling his nerves. “Cheeky brat,” he mumbles. “How the hell was I able to deal with you?”

“Like I said. Because you like me too much.” Sawamura brings his hand over Kazuya’s jaw, and Kazuya can’t help but think how calloused and firm those slender fingers are, yet so gentle and tentative at the same time. In the dim, tranquil blue-green light of the vending machine, Kazuya can see just how close they are; one small movement, and they would—

“You should prove it to me,” Kazuya says, breathless. “So I can make sure if I really do.”

Sawamura's smile widens to a grin. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Lips press against his, and Kazuya can resolutely confirm that yes—Sawamura is right.

Eijun bolts from his sleep, breathing heavily. Almost instinctively, he reaches up and touches his lips.

“What’s wrong with me?” he whispers, and silence is the only response. 

“Eijun?”

Wakana calls out, surprised. Eijun blinks back at her. His chest feels heavy. His consciousness keeps making him feel like he lost something, making him feel that he lost a part of him, something taken out and away. He feels so heavy and so lonely, and he’s confused and upset and why, why does he feel lonely, even when his beloved fiancée is here? Why?

“Eijun?”

There are no answers that night.

“What was Miyuki-san’s relationship with Eijun?”

Kuramochi raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Wakana gives him a pointed look. “You know what I mean.”

Kuramochi averts his eyes, sighing. 

“How’d you find out?”

Wakana looks down and stirs her tea, lost in thought.

“He’s been saying ‘Kazuya’ in his sleep.”

Coach Miyuki’s been acting… strange.

Second-year catcher Kazehaya Masashi has seen him annoyed before, but he’s never lost composure. He’s never lost his cool. He’s barely even raised his voice. Sure, he’d find ways to show his ticked-off attitude by giving the team a workout regimen straight from the pits of Hell, but he was never one to outwardly express his anger. 

No, that’s not Coach Miyuki at all. But for the past couple of weeks, he’s been acting totally the opposite of their ever-calm, collected coach, and although it was pretty funny at first, the team realized that whatever is going on with him is no laughing matter. Masashi wants to ask him what’s wrong. He wants to make sure he's okay, and even if Coach doesn’t have the greatest personality, that doesn’t mean the team doesn’t care about him.

“Are you going to keep staring at me, or are you going to spit it out already?”

Crap, Masashi’s been caught staring. “Actually, Coach,” he replies nervously, building up the last bit of courage he could. He glances back at his teammates, who have begun crowding around them. “I’ve been thinking of something, and the rest of the team agreed.”

The others all nod in unison. 

His coach watches skeptically. Masashi wishes he could see what was going through his mind because he’s incredibly difficult to read. He seems so closed off to everyone—well, more than usual. “Well, what do you want? In case you suddenly forgot, we’re still in the middle of practice.”

He sounds dangerously angry again, so Masashi averts his gaze nervously, thinking about the best way to go about it. “Well, we just want to know... how are you?”

Coach states at him. “How am I?” His eyes are fixed on Masashi, brow quirked judgmentally. “I don’t see how my well-being pertains to practice.”

“We know, we know,” Masashi says, quickly waving his hands in apology. Shit, he just wants the ground to swallow him whole. “But we’ve been noticing that you’ve been feeling... down."

“Down,” Coach Miyuki repeats back flatly. “Is that so.”

Masashi’s starting to get cold feet. Christ, it's like walking on a minefield when it comes to Coach Miyuki. “I—yeah?” he stammers, desperately trying to find the right words. “I mean, the whole team’s kinda worried about you, Coach. We were just wondering how things have been for you.”

“Nothing, really,” Coach replies nonchalantly. “I’m just worried about you guys. There’s nothing else to it.”

“That’s it?” Masashi says, frowning at him. “You’re pretty boring, Coach.”

Coach Miyuki scowls at him, and Masashi just wants to disappear on the spot. “Well, you asked and I answered,” he sharply snips back. “What were you expecting?”

“Well, I don’t know, don’t you go hang out with old friends, or something like that? Vent about your issues?”

“Yeah, like Sawamura Eijun, number twelve of the Seibu Lions!” a first-year, Homura Ryu, pipes up excitedly. “Why doesn't he come around anymore? It was so fun playing with him last time!!”

At the mention of the name, Coach Miyuki freezes, and the temperature around them, despite it being the asscrack of summertime, drops down twenty degrees. His face twists in irritation. “Where exactly are you trying to go with this?” Coach Miyuki says, definitely more annoyed now than he has been for the past couple of months. “What, want an autograph from him? Sorry, but we aren’t close anymore.”

“Not close anymore?” Masashi retorts, practically gawking up at him. “But how? You guys were awesome in high school, even in the NPB! You two were the top battery to beat! Practically unstoppable—!”

“Kazehaya!” Coach Miyuki snaps. 

The boys step back in shock, blinking owlishly back at their coach. Coach Miyuki notices this and sighs, scratching the back of his neck. Masashi has never seen him so uncomfortable. He’d thought that the coach would bring up some old high school stories, reminisce about the old times he used to share with one of the greatest pitchers of this generation, but instead he’s just looking at the ground with a distant look in his eye. “I didn't mean to lash out like that. Sawamura and I—let’s just say that some things didn’t work out for us. We just drifted apart, alright?”

Masashi has pushed some sort of button he shouldn’t have, and he immediately regrets ever trying to pry Coach Miyuki on personal, touchy subjects. “Sorry,” he apologizes. “We shouldn’t have overstepped your boundaries—”

“No, it’s okay,” Coach Miyuki cuts in. “It just threw me off for a second. Maybe if you guys behave, then I’ll tell you all about the golden days.” Just as the players whoop in delight and scoot closer to him, Coach Miyuki immediately switches back to his stern “coach” face and says, “Hey now, did I say you could take a break? Unless all of you want to run fifty laps around the field, hm?”

That certainly catches the boys’ attention as fear dawns on their faces. All at once, the team roars, “ No, thank you, Kantoku!”

“Then you better start now than be sorry later.” Coach Miyuki grins, sharp and predatory. “Koshien’s not gonna wait for you, you know.”

“YES, SIR!”

The subject is dropped right after that, and even after returning to the dorms, sore and tired as hell, Masashi still cannot get the conversation out of his head, replaying it repeatedly. What happened between Sawamura Eijun and Coach Miyuki, the indestructible duo that teams across the nation feared? In the two years he has played for him, not once has he seen Coach Miyuki do anything non-baseball-related. He doesn’t even think he’s seen him off of the field before. He has never talked about the past if it didn’t have to do with baseball, and even then, the amount of information limited to the players was only from articles found online.

So now did he go from Miyuki Kazuya, the all-star catcher once nationally acclaimed as the best amongst his generation, to Miyuki Kazuya—the 26-year-old baseball coach with absolutely no life?

“Yo, Kazehaya-kun!”

Masashi turns his head and smiles. “Ryuu-senpai,” he says as their third-year ace and captain, Ueda Ryuunosuke, comes bounding up to him. Masashi looks down at his feet, groaning, “Ugh, I bet Coach absolutely hates me now.”

Ueda chuckles. “Don’t think so hard over it,” he chastises. He karate chops Masashi on the head. “You know how Coach Miyuki is. The man keeps his shrouded past to himself and never likes to talk about it. So don’t sweat it and just focus on getting Seidou to Koshien, or else you’ll really feel Coach’s wrath.”

Masashi lets out a weak laugh. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You don’t have to remind me of that for sure, senpai,” he sighs, and follows the captain to the baths. Some things, he resolutely concludes, are just meant to be kept shut.

Whether or not something is going to be done about it, well—that’s for Coach Miyuki to figure out.

Something falls out of his wallet, and when Eijun bends over to pick it up, he realizes that it’s the photograph Haruichi gave him months ago. 

“What is it?” Wakana asks. She leans over, peers at the photo, and lets out a soft, “Oh.”

“Harucchi gave it to me when I came to visit,” he explains. He looks at the blurry figure of Miyuki entering the photo frame, how Eijun himself in the photo was looking at Miyuki with an expression Eijun is now starting to understand, and smiles softly. “I don’t remember it, but it seems like something I should take care of and treasure for some reason.”

“Yeah,” Wakana says. She stares at the photo, humming absently. “It should be.”

Time seems to stand still as Ueda’s cutter breaks across the plate, bypassing the batter’s mistimed swing, and slams into Kazehaya’s open mitt, a stream of smoke hissing from the ball. They wait, bated breaths, as the umpire tweets his whistle and raises his fist and calls out, “Out!”

And, just like that, Seidou wins Koshien.

Kazuya watches as the boys drop everything and sprint to Ueda, crashing into him all at once, roaring as tears run down their faces. Because everything they’ve done—every sweat, every loss, every victory they’ve ever experienced— everything has been working toward this very moment, and Kazuya feels the pride swelling up in his chest.

Kantoku, is this what you felt back then? he thinks, smiling to himself.

He takes off his cap, looks up to the sky—the same blue Koshien sky he saw seven years ago when he’d won his first and final summer national, with Sawamura by his side to lead the way—and quietly says, “Oshi.”

They’re only a few steps out the gate when they’re bombarded with the news press, shoving their microphones forward and snapping numerous photos. Parents rush forward to hug their kids, tear-stained and smiling wide. Kazuya takes a step back to give them more space, waiting for the buses to come.

He can’t help but wonder if he’s here.

“Miyuki?”

Kazuya turns around. Sawamura stands there, baseball cap pulled low over his head and donning a pair of sunglasses, probably as a disguise to ward off unwanted attention. He takes the shades off and looks at Kazuya with a small smile. “Nice to see you,” he says.

Kazuya swallows. “And you too…”

“I, uh, I saw the game.” Sawamura nervously twiddles his thumbs. “And wow, I’m really impressed.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That’s all you have to say?” he asks. “That you’re impressed?”

Sawamura becomes flustered. “Okay, no, that’s not all!” he continues, blundering with his words. “Seidou was amazing out there! You did a fantastic job coaching them!”

Kazuya rolls his eyes. “I told you before: this was all their doing, not mine.”

“You’ve gotta give yourself more credit,” Sawamura presses on. “You led those kids to Koshien, and you led them to victory. The work you’ve done for them helped them pull through for the win. That’s what an amazing coach does. They’re really lucky to have you as a coach.” He then frowns. “Your ace, though—Ueda-kun! That last pitch he threw was freaking deadly! I’m kinda scared to see what he’ll grow to be in the future, it’s like my career is at stake!” He crosses his arms and huffs. “I think you coached him too well! I’m now getting cold feet!”

Kazuya throws his head back and laughs. “Oh really? You, the Sawamura Eijun, are scared of an 18-year-old kid?” he teases.

“Well, of course!” Sawamura cries out. “I have to save my well-earned title as Kanto’s number one from any potential threats! It doesn’t matter how young or old, tall or short they may be!”

“Then you better keep working hard, because I’ll be whipping the next new-and-improved Sawamura Eijun into shape,” he warns, a sinister smile twisted on his lips, and he expects Sawamura to take the bait. To his surprise, however, the pitcher grins, determination roaring in his expression as Sawamura looks directly at him and says:

“Bring it, Miyuki Kazuya!”

And Kazuya is reminded of his graduation day, the one with oversaturated memories of cherry blossoms and melodramatic confessions, and something twists in his chest and he aches the more he thinks about these memories, now lost and swirling aimlessly like petals in his caged mind.

However, as he thinks through everything on the bus ride back to Seidou, the place that started it all, Kazuya comes to terms with the fact that he’s perfectly content with Sawamura not reciprocating his feelings, as long as Sawamura Eijun is still in his life.

“Hey, Eijun?”

Eijun looks up at Kazuya, humming, “Hm?”

Kazuya kisses his forehead. “I love you.”

Eijun‘s eyes widen—and then he smiles. “I love you too, Miyuki Kazuya!”

iii. but if you stay

“Thank you for inviting me, Miyuki.”

Kazuya just laughs, pouring a cup of sake for Chris. “No, no, it’s on me.” He settles the bottle down onto the table, focusing his attention on the other man. “Congratulations on getting drafted in America.”

“Ah, yes,” Chris says. “I’m looking forward to playing for the Brewers. Although, I’m already feeling quite homesick. Japan is also my home, and I’ll be sad to be leaving it.”

Kazuya grins, taking another sip from his cup. “MLB is certainly lucky to have a catcher as talented as you, Chris-san.”

“This is coming from Miyuki Kazuya, the coach of the reigning Koshien champions.”

“Oh my, you flatter me!”

The good-natured smile on Chris’ face trades for a more serious expression. “Miyuki, how are you and Sawamura?”

Around them, the low chatter of the rest of the patrons creates a slow, drawled white noise in the background of their conversation. The biting winds of winter have chased them inside, and the toasty warmth, edamame, and good sake offered by the izakaya are just what Kazuya needs to distract himself from reality, the burden that waits among the doors.

But when it comes to Takigawa Chris, there’s no such thing as running away from undesirable truths. 

 Kazuya pauses, cup stilling at full lips. He wants to tell him, wants to tell him everything that has been happening, the personal hell that's been his life for the past two years. But the words can’t seem to form, caught at his tongue and gritted teeth. And so, he only laughs, laughs because that’s the only thing he’s good at: running away.

“He went his own way, and I went my own. Nothing else to it.”

Chris only looks at him, perplexed. He doesn’t say a word, and Kazuya just wants to wring out whatever Chris is thinking about. Below the table, he flexes his hand, tightens it into a fist, and relaxes his fingers. Repeats until his bundled nerves slowly unwind. 

Finally, Chris sighs. “You know, Miyuki. Sawamura had been keeping in touch with me even after I graduated from Seidou. He always updated me about the weirdest things—what he ate for breakfast, how his studies were, what shenanigans his teammates were caught doing.”

Kazuya furrows his eyebrows. What is he getting at—

“But he always, always, talked about you.”

Oh.

“He would go on and on about you for hours. You know, he admires you greatly, even if it may not seem like that to you at the time. He wants to be a person worthy of being by your side, a partner that you can trust. Even when I was still at Seidou, I’d never seen him look at someone the way he looked at you.

“Sawamura, he’s boisterous and carefree. But he is not as confident as he makes himself look. He’s quite insecure. Never believed that he was good enough, felt like his hard work was never enough to catch up to the people around him. He felt like he would never be good enough for you.”

Kazuya feels his stomach tightening, twisting to an ugly form. How did he never notice this? He spent as much time with him outside the field as he did inside. So how come this is entirely new to him?

“You are the one thing Sawamura relied on, no matter how many obstacles he faced, no matter how much he wanted to give up. Because he cares about you deeply, much more than what you would expect.”

Kazuya knows this all too well. He’s been trying hard to forget Sawamura, to move on, because he knows that the more he feels, the more hurt there is. But Sawamura—Sawamura is his lifeline, too. And it’s with him that he felt so many firsts, so many unfamiliar things dealing with his caged heart. Because he always found a way to slip past Kazuya’s walls and hit exactly where it hurts the most.

And so, he found himself telling Chris everything, like a floodgate opening up. Maybe it’s because of the sake he’s been drinking, or maybe it’s because he needed an outlet, but it felt so damn good to let it all out.

Kazuya catches his breath at the end of his confession. “I miss him,” he breathes out, and fuck, his eyes are wet. He doesn’t want to cry. Crying meant that he hasn’t moved on, and that wasn’t an option available for him. 

Chris, who’d been quiet the whole time, patiently listening to Kazuya and lending his ear, says, “Remember when I told you that I'd never seen Sawamura look at anyone the way he looked at you?”

“I do,” Kazuya sighs. “But it’s all pointless; he’s gone, Chris-san. He doesn’t remember us, and he never will .”

“I want to tell you now that watching the fallout of all this, I think you're wrong.”

“How so?” he asks.

“He might have forgotten about the past,” Chris replies, “but Sawamura’s a romantic. In my opinion, I think he’ll just fall for you all over again. Because feelings don’t instantly disappear, Miyuki.” He smiles. “And I doubt Sawamura’s did, either.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“Tokyo’s pretty far away from here.”

“Will you be able to handle it?”

“Why are you so insistent on going?”

Eijun’s family and friends crowd around him, concern written all over their faces, when he announces that he’ll be leaving for Tokyo. Nagano will forever be his home—Eijun knows that for sure. But his dream is far beyond the small hometown he lives in, and sometimes, you just have to get out there and chase it when an opportunity opens up for you.

His opportunity did open, when he stood on Seidou High’s mound, sixty feet from Miyuki Kazuya, to strike out Chubby-senpai.

“I don't know what kind of baseball you've been playing, but the best pitches are works of art produced by the pitcher and the catcher working as one,” the catcher had said. He slung his arm around Eijun’s shoulder. “I'll draw out your best potential. You just need to trust my mitt and throw your best pitches. It's that simple.”

We can become the best of partners, Eijun thinks resolutely. He looks down at his left hand, wondering what it would feel like to pitch to that kind of catcher again.

And there is only one way to find out.

 Eijun turns to everyone and flashes them a confident grin. “Of course! If I’m given the chance to pitch to Miyuki Kazuya, then I can do anything!”

Sawamura wakes up to the sound of a klaxon and ferocious roars of victory. He trudges outside the bedroom, and he sees the television playing a familiar recording. 

‘Concluding with a magnificent pitch made by Seidou’s ace, Sawamura-kun, West Tokyo’s Seidou High wins the 90th Summer Koshien!’

It was when they won Koshien. They were racing to the mound, where the second-year pitcher was at the center of it all, crying on Miyuki's shoulder. They were laughing together, hands bundled around sweat-soaked jerseys, the youthful summer sun shining upon them. Index finger pointing high to the sky, he roared, “Oshi!”

Wakana stands there beside the DVD player. “Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” he replies weakly, walking over to her.

"I was there when you guys won," she says. "It was probably the happiest I've ever seen you. So bright, so energetic, and I realized it was because you had such a great catcher right by your side to guide you."

She then puts something in his hand. He looks down, and his breath hitches.

The engagement ring. 

“Why?”

“It has always been Miyuki Kazuya, hasn’t it?”

Eijun snaps his head to look at her, shocked. His face flushes a bright, ashamed red. “W-what do you mean—?”

Wakana shakes her head with a wavering chuckle and brings the back of her hand up to her eyes. “I think…” She turns to look at him, and her tears sparkle as they catch sunlight when they slide down her cheeks. “I think I always knew, Eijun. I just wanted to believe…” She gets choked up, crying softly. “I guess I just wanted it to be me.”

“It was you…” he whispers. It was you, but not only you, hangs in the silence between them. In the end it doesn’t matter because, without even realizing it himself, his heart had chosen Miyuki a long time ago.

“It’s fine, Eijun.” The worn-out smile never reaches her eyes. “You were never mine to begin with.”

Youichi knew that something had happened. Something had changed, and whether Sawamura remembered or not doesn't change this fact. 

So when Sawamura barges into Kuramochi’s apartment one day, Youichi is not really too surprised.

“What do you want?” Youichi asks, slightly miffed at the lack of regard for his privacy.

“Tell me everything.”

Kuramochi purses his lips. “Are you sure?”

“Kuramochi-senpai,” Sawamura puts his hands on Kuramochi’s shoulders, eyes silently pleading. “Please.”

Youichi doesn’t respond. Sawamura doesn’t move.

“Please.”

Finally, Youichi sighs. He’s seriously not getting paid enough for this emotional turmoil shit.

“Alright. Sit down, it's going to take a while.”

On the train to Kokubunji, Eijun is restless, thinking over every mistake and decision he’s ever made that has led him to this very moment, speeding towards Miyuki Kazuya with no sign of ever slowing down or stopping.

He bites his lip, hesitating. Miyuki is supposed to be out of his life. Does he even want to talk to Eijun? To see his face again, after everything he’s done?

He knows he may never remember their relationship from before, the rose-tinted memories and stolen kisses and nerve-wracking confessions forever lost. He knows he may never completely piece together the story of Miyuki Kazuya and Sawamura Eijun, holes and chasms interlaced in the narrative that is foggy and just beyond his reach.

He may never remember what they once had, but he knows goddamn well that Miyuki Kazuya is what he has been missing all this time.

The train suddenly lurches to a stop, and as soon as the doors slide open, he’s running, faster than he has ever been.

The sound of baseball bats clinking greets him first before anything—Senbatsu was around the corner, and Eijun was sure that the boys’ coach, despite the thrill of winning Koshien still present on the field, wasn’t going to let them rest too easily. 

Said coach, as though he’s able to sense Eijun from a mile away, turns to where he is, eyes widening in shock. Eijun can see him quickly muttering something to the assistant coach and making his way to where Eijun is. As he gets closer, Eijun’s heart begins hammering wildly against his chest, anticipation making his skin tingle.

As soon as they’re face to face, a few feet away from one another, breathless, all Eijun can blurt out is, “I ran here.”

Miyuki blinks, then laughs, shoulders shaking. “I can see that.”

Some players crane their heads to not-so-subtly eavesdrop on their coach and professional pitcher’s conversation, but a sharp knock on the head from their new captain—who Eijun remembers was the catcher, Kazehaya—forces them to continue their practice. Miyuki scratches the back of his neck. “Let’s, uh, move to somewhere more private. Don’t want to disrupt the boys’ practice,” he says, and Eijun nods wordlessly. 

Miyuki takes him to the vending machines, and Eijun feels an indescribable tug at his heartstrings at the sight of it. He wonders if this location was important for them, figured it probably was. They stand there, silent, the space between them bubbling with unheard conversations that are meant to be said. After a while, Eijun says, “Mochi-senpai told me everything.”

Miyuki breathes in sharply. “Everything?”

Eijun nods. He tucks his chin into his scarf. “Wakana and I separated too. I couldn’t keep pretending I was okay, so we just called it quits.”

Waves of emotions wash over Miyuki’s face as a trembled sigh escapes his lips. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you,” he says. “I didn’t want to force anything on you that you couldn’t reciprocate back. That would just be too unfair for you.”

“Maybe you should’ve! You don’t know what I want!” Eijun can’t help but shout, completely oblivious to how loud he’s being. “Do you know how much pain I’ve been going through?! No matter what, I couldn’t stop thinking about you even though there was no logical reason why it was happening! It felt like I was going crazy, always wanting something I didn’t know what, and no one would tell me why!”

 Tears are streaming down his cheeks, and he’s aware that he looks like a mess, snot and tears and all, but it felt like a dam worth of two years of frustration were rushing out and he couldn’t stop it. “God, Kazuya, when I heard what we were before my injury, I felt so much relief, because it explained everything I’d felt this whole time: the emptiness, the loneliness, and the fact that when I’m with you, I feel so safe, safer than I’d ever been with anyone else. And I just felt so guilty about it, because Wakana has been so supportive of me every step of the way, and yet—I wish I’d known,” he croaks, looking at Miyuki pleadingly. “I wished you tried.”

Miyuki steps forward and pulls Eijun into an all-consuming hug, arms wrapped tightly around his torso, as though if he held any looser, then Eijun would disappear from his grasp. He feels Miyuki’s breath tickling the back of his neck, nose buried into his scarf. “I wanted to, Eijun,” Miyuki confesses. “I’ve missed you so much, but I was so scared to lose you. And I thought that, as long as you were still in my life, even as just friends, then I would be okay. I forced myself to believe it, but I could never seem to get over you; you’re it for me, and I hope you will forgive me for leaving you in the dark for so long.”

Eijun’s heart soars, and it feels like the air has rushed into his lungs and he can finally breathe again. “I’ll forgive you if we try again.”

Miyuki’s eyes widen, and he nods enthusiastically. “Yes, yes, absolutely yes,” he quickly says. “We can do it all over, I don’t care.”

Eijun hesitates. “Kazuya… I can’t promise I will remember everything,” he slowly says. “All those memories, those stories we’d shared— they’ll be gone, in a past that will no longer be part of us. Will you be okay with that?”

“Yes.”

“And—and you’ll be starting all over with me. Are you willing to let it all go?!”

“Yes.”

Eijun lightly punches Miyuki’s shoulder, angrily exclaiming, “Miyuki Kazuya, at least say something else! This is a big deal, you know! You’re signing up for years of rebuilding, and all you’re gonna say is yes ?!”

Miyuki cups his cheeks with his hands and brings their foreheads together, warmth spreading through Eijun like liquid fire. “I don’t care if it’s months, years, or decades I have to toss away, Bakamura,” he reassures, his voice soft. “I’m okay with it all, because as long as I’m here with you, everything is worth it. You’re my partner until the end, and nothing— nothing will change that.”

It's March, meaning that spring has finally come after months of bitter coldness and sorrow, and everything stands still as they share this moment together, regardless of everything that has happened before. 

“So, Sawamura Eijun.” Miyuki’s familiar amber eyes twinkle behind black-rimmed glasses as he grins playfully. “Will you go out with me?” 

Spring, meaning new beginnings.

Without a single thought in mind, Eijun takes Miyuki’s hand off his cheek and holds it tightly, not minding how ridiculous they probably are right now, crying and giggling, because in their own world, it's only them two.

He smiles, wobbly and trembling, and he lets out a ridiculous giggle that’s been bubbling in his throat, because for once, he knows for sure that everything’s alright.

And if things weren’t—well, they had all the time in the world to make it work. 

“You don’t have to ask, stupid Miyuki Kazuya.”