Work Text:
“Oi, get this – Shinjou got scouted to be a model.”
They all turn to look at Sekikawa, then at Shinjou (whose mouth is curved into one of those vaguely amused smiles), then back to Sekikawa again.
“No fuckin’ way,” Tomochika says.
“I swear to god,” Sekikawa says, grinning like an idiot. “I was there when it happened. This lady comes up to him like,” and here he puts on a fake-sounding high-pitched voice, “‘Excuse me, young man. But you have very striking features.’”
Tomochika blinks at him for a moment, and then he and Hiyama bust out laughing in unison, loud enough that the person jogging on the path in the distance turns to stare.
“Shit, that’s wild,” Okada is saying, wide-eyed as he leans back on his hands. “You gonna do it, Shinjou?”
Shinjou shrugs; flips the ball he’s holding up into the air and catches it again. “Probably not. Seems like it’d take up too much time.”
“Oh yeah,” Yufune says, tilting his head to the side thoughtfully. “You’re trying to get into university, aren’t you? Nya?”
“This guy wants to be like Kawato, remember?” Sekikawa says, still grinning as he nudges Shinjou with his elbow. (He gets nudged back far less gently.)
“Can’t believe we’ve got two college boys,” Tomochika mutters. “Who knew that bastard Mikoshiba was actually smart? After all that shit about almost dropping out, too.”
“Too busy being smart to hang around with us, I guess,” Hiyama says, with a quiet ‘hmph,’ but there’s a good-natured softness to his voice. He looks back at the path behind them, shielding his eyes from the sun. “And where the hell’s Aniya, anyway? What’s he got goin’ on?”
“I heard,” Shinjou says, “that he got a call from some Major League training camp.”
For a moment they all lapse into astonished silence.
“What, seriously?” Hiyama says.
Shinjou nods, and they all make noises of amazement and disbelief before falling quiet again. Not that it’s so unbelievable, really. They all knew this day might come. Aniya could’ve gone pro, Tomochika used to think, back in the in-between time before Kawato. Aniya could go pro, he thought later, standing on the field at Koshien and watching the expert arc of his pitch. But something about this feels too quick, too abrupt. Didn’t high school just end three months ago? It’s too soon for anyone’s future to be starting.
And he knows the others must be feeling it, too – that ache. He tries to imagine turning on the television and seeing Aniya there, playing for a team that isn’t Nikogaku. Aniya is theirs, isn’t he? Their ace, their hope, who could’ve, should’ve hated them for what they put him through and yet. And yet. (But Tomochika just thought it himself, didn’t he? High school’s over. The team is still here but it’s not so much a team anymore, already becoming a rose-tinted memory, their names taken down from the clubroom lockers and their numbers soon to belong to someone else.)
“Man,” Okada sighs. “Seems like everyone’s getting their shit together. It’s kind of depressing. What about you two?” He raises an eyebrow in Tomochika and Hiyama’s general direction.
“Oi, what’s with the ‘you two’?” Tomochika says with a scowl. “What’re we, a match set?”
The other four exchange a glance.
“Well, yeah,” Yufune says, as if it were obvious.
Tomochika is about to tell them all to fuck off when Hiyama says:
“I’m leaving town.”
And the words get caught in his throat as his mind goes suddenly, strangely blank.
“Got this uncle in Nagano with a construction company,” Hiyama continues. He’s looking away – staring out at the river and down at his feet and generally refusing to meet Tomochika’s eyes. “One of his workers got hurt and he asked me if I wanted to fill in. And I said sure. Might as well make some money, right?”
“Holy hell,” Sekikawa says. “Hiyama with a real job like an upstanding citizen?” He laughs and ducks out of the way when Hiyama takes a half-hearted swing at him. “When’re you leaving?”
“Next week.”
(Tomochika’s bad hand curls into a fist at his side, tight enough that he can feel that old, not-quite-healed ache.)
“Fuck, seriously? Dunno if we can get a going-away party together in that much time… Shit, man, you should’ve said something sooner.”
Hiyama shrugs. “‘S not that big a deal. I’ll come back when I get time off anyway.”
Tomochika can hear the others talking – “how long you gonna be gone for,” “you better text us,” “try not to fall off a ladder and die, dumbass” – but it all sounds oddly far away. None of the words seem to mean anything, and he doesn’t even hear Hiyama’s answers.
Later, they walk home in silence. At the corner where they always meet and part ways, Hiyama shuffles his feet awkwardly, hands in his pockets as he stares down at the pavement.
“About me leaving and all that,” he says finally. “I’m not – ”
“You think I care?” Tomochika says, cutting him off. He’s a bit proud of himself, really, for how cold and detached his voice actually sounds. “We’re not kids anymore, right? We’ve all got our own shit now. If you’re gonna leave just hurry up and do it.”
And then he turns and walks away without another word, resisting the urge to look back.
His mom is still at work when he gets home, for which he’s grateful. The last thing he wants is to be asked questions right now. Not that he’s beaten up about it or anything – Hiyama skipping town. He meant what he said. It doesn’t matter to him what Hiyama does.
(He imagines walking to meet the guys, only he’s alone and silent, no one to argue with about whether that movie was good or not or which actress is hotter or who was the best shortstop for the Tigers between ‘03 and ‘07. He imagines pulling together a ragtag practice game, like they do from time to time, and looking out to third base to see someone other than Hiyama standing there.
He remembers being in junior high, third year, crouched behind one of the sports equipment sheds, watching Hiyama wipe blood from his split lip. “Why didn’t you just run away, idiot?” he’d said, his own face throbbing but it didn’t matter, it didn’t matter. “They were only after me.” Remembers Hiyama shrugging, saying: “I told you before, didn’t I? That I’d always have your back.”)
Tomochika shuts his bedroom door; climbs into bed and presses his face against the pillow and stays that way for a long time, a tight feeling in his chest.
No, he thinks. It definitely doesn’t matter to him what Hiyama does.
“What’s wrong with you?” his mom asks, peering over the top of the couch and raising an eyebrow. “You’ve been sitting here looking pathetic for like three hours now.”
“Nothing,” he mutters.
“You get dumped?” She frowns, then, contemplative. “Wait, did you even have a girlfriend to begin with? You’ve never had much luck in that department, have you – ”
“I didn’t get dumped! Mind your own damn business, will you?”
“Mind my own business?” she echoes, with a glint of wry amusement in her eyes. She cuffs him lightly upside the head. “I’m your mother, dumbass. It’s my job to be in your business.
“But I know how you boys are,” she continues, lifting her hands as if to say ‘what can you do?’ “If you don’t want to talk to me, how about calling that cute teacher of yours? Or you could always give me his number, and I’ll call him for you.”
Tomochika grimaces. “For the last time: no way in hell am I letting you date Kawato. I doubt he’s into old hags anyway.”
“Hmm?” He’s not fast enough to escape; she reaches down and gets him in a headlock, though he can feel her smiling where her cheek is pressed against his hair. “What was that, you shitty brat? Care to repeat what you just called me?”
After a minute of struggling in vain – how is she so damn strong? he’ll never understand it – he gives up and yields, and she exits the room with a triumphant laugh.
He stares down at his phone.
What the hell would he call Kawato for? He’s not gonna bother the guy with whatever personal issues he has – and he doesn’t have any issues, he doesn’t, really, so it’d be pointless anyhow.
(He wonders, briefly, what Hiyama is doing right now. Usually by this time of day they’ve at least texted each other a few times. Sometimes Tomochika will send him links to things he finds on the internet – last week it was these guys using physics or some shit to hit impossible home runs – and the “holy fuck, that’s wild” replies he gets always give him this warm, accomplished feeling.)
You have 0 new messages blinks up at him from the screen, and he sinks further down into the couch with a scowl.
He knew he should’ve just stayed home again today.
“Oh, Tomochika-kun!” a familiar voice says, and he freezes mid-step, turning slow to find Hiyama’s mom beaming at him from over top a bag of groceries.
“Haven’t seen you in a few weeks, how have you been?” Without giving him a chance to answer, she deposits one of the grocery bags into his arms. “Carry this for me, will you? You can stay for lunch as thanks, of course. I was thinking of making soup but it’s getting a little too warm for that, don’t you think? Maybe just sandwiches? Well, I know you boys will eat whatever I put in front of you, so I suppose it doesn’t matter much in the end.”
Tomochika trails after her helplessly, trying to pay attention to her endless stream of chatter. (She’s a nice lady, Hiyama’s mom, but a bit on the overbearing side. Most of their past interactions have consisted of him nodding along whenever she checks to make sure he’s still listening.)
And now he’s been roped into visiting Hiyama’s house. Fucking wonderful.
“Just make yourself at home,” she says as they step through the door. “I sent Kiyoki out on an errand, but he should be back soon enough.” She lowers her voice and leans in a little closer. “I wouldn’t go into the other room, though. Grandpa doesn’t like to be disturbed when he’s watching his police dramas.”
Tomochika takes a seat at the table and leans back with a quiet sigh, listening to the faint sounds of the television from the next room. He really needs an excuse to get out of here. He’s meeting with a friend? Nah, that wouldn’t work. He hardly ever hangs out with anyone if Hiyama isn’t there too, and Hiyama’s mom knows that well enough. He found himself a job and his shift is starting soon? Yeah, like she’d believe that. Then again, if Hiyama can manage it then why couldn’t he? They are a “match set” after all. Tomochika huffs out an incredulous laugh at the thought. Those assholes don’t know what they’re talking about –
The kitchen door swings opens to Hiyama, then, and Tomochika curses inwardly. Not fast enough.
Hiyama stops in the entranceway, shoes halfway off his feet, his expression darkening as he stares at him.
“The hell are you doing here?”
Tomochika scowls. “I got invited, alright? I’m definitely not here to see you.”
Across the room, Hiyama’s mom glances up from chopping vegetables. “What, are you two arguing?” She makes a soft ‘tsk’ noise. “That’s no good, Kiyoki. You should never part from your friends on bad terms.” Her eyes widen, as if struck by a sudden thought. “You do know, right Tomochika-kun? Really, Kiyoki, you had an entire month to tell him, please don’t tell me you put it off until the very last minute like you always, always do…”
“A month?” Tomochika echoes. He looks over to find Hiyama avoiding his eyes again, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “You knew for a month?”
(He thinks back to two weeks ago, the two of them lying in their usual place by the riverbank, feeling the emptiness of the space where the others used to be. Hiyama saying “oi, Wakana, I’m…” and seeming to war with himself for a moment before shaking his head. “It’s nothing,” he’d said. “Forget it.”)
“Keep it down out there, will you?” Hiyama’s grandfather yells from the next room, and his mom winces.
“If you’re going to fight, take it outside, alright?” she says. “But don’t you dare bother the neighbors, either.”
Which is how they find themselves shuffling obediently into the backyard, until they’re far enough out of earshot that Tomochika feels it’s safe to curse.
“What the fuck?” he hisses, putting a hand on Hiyama’s shoulder and shoving none-too-gently. “You knew for a month and you didn’t say shit?”
“It just felt weird to bring it up suddenly! What do you care, anyway? You said it yourself: you don’t give a fuck what I do!”
Tomochika’s teeth are clenched tight enough to hurt as he draws his fist back and punches Hiyama square in the jaw.
“Why are you so goddamn stupid?” he all but shouts, breathing hard, his knuckles stinging. The force behind the punch had been enough to knock Hiyama off his feet – he blinks up at Tomochika, wide-eyed, fingertips brushing against the red mark on his cheek.
“Obviously I didn’t mean it,” he says, quieter now, and tries to pretend like his voice didn’t just crack. His eyes are prickling but he’s not crying, he’s not, and he tries desperately to blink it away. “You’re such a dumbass. What the hell… am I supposed to do if you’re not around?”
The words I don’t want to be left behind are right there on his tongue but he swallows them down, swiping angrily at his eyes with the back of his hand.
He can feel Hiyama staring at him. He gets back to his feet slowly, and for a long moment they stand there in silence, until he closes the distance between them and wraps an arm around Tomochika’s shoulders. His other arm curls around his waist and it feels different, somehow, from the last time they were close to each other like this. Tomochika lifts a hand hesitantly to place it on the small of Hiyama’s back.
“‘M sorry,” Hiyama says, voice muffled from speaking directly into the crook of Tomochika’s neck. “Just… My family always seemed to think I’d never amount to anything, y’know? My old man and my uncle and my aunts… It’s like they were always looking past me or some shit. So my uncle calls me and offers me a job and. And it felt good, I guess. Like people were finally seeing me.”
The rest, Tomochika understands well enough without being told. How do you even begin to say “I’m leaving because I want to”?
Hiyama pulls back suddenly, then, gripping Tomochika’s forearms and staring him dead in the eye with a startling kind of intensity.
“Come with me,” he says.
Tomochika blinks at him.
“…Haa?”
“I’m serious, okay? Come with me. I’m staying at my uncle’s place, and they’ve got space, so you could just stay there, too. And they could always use more help – if I ask I could probably get you a job same as me. I mean obviously your pay’s gonna be cut ‘cause of room and board or whatever, but that’s – ”
“Are you out of your mind?” Tomochika says, gaping at him. “I can’t just leave everything and go to fucking Nagano – ”
“Why not?” He’s got that stubborn set to his features that Tomochika has seen so many times. “There’s no point staying, is there? Everyone’s gonna be moving on soon enough. You want to do something too, don’t you? You just don’t know what.”
“That’s…” He trails off, unable to remember what he was going to say in argument.
(What would Kawato say, he wonders? He would probably start beaming like a proud parent, if Tomochika said he was leaving to get a job in an unfamiliar city. “If that’s what you want, I think it’s great,” says the overly-enthusiastic Kawato Voice in his head.
Hiyama’s right. Tomochika doesn’t know what he wants, other than something. He still can’t quite imagine anything after Koshien. That was the pinnacle, wasn’t it? That was their dream. It’s strange to think that it’s all over, that they won, and yet life just continues on like normal. It’s a listless and empty sort of feeling, one he can’t quite put into words. But this… this would be a start, wouldn’t it? A step in some sort of direction.)
“Alright,” he says, the word slipping out before he can help himself. “I’ll do it.”
It’s kind of incredible, the way Hiyama’s face lights up.
“Seriously?” he says, and when Tomochika simply grins in reply he laughs, sharp and sudden and amazed. “Holy hell, man. I was so fuckin’ worried you might say no…”
He swallows visibly, his hand moving up from Tomochika’s arm, coming to rest, open-palmed, against his neck, thumb brushing soft against his jawline. Tomochika feels a shiver travel down the length of his spine.
“Dunno what I was gonna do,” Hiyama continues. His voice sounds a bit hoarse. “If you stayed here. I’m just… I’m no good without you, y’know?”
Tomochika laughs, then, nervous and a bit breathless, focused a little too intently on the warmth of Hiyama’s hand against his skin. “The fuck? That’s my line, idiot.”
Shouldn’t this feel strange? he thinks, as Hiyama leans in to kiss him (hesitant and gentle at first, not at all like him, until he realizes that Tomochika is, in fact, kissing back). This is his best friend.
But maybe it was always bound to end up like this. (He remembers his first year of high school, how he’d somehow landed himself a girlfriend – real cute, too, long legs and a nice smile. How she’d gotten mad one day, saying that he spent more time with Hiyama than with her. “If you’re gonna put him above me,” she’d said in a huff, “then we’re breaking up.”
“Alright,” he’d said, after only a moment’s thought.
Hiyama got a girlfriend too, around that same time. It only lasted a week or so, but all the same Tomochika remembers watching them together and feeling tense, on-edge, a tightness in the back of his throat whenever Hiyama smiled at her. Even then he’d known it wasn’t right. That it wasn’t what a friend was supposed to feel.
But then, he’d wondered, what did that make him?)
Hiyama pulls back abruptly, looking a bit startled at himself, and they blink at each other for a moment in somewhat awkward silence. The tips of his ears are red, Tomochika notices. That’s something he hasn’t seen in a long time, not since –
Not since middle school, roughhousing in Hiyama’s room like a couple of idiots. Hiyama pinning him to the floor, hand splayed against his chest, expression suddenly strange as he stared down at him, and Tomochika trying to laugh away the fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach –
Tomochika glances away hurriedly, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth, which is still warm from Hiyama’s lips. “Feels weird,” he mutters. “Shave your mustache next time, dumbass.”
And the awkwardness vanishes as quick as it came.
“Like hell!” Hiyama exclaims, stepping back and posing with a hand on his chin. “I look good like this!”
“You look like a pervy old man is what you look like,” Tomochika says, hiding a smile as he turns to walk back to the house.
“Fuck off, you love it,” Hiyama laughs, and there’s something reassuring about the sound of his footsteps as he follows after.
“Oi,” he says, interrupting Yufune as he chatters away about some girl he met on the train a few days ago. “I’ve got something to say, alright? So listen up.”
Everyone goes quiet and turns to look at him (Aniya even glances up from his phone) and suddenly his mind is blank, all the cool lines he’d rehearsed earlier gone in an instant.
“I’m, uh – I’m going with,” he says instead, jabbing a thumb in Hiyama’s direction.
Mikoshiba is the only one among them with the decency to look remotely surprised.
“Really?” he says. “That’s great! Are you gonna, uh…”
He trails off, staring at Okada next to him, who’s holding his head in his hands, looking distressed in a way that clearly has nothing to do with Tomochika leaving. Across the table, Shinjou smirks and holds out his hand.
“Pay up,” he says, and Okada mutters “damn it,” taking his wallet out of his back pocket with a scowl.
Tomochika glances between them in disbelief. “You assholes were betting on me?”
Shinjou merely shrugs, his smile turning smugly satisfied as Okada slaps a few bills into his outstretched palm.
“The hell did you bet against him for?” Aniya says, leveling an incredulous look at Okada. “Obviously he was gonna go with him. They’re probably eloping or some shit, too.”
“Oh, ha ha, very funny,” Tomochika says. “Any more original jokes you dumbfucks care to – ”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
They all go very quiet again, turning to stare at Hiyama, who’s got that look on his face like he’s ready for a fight.
“I mean,” he continues, “that shit’s not legal yet, right? But when it is, yeah.” He glances around the table, eyes narrowing. “Any of you got a problem with it and your invitation’s getting trashed.”
Tomochika is fairly sure he and Aniya “haa?” in unison. He can hear someone – Sekikawa, maybe – whisper “what the fuck” very softly.
Hiyama looks over at him and there’s actual, literal hurt in his eyes as he takes in his shellshocked expression. “What?” he says, his voice a great deal smaller now. “You don’t want to?”
“That’s – that’s not what I’m – ” Tomochika’s mouth is dry, the back of his neck burning hot. He leans in closer and hisses: “This is little fucking sudden, don’t you think!?”
Hiyama rubs at the back of his neck, frowning thoughtfully, like he’s just now realizing that proposing marriage in front of the entire team maybe wasn’t the best idea.
“… I leave you people alone for two goddamn weeks,” Aniya says, “and this is what I come back to?” He huffs out a disbelieving laugh; pushes his chair back and gets to his feet, shaking his head. “I think I’m just gonna go. You can keep your homo bullshit to yourselves, thanks – ”
“I fucking meant it,” Hiyama says, cutting him off. His eyes are flinty as he points at Aniya, and they stare each other down from across the table. “I’ll cross your ass off the guest list, don’t even test me.”
Several tense seconds tick past, Tomochika and the others eyeing the two of them warily. They’ve seen that kind of body language enough to know that this could be dangerous. This could easily escalate into a fight, or worse –
Slowly, without breaking eye contact, Aniya sits back down.
(“Well, whatever,” he says later, as they all part ways outside the batting cages. “You two idiots are already pretty much married anyhow.”)