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Bottom of the ninth, Inashiro’s Shirakawa is standing in the batter box, way too close to the inside line.

Miyuki doesn’t hesitate to ask for another inside pitch.

Cheers of “Be aggressive, Sawamura!” and “Take him out, Sawamura!” come from both the bench and the field.

The ball feels warm in his hand. Golden eyes are locked on Miyuki’s mitt.

‘I have to pitch inside. I have to.’

The ball flies.

The trajectory is off. Sickeningly so.

Miyuki’s eyes open wide.

‘No.’

‘NO.’

‘NO!!!’

Sawamura jolted awake, limbs quivering in panic, chest heaving violently and his whole body drenched in sweat. A dream. It was just a dream. Or rather, a nightmare. The same, almost every night since their fateful defeat a week ago against Yakushi. Yet it wasn’t Yakushi that haunted his dreams, but Inashiro. The game that had started it all.

And ended it all.

‘Breathe,’ he told himself mentally. ‘Breathe. In, and out. In and out.’ Slowly, his breathing became more regular. His hands were still trembling slightly though. Above him, the faint snoring indicated to him that Kuramochi was still deeply asleep. A small comfort for Sawamura who didn’t want his senior to see him in this state again.

The first time it happened, the second-year had been woken up by the light noise and all Sawamura had been able to do was apologize, voice shaken by silent sobs and tears falling endlessly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he had whispered repeatedly. It had been one of the few times in his life Kuramochi had genuinely been scared. He had hardly been able to recognize Sawamura with those lifeless eyes of his; instead he had believed for a moment that it was a ghost facing him. It had taken fifteen minutes for the boy to quiet down and another fifteen minutes to convince him to lie back and get some more sleep.

Given the dark circles around Sawamura’s eyes the next day, Kuramochi had figured the pitcher hadn’t been able to follow the advice.

The situation was no different a week later. Right now Sawamura was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring blankly at the floor. His clock displayed 4.25. It was Saturday. Everyone else would be up in two hours anyway, so he might as well go splash his face a bit and go for a nice, long run while the field was still quiet and empty. Sawamura got up as silently as he could, put on his baseball uniform and slipped out of the room, careful not to make any noise as he closed the door.

Inside the room, Kuramochi’s eyes were wide open.

“He did it again this morning,” Kuramochi said gloomily as he headed to the practice field. “I thought I’d stop him but at this point I’m not sure it’s gonna help.”

“I don’t get it,” Kanemaru frowned. “He doesn’t look so bad during practice. I mean, even if he’s still only running, he looks more determined and focused than a week ago.”

“Exhausting his body is the only way for him not to think too much about his current condition,” Miyuki said. “But we can’t do anything for him and we don’t have time to worry about him.”

Kuramochi flared up at those words. “You–!”

“I’m saying that he’s the only one who can decide whether or not he wants to overcome his yips. If he doesn’t, then there’s nothing we can do about it.”

The words were harsh yet true, and both Kuramochi and Kanemaru knew it. It didn’t make the truth easier to bear. In the distance, Sawamura was still running laps on the field. The shortstop sighed.

“I don’t like this at all,” he said. “He’s got a lot of stamina, but his body won’t be able to withstand that kind of pace.”

“Do you think we should ask the coach to do something?” Kanemaru asked.

“Coach Kataoka has probably noticed it too. If he hasn’t said anything yet, it means he still believes that Sawamura will manage to do something on his own,” Miyuki answered before adding with a faint smile: “And this is Sawamura we’re talking about. He’ll definitely manage.”

“Hyahaha! Is that faith I hear in your voice?”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Miyuki shrugged. “I’m just stating the truth.”

“Chris-senpai also said something similar. About Sawamura recovering on his own, I mean,” Kanemaru said pensively. “Don’t you think it’s weird though? When Chris-senpai heard that Sawamura had the yips, he refused to go and talk to him.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure he will go see Sawamura sooner or later,” Miyuki said.

“Because he’s probably the most affected by Sawamura’s condition, you mean?” Kuramochi asked before snorting. “Thank God there’s at least one catcher here who worries about Sawamura.”

“Again, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Miyuki repeated lightly.

A faint knock made Chris raise his head from his book. “Come in,” he said. It was probably one of Kanemaru’s friends, as usual. His surprise was mild when he spotted Miyuki by the doorframe. What could the new captain need at 10 pm? Behind him, Kanemaru displayed the same questioning face.

“Good evening, Chris-senpai. Sorry for the intrusion,” Miyuki said, also giving Kanemaru a short nod.

“No problem. What brings you here?” Chris inquired. He immediately noted the faint discomfort on the second-year’s face and the quick glance he cast his roommate. “Shall we get a drink? Coffee maybe?”

“That’d be great,” Miyuki nodded gratefully. Kanemaru snorted and Chris gave him an apologetic look.

Outside, a light breeze made the summer heat slightly more bearable for both catchers who walked in silence to the vending machine. Chris didn’t urge Miyuki; he knew that confiding in someone else was a deed that the young catcher still had a lot of trouble with.

“Here,” he said, handing a can of coffee to Miyuki.

“Thank you.” Miyuki scratched his head, pulling the face of someone who had something important to say but had no idea how to begin. “Chris-senpai, I, uh…”

Chris, in all his mercy, put him out of his misery. “It’s about Sawamura, isn’t it?” he asked with a smile.

“Haha, am I so obvious? But yeah… Yeah, it’s about Sawamura.”

“He’s still on his special running menu, from what I saw.”

“You know? Oh, of course you do…” Miyuki chuckled. “Why did I even ask?”

“So, what about him?”

Miyuki sighed as he opened his can. “He’s not doing well. During the day he looks like he’s recovering, but… he really isn’t. Kuramochi told me he has nightmares every night and the first few nights were apparently quite nasty to witness.”

He noticed no change of emotion whatsoever on Chris’s face. As if he had read his mind, Chris spoke up: “This isn’t surprising. Sawamura cares deeply for the team and takes it harder than anyone else when he believes he has failed the team. He’s that much of an idiot,” he added with a faint smile. “So what do you want me to do?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure you already know the answer, Chris-senpai. Could you go and talk to him or something?”

“You’re his main catcher. Why don’t you go?”

Miyuki let out a short laugh. “I’m sure you also know the answer to this one, and it’s quite evil of you to ask. I may be his main catcher, but I’m no good at cheering people up. And you’re the one who’s mentored him all the way here. Besides…” Miyuki paused, smirking.

“Hm?”

“You’re dying to go and see him. You like the brat way too much to leave him on his own, and he’s so fond of you I sometimes believe I should give you my spot,” the captain finished, which made Chris smile.

“I’ll talk to him,” he answered, swiftly evading Miyuki’s allusions. “There is something I’ve been wanting to teach him anyway.”

Miyuki didn’t miss the subtle change of topic but didn’t persist. “Thanks, Chris-senpai. In any case, you seem to take Sawamura’s situation quite well.”

“Do I?”

“Better than some of us in the team, at least. Anyway, I won’t bother you any longer. Thank you very much for your help, Chris-senpai,” Miyuki said before heading back to his room.

Chris didn’t move from the spot, still pondering on Miyuki’s words. “You seem to take Sawamura’s situation quite well.” In Chris’s mind, it simply could not be otherwise. His chest certainly felt tighter every time he walked past the practice field and caught glimpses of Sawamura’s current state. The boy’s eyes looked the same as Chris’s own not so long ago. Dull. Soulless. And yet somehow Chris wasn’t anxious.

Every second he had passed in Sawamura’s company, every minute he had put into tutoring him, every hour he had spent catching for him had taught him that no matter how overwhelming the trial, Sawamura was too stubborn – and idiotic – to let it get to him. It struck Chris as such an obvious fact that it hadn’t crossed his mind even once to worry about his pitcher.

However, not worrying for Sawamura and not wanting to help him were two completely unrelated matters. Even if Miyuki hadn’t come to him, he would have approached Sawamura eventually.

He headed back to his room. Inside, Kanemaru paused his reading.

“I’m sorry if this is too direct, but was it by any chance about Sawamura?” he asked. Chris chuckled.

“Indeed, it was.”

“I knew it! Miyuki can act like he doesn’t care, but he really does! And so... will you do something for Sawamura?”

“I remember having told you that Sawamura is the kind of person who overcomes his problems on his own and comes out even stronger.”

Kanemaru scratched his cheek. “Ah, yes... I’m sorry. I just thought that... uh...”

“Hm?”

“Well, I figured that Sawamura’s quite attached to you so it’d do him some good to see you,” Kanemaru said before adding hastily: “I’m sorry, that came out a bit weird!”

Chris shook his head with a smile. “It’s fine. And I was just teasing earlier. I’ll go see Sawamura, naturally.”

“Thanks a lot, Chris-senpai!” Kanemaru bowed his head, obviously relieved.

“You care for him a lot too, don’t you?” Chris inquired, amused.

Kanemaru’s cheeks turned slightly pink. “Huh? Well no, I don’t– I mean, I do but it’s the same for everyone else! We just want Sawamura back because the whole atmosphere is gloomy when he’s in this state and it’s getting really annoying!”

“I see,” Chris replied with a knowing smile.

It was amusing, he thought, that two people during the same night would tell him that Sawamura liked him. He had noticed Sawamura’s fondness for him – one must be incredibly blind not to notice – though he believed it was nothing more than the sheer admiration a junior had for his senior. The same way the young Kominato admired his big brother, for instance.

As for Chris, he had acknowledged for quite some time now that the affection he had for Sawamura went a notch further than what one would have for a mere teammate. Strangely enough, it had been no trouble for him to accept that simple fact; it had come and presented itself to him in such a smooth way that he sometimes wondered how other people could be so flustered by that kind of feeling.

“Chris-senpai,” Kanemaru’s voice interrupted his thoughts, “how long do you think it’ll take Sawamura to recover?”

Chris crossed his arms, not answering immediately. He knew perfectly well that Kanemaru only sought to be reassured, but it wasn’t in Chris’s habits to lie to please other people. “Yips aren’t something you can recover from quickly. Some people never recover at all.” He noted that the first-year’s face had turned pale. With a smile, he added: “But Sawamura will manage.”

Because it was the truth.

Because he’s Sawamura.

Most players were done with practice for the day, even the most diligent ones. Chris knew however that there was one who was more persistent than anybody else, and it was for that reason that he was walking to the gymnasium without doubting that he would find Sawamura. As expected, the pitcher was inside, pitching on his own. Chris didn’t step in right away; instead he stood by the entrance to watch Sawamura pitch ball after ball without pausing. From behind, his form looked good and there was power in his pitches. A smile formed on his lips.

“You’re pitching quite a lot,” he said eventually, stepping inside. “Do you pay proper attention to your grip on each pitch?”

Sawamura spun around upon hearing his voice. The bags under his eyes were terrible, Chris noted, yet the boy wouldn’t take a single second of rest.

“Want to pitch a few?” he asked. Sawamura’s face lit up instantly, offering him a broad grin that made Chris’s heart skip a beat. Never before had he seen so much trust, so much gratitude and so much hope in a single smile. For a second, Chris forgot how to breathe, too focused on etching Sawamura’s face in his mind.

The boy had been waiting for him, as he had waited for him on the mound during that second-string game. Chris wouldn’t make him wait any longer.

On the next day, after classes, the practice field was empty, which surprised more than one.

“Where’s Sawamura?” Maezono asked. “Normally he’s already here running.”

“Perhaps he decided to go back to a normal pace,” Haruichi ventured. “I don’t see Kuramochi-senpai either. I hope he isn’t doing anything strange to Eijun.”

“I’ll kick his ass if he does,” Miyuki said. “Oh, I see Kuramochi.” He frowned. Sawamura was with him, which by itself seemed pretty normal; the real reason why Miyuki was starting to feel uneasy was the face his classmate was pulling, and the fact that Sawamura had never looked so bad.

“Something’s wrong,” Haruichi pointed out, mirroring Miyuki’s thoughts.

Kuramochi picked up the pace to join the small group, leaving Sawamura behind. “We’ve got a serious problem,” he said without any preamble.

“What happened?” Miyuki urged.

“It’s Sawamura,” Kuramochi gritted his teeth. “He... he says he isn’t fit to be a pitcher anymore. Kanemaru said he was like a corpse the entire day during classes.”

The boys’ faces fell. Miyuki’s eyes opened wide.

“What exactly happened?” he gritted his teeth, but the shortstop shook his head.

“You’ll have to ask Chris-senpai for the details. He said he’ll come by later. For now I managed to convince Sawamura to come to practice, but I fear we’re kind of in trouble.”

“This is the pitch I’ve wanted you to learn,” Chris said, holding his mitt low and in the outside corner. He saw amazement painted on Sawamura’s face, and then a confident smile and a nod.

The first pitch went slightly outside the zone.

“It has speed,” Chris encouraged the pitcher. “Now you need to practice until you can pitch it in the zone. When you do, the batters won’t even be able to react. Once again, Sawamura.”

“Yes, Chris-senpai!”

After half a dozen pitches, Sawamura was already getting the hang of it. As usual, his eagerness to learn and improve was beyond comparison.

“How was this one, Chris-senpai?”

“The trajectory was good, but swing your arm completely to add more speed.”

Sawamura exhaled slowly, eyes focused on Chris’s mitt. He checked his grip on the ball, wound up and pitched. The sound of the ball hitting the mitt echoed through the entire gymnasium.

“Nice ball,” Chris said with a smile.

Sawamura grinned. “It’s all thanks to your guidance, Chris-senpai!”

“Let’s pitch some more before calling it a day.”

“Yes!”

The next two pitches were also good. Sawamura was regaining some confidence and pitching with much more ease now.

Chris’s fingers clenched around the pencil he was holding, threatening to snap it in half. He knew perfectly well that with confidence often came more carelessness; it was a natural reaction. Sawamura was no exception to it.

No. Sawamura wasn’t the one at fault. Chris was. He was the one who had been careless. And because of that, Sawamura was now back to square one.

Sawamura was running, face blank and eyes void of any sign of life. The noises around him sounded dull; he couldn’t hear the voices of his teammates or the sound of bats hitting balls or the instructions the coach was giving.

All he could do was run, while the scene of the previous night replayed endlessly in his head, like a living nightmare.

He readied his next pitch, pumped up by his previous achievements. The ball flew, but the trajectory broke right before reaching Chris’s glove. Sheer horror formed on his face as the ball collided with his mentor’s right shoulder.

“C-Chris-senpai…” he managed to utter despite his whole body being frozen on the spot.

Glimpses of a previous game flashed in his head, involving a dead ball flying straight at the opponent’s head. His heart raced.

Again. He had done it again.

And this time the one he had hurt was the one person he would never hurt, even if his life depended on it.

“I’m fine, Sawamura. Don’t worry.” Chris’s voice wasn’t reaching him.

Chris’s shoulder. The one he had injured a year ago and which was finally almost healed.

“Sawamura! Everything’s fine!”

He had sacrificed a full year to recover. He had sacrificed his only chance to play with everyone.

“Sawamura, are you listening?”

And it took one single pitch to ruin it all.

“Sawamura!”

Air. He needed air. His breathing turned ragged–

A hand rested on his shoulders, making him jump. He had failed to notice Chris walking closer to him.

“Sawamura, everything’s OK,” he said softly. “Calm down.”

“I-I…” Words remained stuck in his throat.

Strong arms embraced him protectively. “Don’t talk. Breathe. Slowly. Everything’s fine.”

The warmth of Chris’s chest helped soothe him. He breathed as instructed, gradually able to get air into his lungs again. A hand was stroking his hair gently while another hand was slowly rubbing his back. He could feel Chris’s heartbeat, strong and steady like a prompt for his own to slow down.

He didn’t deserve such attention.

His memory of what had happened afterwards was foggy. Chris probably accompanied – or dragged – him back to his room, where Kuramochi probably forced him into bed and then he probably spent the rest of the night awake. No, not probably, given how exhausted he was feeling right now.

The image of the ball hitting Chris’s shoulder was the only part that was clear as day, seared into his mind and leaving a gaping raw gash that would not close.

Someone ran past him. Furuya.

“You’re slow today,” he stated flatly.

The usual feeling of rivalry surged within Sawamura, before he realized that he had indeed considerably dropped the pace. For a moment there he didn’t feel like catching up; what was the point after all? His only ability on the team was to hurt other people with his pitches. So, what was the point of trying to catch up to Furuya? He was the ace, and doing a good job at it. There was no need for another pitcher who couldn’t even be a decent relief.

“Eijun-kun!” A voice snatched him out of his self-deprecating thoughts. He stopped and turned round to see Haruichi jogging to him. “Coach Kataoka wants to see you,” the pink-haired boy said.

Sawamura glanced at the bench where the coach was standing along with… Chris.

Sawamura froze and air started failing him again. He didn’t want to face Chris, not after what he had done. In a moment of panic, he considered running away and shutting himself in his room. Immediately after, anger filled him. For even thinking of running away. For letting Furuya take the lead without even fighting back. For being such a coward. He clenched his fists. Like hell he was going to run away!

So what if the coach and Chris were going to tell him to quit pitching? He’d show them there were other ways he could be useful to Seidou. Chris himself had fought to remain in the team as a player. The least Sawamura could do was to show the same determination. He could practice batting and bunting harder than anyone else, he could also improve his outfielding, he could… he could do something.

The last thought hardly calmed him down, but at least it gave him enough courage to jog towards the duo, ready for any sentence that would befall him.

Or at least he thought he was ready.

“Sawamura,” Kataoka said with no coldness in his tone, “I heard about what happened yesterday.”

Sawamura gritted his teeth unconsciously at the memory. He didn’t dare look at the man’s face. He was going to advise him to quit pitching, like he had done with Jun before. That was why the next sentence caught Sawamura rather off guard.

“Whatever happened yesterday is no reason for you to slack during practice today,” the coach went on more firmly. “This team has no need for people who don’t take practice seriously.”

“Yes sir,” Sawamura answered, too surprised to think of anything else to say.

Kataoka nodded. “You’ll keep running for today, but try not to make it look like my grandmother could be faster than you.”

“Yes sir!”

“Then starting tomorrow, you’ll practice on the outfield.”

Sawamura nodded. The decision didn’t surprise him.

“One last thing,” the coach added. “By the end of the week I expect you to resume pitching. When you are ready for it, seek Chris out.”

Next to him, Chris gave Sawamura an encouraging smile, but it didn’t prevent the pitcher from pulling a distraught face.

“I-I can’t pitch–” And certainly not to Chris, but he kept that last part to himself.

“You’re a pitcher. A pitcher’s job is to pitch,” Kataoka said, and the tone he used suffered no protest. “Or are you telling me that what you told me on your first day here about becoming the ace was a lie?”

“No, it’s the truth!” Sawamura blurted out before cursing his own mouth. It was a sort of reflex. He had dedicated his entire childhood to being the best in order to bear the number one on his back, may it be on his team back in Nagano, or at Seidou. Aspiring to become the ace had been an integral part of him for as long as he could remember. Now that he looked at himself, he felt like laughing and crying at the same time.

“Then prove it to me with your pitches,” Kataoka replied simply.

Sawamura bit his lower lip. This wasn’t what he had expected. Under different circumstances, he would have been overjoyed that the coach still had faith in his pitching ability. But the present circumstances involved hurting the catcher he adored and admired above anyone else. He simply couldn’t go back to pitching. Any will he had to pitch was sealed away.

But what disturbed him much more was the fact that Chris still wanted to practice with him, of all people. No, it was probably the coach who had ordered Chris to do so; no sane catcher would want to deal with a pitcher who had actually struck them on an injured spot.

“Chris has offered to free his afternoons for you whenever you need,” Kataoka explained.

Words died in Sawamura’s throat. Chris had volunteered? Why? It didn’t make sense at all! Why would he decide to waste more time with someone who had failed so badly at meeting his expectations?

“Sawamura, are you listening?” Kataoka prompted.

“I, uh… yes sir,” the boy answered with no conviction. His lowered face prevented him from noticing the coach frowning along with the deep concern in Chris’s eyes. “What… What happens if I can’t pitch by the end of the week?”

The answer fell like a cold blade. “The team has no need for a pitcher who can’t pitch.”

Even Chris was startled by those words. His first reaction was to protest, but before he had time to say anything, he was cut off by Sawamura.

“I understand,” he said almost inaudibly. His bangs concealed part of his face so that Chris had no clue what kind of expression Sawamura was pulling, though it didn’t take much to venture a safe guess.

“Go hydrate yourself and get back to running,” Kataoka ordered.

When the boy was far enough, he turned to Chris. “Two blows in such a short time. Tell me the truth: do you believe he can recover?” he asked.

“Yes,” Chris answered without any hesitation. Then after a short pause, he went on: “Are you really going to take Sawamura off the team if he can’t pitch by the end of the week?”

The coach remained silent for a while, his face as impassive as ever.

“What would you do if he still refused to pitch by the end of the week?” he asked eventually instead of answering.

Chris pondered for a few seconds. “I’ve caught thousands of his pitches since he joined Seidou. No matter if it is for practice, during unofficial games or official ones, Sawamura pours all of his heart and spirit into every pitch. Someone who pitches with that level of commitment cannot possibly give up on pitching so easily, no matter how much they’re convinced they can.”

Perhaps it was only his imagination, but Chris was almost certain that he saw the coach give a hint of a smile. “We can’t afford losing Sawamura,” Kataoka agreed. “He’s got potential that I’ve rarely seen in a player.”

“We won’t lose him,” Chris promised, relieved that the coach had so much faith in Sawamura.

And he would bring the pitcher back, even if it cost him his other shoulder.

The classroom was filled with the usual chatter while the students waited for the next period to start.

“Any sign of improvement?” Miyuki asked as casually as he could – one must not believe he was actually concerned – despite knowing that Kuramochi was the last person he could hope to fool. It was fine as long as the shortstop pretended he didn’t notice.

“He’s been sleeping more,” Kuramochi answered, back leant against the window and arms crossed, “though I’m not quite sure he’s actually sleeping. But at least he stopped getting up at freaking 4 in the morning to run.”

“Does he still have nightmares?”

“It would be strange if he didn’t. I mean, he did hit Chris-senpai in the shoulder–”

“An accident,” Miyuki cut him off abruptly, which both amused and ticked Kuramochi off.

“Tch, I know it was! But the fact that it was an accident doesn’t change the result, especially for an idiot like Sawamura. You know how much he admires Chris-senpai. Heck, he idolizes him. So you can’t expect him to recover in two days after hitting – even accidentally – the one he idolizes.”

“I know,” Miyuki said, resting his chin on his hand. He gazed distractedly through the window. “I heard something else from the coach.”

“About Sawamura having a week to go back to pitching? And with Chris-senpai to boot? That idiot told me. I dunno what they’re thinking though, putting pressure on Sawamura like that,” Kuramochi finished disapprovingly.

“Pressure comes with the position,” Miyuki commented, and Kuramochi snorted.

“Speak for yourself. Your position as captain isn’t much better, pressure-wise.”

Miyuki didn’t answer.

“Also,” Kuramochi went on, smirking, “next time you wanna know about Sawamura’s condition, ask him yourself.”

“That’s a cocky way to address your captain,” Miyuki countered.

“Hah! Like I care! I’ve said the same to Chris-senpai, and he’s way above you!”

“Chris-senpai?”

“Yeah, he also came to me to ask for some news, saying Sawamura has been avoiding him. I offered to drag Sawamura’s ass over to him but he said he didn’t want to impose himself or some crap like that.”

“Those two need to be more honest with their feelings,” Miyuki sighed tragically. A vein popped on Kuramochi’s temple.

“You’re the last guy I want to hear that from!”

Miyuki merely laughed.

Sawamura counted the days. He was experimenting with the theory of relativity which, translated into his own simple words, stated that time passed faster the more he willed it to be slower. There were two more days left, and he still couldn’t find it in him to knock on Chris’s door. He hadn’t seen the third-year even once since the talk with the coach and though it left him aching inside, he figured it was better that way. He sank deeper in the bath, brooding unhealthily.

As planned, he had spent the past few days outfielding, and to be honest, he wasn’t doing that great of a job with it. It didn’t come as a surprise, but he wanted to prove that he could do something else beside pitching, so that perhaps the coach would consider changing his position.

I want to pitch.

Sawamura shook his head vigorously, forcing his selfish pitcher-centric thoughts out of his muddled brain.

“Eijun-kun, is there something wrong?”

He almost jumped, having forgotten for a moment that the other two first-years were also in the bath with him.

“N-No, I’m fine,” he mumbled. He had stopped counting just how many times he had uttered those words lately. Not that anyone was stupid enough to believe him, and he wasn’t stupid enough to believe that anyone did. It didn’t matter. What mattered was to find a way to remain in this team and keep playing baseball, even if he had to forsake pitching.

I want to pitch.

“Eijun-kun, you shouldn’t stay in the bath for too long or you may pass out from the heat,” Haruichi said next to him.

“Hmm,” Sawamura merely nodded before turning to his teammate. “Harucchi…”

“What is it?”

“Do you think… Do you think I could play another position in the team?”

I can only pitch.

Haruichi’s eyes were hidden by his bangs, but Sawamura was pretty certain they must be wide open. “Eijun-kun, what are you saying?”

“I was just considering all the possibilities,” Sawamura answered with no more energy than a flat tire.

“So that means I get the mound for myself?” Another voice spoke on his right. Furuya.

Sawamura clenched his fists underwater. He hated to admit it, but rationally speaking, Furuya was the best suited for the mound. With some stamina practice, he’d be able to pitch full games on his own. That was what being the ace meant.

I want to become the ace.

“If that can take the team to Koushien, then I’m ready to leave you the mound,” he almost whispered.

I want to stand on the mound.

“Eijun-kun, you’re not thinking clearly,” Haruichi intervened hastily. “Come on, let’s get out of the bath before the heat gets to our heads. And you need to get some sleep too, you look dreadful.”

Sawamura hardly resisted when Haruichi led him out of the bath. He mechanically dried himself, put on his clothes and followed after the two first-years outside. He headed for his room, his mind barely paying enough attention to hear Haruichi bid him a good night.

Kuramochi was in the room, playing as usual. Not sparing a glance, Sawamura went straight to his bed and collapsed there, face buried in the pillow.

There were two days left. Two days left, and he was nowhere near ready to pitch again. Coach Kataoka’s words still rang clearly in his head. “The team has no need for a pitcher who can’t pitch.” Even now, he still couldn’t imagine the coach actually kicking him off the team; it felt too surreal for him to fathom. Baseball was the reason he had left Nagano and come to Tokyo in the first place. If baseball was taken away from him, what would he have left? The question was one he didn’t want to hear the answer to.

Sunday evening. There was one day left.

The night was warm and the air still. One of the dorm’s rooms was abnormally quiet, except for the music and varied battle cries coming from the video game Kuramochi was playing. To be honest, he wasn’t in the mood to play, but beating the crap out of the machine’s Sagat with his Cammy was the only way for him to distract himself from the invading gloom emanating from Sawamura. Between two victories, a glance at the lower bunk showed him that the first-year wasn’t sleeping. He simply lay there, eyes open.

It was getting on Kuramochi’s nerves.

“Wanna play a few rounds? It’s kinda boring playing on my own,” he offered with no real hope. Surprisingly enough though, Sawamura sat up and nodded. The first word that came to Kuramochi’s mind at that moment was ‘corpse’, but he was already grateful enough that the said corpse had actually bothered moving to come and sit down next to him, taking the controller half-heartedly. At this point Kuramochi was certain he could win with one hand tied behind his back and a blindfold over his eyes.

A knock on the door came as a great source of relief, but also prevented him from testing his theory.

“Yeah, come in!” he said before raising an eyebrow at the unusual visitor. “Chris-senpai?”

The sound of a controller being dropped on the floor was heard, as Sawamura turned round swiftly.

“Good evening, Sawamura, Kuramochi,” Chris greeted. “I apologize for the intrusion. Am I interrupting?” he asked, glancing at the TV screen.

“Nah, not at all,” Kuramochi replied hastily. “You want to talk to Sawamura?” he inquired despite already knowing the answer.

Chris nodded as he turned to the first-year. “Could you come with me for a little while?”

Sawamura tensed up. “Are we going to–”

“Practice? No,” the third-year said. “It’s already quite late and your body needs some rest.

“Just stop asking stupid questions and get your ass moving, Bakamura,” Kuramochi snarled. He would have kicked him if the brat hadn’t looked so downcast already.

Chris waited patiently for Sawamura to put on his shoes before leading him outside.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he answered Sawamura’s silent question. If the latter was surprised, he showed no sign of it. He actually showed no sign of any other emotion either, to be honest. Except maybe nervousness.

For a while, no one talked until they reached the stairs leading down to the practice field. Sawamura stopped a safe distance away from the stairs. As Chris stood next to him, he noticed the pitcher slightly shifting – unconsciously or not – away from him. He chose to ignore the twinge of disappointment in his chest.

They remained silent until Sawamura finally spoke, though his voice was hardly audible:

“Hm, Chris-senpai?”

“What is it?”

“What are we doing here?”

“Well, I told you your body needs some rest, didn’t I? A quiet place like this helps you relax your mind and consequently, your body. Granted, it’s rather hot outside, but at least you can see the stars.”

“You see them better in Nagano,” Sawamura answered almost automatically before realizing it may have sounded rude. “I-I mean, there are fewer city lights and everything… I’m not saying that Tokyo is bad, though!” he added hastily.

It made Chris chuckle. He was relieved that Sawamura could still engage in a normal conversation like this. Taking him out of his room had probably been a good idea, he mused.

“Chris-senpai…” Sawamura called his name again, “what am I going to do?” he asked, sighing, and the resignation in his voice didn’t go unnoticed by Chris who smiled and merely answered:

“Rest.” He felt the boy fidget impatiently next to him.

“I meant what am I going to do since there is only tomorrow left and I still can’t pitch?” Sawamura insisted with a hint of frustration. “I can’t possibly be resting when I’m currently like this!”

“It is precisely because you’re currently like this that you need proper rest,” Chris explained patiently. “But…” Sawamura paused, searching for words, “Do you mean that I should stop playing baseball? Is that what you mean by ‘rest’?” Sawamura asked, suddenly sounding completely distraught. “So the coach was really serious when he–”

“Really, I don’t know where you get all those strange ideas of yours,” Chris cut him in, shaking his head. “No matter what Coach Kataoka said, do you really believe that I would tell you to quit? Me, of all people?”

“Sorry,” Sawamura mumbled. “It’s just that… I don’t understand why you wanted me to come here if it’s not to tell me to quit right now.”

“I am a bit offended that you mistrust my intentions this much.” Though Chris was careful to make it sound like he was only teasing, his words still held a part of truth.

“I don’t! Chris-senpai, please believe me, I really didn’t mean it that way!” Sawamura exclaimed. “But…” he paused, biting his lower lip.

“But?” Chris encouraged him.

“I-I don’t get why you’re still bothering with me after I… your shoulder was… it is–”

“ –in perfect shape, Sawamura,” Chris said as he ruffled the boy’s hair. The latter flinched at the touch. “And it goes without saying that you’re anything but a bother to me,” he added.

The words made Sawamura flush and guilt seeped into him. He didn’t deserve Chris’s attention. He didn’t deserve Chris’s gentleness.

“The fact that I injured my shoulder was my own fault,” Chris continued calmly, his hand now resting on Sawamura’s back. “The fact that I wasn’t able to catch your pitch properly was also my own fault. I’ve known about your idiosyncratic pitch since the first day I caught for you and yet I was careless.”

“But–”

“That’s too many ‘but’s in a single night, Sawamura,” Chris smiled gently before asking: “Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do!” Sawamura replied immediately, angry at himself for making someone ask him such a question. The fact that it was Chris who had asked made it worse.

“Then trust me when I say that you’re a formidable pitcher. And before you try to place another ‘but’ again, let me add that I’m not the only one who believes so. It is the reason why the coach wants you to keep pitching.”

Sawamura clenched his fists, uttering words that Chris hadn’t been prepared to hear: “I can’t, Chris-senpai. I just can’t pitch anymore, so please don’t ask me to. And especially to you. That’s the last thing I want to do.” The last words came almost as a whisper.

Chris remained silent for a while, trying to push back the hurt and sudden panic that surged within him. He refused to believe what he just heard. He refused to believe that those words had actually been spoken out loud, and by Sawamura nonetheless. It had to be some sort of hallucination. It was at this very moment that he realized that he had taken for granted the fact that Sawamura would always want to pitch to him.

‘I want to form a battery with you, Chris-senpai.’

Those words had never left his mind for a single second. It had been those words that had stirred him out of the mental slumber he had sunk into after his injury. Even now, it was those words that gave him all the incentive he needed to return to the field as a catcher, to play games and to win them.

He dismissed the thought. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on such – not so trifling – matters. Now was the time to keep a cool head and put Sawamura’s recovery as top priority. The rest could come after. He looked at the boy who was still avoiding his gaze.

“Did you really mean what you said?” Chris asked carefully after what seemed an eternity.

“I-I…” Sawamura’s voice broke. He was slightly trembling despite the warm temperature, though he probably didn’t realize it himself. “I’m not sure what I’d do if I hurt you again.”

All of Chris’s previous grievances vanished like smoke upon hearing those words. He turned his eyes to the field in front of him.

“You know,” he began, “what truly hurt me?”

Sawamura glanced at him, troubled, then shook his head before realizing that Chris wasn’t looking at him. “No,” he said hesitantly.

“It’s the fact that you don’t want me to catch for you anymore.”

“But how can you still want to catch for me after I hit your shoulder? I don’t understand!” By now Sawamura had turned to Chris, and the latter could hear the confusion and impatience in his voice. He faced the boy to see him staring back, golden eyes clouded by sleepless nights and yet still fierce when concerned about others. “I don’t understand why you’re still so nice to me! I failed the team a first time during the finals, then again during the Yakushi game and–”

“Sawamura,” Chris cut him short firmly. “Unless I’m strongly mistaken, baseball is a team sport, isn’t it?”

Puzzled by the sudden question, Sawamura could only nod.

“Do you know what being a team sport means? It means that when you win, you win as a team, and when you lose, you lose as a team. The burden of defeat is shouldered by the team as a whole, the same way the thrill of victory is shared by the team as a whole. You don’t play baseball on your own, Sawamura.”

Sawamura’s eyes opened wide, the words sounding way too familiar. Chris was right, of course. He always was. Unfortunately, it hardly made Sawamura feel any better.

“I know,” he said, lowering his voice, “but–”

“All right, Sawamura. This is the last ‘but’ I’ll allow for tonight, so use it wisely,” Chris declared, smiling faintly as he saw the pitcher close his mouth as if to search for the right words.

“I-I understand about the teamwork when we’re having a game,” Sawamura resumed eventually, “but the other evening wasn’t a game! It was just me alone hurting you! I hit you exactly where you were injured! What if it had been more serious than that and you had to go back to rehab or–” he paused, looking as if something had just struck his mind, and before Chris even had time to react, Sawamura was on the ground, bowing in the exact same position when he had first begged him to teach him baseball.

“Sawamura, what–”

“I should have done this from the start!” Sawamura blurted out all of a sudden. “Chris-senpai, I’m very sorry for hurting you! You’ve helped me greatly ever since I joined Seidou but all I could do in return was to hurt you!”

“Sawamura, you really don’t–”

“I’m sorry for disappointing you and for failing to meet your expectations!”

“Sawamura, stop that!” Chris ordered sharply. He knelt down, frowning. “Look at me, Sawamura.”

The first-year didn’t budge, which slightly irritated Chris. He was a man of patience, but sometimes even he could reach his limits, especially when dealing with Sawamura’s stubbornness. “Sawamura,” he repeated, forcing himself to soften his tone.

Sawamura eventually sat up, though his head was still lowered.

“What on earth was that outburst about?” Chris asked.

“W-Well, I just realized that I never apologized properly for hitting your shoulder though I should have done that a week ago,” Sawamura answered, scratching his cheek. “And I also realized I never thanked you for everything you’ve done for me, so I figured I’d do it now before it’s too late.”

“What do you mean, ‘too late’?”

Sawamura swallowed hard. “It’s… well, since I’ll probably have to l-leave the team–”

“Sawamura.” Chris lifted the Sawamura’s chin with a finger, bringing their faces close enough to make the latter blush. “You are not leaving the team,” Chris declared more harshly than intended, his eyes piercing through the boy. “You are not giving up on pitching. I won’t let you.”

“I can’t pitch anymore!” Sawamura protested, exasperated.

“I’m not letting you give up,” Chris repeated, his face hardening. “I definitely won’t let that happen.”

“But why?!”

Chris’s answer was to hold Sawamura’s face between his hands and touch their foreheads together. He felt the boy’s cheeks heat up against his palms. He closed his eyes.

“Uh… Chris-senpai?” Sawamura’s voice was slightly trembling.

“I’ve been clinging to a hope. A foolish one, perhaps, but still,” Chris said. “I hope that someday you and I can play in the same team again, form a battery again, take down all our opponents with your pitches and reach the top. In college, in pro leagues, wherever. It doesn’t matter as long as we are the main battery. I know the chances are low, but… if you stop pitching now, then there won’t be any chance left at all.”

He fell silent, and for a moment all he could hear was Sawamura’s breathing and his own heartbeat.

Sawamura couldn’t believe his ears. He simply couldn’t. Something was going to burst inside his chest. This had to be some sort of dream. But no, the feeling of Chris’s warm hands against his cheeks was real, and so was the feeling of Chris’s forehead against his. He reached out tentatively and grabbed onto Chris’s sleeves tightly, just to make sure he really wasn’t dreaming.

“Of all pitchers, you’d pick me to form a battery with you?” he murmured.

“Obviously.”

The instantaneous answer made Sawamura chuckle. “You have really weird preferences, Chris-senpai.”

“Probably. But you’re the only pitcher I want.”

Sawamura wasn’t given the opportunity to register the words, for Chris’s lips pressed against his, stealing away his breath and anything he’d have wanted to say. Dozens of thoughts formed in his head, none of them coherent, making him feel both befuddled and elated at the same time. He gripped Chris’s sleeves even more tightly, leaning into the kiss, not caring that he had no actual clue on how to kiss someone. Chris wanted him and it was all that mattered.

When they pulled apart, Sawamura raised unusually shy eyes to Chris and saw his mentor smile fondly at him.

“I take it I’ve managed to convince you?” he asked teasingly. Sawamura blushed even deeper at those words and looked away, but Chris tilted his face back with one hand.

“Sawamura,” he said, almost too solemn, “will you give me another chance and let me catch for you again?”

Sawamura’s eyes opened wide. In spite of himself, tears had started forming, blurring his vision. He blinked the tears away.

“Chris-senpai…” he said, sniffing, “please catch for me again.”

“With pleasure,” Chris smiled as he leant in and kissed Sawamura again.

Monday afternoon, 5.30 pm. Miyuki and Kuramochi headed for the practice field together, as usual. Some noises indicated that they weren’t the first ones there, and as they walked closer, Miyuki’s lips stretched into his usual cocky grin.

“Hyahaha! Is that Sawamura and Chris in the bullpen?” Kuramochi asked, pretty much rhetorically. “Man, look at him pitching! You wouldn’t think he was out of commission for weeks! But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised after what happened yesterday evening.”

Myuki cocked an eyebrow. “Care to elaborate?”

“Well, I don’t really know the details, but Chris-senpai took Sawamura out for a chat, and I dunno what he told him, but when Sawamura came back to the room, he was grinning like the idiot he is. When I asked him what the fuck happened, he actually blushed,” Kuramochi smirked.

“All right, stop right there. I don’t wanna hear more,” Miyuki pretended to grimace, but as he gazed back to the bullpen, he couldn’t help but smile again.

The sound of a ball colliding with a mitt rose.

It never sounded better.