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Now and then something will spark in Sawamura a memory of Seidou, a deep, visceral sort of nostalgic longing, a moment like he's there again, like he's not three years away in university, in his small, lonely apartment instead of the busy companionship of the dorms.
He catches himself missing the strangest things.
The little pieces of broken wooden bats that Haruichi would leave lying around, absurdly heated manga debates with Kanemaru, Furuya falling asleep in his bed while they were studying and it was always easier to curl up beside him and go to sleep than try to wake him and get him to move.
All the times Kuramochi came in and found them that way, and took pictures to share with the rest of the team, and for about one week during second year, Kuramochi managed to convince everyone that Sawamura and Furuya were dating until Furuya tiredly announced at breakfast that he did have a boyfriend, and it wasn't Sawamura. He remembers shouting, why don't you fall asleep in his bed then!, and Furuya's calm reply of, I don't sleep in his bed, and that effectively shut everyone up.
He remembers being jealous, not because he wanted to date Furuya but because Furuya had someone to date, that he wasn't spending his days pining and wishing and wanting, and there was only ever one person that Sawamura wanted so desperately.
He remembers watching Miyuki graduate, watching him give his second button to Kuramochi by sticking it up his nose, and he remembers thinking what a perfect karmic retribution that was for all the embarrassment Kuramochi put him through. Then later, when Miyuki was long gone, Kuramochi snuck into Sawamura's dorm and gave him the button, saying, you need this more than I do.
It's probably fair to say, the thing he misses most about Seidou, is Miyuki Kazuya.
And he still has the button.
He thought about going to the same university, playing on the same team again, but Narumiya Mei is there and he's watched their games enough times to know he can't compete with the battery they have, the way they are flawless together, unstoppable.
His university is in a different league from theirs, but he wonders sometimes what it would be like to play against them, to stand on the mound with Hayashi crouched behind the plate and to strike them out, one two three. To show Miyuki he doesn't need him, that he can be amazing without him.
Kuramochi's the only link Sawamura has to Miyuki, but through him he knows Miyuki follows his games, he knows Miyuki gets mad when Sawamura's paired with Kobata instead of Hayashi, because Kobata doesn't know how to trick the batters and Sawamura has to shake off his signs too often.
Kuramochi says Miyuki misses him, but Sawamura doesn't believe it, not when Miyuki has Mei, the Prince of Tokyo, Mei who gave up a pro offer just so he could play on the university team with Miyuki. Kuramochi's pro, same team as Ryousuke of course, where else would he be, and he says it's not that big a deal, Mei's not missing out on much, but Sawamura knows he's just saying it to make him feel better.
Sometimes it works, sometimes he lets himself believe the lie, lets himself believe that Miyuki might actually miss him, miss what they had at Seidou.
Mostly he just tries to forget about Miyuki Kazuya. But Sawamura's never been very good at forgetting.
Summer this year is an unrelenting hell, and he's still overheated and shaky from afternoon practice, pitching until the rosin bag was soaked through with sweat and he could no longer grip the ball with any kind of precision, and he can't go to bed until he's finished preparing for tomorrow's test. But the words on the page keep bouncing, reverberating to the beat of someone's shitty techno pounding through the ceiling, that asshole again, the one who doesn't know the meaning of headphones.
Sawamura swears if that jackass makes him fail this test he's going to use his balls for batting practice.
He's out the door before he's fully aware of moving, wiping sweat from his face and the palms of his hands and he's only been in one actual fist fight since he started university but he's prepared to make it two, already planning the excuses he'll make to his angry coach. I'm sorry sir, it was a matter of life and death.
He has to knock loud, has to knock for a good solid minute before he hears the music shut off. Then another moment of waiting while his fists clench and the rage builds and then the door is flung open and Sawamura forgets everything he wanted to say, forgets everything except the slow drip of water over lean muscles, a wet towel held hastily in place and god his arms are perfect.
He hears Haruichi's voice in his head, you really need to get laid, Eicchi, then another voice, a throat being cleared, and he remembers why he's here, not to gawk at this example of flawless male beauty but because of that godforsaken noise.
Sawamura's fists tighten again and he forces himself to look up, to look this bastard in the eye, but there are glasses in the way, black rectangular frames and it hits him all at once.
A trick of the summer heat, too many memories lately, because all Sawamura can see is the familiar twist of a taunting smile on the most beautiful, cruel mouth, and then his vision is fading into spots, and someone is pulling him by the arm into the air conditioned chill of an apartment.
Someone saying "Hey, don't you dare pass out on me, idiot," and it's the voice that finally makes his legs give out, probably his special brand of dumb luck that lets him land on the couch instead of the floor. His eyes close and everything is spinning, and that voice out of his worst nightmares is saying, "Shit, let me get you some water."
Footsteps on hardwood, water being poured, then a cold glass pressed into his hand and the voice is talking again, soft and worried. "Still can't take care of yourself, can you. What are you even doing here?"
He feels his stomach lurch, like he might actually pass out this time, and he takes a slow sip of the water, maybe he really does have heat stroke and this is all an illusion. But when he opens his eyes everything is clear, it's really him, with his stupid beautiful face and stupid glasses and stupid perfect body and Sawamura is suddenly fifteen years old again and so in love he doesn't know what to do about it.
The name comes out in a rush, an exhale on stuttered breath, "Miyuki Kazuya!" Then, "Why the hell are you answering the door in a towel?!"
Miyuki laughs, and his laugh hasn't changed at all, he's still so honest in his amusement, and Sawamura aches to hear it, thought he never would again. "I'm not going to answer it without the towel."
He leaves Sawamura flushed and sputtering, into the bedroom to get dressed, and Sawamura takes a moment to be envious that he even has a bedroom when his own apartment is a pathetic little 1K. Then reality starts to settle back in and he wonders how he got here, when he doesn't even know where Miyuki lives, unless this means Miyuki has been his noisy horrible upstairs neighbor all this time and suddenly everything makes perfect sense.
In his next moment of clarity, he vows to murder Kuramochi.
Miyuki comes back out with clothes on, which is a shameful disappointment, but probably much better for the sake of Sawamura's fragile sanity, and sits at the other end of the couch. "Really though, what are you doing here?"
"I didn't know it was you, I came to tell whoever lives here to turn the music down." And he wants to still be mad about that, but it feels like a lifetime ago, instead of just minutes, like the world stopped and began spinning the other way while he was climbing the stairs. "Why is your music always so loud? Did you go deaf when you left Seidou?"
Miyuki laughs again, calm this time and it's an unexpectedly pretty sound, makes Sawamura's head swim again. "I like it loud. I didn't know it was bothering anyone though, where do you live?"
"Downstairs. Downstairs and all this time it's been you, and I should have known, who else could be that annoying." He finishes the water while Miyuki laughs again, that new calm laugh, and Sawamura wonders what else has changed about him, aside from the obvious external changes, the way he's finally grown into the strength of his body, all sleek and shockingly elegant, without the teenage awkwardness Sawamura was used to seeing in all of them. It isn't fair, but then nothing about Miyuki is ever fair.
Miyuki has to take a moment to let the words and the situation sink in. Downstairs, and he can remember the weight of Kuramochi's bratty arm flung over his shoulders, the clever serpentine slither of his voice in his ear when he said, I know of a great building with some openings, cheap, too.
Everyone thinks Miyuki is the devil, but he's pretty sure it's Kuramochi. And he is also going to murder him.
It makes him feel suddenly out of place in his own life, like a book upside down on a shelf, because he had resigned himself to never seeing Sawamura again except in game videos, and now Sawamura is on his couch, Sawamura is downstairs, hardly any space between them at all.
There are hundreds, thousands of things he could say, but all that comes out is, "I'll keep it turned down from now on."
Sawamura hums, somehow it doesn't even matter now, and when he looks over, Miyuki is wearing that casual, amused smile, like it's not only a lack of space between them but a lack of time, like they're still in the dugout at Seidou. He has to close his eyes again, has to keep his wavering hold on reality, then there is a touch to his forehead, making him jump, and Miyuki looks even more amused, glitter in the gold of his eyes. "What?"
"You sure you're okay? You need some more water, something to eat?"
It's almost funny, and Sawamura almost laughs, but the sound catches in his throat, comes out sounding pathetic. "I'm fine, I probably just need sleep." And time to deal with this new development, this apparition of the past, and out of nowhere he wonders why Miyuki gets to touch him but he can't reach over and do the same.
It's always been like that, Miyuki with his arm around his shoulder, Miyuki and his casual elbow bumps and hip checks and noogies, but Sawamura can never make his hands do what he wants and he thinks maybe it's because he's always known that if he ever gets his hands on Miyuki he will never let go.
The unwanted thought makes him stand abruptly, too quickly, and his head spins and there's Miyuki standing with a tight hold on his arm, and he's so close Sawamura wonders if he's dreaming. Maybe he's asleep with his face in a textbook. "I really should go. All that studying I need to finish."
It's another unexpected thing, that he's always had this weird overprotective urge around Sawamura. Anyone else he would have left to fall on their face, laughed as they hit the floor, taken pictures for future blackmail opportunities.
Kuramochi compared him to a baby bird once. The kind that you have to pick up, hold close and protect and keep safe, until it starts chirping so loudly that all you can do is leave it in a tree somewhere before it gives you a headache.
Miyuki lets go, makes himself take a step back. "You sure you're okay? Not gonna pass out in the hallway?"
Sawamura's cheeks flush, and that makes things feel normal enough that he knows he's awake, being teased by Miyuki, nothing ever changes. "I'm not gonna pass out in the hall, sorry to ruin your fun."
He feels fifteen again, still, all that pent-up frustration, and his teeth clench as he heads for the door, throws it open a little too rough, and Miyuki is behind him trying not to laugh. Mirth glittering in his rotten trickster eyes, and Sawamura thinks, like a line from a bad manga, I'm not dreaming, but this is a dream come true.
He's still going to murder Kuramochi.
It's been two days since The Sawamura Incident, and Miyuki still can't figure out how to categorize it in his mind, where to put it, so he can deal with it and let it go. Except he doesn't want to let it go and that's the problem, that's the problem.
Two days, and he hasn't been able to focus at practice, nearly hit in the face this morning by Mei's out of control cutter, and coach sent him home early. Get some rest, Miyuki.
He wishes he could.
Work fares no better, Thursday shifts at Starbucks are always slow, and he keeps forgetting how many shots of espresso and syrup go into the new summer flavors, keeps grabbing 2% milk instead of whole.
Mei sends him a text halfway through, a blunt and unfiltered WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU that Miyuki doesn't bother answering, just shoves his phone down to the bottom of his bag, under textbooks and a new glove he's trying to break in.
The sight of the glove makes him zone out for a while on what it would be like now, catching for Sawamura. If it would still send his heart racing, make the skin on the back of his neck zing like lightning.
He can still feel it in the palm of his hand, the first pitch he ever caught.
Miyuki rubs the ridiculous phantom tingles out of his left hand and hears the bell on the door chime, asks "What can I get you?" without looking up from his fingertips.
The response is a caught breath, a gasp, then, "What the hell, why are you suddenly everywhere?!"
Miyuki's eyes snap wide, and he can't even hide his expression of shock, because there's Sawamura in an old faded Seidou t-shirt and a backpack overloaded with books. "I could say the same for you."
Sawamura straightens, defensive. "My usual place is closed for remodeling, it's not my fault!"
Miyuki draws in a slow breath, makes himself calm down before he says something stupid, like why can't you go to one of the million other Starbucks in Tokyo, why can't you make your own coffee at home, why are you here ruining everything.
"Fine, okay, what do you want?"
Sawamura stares for a moment, blushes because his mind is translating the words wrong, making him want to say, it's you, you're all I've ever wanted, but then he remembers where he is, and he manages a stuttery, "Frappuccino, mocha, uh, grande."
Miyuki writes it on a cup, writes BAKAMURA where the name goes. "Want whipped cream?"
"Uh, yes. Please."
The "please" makes him lose it, makes him snort a quiet laugh, and Sawamura is glaring at him like old times, and Miyuki's not expecting the sudden rush of fondness, of I missed you so much caught between his teeth.
He goes through the rest of it on automatic, ring up the sale, make change, "I'll call you when it's ready," but Sawamura doesn't leave the counter, he leans there on his elbows and it's Thursday, there's nobody behind him to make him move.
"How long you been working here?"
Miyuki looks up from making sure he's grabbing the right milk, shrugs a little. "Couple years."
Sawamura's breath catches again, and that gets Miyuki's full attention, bright, surprised eye contact as Sawamura thinks about how many times he's walked down this street, past this Starbucks. He feels like they've been tethered together all this time with invisible strings, tangled into knots.
Manga images again, red strings of fate.
Miyuki gets back to work, pouring things into the blender, and Sawamura watches him, the strong line of his shoulders, the flex of his arms, thinks again of wet skin and glasses slightly fogged from the heat of the water. He thinks of Kuramochi laughing for a good solid five minutes when he'd called him that night, cursed him out for not telling him.
He feels like he's trapped in someone else's plotline, someone else who gets second chances, someone else whose second chance is a person other than Miyuki Kazuya, and Sawamura's hit with the need to grab him by his goofy apron and say, don't leave me this time.
But there's a Frappuccino in front of him, so much whipped cream that it's towering out of the little hole in the top of the lid, and Miyuki's off to deal with another customer, and his voice is so pretty when he says "what can I get you?"
Sawamura takes his drink and leaves.
Miyuki watches the door close, pours out shots of espresso, wonders what would happen if he were to walk out right now and chase him down, for once to let himself have exactly what he wants.
He spends a long time that afternoon staring at sunlight through glass, until his eyes feel burned.
Sawamura pitches all nine innings, and they win eight to two, and he doesn't spare one second for thinking about Miyuki.
Not until the game is over, and Hayashi has an arm slung over his shoulder, laughter in his ear, and he feels a sharp guilt for wishing he was someone else, for wishing for amber eyes instead of blue, a mischief smile instead of gentle.
He doesn't bother showering or changing in the locker room, just grabs his things and walks home, pavement sizzling in the dark and he thinks of the weatherman saying heat island effect, and wonders how that might relate to how he feels about Miyuki. Like he can't let go of the warmth, even though the sun has long ago set.
It really should be expected, really shouldn't be a surprise, when his key won't fit in his lock no matter how many times he flips it over, and the door flies open while he's flipping it and Miyuki's standing there, wet again, like deja vu.
Sawamura realizes what's been so off all this time, what's been giving him vertigo. Miyuki is somehow shorter, and Sawamura has to look down at him instead of up, only a few centimeters but enough to throw his world view crooked.
He'd laugh, if there weren't more pressing matters.
"Why are you in my apartment?"
Miyuki's eyebrows go up, and he looks at the number on the door, then back to Sawamura. "This is my apartment."
The number, 312, not 212, and Sawamura can't say anything but "Oh," and maybe it's not a plotline he's stuck in but a punchline, maybe this is an endless joke. "Well since I'm here, can I use your shower?"
"What? What's wrong with your own shower?" But he's already stepping back, giving Sawamura room to step inside, to drop his sport bag in the genkan, and he's close enough for Miyuki to see the tiny rip in the shoulder of his jersey, like there's too much burning energy in Sawamura to be contained by mere fabric. "Nevermind, just don't use all my shampoo."
Sawamura grins, tired and kind of tilted, and stumbles toward the bathroom. "Thanks. You can use mine next time, like, to be fair."
He's not sure what to say to that, so he waits until he hears the water running, then finds his phone and sends a text to Kuramochi. Bakamura's in my shower. Then, Next time I'm sending him to your place. Then, This is all your fault.
Kuramochi only replies with an intricate laughing emoticon, and Miyuki takes a picture of his middle finger and sends it to him. He thinks that sums everything up.
Miyuki spends another moment staring at Sawamura's scuffed bag and muddy cleats, and decides he might as well cook dinner, might as well cook enough for two, since he's already making the effort.
It's been a while, but it's not hard to double the recipe, falling into the relaxing familiarity of chopping vegetables while the rice cooks. The background hum of running water eventually stops, and Sawamura is leaning in the kitchen doorway, ruffling a towel through the mess of his hair, and Miyuki allows himself to enjoy it, the way it feels kind of comfortable, the way it feels kind of nice. "I hope you still like curry."
Sawamura's stomach makes an agreeing rumble, and he laughs. "I will always like curry. Need any help?"
"Yeah, come chop these potatoes." He hands over a knife, and this is nice too, something he isn't used to and part of him wants to be, part of him wants to imagine years into the future with Sawamura beside him in the kitchen. "I heard you won tonight."
Sawamura's grin is so bright. "Of course we did. You did too."
"Of course." Like they should expect nothing less, and somehow it's like they're still playing together, even when they're not. It's not something he can really explain.
Sawamura smiles like it's an answer to everything Miyuki doesn't know how to ask yet, and calmly chops the potatoes, uneven pieces because Sawamura still lacks finesse and patience, and that's fine, it's really fine. When he's finished he shoves them into the pot, and Miyuki shoos him away while he deals with spices, herbs, the part that he doesn't really trust anyone else to do.
Sawamura sits at the small table against the wall, fidgets with the pepper grinder, until Miyuki takes it away from him. "So, you seeing anyone right now?"
Miyuki almost drops the pepper, but he plays it off well enough, he's had a lot of practice. "Is that supposed to be a glasses joke?"
"What?! No! You know what I mean don't play dumb!"
Then Miyuki is snickering, and Sawamura's hands are fisted tight with emotion on the tabletop, and the normality of things feels like an extra padded layer of defense, makes Miyuki feel safe when he says, "Then say what you mean."
Sawamura makes a sound, like an expression of the blush taking over his face, and he wonders if he'll ever be able to have a conversation where he isn't falling into Miyuki's traps. "I mean, are you dating anyone."
"Oh, haven't you already asked Youichi about that? I thought he told you everything." There's a tease in Miyuki's voice, making Sawamura grit his teeth, making him regret saying anything at all, and he swears he can hear Kuramochi laughing. He's like the personal laugh track to the bad joke his life has become.
"We don't actually talk about you that much, personal things I mean, we talk about baseball. I'm just trying to make conversation here, stop being difficult!"
Miyuki laughs quiet, grateful that he gets to stand with his back to Sawamura, because there's no way he could talk about this if he had to face him, like he might take one look at those wide golden eyes and everything would spill out, everything he's worked so hard to conceal. "Fine, no, I'm not dating anyone."
Sawamura's breath catches, it's not the answer he was expecting. "Not even Narumiya?"
"What?" He can't help it, he turns around then, and Sawamura's expression is so open and hopeful that Miyuki can't make sense of it, like maybe he heard wrong, maybe he's heard this entire conversation wrong.
"I thought you and Narumiya, you know...."
No he heard that right. Miyuki cracks up, has to hold onto the cabinet so he doesn't fall over, and Sawamura's expression goes back to its usual state of controlled rage. "You thought, oh god why, me and Mei...."
It's funny, because even though he's proven he has a soft spot for boys who wield their emotions like nuclear weapons, Mei is still too much, Mei is tantrums in the locker room over lucky socks, Mei is the wrong shade of ego, Mei is arrogant and self-absorbed and everything the exact opposite of Sawamura. Sawamura, who is no longer watching him laugh, but staring at his hands, like he's thinking, and Miyuki feels that long-ago need to run away, before something happens that he's not ready for.
He distracts himself with stirring, pokes at the vegetables to make sure they're getting soft, and the silence is awkward, broken by Sawamura shifting in the chair and the occasional bloop of the sauce bubbling.
It's weird, seeing Sawamura so quiet as they eat, but he supposes he's tired, tells himself that's all it is, the dark shadows under his bright eyes, the heat too much for him even though they've played through hotter summers.
And when he leaves, saying he has a fuckton of studying to do, thanks for dinner, I promise I'll wash the dishes next time, Miyuki takes the excuse as it is, refuses to think about that momentary hopeful expression, the way it made something hopeful in himself rise in response.
The next time he sees Sawamura, it's his own fault, telling himself it's convenience, saving time and money and energy. His third baseman used all of his IcyHot, and he knows Sawamura always buys the patches instead of the messy cream, and it has absolutely nothing at all to do with the fact that Sawamura found another Starbucks, and Miyuki hasn't seen him in days.
Knocking on Sawamura's door, he wonders if he's sick, some kind of new mosquito flu making him crazy, fever boiling through his brain. As if years at Seidou have taught him nothing, as if he's unaware that this is what he's been wanting.
Refusing to think about Chris saying once, you like to suffer, Kazuya. You think denying yourself anything good will make you strong, but that's not how it works.
Sawamura looks rumpled when he answers, hair like messy feathers, pajamas with a stain on the knee, but he lights up bright when he sees Miyuki, that initial rush of thrill that he's never been able to restrain, the way the sight of Miyuki is a visceral, satisfying thing. It's ridiculous, and he immediately scowls, runs a hand through his hair and leaves bits of it standing up. "What do you want?"
Miyuki makes himself focus on the flaws, raises a judging eyebrow at the stain, can't tell if it's chocolate ice cream or mud. "I was hoping I could borrow one of your IcyHot patches, so I don't have to go to the store."
"Did you get lazy in your old age?" He grumbles, but he crouches beside his bag, digs past towels to find the box of patches and shoves them at Miyuki. Miyuki, just grinning.
No, he was wrong. The sight of Miyuki is like a harbinger of disaster.
"There, take it, get out."
Miyuki softens the grin only a little, takes the box and smooths out a crimp in the corner. "Thank you. My hero." He turns to leave, and Sawamura begins to close the door, then without putting much thought into it, he spins back around and catches the door before it's fully shut. "I've been meaning to ask you, have you asked that Wakana girl to marry you yet?"
Sawamura's teeth clench, and he feels like the moment before a bomb goes off, all roiling heat and expanding energy, nowhere to go but out. "How many times do I have to say it? We're! Just! Friends!"
Miyuki rolls his eyes, to make things worse. "Sure, 'friends', gotch--"
"I'm gay, Miyuki Kazuya! So get over it, and get out!" He slams the door that time, fast enough that Miyuki has to step back to avoid being hit, and he leans against the wood with some kind of unexpected feeling of relief, that it's out now, he's said it aloud and maybe the Wakana jokes will finally stop.
Then the relief fades too quickly and he's left realizing he has nothing to hide behind anymore, and he thinks maybe, maybe this is something good.
Maybe it's time to stop thinking like he's still fifteen years old in Seidou's dugout, where all he needs in life is baseball. Maybe it's time to grow up, and go after the one thing he desperately wants.
Every few days, Sawamura finds a new excuse.
There's a game on, and his television is being pixelly, and Miyuki don't be an ass, you're already watching it, just let me watch it too. He buys two giant bulk packages of IcyHot patches because they're on sale, and there's no way he can use them all before they expire. He's out of laundry soap, can he borrow some. He buys too many things in bulk, and gives Miyuki half, because he gets a special kind of smile when he's giving something instead of asking.
Eventually, Miyuki shows up at his door because he made too much stir fry and the cabbage will get wilty and gross if he saves it. His DVD player is acting up and he doesn't like watching movies on his little computer screen, and hey, he brought popcorn.
Sawamura starts going to Miyuki's Starbucks again, but he only comes in when Miyuki's busy, and it becomes their thing, to smile at each other across the room, warm smell of coffee in the air and the strange feeling that they're becoming friends somehow, without the ties of baseball forcing them together.
Of course, Kuramochi has taken to making exaggerated gagging noises any time he talks to either of them.
It doesn't have to be an excuse anymore, when Sawamura wins two dinner coupons in a raffle, a nice western-style steakhouse, and instead of just giving Miyuki the coupon and leaving, he takes a slow steadying breath and says, "Wanna go together?"
Miyuki pauses a moment, long enough for Sawamura to notice the blush settling into his cheeks, and he thinks of making a joke, thinks of saying, are you trying to ask me out, Sawamura Eijun?, but he doesn't want to hear the answer, doesn't have a pre-planned response to whatever that answer might be.
He thinks he knows anyway. He thinks he might be disappointed if he's wrong.
Instead he finally says, "Okay, why not. Go put on something nice though, I'm not going to be seen in public with you if you're wearing that," and shuts the door in Sawamura's face. Maybe that's becoming a sign of affection.
Sawamura makes a shocked wheezing sound before he remembers how to work his legs, going home on a dazed sort of autopilot, and he sends a text to Wakana as soon as his own door is closed. He said yes to dinner. What do I wear?
She calls him back because it's easier, sighs heavy and loud when he answers. "What do you have clean?"
He stares a long time at the closet, at the overflowing pile of clothes he's been meaning to wash, topped like a cherry with the little bag of detergent he borrowed from Miyuki last month. Wakana sighs in his ear again, like she knows, and Sawamura lights up. "Wait, I have that button-up I wore to your party, that white one, I can wear that."
Wakana hums. "Is it stained?"
"Is it -- god, Wakana, I'm not five years old!" There's a pause, where he waits for her to say I know, or I was kidding, but she's silent and finally Sawamura relents with a slow, long-suffering exhale. "No it's not stained."
"Good! Wear that, and the black pants. At least if you spill something..."
He doesn't hear the rest because he's busy jabbing at the screen to end the call, and when she texts him with a Really, Ei-chan, be careful!, he throws the phone on the bed and wonders which ancestors he's pissed off lately to deserve all this.
He spends the last minutes of waiting for Miyuki standing by the door, shoes on and ready to go, and he's checked and double-checked to make sure the coupons are in his wallet, along with extra just-in-case money.
For the first time in his life, he's self-conscious about his tan lines, pulling at the top button on his shirt, which is ridiculous because one, Miyuki has the exact same tan, and two, this isn't even a real date, as much as he wishes it could be. It's just part of this strange give and take pattern they've fallen into, excuses to see the fire-lit sparkle in Miyuki's eyes, the way his lips curl so sweetly at the corners when he smiles his honest smile.
Sawamura admits he's selfish, he wants an entire evening of that, where he can pretend they're more than a former battery or whatever tentative friendship they might have now. He wants something meaningful, like when they watch a game together and shout the same things at the television screen, like the first time it happened and Miyuki laughed so hard he snorted, and Sawamura felt his heart take flight again, the way it did the first time standing on the Seidou mound.
He also admits that somewhere along the way, his life stopped being a shounen sports manga and became a shoujo romance, but he wonders if that's just life being life, if that's what happens when you grow up and have to think about more than waking up in time for practice.
When Miyuki knocks, Sawamura's given up on contemplating matters of the heart, he knows there will always be more questions than answers, and he slips out the door with his usual casual grin, like he hasn't been standing there waiting, like it's just a convenient dinner, nothing more.
They're both quiet until they reach the elevator, then Miyuki has to ruin it. "You remembered the coupons, right?"
"Why does everyone think I'm an incompetent child?!"
Miyuki smirks, mischief reflected in the mirrored walls. "You really want me to answer that?"
Sawamura just replies with a glare, aimed at the reflection directly across from him, and he's the first to get out when it stops, feels like getting back in and going home.
He wonders why he thought this would be any different from usual, why he thought they could go out and have a nice dinner like normal people, people who aren't Miyuki Life-Ruiner Kazuya. But then he glances over and sees Miyuki with that soft smile that he gets when he's caught up in his thoughts, and he surrenders, lets himself lose the war, because Miyuki is shattered into color by the neon lights as they pass, and Sawamura's suddenly afraid to speak, afraid he might blurt it all out, I've loved you for so long, I don't remember what it's like not to love you, more than baseball, and my heart is so full of you that there isn't room anymore for anything else.
He stops in the middle of the sidewalk, and for a moment he feels like he's dying, like he has the yips again, like everything is on the cusp of crashing down around him, and then there's a hand on the side of his face, Miyuki saying low but firm, "Breathe, Sawamura."
"Eijun," is what comes out on the exhale, and one of Miyuki's eyebrows goes up. "All my other friends call me Eijun, you should too."
Miyuki hums, tilts his head, a little bit dangerous, and Sawamura's heart flips in preparation of the coming taunt. "Is that what we are now? Friends?"
It's not what he's expecting, and it makes him blush, makes him want to say no, I want so much more than that, but he says instead, "I hope so."
It's the right answer, by the way Miyuki smiles. "Hope you know what you're getting into, Ei-chan. Can we go now?"
There it is, there's the taunt, and Sawamura huffs, shoves at Miyuki's shoulders. "Fine, get walking, Kazucchi."
Miyuki's bright laughter leads them forward, and Sawamura feels like he's floating, like he no longer needs to touch the ground.
Sawamura's dad sends him an espresso machine, a "city boy coffeemaker", he calls it, and Sawamura gets it that he's trying to be supportive of his success, his son's life in Tokyo where his own failed.
He feels a little bad for his father sometimes, when he thinks about it past the inside-joke version of the story he grew up on, thinks about lost dreams and how his father sounds so wistful and heartsick when he talks about music, all the scorebooks packed away in the closet under his mother's shoeboxes.
His grandfather says he ended up right where he was supposed to be, but Sawamura doesn't think that's exactly true, that maybe he was supposed to be on stage, his family cheering from the front row, and Sawamura vows never to let that happen to him, to never let anything convince him to give up his dreams. And like Haruichi says, someday he's going to have to sit down and decide where those dreams are going to take him, what he wants for his future.
He thinks he knows.
He thinks, he'd be happy playing baseball anywhere he's welcome, and he wants Miyuki there beside him, not catching for someone else on another field. And if he had it his way, he'd have the rest of them there with him too, but he's grown up enough to know that can never happen.
So he'll settle for Miyuki Kazuya grinning at him from behind home plate. And he's willing to do whatever it takes to keep him there.
Three days later and Sawamura still has no idea how to work the espresso machine, standing in his kitchen while Miyuki says "it's simple," and does something magical to make it start doing what it's supposed to do instead of making horrible disappointed noises. It figures even a stupid coffeemaker would like Miyuki the best.
He looks for clean mugs, but he's kind of distracted, thoughts looping around everything he's decided lately, that he's not going to let Miyuki slip away this time, and he almost drops one, feels it tumbling out of his hands like a premonition. Then Miyuki is there, catching it like he catches everything, like it's a reaction as natural as breathing, and he takes the other one too, gives Sawamura that questioning raise of an eyebrow.
"Where are you today, Eijun?"
It still feels so weird in his ears, the sound of his name in Miyuki's silken voice, and he stays quiet for a moment, not wanting to ruin the echo of it. "I'm just thinking, a lot. I'm sorry."
Miyuki hums, busies with the espresso machine. "What about?"
Sawamura stays out of the way, like his proximity might make the machine break, or spontaneously combust. "The future. What I want. Those kinds of things."
It's another of those moments, like Miyuki has some kind of sixth sense that tells him when the conversation is about to get dangerous, and he wants to excuse himself, get out of there while he can, go back to calling him Sawamura again and maybe find a new apartment, to hell with the lease.
But he can't lie to himself as well as he can lie to everyone else, and he knows how good it's been these last few weeks, like he's had someone to come home to even though they're one floor apart. He thinks, it's been nice, watching Sawamura come up with the most ridiculous reasons to visit him, the way he blushes when he smiles, and maybe he isn't really used to that, someone wanting to be around him just for him, not for baseball matters.
He's not used to it, but he thinks he might like it.
The espresso is ready, and he pours in a little bit of milk and sugar, hands it to Sawamura, and instead of leaving he leans against the counter, like he's bracing himself. "What is it you want, for the future?"
Sawamura hears it for what it is, an opening, an offering, Miyuki giving him the chance to say it without their usual games of avoidance, and he sets down his coffee, steps over and takes away Miyuki's mug, places it beside his own.
Miyuki looks amused but there's something new in his eyes, something nervous and unsure, but he isn't running, isn't running and Sawamura lays a trembling hand against the side of his face, thumb tracing over the cool rim of his glasses, and he feels as much as he hears the way Miyuki's breath catches.
Everyone says Sawamura is too impulsive, too quick to act without thinking of the consequences, and maybe they're right, because he knows this could ruin everything, this sweet, comfortable friendship they've started to build. But still he's leaning in, the hand on Miyuki's face simply resting without holding, he can get away if he wants, but he doesn't move, and Sawamura presses the lightest brush of his lips against Miyuki's.
It isn't much of a kiss, but it gets the point across, and he starts to pull away until he feels Miyuki's fingers curl in the front of his shirt, holding him in place.
Sawamura makes a quiet sound in his throat, tight like the threat of tears, because this is what he's always wanted from Miyuki, to be told to stay, to be shown that he's wanted, and Miyuki presses in closer like he knows, like he wants to make sure Sawamura knows. It's the reassurance he needs, and lets his lips part, licks into the soft warmth of Miyuki's mouth for the first time and it's better than all of his fantasies, both of them clumsy and without confidence, but it's perfect.
He's the first to break it off though, to step back before he pushes too far, crosses some kind of line, and Miyuki's flushed all the way down to the collar of his shirt, that delicate, thoughtful smile on his face, and Sawamura feels like he's losing his mind with how much he loves him. "You're what I want. You and me against the world."
Miyuki inhales slow and it's not as bad as he thought it would be, letting down one corner of his defenses, letting Sawamura reach through and touch him.
Sawamura's waiting for a response, but Miyuki picks up his coffee and takes a sip, stares at a stain on the countertop and hears Sawamura's frustrated sigh. He can't help it, he grins around the rim of the mug, and Sawamura shoves him, shouting "Kazuya!", and that's it, he's laughing, and he has to catch Sawamura's hand before he punches him, uses it to pull him close. "Fine. The future would be boring without you anyway."
Sawamura rushes out something like "hell yeah it would" and kisses him again, and kisses him one more time at the door before he leaves, and he stays there after Miyuki's gone, fingers resting against his lips. Thinking maybe, just maybe, things are going to turn out okay after all.
The moon isn't visible from Sawamura's balcony, only the building across the street and a thin hazy line of sky, but he's looking for it anyway, twisting and arching backward over the railing, Miyuki laughing and holding tightly to his legs. "If you fall and die, Youichi and I will pee on your ashes. I bet I can get the Kominatos to join in too. We'll get Wakana to stand guard."
"Then stop making me laugh!" Sawamura's cackling when he finally stops squirming, and he steps down right into Miyuki's space, sees the glazed city sky reflected in his glasses. It's been two weeks and it still amazes him that he can get this close, that he can lean and kiss him before moving away, to the neglected lattes sitting on the washing machine.
There are a lot of differences now that he's getting used to, like the fact that he can knock on Miyuki's door for no reason, that Miyuki can knock on his, and they can order pizza, battle the evil espresso machine and watch bad movies. It feels like an actual friendship now, instead of a clumsy attempt, and they haven't spoken yet about the dreaded "relationship" word, or anything beyond the way they simply are, but Sawamura doesn't feel like they need to.
He got his answer the day Miyuki let him kiss him, and he gets his confirmations in the small things, like the way Miyuki sits closer to him on the couch, the way he smiles when Sawamura walks into Starbucks, like he's actually glad to see him.
He still writes BAKAMURA on the cup, but he also still overflows the whipped cream, and Kuramochi still can't stand to be around them, but it's Ryousuke who sits at the table with them all and says, "Be nice, You-chan. They're happy."
Sawamura thinks that's all that really matters.
