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“Do you think we can ever be just friends?”
Kazuya startles at the question. The words hold too much weight, practically begging for him to overthink them. He stares at Youichi with wide eyes, but Youichi continues to sit beside him in bed, scrolling through his phone, not particularly paying attention to anything.
It’s so casual. It’s so normal. It’s so familiar.
Youichi asks the question like it’s simple, and now that Kazuya is really thinking about it, he supposes it is.
They have known each other for years, almost long enough for Kazuya to forget just how much time has passed. Their high school and college years have bled together in his mind, all a fast-paced medley compared to the lives they lead now.
Now, they live slower, not bombarded by the worries of homework and captaincy and scholarships and graduations and drafts. The chase is over. They are no longer trying to keep up with each other by practicing into the night and studying even later. They are no longer running after each other in high school, then into college, and right into the professional league. They are settled now: living together, working together, practicing together, eating together, being together.
Their lives are entangled, thoroughly so, but Kazuya can’t pinpoint exactly when that happened. All he knows is that there have been moments when their friendship edged towards something more.
He remembers the night of their graduation spent silent in each other’s company, their heads leaning towards each other for that semblance of a touch as they come to terms with no longer being on the same team, going to the same school, being in each other’s presence. He remembers the hot summer afternoon of their first practice game on opposing teams, throwing wild grins at each other before holding an embrace that lasted just a touch too long. He remembers the day Youichi took a bus and a train and a taxi to show up at his dorm, blurting the news that they will be playing on the same team in the professional league and hugging him so tightly that Kazuya could feel Youichi’s heart racing against his own.
The nights and afternoons and days he spends with Youichi now are far more mundane. Their nights are spent resting on one of their beds, talking about the next series they should watch on the television. Their afternoons are spent exploring the city they have lived in for years, going to familiar haunts, searching for something new. Their days are spent on the field, stealing glances at each other before a teammate tells them to get their heads in the game. It’s all mundane to them, but Kazuya has always had a sneaking suspicion.
They spend too long talking, pushing through their tiredness to simply stay in each other’s company. They spend too long outside, pulling each other into every other store simply to keep the day from coming to an end. They spend too long distracted from practice, always looking, always wanting to be close.
It is one of the only things left unspoken between them, until now.
There is something striking about the idea of staying “just friends” with Youichi. It’s not an idea he is vehemently opposed to, but it is also an idea that tugs at his heart, bit by bit, until it practically screams at him that there is something viscerally wrong with it.
He can’t recall the last time he had ever thought of Youichi as just a friend. Youichi is a fixture in his life, someone he can only ever imagine as permanent. A part of him knows Youichi has been more than a classmate, more than a teammate, more than a friend for a while now, but he can’t begin to fathom when the thought of Youichi as just a friend elicited such a sour taste in his mouth. It’s frustrating the way his consciousness is finally starting to recognize the uptick in his heartbeat and that stagger in his breathing as something unique to Youichi.
Even now as he sits beside Youichi, their thighs grazing against each other, his mind is suddenly inundated with the racing of his heart and the awkwardness of his breath. He watches as Youichi rests his hand on his knee, moving his thumb back and forth against his skin. Youichi’s attention is still elsewhere, hardly noticing Kazuya’s focused gaze. Youichi’s body moves as if the motion is natural, as if it’s routine—and Kazuya knows it is.
Their ministrations have become daily, extending beyond simple words and placations. Their touching is no longer minimal, always reaching out, always keeping close. Their friendship is no longer just a friendship, but something that underscores so much more that they have yet to talk about.
Kazuya tries to pull his attention away from Youichi’s hand, but his mind lingers on that weight on his knee. Youichi’s fingertips are roughened and his palm is heavy, much different from the blistering callouses and sweaty palms they would both sport when they were younger. It serves as a reminder that years have passed, hardships have been won over, and they are no longer facing an assortment of uncertainties about their futures. They have long since been comfortable, their lives no longer overwhelmed by what seems so trivial now; yet, they sit beside each other, close to the touch yet so undefined in their presence, so many of their thoughts and feelings still left unsaid.
Kazuya lifts his own hand, his fingertips ever so slightly hovering over Youichi’s knuckles. Hesitance lies easily within Kazuya, and while he does nothing to close the gap between their hands, he does everything to speak what is on his mind.
“Do you want to be ‘just friends’?” he asks, because it only feels natural to be so argumentative, though he relents just a little to add: “We both know we haven’t been ‘just friends’ for a while now.”
Youichi smiles and lets out a quiet laugh. “Sure, we’re not ‘just friends’ right now. I think both of us would be offended if we called each other ‘just a friend.’” He shakes his head, his eyes softening. “I guess I’ve just been thinking about it a lot lately.”
Thinking about it. So vague, so uninformative; yet, Kazuya knows exactly what he is talking about. There is no room for uncertainty, not anymore.
They are sitting on a bed together, touching each other in the most gingerly of ways, as if they are both too afraid of cracking the exterior, of breaking the silence. It should be easy to talk about, but it isn’t.
Kazuya starts and falters several times, mouth opening before his brain shuts him off entirely, coming up with excuses to extend their silence and keep their exterior untouched; but there is something building within him, itching to get out.
“How long have you wanted to be with me?”
He blurts the words out in a mess of syllables, his intention almost unrecognizable if not for Youichi knowing him so well.
Youichi turns to him, eyes hinting at the barest of smiles, and murmurs, “A while.”
It’s an obvious answer, expected, typical, practically anticipated, but Kazuya’s walls crumble down entirely. In two words—one fatal blow—Kazuya is left defenseless in the face of the irrefutable truth: Youichi likes him just as much as Kazuya likes him in return. He should feel elated, excited beyond words, but there is only a heaviness growing inside of him.
Youichi’s hand presses against his knee, and the simple motion grounds Kazuya. He pushes his leg up, relishing in the comfort Youichi gives him so freely. The heaviness dissipates, not entirely, but little by little, it becomes just another passing feeling.
He blinks up at Youichi, slow and unmethodical. He isn’t sure what to say. He hates being at a loss for words, unable to speak how he truly wants to speak, but Youichi keeps that hand on him, grounded and present, and Kazuya finds something to say.
“I don’t want it to not work out.”
The words fly out of him before he can think, but he keeps his lips pursed, refusing to let himself take it back.
He is afraid, and it frustrates him to no end. He is no longer in high school, afraid of whether or not Seidou will win their next game. He is no longer in college, afraid of the unfamiliar trials he has yet to face. So many of his fears are resting behind him yet this fear lives loudly inside him, instilled so deeply within him that he isn’t sure just how long he’s had it.
Youichi brushes his thumb back and forth along Kazuya’s skin, humming quietly. “I’m scared, too,” he says, so easily, so nonchalantly, and with so much conviction.
Kazuya yearns for that confidence, for that air of certainty Youichi carries around him. Years have gone by with Kazuya learning his own bravery from the way Youichi walks through life, sure of how he wants to live it and confident in what he wants. He wants a little of that bravery right now.
He rests his palm on the back of Youichi’s hand. “How do you do that?” He feels the weight of both of their hands heavy on his knee. “How can you be so sure that you want to be together when it might not work out?”
Youichi huffs out a laugh, amused yet gentle. “It took me a while to not be so afraid,” he says, nodding his head with a smile, “but I guess I ended up already answering the question I asked you. I thought a lot about staying friends and what that even means, but like you said, we both know we haven’t been ‘just friends’ for a while now. A lot of the things we do, we do together. We don’t decide how the other feels; we get there together. I think whatever happens—we start dating, we stay friends—we’ll always work through it together.
“It’s a hopeful way of looking at it, sure. I don’t know what it would actually be like for us to date or to break up or to end our friendship, but I stopped thinking about it so hard because none of that has even happened, you know? I’m worrying too much about what might happen when right now, we both want to be with each other, in whatever way that may be, and that’s what I’m focusing on. All of the other stuff can wait.”
Kazuya huffs out a laugh, incredulous and disbelieving and impressed all at once. “You make it sound so simple,” he says, and he knows it’s because it is.
A part of him knows that this has been Youichi’s philosophy for a while now. There are a lot of uncertainties in the world, some already in his past and some still awaiting him in the future, but there is an essentiality in living in the present. He remembers how Youichi told him to focus on getting sleep after applying to colleges, telling him there isn’t any point in worrying now that everything has already been submitted. He remembers how Youichi told him to focus on practicing after losing his first game in college, saying that there’s no point in wallowing when there’s a lot to learn, overcome, and prepare for the next season. He remembers how Youichi told him to focus on playing baseball after getting drafted without him, reminding him that next October will come whether he worries or not, so there is no point in doing anything but play the sport that he loves until then.
Uncertainties come and go, and sometimes Kazuya handles them with grace and other times Youichi is there to help him through it. In-between these moments, Youichi has become an anchoring point, holding him to the ground and keeping him level-headed, always by his side, always together.
Kazuya laughs, a sound somewhere between relieved and overwhelmed. “I guess we’re not going in so blind, are we?” he asks, and Youichi only grins at him as he shakes his head. “Well, then, I’d be willing to take that leap of faith with you anytime.”
He weaves his fingers until he is clasping the back of Youichi’s hand. He watches as Youichi turns his palm facing up, gently untangling them only to slip right back into the hold, warm and unpredictable in the most predictable of senses.
“I’m with you,” Youichi says, conviction ringing true once more. “The rest we’ll deal with together.”
Together. Kazuya feels at ease with that.