Chapter Text
Sawamura Eijun loved baseball more than anything in this world, and in Miyuki Kazuya, he found his home. Needless to say, he was his world—he needed him.
“Miyuki-senpai, will you catch for me?”
And it
stings
, watching him walk away like he always did. Sawamura’s eyes roamed the field, feeling the piercing eyes of the people who had just witnessed how he was turned down for the hundredth time. It
stings
.
It pains him so much that he can only watch as he breaks him. That was supposed to be him, but he wasn’t someone. And then he laughs, as if reminded where he stood. Who was he, anyway?
It sucks
, he thinks,
I couldn’t do anything.
Clenching his fists, he once again made a fool out of himself. He could be anyone but a priority—kept on the back burner once again, giving chances once again—always the giver, but never one to receive.
Right. It was funny, how could he forget? It was not just him. The world does not revolve around Miyuki Kazuya, and Miyuki Kazuya’s world does not revolve around him. He knows, of course—Sawamura, of all people—knows. He knows he was not just him who needed the catching; it’s just that he thought he needed it the most. It looked like they were on the same wavelength for once only for the same thing to happen again. How petty to even think he was finally getting it. Sawamura scoffs. Once again, how fucking petty.
That was it, he breathed.
All his frustrations were just another part of the feelings that had to stay hidden. And maybe he needed to shout, maybe he needed to let it out, but maybe then, he just had to take one deep breath and laugh it off. This happens every time, anyway. He’s going to be okay, he grins. Today does not make a difference, I’m going to be okay.
Or who was he kidding?
It was too much. Too much. It wasn’t the end of it.
The bags under his eyes were getting darker.
He needed to run.
“What’s with you, Sawamura? You look like shit.” Kuramochi tried to make the atmosphere lighter only to fail miserably. Eijun was rather silent to his liking and even if he tried once again, thanks to his best efforts, he’d only have to back off. The silence reeks of something and it says not today.
Kuramochi knew something was wrong. He didn’t bother to ask what it was.
“Miyuki, what’s up with Sawamura? His aura has been oddly dark since this morning.” Zono was intrigued. The third years all were. Sawamura only gets silent when he’s thinking hard about something which is unlikely, the senpais thought, because Sawamura? Think? There is something that just doesn’t sit well with that. It felt like Sawamura and thinking aren’t two words to fit in one sentence.
Zono knew something was wrong. The third years knew something was up. None of them bothered to ask what it was.
“Ora? What is this?” Miyuki smirks, humming playfully. “I don’t know. If you are too worried, why don’t you ask him yourself?”
“You are his catcher! You should’ve caught his signs!” Zono complained, sending Miyuki to a laughing mess as if it was the funniest thing he had heard that day. “What are you laughing at, Miyuki?! Ask him what’s wrong! We have a match in a few days and we need to snap him out of it, whatever it is he’s been too bothered about!”
Miyuki’s laughter then died. He knew something was wrong. He didn’t bother to ask what it was.
“You said something was off with Eijun-kun, You-san. He was pitching just right, though?” Haruichi asks, observing the fellow first year as he shouts ‘oshi!’ from where he was. “Were you probably just overthinking this?”
“No, he was unusually quiet. I thought he was onto something.” The shortstop won’t take his eyes off the bullpen. He might’ve heard his occasional shouts of joy every time the ball slams the mitt but that was it. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m overthinking this.”
Haruichi hums. It was indeed odd, and maybe he knew somehow that something was wrong, but just like anyone else, he didn’t bother to ask what it was.
“Water, Furuya-san.” Yui gives Furuya a glass of water. He thanked him, remembering what Miyuki had said. Get along. “Your pitch was magnificent as ever, Furuya-san.” Furuya could only nod. Not only was he a man of few words (or no words at all, who are we kidding), but he didn’t know how to respond. He was not satisfied at all.
“Do you think Sawamura-senpai was unusually quiet today?” Yui tried so hard not to sound so pushy but he just had to do it. He was careful not to raise any red flag though, because he knew something was wrong, but who is he to ask?
“I think he’s still annoying.”
“I’ve never heard him cheer and the day is almost ending.” Yui, ever sounding so hesitant, found it quite funny that this was how he ended up with such a question. But then again, Sawamura-senpai had always worn his heart on his sleeve, and not being able to get a read on him somehow bothered him. “He was pitching the way he’s always done, though. They were all sharp as ever.”
Furuya had completely forgotten about the root of all this, only a competitive aura emitted and a strong sense of ‘I won’t lose’ was left unsaid.
Furuya had pondered over what young Yui had said, but he himself was a little too all over the place.
No one in the roster bothered approaching the pitcher. They all knew something was wrong, none of them bothered to ask what it was.
Once again, this was the difference between their numbers.
This was the difference between an ace and a reliever.
“Your favorite pitcher was silent today, your ears must be well then, Koushuu?” Seto meant it as a joke. Okumura was just as silent as the senpai he had butted heads with and this was Seto’s attempt to reach out to him.
“I might need to break my promise.”
Seto was amused. He recently found out about Okumura’s I haven’t earned the rights to catch for you yet and it was yet another proof of how much he respects the loudmouthed senpai. “You’re going to catch for him?” Seto’s question fell on deaf ears.
-
It was spring that day. The stands were packed and people were cheering from left and right and there he was, watching how his rival crumbled from the bullpen. It was awful, Sawamura thought. What the hell are you doing, Furuya? And most of all, what the hell are you doing, Boss? Miyuki Kazuya?
Sawamura Eijun loved baseball more than anything in this world. Who he is now was all thanks to his hard work—to the stupidest things he’s done, to the most humiliating moments he’s faced, to the bad days he’s gotten over with, to the meanest words he’s shrugged off—he has gone through a lot, and it was a lot to handle.
From the bottom of the ladder, he climbed all the way up, and from the bottom of the ladder, he continued climbing. Not yet, he thinks. Not enough just yet. Every play he’s taken seriously, every lesson he’s taken to heart, and he knows it’s not just him who had a dream. Everyone else does, too, so what the hell is this? Why does this have to happen now of all time?
Why, when they were so close to making it again?
Furuya has given up five runs already. The momentum was clearly on Ichidai’s side and if nothing would be done at this point, they’re done for. What the hell? Sawamura was all bitter. What the hell, he thinks, what are you doing?
“The bases are loaded and their cleanup batter is up. We’re in a tight spot—”
“I know!” Do you think I don’t know how much of a pinch we’re in? “I know my role!” You should’ve known yours, too, Miyuki Kazuya.
What would’ve Sawamura thought if he had read what was going on inside Miyuki’s head? That look in his eyes… should I waste the first pitch and see how Sawamura’s doing? That until in the brink of death, there was still doubt?
Starting off with a four-seamer, low and outside...
“Furuya, I don’t know what you’re fighting against. I don’t know, but I’m going to take down the hitters in front of me. What else does a pitcher need to do?”
STRIKE!
“No matter the situation, I’ll be true to myself.”
The next pitch was another to the outside and was fouled, and the rest of the stands were surprisingly at awe as the catcher himself, as if saying a Sawamura, at this predicament, was able to pitch his best and that itself was unexpected . For someone who has been carrying the whole team the entire time, giving every game a wind of his own and doing it again like he always does, unexpected? More like they had always, always expected less, when he’s always, always willed to give more.
From pitching two outside fastballs to smack dab inside, the batter goes down looking. Miyuki grins. If Sawamura was in his usual state, the enthusiasm would’ve been reciprocated, but no. There was no time, Sawamura thought. They were running out of time.
And even if Miyuki thought Sawamura had done well, even if Miyuki thought his pitches were more than enough to give him goosebumps, if he didn't say it, Sawamura wouldn’t know.
What Sawamura longed for and what Miyuki kept inside. They were running out of time, Sawamura was right.
Now in two outs with bases loaded and the fifth batter up to bat, Sawamura knows better than to waste a pitch—the first would be important.
Starting with a changeup, the second pitch was fouled—sharp pitches to the inside and soft to the outside. The trajectory of the pitches changes by how far the ball was released, and about time, about time he’s given the credit he deserved. The batter was struck out with an outside fastball, earning them the third out they needed.
“Perfect pitching out of the bullpen when his team needed him the most! Second year southpaw, Sawamura Eijun!”
And maybe his name was known, maybe his name was heard, but that was it. This is the difference between their numbers. This is the difference between the ace and the reliever.
Has it dawned on you? Realizations hit hard like a bullet train, has it dawned on you? The fact of the matter was that they needed to switch pitchers, yes, no . The fact of the matter was that they had waited, waited too long , and in waiting, they lost.
Lost.
“You saved me. Sorry. Good job shutting them down.”
Was Sawamura supposed to find himself then?
Sawamura was at bat pulling his fake bunt, with all his frustrations poured into his hit, he sent the ball flying to the first base line. What is this? It’s like I’m confused, or… frustrated. His heart was feeling so much that he’d have to ask himself to calm down.
It’s all coming back.
Today was the same as any other day Miyuki has chosen Furuya over him; it was the same as any other day anyone has chosen the ace over the reliever. Nothing has changed. Today was like any other day he’s gone through—people would be amazed, but they would forget at the end of the day. After all, he was never the home to many. He was just another house they’d pass by, another house they may have taken a liking to, another house they’d eventually get over with, and if he was a house, the ace was a home.
It’s all coming back.
From the day when he could only run and not join the team. From the day he was left on the second string. From the day he found himself breaking down over the homer the opposing team had hit.
From the day he had hit someone by pitch. From the day he ended his senpais’ ticket to the dream stage. From the day he had the yips. From the day he longed for assurance, only for no one to tell him anything. From the day he had suffered all day running trying to catch up with an entire team.
From the day he had taken the hardest pill he never thought he’d swallow— switch to being a sidearm pitcher or quit. From the day he had to hear every single brick of insult thrown at him only to not do anything because they were right, now that he’s crippled, he's good for nothing.
From the day he had considered forgetting his dreams—giving up on being the ace, giving up on having Miyuki as his catcher, giving up on his ideals, giving up on the battery that had him come all the way here.
From the day he thought he’s doing better, only to have the truth rubbed in his face once agajn. Furuya, I’m giving the last inning to you. You are the ace, go close it out.
No matter how cruel it sounds, he knew where he stood. All along, he had always been nothing more than a fuel for the ace to keep going.
Since then, nothing has changed.
Turning to second, Sawamura successfully hit a double. And yet again, Sawamura Eijun was full of surprises. No grateful words from the audience, Sawamura sighed. He knows. No praises, either. It’s alright, he knows.
He knows just how much they expected less that when he tries to do more, this happens. He knows.
If he was the ace, maybe then…
Right, does the ace get that much trust?
It was spring that day. The stands were packed and the people’s cheering had died down but there he was, watching how everything crumbled in front of him—more than hopes and dreams were crushed, because in Sawamura’s golden eyes, they had lost his trust. What happened? I pitched my best, didn’t I? Sawamura wanted to laugh. He was at his best, so why didn’t you meet me halfway?
It sucks.
That day, Sawamura felt like being alone. He didn’t like it, being alone. But more so, he didn’t like pushing himself into his teammates comfortably seated on the bleachers leaving no place for him to sit on. Only Miyuki Kazuya’s stolen glances and Kuramochi’s “sit with us, there’s still space here” made their way to him, but no one really insisted. It’s fine. This happens all the time.
Miyuki thought he had always watched how Sawamura worked hard, but not once did he imagine he’d be suited to wear the ace number, at least this soon. But the way Sawamura played during the semifinals, he thought he saw an ace—one that the team could depend on, and one that could depend on the team. However, Miyuki has never been good with words, and so he’d leave it at that. Hopefully, he’d reach Sawamura through his endless teasing. After all, Sawamura was full of surprises, wasn’t he?
“Miyuki-senpai! Can I come up to your room later? I have some questions about the game.”
“Huh?”
Sawamura was full of surprises.
And he thought he was bold, thought he could finally ask Miyuki, ne, what would you do if this Sawamura Eijun leaves the team?
He still can’t.
When he found out that the numbers would be stripped off, Sawamura thought he would have the same old enthusiasm he once had, thought he would have gone back to being the pitcher who took too much of a liking on the ace number now that he had once again been given a chance, but he still can’t.
He just can’t.
“Koushuu, has Sawamura-senpai been bugging you to catch for him?” Okumura lightly shook his head. “Then what are you so mad about?”
Just when Seto thought his friend would keep silent about the matter, he said something he least expected. “It’s because he has not once asked me to catch for him.”
“You should tell him that. You told him you’ll have to be in the first string to catch for him, didn’t you?” It was only a low growl, but Seto received the message. “If you so wanted to catch for senpai, shouldn’t you be breaking off that promise like how you said you would the last time?”
“Taku, he’s not pitching anymore.”
Miyuki has been bothered lately, to the extent of asking Chris and Kariba and Okumura and Yui and Ono and everyone else who had caught the southpaw pitcher’s pitches if they’d ever seen him pitch, or if he’d ever asked them catch for him since the game with Sankou. They had one answer: no.
“Kanemaru,”
“Miyuki-senpai.”
“You’re friends with Sawamura, are you not?” Kanemaru, who was confused by Miyuki’s sudden question, could only nod. “Have you seen him?”
Kanemaru took a while to reply. “I saw him with a stack of papers minutes ago. Do you have something to do with those, Miyuki-senpai?”
“No, but thank you, Kanemaru.”
-
Sawamura had been busy with other things, crying aside, and even if his closest people disagreed to what he’s come up with, he’d still do it his way. “But grandpa! Why would you say that? Don’t you love me?” And maybe it was just an old bickering from the ever noisy tandem, but it wasn’t just that. Eitoku knew better than to let Sawamura hold this off any longer, and so he had told him to do his best instead and he’ll take care of the rest.
“It’s almost the Golden Week, we’ll be having a lot of friendlies by then. Have you chosen the starters, Kantoku?” Takashima asked, eyeing the rest of the coaching staff.
It was just another mistake, yes—they needed to brush it off and move on because errors happen. Errors happen and errors only need correcting, but the hurt in one’s eyes needed no lying, needed no brushing off because once it had hit, it would be hard to get over with. And maybe it could change , but what’s the price they had to pay?
“...For Hakuryu, I’m starting with Sawamura.”
It was expensive.
“This Sawamura Eijun appreciates your trust, but unfortunately Boss, I can’t.”
“Sawamura? What do you mean you can’t ?”
“Eijun, go on. Pass it to your dear old man.” Sawamura Eitoku tried to pull a joke for the sake of taking it to a lighter mood, but the fact that he was there, fresh from Nagano, was enough to tell those who were involved just how serious this was. “Excuse yourself, Eijun. This needs a lot of talking.”
What went wrong? Sawamura would pitch just fine when he was asked to, Sawamura would join the cram school when everyone else does, Sawamura would still run with his beloved tire until the sun goes down, so what went wrong?
Where did it all start going down? Was it when he’d try to do something and people would mock him for having it done because none of them thought he could pull it off? Was it when he’d try to ask someone to please catch for him, they would just brush him off? Was it when the ‘you jerk!’ and ‘yes you stupid idiot’ started to hurt? Was it when ‘nice pitching!’ started to sound like some kind of shit to console his bleeding?
“My grandson thought he needed to leave.”
The price they had to pay was expensive.
Sawamura Eijun was indeed full of surprises.