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“Can I get you something to drink?” A bored voice came from his elbow and Mihashi looked up.
Oh, he was done for.
The waiter was a young man with a handsome face and dark hair that fell over his forehead. Even worse than his good looks, he looked fearsome- his face serious and unsmiling, with his brows pushed together in a permanent frown. His dark eyes looked polite but uninterested as he glanced around the table where Mihashi and his teammates sat and chattered. They had gone out after a game to celebrate their win. Obviously it was a terrible mistake. Mihashi looked down at the table, panic settling over him in a suffocating blanket. He was supposed to speak to this guy? No way. He was attractive, grumpy, and Mihashi didn’t know him. That meant he wanted to be as far away from him as possible.
Tajima’s energetic voice broke through his crisis, distracting him.
“Water for me! I’m pretty thirsty, so you should probably leave a pitcher on the table. Right guys?” A chorus of agreement rang around the table and Mihashi felt the dryness in his own throat. Whether it was from the game earlier or the presence of the terrifying waiter behind him he didn’t know. The waiter tapped the toe of his black shoes against the floor and nodded.
“Sounds good. Anyone want something other than water?” No one spoke up, so he tucked his notebook back in his apron and turned on heel.
“Right. I’ll be back in a few.” The waiter strode off and Mihashi could breathe again. That was close. He turned and gave Tajima a grateful look.
“T-Thanks.” His quiet gratitude turned out to be another mistake, because Tajima narrowed his eyes and glanced back and forth between Mihashi and the waiter’s back like he was connecting the dots.
“Mihashi, is there a special reason you’re afraid to talk to him?” Mihashi’s eyes widened and he shook his head violently enough to give himself a momentary headache.
“N-N-N-No…!” Tajima saw through him. A grin started to grow on his face and he leaned closer from his seat next to Mihashi to speak to him conspiratorially.
“Do you think he’s cute?!” The chatter of his teammates at the table was loud enough that Mihashi thought no one else had overheard, but he could feel his face heating up nonetheless. He tried for denial once more, but to his shame it came out sounding weak.
“I d-don’t…. n-not really?” Mihashi winced. He wanted to hide his face in his hands. Tajima was a good friend, but what would he think if he knew Mihashi looked at guys that way as well as girls? Would he be uncomfortable around Mihashi?
Tajima beamed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Dude, you totally do. I guess I can see it, though he’s not really my type. He looked kind of strong, don’t you think? Maybe he plays baseball!” That was not what Mihashi had expected. His brunet friend hadn’t leaned away, or wrinkled his nose in disgust. He seemed to think it was… kind of normal? Mihashi felt a rush of gratitude and affection. Tajima had always been a good friend.
“I w-wonder… what position?” Tajima pondered this, concentrating hard on some unknown point beyond the ceiling.
“I dunno. He has a pretty good build for anything. If he plays, maybe he’s a shortstop? Or, say, what if he’s a catcher?!? Man, he should have gone to our school. He could have been a battery with you.” Tajima wiggled his eyebrows and Mihashi’s face felt like a furnace. None of the guys at Nishiura had been catchers when they started three years ago, so Tajima had fulfilled the duty until they found a true catcher in their second year. Still, Mihashi wished he could have grown with a true catcher from their first year. There was something about the bond between pitcher and catcher that had been good, but never quite perfect for him.
The waiter ambled back over with a tray carrying glasses and a large pitcher of water. Mihashi scooted as far out of the way as possible when the boy reached past him to set his glass down, but the waiter’s arm still brushed Mihashi’s shoulder. He squirmed, a tiny bit pleased and very much uncomfortable. Tajima’s loud voice from next to him made the blond jump.
“Hey! What’s your name?” The waiter glanced over as he set down water glasses, a look of mild surprise in his slate gray eyes.
“It’s Abe Takaya. Why, did you need something?”
Tajima shook his head in response. “Nope, just wondering! Hey Abe, what school do you go to? You look like you’re around our age.” Mihashi pleaded with his eyes, making every abort mission signal he could think of without being entirely obvious. Tajima, the traitor, just grinned and winked at him.
Abe shrugged. “I go to Tosei, I’m a third year.” Tajima whistled in appreciation.
“Aww man, Tosei is good! Damn, I guess you don’t play baseball though, or we’d have seen you.” He pouted, but the waiter- Abe- lifted his head abruptly at the mention of the game.
“Baseball? I do play, actually. I got a knee injury in my first year though, and had enough trouble recovering from it that I was never a regular. Are you all a team?” “A chorus of agreement rose from the table as Mihashi’s teammates confirmed that they were. Tajima looked thrilled, which was a bad sign.
“Nice!! We’re from Nishiura. What position do you play?” Abe rested the now empty drink tray on his hip and answered,
“I’m a catcher. Nishiura, huh? You guys surprised us, you did way better than we expected. Where’s your pitcher?” He glanced around the table and his eyes landed on Mihashi. The blond wished a hole would open in the earth right then and swallow him- anything to save him from meeting the boy’s stern gaze. But pitching was the one thing Mihashi took pride in. His team had put their trust in him three years ago, and that meant something to him.
“I p-pitch. I’m our pitcher.” His voice wavered a little, but the words came out. Under the table Tajima patted his hand proudly. His pride in his position as ace was a testament to the hard-earned trust Nishiura had built together as a team.
Abe leaned forward with interest. “I remember you. You almost beat us last year, even though your pitches are slow.” Mihashi cringed a little at that. “You have really good control, don’t you? I kept trying to tell my team that your pitches weren’t just lucky, but they didn’t listen until the game was half over.”
Tajima threw an arm over Mihashi’s shoulders and grinned at the waiter. “He splits his pitches into nine sections, and he never misses. He’s really ideal as a pitcher, you should be jealous. And he’s cute too, what more could you want? You should probably-” Hanai came to the rescue, unceremoniously grabbing Tajima and covering his mouth. Unfortunately it was too late for Mihashi- he was going to die right here and now, dissolve from embarrassment. His face felt hotter now than it did when he finished a ten-inning game. He averted his eyes from Abe, who looked astonished.
“Nine sections?” the waiter muttered to himself.
A clang of something falling in the kitchen seemed to snap Abe out of it. He gave a little bow.
“Sorry. I should take your orders, if you’re ready.” Mihashi didn’t even have time to prepare himself as the waiter scrawled orders on a pad of paper, reaching his position at the table much too quickly. Abe stopped and looked down at him, giving Mihashi the familiar sensation of a deer in the headlights. The blond scrambled to pick up his menu, eyes skating across the letters. The writing may as well have been a foreign language.
“Umm… u-uh…” He gave up hope, pointing at an item somewhere in the middle. The handsome male above him nodded and scribbled at the notepad, dark eyes nonchalant once more. He finished up the orders at the table and walked away. Mihashi heaved a sigh of relief and sunk down into his chair.
Tajima refused to let him die of embarrassment in peace.
“Did you see the way he looked at you?” The brunet wiggled his eyebrows. “You totally have a chance. The guy must have a thing for pitchers, I thought he was going to ask you out right then and there when he realized who you were.”
Mihashi could find no adequate words to respond to this, so he just shook his head vehemently. His embarrassment was so strong that he was certain would never be able to speak again. Nothing good came of it when he opened his mouth. Besides, he didn’t need to speak so long as he could pitch.
Tajima scrunched his eyebrows together in a frown. “By the way, did you order spicy mapo tofu? I thought you didn’t like spicy things.”
Tajima redeemed himself by trading his harmless dish for Mihashi’s Plate of Fire. Tajima apparently wasn’t averse to his mouth being set aflame. The brunet’s status as the strongest of the group was agreed upon by all, including a grateful Mihashi. The celebratory air of the occasion smoothed things over and the rest of the meal was unremarkable.
The pitcher nearly forgot about his unfortunate encounter until they stood up to leave the restaurant and a voice spoke up from behind him.
“So, if it’s okay to ask, how many pitches do you have?” Mihashi jumped and knocked over his glass of water.
“I! I’m s-sor…! Sorry!!!” He forced the words out as his teammates ambled out of the restaurant. Abe waved it off.
“It’s fine. Sorry for asking.”
“N-No! It’s okay…” Mihashi chanced a glance at the other male. “I have f-five breaking balls.” Abe’s eyebrows rose and he whistled in appreciation.
“Damn, not bad. I wish…” The dark haired male stopped himself. The corners of his mouth turned up a little. “Never mind. It was nice to meet you, Mihashi.”
The pitcher raced outside to rejoin his teammates. He nearly stopped walking when something dawned on him.
“H-How… did he know my name?” Tajima heard his rhetorical question. He looked like a cat that had been at the cream.
“Well, maybe he remembered it from when we played Tosei. Or maybe he already read that note I left him.” Mihashi felt his eyes grow as round as saucers while his teammate continued to speak. “You should have left him your number, but I figured you’d be too shy so I did it for you. Don’t worry, I didn’t say anything embarrassing- just that you were sweet on him.” Mihashi gave the sky a hopeless look.
“T-That’s… that is embarrassing, Tajima-kun.”
~~~
It was evening when Mihashi’s phone rang. It was a number he didn’t know- probably someone who had the wrong number. He picked up.
“Hello?”
“Hi, umm, is this Mihashi?” The blond’s heart went into overdrive at the rich but hesitant voice.
“Umm… Y-Yes…?”
“Oh. Uh, this is Abe. Your waiter from today.” Mihashi told himself to breathe.
“C-Can I… help you?” He answered cautiously, and the voice on the end of the line sounded embarrassed.
“Well, it’s just. I was supposed to go to a baseball game this weekend with my dad, but he bailed and now I have an extra ticket. So, I was kind of wondering if you wanted to come? You seemed pretty into baseball, so…” The voice trailed off, losing momentum. Mihashi felt a rush of adrenaline accompanied by a sort of pleasant glow.
“I- I would, umm, l-like that.”
Abe’s voice came back surprised. “Wait, really?”
Mihashi took a deep breath. “Yeah.” The pitcher had never seen the other boy smile before, but he could hear a grin in his voice when he spoke.
“Great! So, umm, it’s a date?”
Mihashi squeaked and nearly dropped his phone, nodding frantically.
“Y-Yes! I’m really- yeah!”
The smile was still evident in Abe’s voice. “I look forward to it.”