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Cool breeze danced around the air, leaving a whistle with every step. Autumn was finally falling on Japan and the characteristics were becoming more apparent by the minute. The once emerald green leaves were slowly changing, developing into a combination of colors consisting of vermillion and amber. The weather was changing too as the lowest temperatures of the summer soon became the highs of autumn.
The weather and the scenery weren’t the only things taking a turn, but so were the sports at Karasuno as most spring and summer teams entered their off-seasons.
Despite this, Tobio Kageyama still sat in the dugout of Karasuno’s baseball field, attempting to break in the new glove he’d gotten a few weeks ago as he waited for…
“Kageyama!!” someone shouted. Tobio stood up from the bench and peeked his head out of the dugout. The person looked a little blurry, still a good distance away from the other, but he knew who the call came from the moment he heard it. Even if his hair looked like it was blending in with the leaves, Tobio could still tell that it was none other than Hinata jogging up the left field foul line waving both his hands in the air like a madman.
They shouldn’t have been out practicing. They both knew that very well. It was too cold to be outside without a sweater as they were, especially at this time, but the thought of not practicing for a while left them itching at their skin and clawing at their hair. Even if they knew they’d be back with their team in 3 weeks for the shorter fall-ball season, there was not a single day in either boy’s mind where they even considered not training, never mind almost a month.
Shoyo reached the dugout, panting. He had run all the way from the locker rooms to the field, all while carrying both his school and sports bag. He entered the dugout and threw the bags on the floor, dropping with them to catch his breath.
Tobio just stared, hands on his hips and brow raised.
“You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago, what took you so long,” he asked, obviously not pleased.
Shoyo just looked up, cold sweat dripping down his forehead as he breathed heavily. He tried muttering a few words, but no sounds came out despite him moving his mouth. He took another minute, finally controlling his breathing and settling into his seat against the wall.
“Okay one, rude, you could’ve gotten me a water, or asked if I needed a drink, or something! But nope, cause why would you do that right!”
A pause
“And second, I was trying to find my stuff! I think the boys from the soccer team were in the locker room playing with the equipment in my bag, cause when I went in there, everything was all over the place! My batting gloves were on opposite sides!” he cried, letting his head hang low as he rested his arms on his knees.
“Why didn’t you just call me?”
Shoyo looked back up and Tobio had never seen someone look so offended. “You’re acting as if you ever answer your phone in the first place!”
That was true.
He grabbed one of his unopened waters from the bench and placed it next to the other, “Whatever, catch your breath then grab your bat and your gloves and come meet me in the cages, I’ll go wait there.”
“What! I thought we were gonna do pitching! come on!” he protested.
“Later, your batting stance still sucks! You have other work to do as well!” Tobio yelled back. By the time Shoyo could respond, Tobio was already out and on his way to the batting cages across the field, tee in one hand, a bucket of balls in the other, and his bag slung across his back. All Shoyo could do was scoff and murmur to himself about how “he’s so annoying” and “what an ass” as he pushed himself up from the cold cement and readied himself for training.
-
“So are we just working on my stance or are we gonna do some live hitting too?” Shoyo asked, opening the frigid steel gate and stepping onto the turf ground of the batting cage.
“Before we do anything we have to fix your stance,” Tobio was sitting opposite to the righty-batter box on the bucket of balls he had brought with him, “Stand in front and pretend like you’re up at bat.”
And so, Shoyo did just that. He stepped into the batter’s box and looked ahead to where the pitcher would be as he got settled, and suddenly, it was as if the season was starting all over again. He could feel it all. The wind blowing on his back, chills running down his spine. He felt the butterflies he got during his first-ever game and stiffened up. He got excited, too, because even though in that moment he was more anxious than ever, there was a thrill to the game that he got nowhere else. He could see the pitcher ahead, eyeing him down with half his face covered by the glove. There was a line of tension between the 60 foot distance of home plate and the pitcher’s mound, some form of pressure only the pitcher and his batter could feel. It all came back to him. He could even hear his teammates cheering him on from the dugout. They were all chanting, “Hinata, Hinata!” It seemed too real.
“Hinata!”
And suddenly, he was pulled out of his daydream as he turned back to face the other in front of him.
“Your stance is all wrong! You look all, I don’t know, awkward.”
Shoyo dropped his hands and fixed his feet so he was standing like normal, “How do I make it not-awkward then”
Tobio stared, then said, “Get in your stance for me again.” He stood up.
Shoyo widened his legs and set his arms up, holding them in front of his right shoulder so the bat came up right behind his head. He faced the mound.
“Hmm, okay, better than before. Let me see…,” Tobio muttered as he stepped behind Shoyo. “Well first, stand up more, but still keep your knees bent,” he paused to analyze, “and move your feet together a bit more, they’re too spread apart,” another pause, “Don’t forget to lean on your back leg too.”
Shoyo followed every piece of advice Tobio threw at him without question. Although they’d only known each other for a few months, and argued all the time, he trusted him, more than many others at that. He didn’t exactly know why he did, he just felt like there was no other option when it came to Kageyama. Maybe it was because of the teamwork that came with their positions, or maybe it was because trusting Kageyama had never done Shoyo wrong. Who knew? All that mattered was that the trust was there, and it was mutual.
Tobio still stared at the other, breaking down every piece of his stance into sections in his mind, picking apart every slight adjustment that needed to be made.
Suddenly, without warning, Shoyo felt a cold hand touch his left elbow, and immediately he froze.
Quickly, tobio removed his hand from his arm and moved to Shoyo’s side, “What?”
“Oh um, nothing,” liar, “Your hands are just freakishly cold!”
“Hey! Well, at least they’re not all gross and sweaty and disgusting like yours probably are!”
“What!”
And here they go, starting with their back-and-forth banter just as always. It went on for a few minutes, Tobio called him “gross” and Shoyo called him an “Ice King”. He got a good giggle out of Kageyama’s reaction to that one. Finally, after a little while, they got back to the task at hand.
They continued where they left off, Shoyo got back into the batter’s box, and Tobio went through and tweaked things here and there.
It was weird. Shoyo knew Kageyama’s hand was going to be moving his arms around, and he knew how cold they were, so there was no reason to be surprised by it, right?
And yet, despite that, he still froze under his touch. Every time Kageyama’s hand moved from one place on his arm, to his shoulder, to his elbow, Shoyo’s heart did a hop skip and a jump, and little crows flew around in his stomach, all squawking “Kageyama, Kageyama!” It drove him insane.
Tobio moved back to Shoyo’s front, now facing him as he took a good look at his posture.
“Okay,” he started, “then just swing.” He took his hands and pushed the back of Shoyo’s, moving them forward in the motion of a complete swing. Shoyo felt his face heating up at the touch, he really had no idea why. Maybe he was getting sick?
They repeated this process over and over again a few times, really making sure the adjustments stuck. Finally, he brought out the tee and opened the bucket of balls. He grabbed around 3, maybe 4, and placed one in front of Shoyo, holding the rest in his hands.
“Now apply everything we just went over,” he spoke, and Shoyo nodded ferociously. He swung his hands and made contact. Granted, it wasn’t good contact as the ball just bobbled past him. He had swung too high, he needed to get a better aim with his hands.
“Okay, that’s fine. Keep your eyes on the ball!”
“Got it!”
This was nice. Just Hinata and Kageyama, Shoyo and Tobio, 9 and 10, the “freak twins”. Just the two of them, practicing with one another. Even if Shoyo was starting to break into a cold sweat all over again, and he was constantly being ordered around, it all brought a nice tranquility that he couldn’t find anywhere else. he kind of wanted it to last forever.
…
ThePeaceOfCourseTotallyThePeaceHahaWhatElseWouldHeBeTalkingAboutWhatIsHeSaying.
-
After who knows how long of BP, it was now time for the thing Shoyo had waited way too long for: pitching! He was a pitcher, after all. It was his favorite position to play, and for many reasons at that. He liked how flashy it was, how it was “all eyes on you”, and how cool he felt after striking out the heavy hitters on the opposing team.
Of the entire grocery list Shoyo kept in his mind full of reasons on why pitching is the “absolute best position”, there was one specific point that he always had to use in his argument: the emotion he felt in the middle of a situation.
When it’s late at night and the field lights are shining on you, every speck of dirt illuminating from underneath your cleats. The shared sentiment between you and your catcher, both of you knowing that you have to get this just right, knowing you must perfectly place the ball. The message “take it easy” stapled in your brain as a reminder for moments like these where you know that one wrong move could cost you so much, but the adrenaline still pumping in your heart and around your body like circulating blood. Bottom of the 8th, 6-5 close game, the tying run on 2nd, and the pitch is out of your hands. It couldn’t get any better, any more exciting, than that. Nothing ever will.
They started off by just warming up their arms. They did arm circles and threw back and forth to one another, widening the distance between them every couple of throws until they both felt warm and ready.
Wearing his catcher’s helmet and his chest guard, Tobio squatted down behind home plate and placed his mitt in front of his chest. Shoyo started pretty close up, still warming up his arm for all the labor that comes with pitching. He continued to move back once he felt like he got the hang of the previous distance, going through every differing gap like levels in a video game.
Finally, he had made it to the mound.
60ft was a long distance.
It sounded like a long distance and it was a long distance.
It kind of freaked Shoyo out a bit. He wouldn’t lie if you asked him either. Standing opposite to the catcher, knowing he HAD to make this pitch from all the way over here. Like he said, it was his favorite part of the game, the whole reason why he wanted to become a pitcher. It was nerve-wracking sure, but incredibly exhilarating at the same time.
Knowing he was nervous, it was a reminder that he had stuff to work on, how he had to be constantly improving. It all made him want to get better, made him want to keep training.
He threw his first pitch from the mound. It was okay, a little low, not fast enough. He needed to try again, he had to get it right.
Tobio threw the ball right back to him, and he went in for his second pitch. Too much to the left, find the middle point, he told himself, he had to.
Next pitch. Too high. Why couldn’t he get this right?
Another, too low again.
And another, completely off-center.
One more, not enough momentum.
After another ball in the ground, Tobio got up. He didn’t throw the ball back, but rather, was walking towards him. He stopped in front of the mound.
“Calm down, this is just practice, no need to freak out.”
That was all he said before handing the ball back to Hinata and turning around, returning to his previous position.
Oh, right. It’s just practice, and this is just pitching. Nobody will die if he throws a wild one, and Coach Ukai wasn’t going to kick him off the team if he walked a batter. The team wouldn’t exile him if he let up a run, and Kageyama wouldn’t hate him if he had an off day. There was nothing to worry about, especially now. This is one-on-one with Kageyama, he’d be just fine.
Suddenly, all the previous weight dusted off Shoyo’s shoulders.
This was something only they could do to one another, completely eradicate all pressure and negativity they had absorbed themselves in. Even if the words were simple, hearing from the other, “It’s going to be okay” weighed thousands more than any other self-deprecating thought they’d ever have.
Their care for each other was immense, and their trust was untouchable.
It’s just because they’re each other’s pitcher and catcher, of course. No other reason.
-
“So, what to work on next?”
They had cleaned up a while ago, and after a quick break in the locker room to grab their sweaters and leave their baseball bags, began walking their usual path home.
“Well, you still need lots of work on your batting, and I really wish we did some fielding today too, but you’re starting to pitch more consistent strikes, and you’re getting better at contact. It’s paying off, good job.”
Shoyo stopped in his tracks, “Did…,” he pretended to get all choked up, “…did THE Tobio Kageyama just genuinely compliment ME,” he wiped fake tears from his eyes and cupped his hands together, “I’m so touched!”
Tobio lightly shoved his shoulder and continued to walk past him, “As if!” His face was growing red and he refused to make eye contact, Shoyo giggled.
They continued going, passing some shops, pointing at all the cats that were taking their nightly stroll, and picking up some pretty colored leaves from the ground. It was a really nice night for the cold weather. Almost no clouds were out and stars of varying colors trickled along the night sky. Tobio could feel his fingertips freezing up and he stuffed them deeper into his pockets. Shoyo’s nose grew red while he tried to tuck it under his scarf.
Finally, they made it to the intersection in which they part ways.
Even though they’d done this millions of times before with no problems, there was this lingering feeling in the air that made neither want to leave.
They continued to talk for a few minutes more.
…
Maybe a bit more than a few minutes.
40 minutes. They talked for a whole 40 minutes more about everything that crossed their minds in the moment, not wanting to let go of the feeling they got when they were with one another. This feeling of trust, and of comfort. Only when they were with each other could this be felt.
Finally, after going on about school, friends, baseball, the NPB, practically everything, Shoyo muttered, “It’s getting late.”
“Mmm,” Tobio hummed. He knew it was late, much later than he should be out until, but he was hoping they could keep talking.
“I promised Natsu I would watch this movie with her tonight so...”
“No yeah, tell her I said Hi.”
“I will!”
They stared.
“I’m gonna go, mkay?”
“Yeah, me too, see you later,” he began to turn around, but Shoyo grabbed his wrist.
“Wait! Here, it’s a ball that was left outside after we cleaned up the buckets,” he stated, placing the baseball in Tobio's hand. Once in his grasp he quickly let go of his wrist and turned around, jogging away while yelling, “See you Kageyama!” and waving both hands in the air.
Tobio just stared. Ball in one hand while his other hid in his pocket. That was… odd? Yeah definitely weird. He looked down at the ball and turned it around, and right there, chicken-scratched in black sharpie, were the words “Same Time Tomorrow?” with a sun, a smiley face, and a… heart? Yeah, a heart, but it was drawn very small and very thin, almost like he didn’t want him to see it.
Tobio’s face quickly became a bright red and his heart began to race. He felt like he was going to pass out, and all because of a baseball? What was wrong with him?
He looked back up to Shoyo’s side of the intersection, but he was already long gone.
Quickly, he stuffed the baseball into his pocket, turned to his side, and began his walk home. Even though it was well secured, he didn’t let go of it until he stepped foot in the door of his home and sat in his room, placing it on his desk next to a framed picture of him and his grandfather.