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“My hand is sweaty,” Katsuki complains, nose wrinkled at the bridge.
He flexes his hand in the glove, feeling out the way the leather sits against his joints.
“You’ll get used to it,” his dad, Masaru, assures.
Katsuki continues to pinch his gloved hand like a crab, his dexterity now limited. Deku’s looking at him with his big bug eyes, leaning over so far that Katsuki doesn’t know how he hasn’t toppled over yet.
“Why do we even have to wear these? We’re just playing catch,” Katsuki says.
“Here, Izuku,” Masaru continues, opting to ignore Katsuki’s complaints for a moment in favor of helping Izuku’s toddler fist unfurl and fit into the glove.
The two kids stand next to each other, looking up at the bent-over Masaru. Izuku rocks on his feet, shifting his weight between his heels to the balls of his feet. Katsuki glares at his father, gloved hand twitching at his side.
“We’re gonna be like Yagi,” Izuku cheers. “Best pitchers in the league!”
“Tch,” Katsuki scoffs.
“Okay,” Masaru says, his own glove fixed firmly on his hand, “let’s get started.”
“Can you teach us how to throw a fastball?” Izuku asks. “Like wham!”
He demonstrates his stellar throwing technique, almost falling to the ground after putting his whole body weight into the fake toss. Katsuki grabs Izuku’s T-shirt sleeve and yanks him back up. Izuku sniffles, the beginning-of-spring allergies he inherited from his mother having started to affect him the week before.
Masaru chuckles. “Not yet,” he says. “First you have to learn how to toss.”
“It’s just throwing a ball,” Katsuki huffs. If they’re not learning any actual pitches, then how is it different from gym class or recess?
Masaru grabs a ball from the bin he pulled the gloves from and places it in Katsuki’s gloved hand.
“Pinch it with your hand so you don’t drop it,” he tells him, letting go of the ball. Katsuki doesn’t drop it, keeps a solid grip on it. “Okay, now give it to Izuku to try.”
Katsuki holds his gloved hand palm up, grabs the ball with the other, and puts it in Izuku’s ready glove.
Izuku pinches it, but because Katsuki had already let go, the ball was slipping out of his hand before his reflexes kicked in. The ball drops to the ground, bouncing a couple times before rolling towards Masaru.
Stumbling into a walking squat, Izuku uses his gloved hand to pick up the ball, pinching it first before standing up and smiling proudly.
“I did it, Uncle Masaru!” he says, waving his arm in the air.
Katsuki scoffs again. “I did, too, Izuku,” he says. “It’s not hard.”
“Be nice, Katsuki,” Masaru reminds. “Good job to the both of you.”
Katsuki reddens and Izuku just continues to beam.
“Okay,” Masaru says, “Izuku, now try tossing to Katsuki. Katsuki, you try catching it in the glove.”
Izuku nods seriously, and walks a few paces away from Katsuki. He takes the ball, and tosses it underhand. Katsuki puts his hand out to catch it, but the ball pops out from the glove and rolls along the grass.
Masaru picks it up. “Try catching it so that it lands in the glove, not like you’re grabbing it out of the air,” he advises. “Here, try again.”
Masaru tosses to Katsuki, who follows his advice and catches the ball perfectly.
“Now toss to Izuku.”
Izuku is not as coordinated as Katsuki and ends up having to try four times before finally catching the ball on his fifth attempt. He takes the ball with his other hand and rubs his thumb over the red stitches, causing the ball to fall from his small hand.
“Butterfingers,” Katsuki taunts. Izuku matches his smile as he straightens up from bending over to grab the ball.
Izuku gets ready to toss, and Katsuki gets ready to catch.
They pass the ball between each other, with only a few fumbles and drops, mostly on Izuku’s part. After some time, the boys get better, and their clumsy toddler movements grow a little more confident.
“Try throwing overhand this time,” Masaru urges Katsuki, who just picked the ball from his gloved hand.
Katsuki nods very seriously, eyebrows furrowed and glaring as he readies to throw the ball to Izuku. He holds the ball level to his head, but his arm bent so that his elbow is behind him.
He chucks the ball with as much might as a toddler can and then some, causing Izuku to duck away and squeak in fear.
“You don’t have to throw that hard, Kacchan!” Izuku pouts, waddling to the ball to pick it up.
“You don’t have to be such a wimp, either,” Katsuki retorts.
“Throw it again!” Izuku asks, tossing the ball to Katsuki but undershooting, the ball hitting the ground and rolling to his feet. “I won’t duck this time!”
“We’ll see,” Katsuki says, gearing up for another throw.
Izuku does not, indeed, duck this time, but he does shut his eyes as much as possible and look away, thrusting his arm out to hopefully catch the ball blind.
The baseball soars just above his glove and bounces on the grass behind Izuku.
Slightly opening his eyes, Izuku looks at his gloved hand. It’s empty.
“You’re not gonna catch it if you do it like that, stupid.”
Masaru sighs. “No name calling, boys,” he says. “Katsuki, try throwing with less force. Overdoing it is how pitchers end their careers.”
Sufficiently scared, Katsuki musters up as much bravery as he can in the face of losing his newly-minted life plans and says, “They’re not like me. I’m better than that.”
“Not yet you’re not,” Masaru argues, knowing by now the techniques to parent his spitting-image-of-his-mother son effectively, “and if you want to be, you have to be careful and treat your body well. And that means no throwing your arm out.”
Izuku nods diligently, like he’s Masaru’s disciple. Katsuki pouts.
Masaru stands up from his squat, knees creaking, and groans. He stretches his arms above his head and watches fondly as Izuku grabs the ball from where it rolled away and gives it to Katsuki, begging him to throw it again because this time he won’t be scared, he promises.
Masaru goes over to the porch and sits down on one of their chairs, sighing and leaning back as he watches the boys and makes sure they don’t get hurt.
At some point, after a little while of the two kids stumbling around with the baseball, Mitsuki and Inko make their way to the backyard and watch from the door.
“Starting them off young, huh, Masaru?” Mitsuki teases.
“They begged me to play!” Masaru defends himself.
“Izuku wouldn’t stop talking about the game we went to,” Inko laughs. “He wants a whole uniform.”
Masaru hums.
“Think they’re getting hungry yet?” Inko asks.
“Mom! Mom! Look! Look!” Izuku yells, waving the ball in the air. “Uncle Masaru taught us how to throw!”
“I’m watching,” Inko calls back. Izuku flashes his beaming smile at her for another second before turning and focusing on throwing the ball to Katsuki.
He readies his arm, tongue sticking out of his mouth a little as he focuses. He throws the ball to Katsuki, who is standing an impressive meter-and-a-half away and deftly catches it.
“Mom, Mom, did you see? I’m gonna be a pitcher like Yagi!”
“Then you better keep practicing!” Inko calls back.