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A cold…
Miyuki hasn't had a cough in three years since entering high school. Part of it is being naturally healthy, but part of it is trying not to take unnecessary gaps or breaks. His time to play baseball as a high school student is running out.
There are schools to beat, games to play, practices and drills to go through to get to Koshien. It seems like a lot, but in the end, it will all be over in less than half a year.
Injuries are inevitable in the sport of baseball, but Miyuki's goal is to play all three years of high school without a break, and a side injury was already enough to derail that goal, but now a cold? At least injuries can be excused for games, but there's no one to blame for this one but himself.
Was he lacking sleep? Was he overtraining? Was his nutrition poor? Miyuki tries to think of all the possible causes of his cold, but his thoughts are like grains of sand scattered when he opens his palm, no matter how hard he tries to hold them together.
He should re-wet the towel, but that would require him to sit up, and he doesn't have the energy.
Miyuki puts a hand to his forehead.
Is it hot or not?
His palm feels like it's burning with blood, like he's just finished a run, or like it's frosty, like he's been exposed by a midwinter wind. He can't tell if they are hot or not. The towel on his forehead feels lukewarm, so he guesses his fever hasn’t broken down. He should re-wet the towel, but that would require him to sit up, and he doesn't have the energy.
Miyuki lies back down and pulls the towel away from his forehead. He's taken some medicine from the nurse's office, so the fever will go down after he gets some sleep. It has to. A healthy teenager's body that has been rigorously maintained should be able to recover quickly.
Miyuki closes his eyes, trying to sleep. He is already wearing a sleep mask, which makes the dark world even darker.
It is quiet. Probably class time. It seems that none of the other classes are out on the playground for gym class. There is no sound, not even the usual chanting or whistling. Only the ticking of clock on the wall and the sound of his own breathing, normally drowned out by the noise around him, indicate Miyuki's presence in this small space.
Miyuki tosses and turns. The futon rustled. The slightest movement triggers a headache, and his bones throb as if he'd been punched.
If only I'd gotten punched, I could go to afternoon training…
At this rate, He might have to miss tomorrow morning's training, too. He already has missed classes.
He wonders if Kuramochi is taking his notes. Maybe it would be better to ask the class president to show him her notes.
You crazy bastard, did you train with a fever like this?
Are you trying to pass on your cold to me? Kuramochi's voice was so angry.
He'd been aware that he wasn't feeling well since he woke up in the morning. He had made the mistake of assuming that if he drank plenty of water and didn't push himself too hard, he'd be able to shake off a cold. But as he warmed up, jogged up and down, his heart pumping hard, he could feel his body deteriorating rapidly from the middle of the workout, carrying not only blood but also a virus through his veins.
Chills, muscle aches, nausea, headache, fever. A sore throat, but no runny nose or cough. Miyuki swung his bat as he calculated his body's symptoms. It was a good thing the second-year pitchers were paired with the first-year catchers for pitching practice today. He heard Sawamura yell something to Okumura. He couldn't make out the exact words over the sounds of the other kids practicing, but he could make out a few lines. He smirked. He managed to avoid getting a headache from Sawamura's yelling like, Miyuki Kazuya! I want you to catch my ball!
Kuramochi approached Miyuki after training. He shouldn’t have let him put his arm around his shoulders as usual. The shortstop immediately noticed that Miyuki had a fever. He went to the infirmary at Kuramochi's urging.
Kuramochi watched Miyuki open the door to the infirmary and enter like a hawk. No, it was like a cheetah stalking its prey. It was clear from his expression that he thought Miyuki was incapable of taking care of himself. Explaining that it was a misunderstanding wouldn't be convincing when he was already sick.
Miyuki's condition was worse than he thought. He was only supposed to get medicine, but he was given a sick note. The school nurse recommended that he should go to the hospital and rest at home, but Miyuki chose to stay in his dorm.
You'll be on your own in the dorms...
That's okay.
It was not like it would be any different at home.
Miyuki submitted a sick note to his homeroom teacher and Kataoka and bought two bottles of Pocari Sweat and a bag of bread from a vending machine on his way back to the dorm. He went into his room, which was empty, and changed his clothes. After taking the medication from the school nurse, he soaked a towel in cold water. He dragged the trash can nearby and laid down with the Pocari Sweat within easy reach. He put a cold washcloth on his forehead, took off his glasses, and put on a sleep mask. He thought he'd fall asleep quickly, but he didn't, and tossed and turned for hours... and now.
Miyuki takes a few more sips of Pocari Sweat. His whole body is sticky with sweat. The sound of the clock ticking away is a constant reminder that time is passing meaninglessly. It's not as if he hasn't tried lying down and doing something about it, since standing up makes his head hurt and he feels nauseous. Even with his glasses on, the text was blurry and he couldn't focus, so there was nothing he could do but lie down and do nothing.
I hate this…
The quiet room. His memories quickly take him back a few years. A small space where the only sound was his own breathing. The hum of the refrigerator, and the distant but slightly louder sound of factory machinery downstairs. The occasional drip of stagnant water in the bathroom faucet... The times when there were multiple sounds, but it still felt quiet... The times when the small room felt like it was pressing in on his ribs, but also felt so big that even if he tried humming a song that came to mind, it would only last for a moment, and then Miyuki would stop and the world would be quiet again. So when it was too quiet, Miyuki just stayed silent. Trying to break the silence by himself only made the realization that he was alone stick out like a sorely misplaced nail.
A melody from a distant time flashes in Miyuki's mind like a light in a fog. The song his mother used to sing when he was sick... Miyuki pushes the tune away and thinks of the band's marching song. The song that plays whenever he steps up to bat. The cheers of the crowd. The applause. The heightened tension. The hot sun. Noisy stadium. A flying ball. The sound of a bat cutting through the wind. The sound the bat makes when the swung bat and the flying ball engage with each other. A noisier stadium. The faces of your teammates as you follow the ball up into the sky and then back down to the ground…
He wants to play baseball.
Miyuki sighs. He feels like he's going to fall asleep at any moment, but his thoughts refuse to sink into his subconscious. He needs to get to sleep, or his recovery will be delayed. There is no point in skipping class or training like this.
The bell rings. After a while, it gets noisy. It's recess time. Or maybe school is over. Maybe he didn't fall asleep the whole time. Or maybe he fell asleep and didn't realize it... Miyuki takes off his sleep mask. As he sits up, a wave of nausea washes over him, and he ducks his head into the trash can beside his bed, but nothing comes out. He doesn't know what time it is, but it is probably past lunchtime. It's late, but he should eat something and take some medication. But his head is ringing.
Thump, thump, thump, thump. It's like a big, heavy animal is jumping on his head. He rubs his temples and tries to catch his breath, but the thumping footsteps only get louder. It's only when the footsteps stop and the door slams open that Miyuki realizes it has been actual footsteps.
“Miyuki Kazuya!”
The sudden shout hit him like a tsunami. His head is throbbing.
“You're the captain, and you have a cold? That's irresponsible! You said you'd catch my ball this afternoon! You're breaking your promise? Is that it? Wait, what's so funny?”
Sawamura's footsteps are no less loud as he approaches. He stomps over and stops in front of Miyuki.
“It was so loud, I thought an elephant was going to attack me...”
Miyuki looks Sawamura up and down through his blurry vision without his glasses. He doesn't need his eyesight to tease.
"Yeah, right. An elephant.“
”An elephant?! Miyuki Kazuya!“
”Yes. I'm Miyuki Kazuya."
Sawamura grabs Miyuki by the scruff of the neck. The reddening face was hilarious. Laughing makes his head ring and he feels nauseous. As Miyuki pushes Sawamura away and shoves his face into the trash can, he feels Sawamura pat him on the back.
“Sawamura, are you helping me or are you trying to break my back? You hit me so hard my brain is gonna spill out.”
“Shut up!”
Sawamura shouts, but his touch becomes more gentle.
“Why are you here? Did Okumura leave something behind?”
“Don't you know it when you see it?”
Sawamura suddenly kneels down in front of Miyuki and pats his chest.
“This Sawamura Eijun is here to cure Miyuki Kazuya's cold!”
“I don't know if you’ll cure my cold, but I do know my ears will fall off.”
“I am talking seriously! Forget it, just lie down!”
Sawamura pushes Miyuki's shoulder. Miyuki lies down obediently. Sawamura picks up the towel Miyuki pushed aside and goes to the restroom. God knows what’s going on, but there is a lot of commotion in the bathroom. After a while, the sound of water is heard for a moment, and then Sawamura comes out, grunting. He is carrying a basin full of water. It looks like it's about to spill over.
“You're not going to throw that on me, are you?”
“No, I'm not!”
Sawamura exclaims, slamming the basin down in frustration, causing it to spill everywhere. Unlike Miyuki who expected it, Sawamura panics and wipes the floor with a towel.
“You're not going to put the towel you mopped the floor with on my forehead, are you?”
“No!”
Without bothering to hide his embarrassment, Sawamura shouts and runs to the bathroom to get a new towel. It’s lucky he didn't slip on the wet floor.
The cold, soaked towel touches Miyuki’s forehead. He whimpers in pain, and Sawamura fidgets. Miyuki glances at Sawamura's drooping eyebrows and raises the corner of his mouth.
“Sawamura, did you offer to nurse me so you could skip training?”
“No!”
“I don't need nursing, I've been resting well.”
“What do you mean you don't need it! You are sweating like a bucket!”
Sawamura rubs the water running down Miyuki's face with his palm, then shows him how damp his palm is.
“That's not my sweat, that's water, you didn't wring out the towel enough.”
“What?”
Sawamura quickly grabs the towel. He twists it and wrings it out, and water pours down in the basin like rain. The tips of Sawamura's ears reddened.
"I thought the more water, the longer the coldness would last... Argh, you should've said something if you were uncomfortable! You… Why are you always hiding something!"
“You sneaky tanuki!” Sawamura fumes, wrings out the water thoroughly, and gently places the towel on Miyuki's forehead again. Miyuki thought he was going to slap him with it or something, but he was unexpectedly very careful.
“Did you take your medicine?”
“Are you changing the subject?”
“Did you take your medicine or not!”
“I have a cold, not deafness.”
“The medicine!”
“Now I think my eardrums have burst.”
Miyuki covers his ear on the side closer to Sawamura with one hand while pointing to the pill bag with the other.
“I took them in the morning, and now I'm going to take my lunch pills. I was going to take them, but you came and stopped me.”
“You're not trying to take them on an empty stomach, are you? I could go and get some bread or...”
“I already did.”
“Then water...”
“I already brought water, and I bought some Pocari Sweats, and look, I even bought two bottles of it in case I don't have enough. I thought about it all. I prepared it all.”
“Then... then I'll...”
Sawamura's eyes dart around quickly. The place he's passed is a mess, and Miyuki has everything he needs. Kneeling down beside Miyuki, Sawamura's head droops.
“Sawamura.”
Miyuki sighs heavily.
“Go train. As you can see, I can handle myself. I don't need your help.”
He jabs a finger into Sawamura's forehead, and he jerks his head up. Even when worry is written all over his face, his golden eyes still shine brightly. Miyuki can’t help but smile softly at that.
“It's not me who needs your help, it's your pitching. You're a second year now, and you can't set a good example for the first years by using a sick senior as an excuse to skip training.”
“I'm not skipping!”
Sawamura shouts, jumping to his feet. He grabs some pillows from the bed next to him, the bed above him, and throws them all into Miyuki's lap.
“What are you doing, burying me alive?”
“You need to eat! Get up!”
“You put me down in the first place!”
“Get up, get up!”
Sawamura slowly raises Miyuki's upper body and places pillows behind his back and head. Then he rips open a bag of bread and thrusts it into Miyuki's hands.
"Sawamura, did you really want to skip training so badly? You don't have to do any of this. Just lie down on any empty bed, and I won't tell anyone."
”Shut up and eat your bread!“
”You're the only one yelling in here.“
”Eat it!"
Miyuki shoves the bread into his dry mouth, knowing that Sawamura will shove it in his mouth if he doesn't eat it in three seconds. He can't feel any flavor. His tongue feels thick and heavy. He can't tell if he's chewing grains of sand or bread, and even though he wants to stop eating, Sawamura is watching him like a hawk, so he manages to eat half of it and puts it down. He thought Sawamura's going to nag him to finish it, but he only clears away Miyuki's bread and offers him a cup of water and some medicine.
“Aren't you going to feed me?”
“Are you 8 years old?!”
Sawamura shoves the water cup hard into Miyuki's chest. Miyuki reacts a bit too late, and the cup falls. Miyuki stares numbly as the futon around his thighs is soaked with the spilled water. Oh.
“Miyuki Kazuya!”
His booming voice rattles his skull.
With Sawamura, I'll never forget my name at least.
Miyuki expects a barrage of scolding, but Sawamura is quiet. When Miyuki turns around, he's sitting there, biting his lip hard. Miyuki's eyes are drawn to the hands on his thighs. Two clenched fists. When Miyuki makes eye contact with him, Sawamura jumps to his feet, removes the cup from Miyuki's thigh, and tries to pull the futon off. Miyuki gently grabs Sawamura's wrist.
"It's okay, It’s not that wet. It'll dry off quickly. I'm sweating anyway, so I'll wash it later."
Sawamura nods.
“Give me some medicine.”
Sawamura unscrews the cap of the drink bottle and hands it to him along with the pills. Miyuki swallows the pills and lies down, while Sawamura watches him do it. Miyuki puts the sleep mask back on.
“I'm going to sleep now, so you can go.”
Miyuki closes his eyes. He can feel Sawamura's presence.
“Aren't you going to throw any balls today?”
“You'll have to catch mine.”
“Sorry, I can't today.”
“So get well soon.”
“That was the plan, until you came.”
Sawamura doesn't reply. Miyuki doesn't have the energy to remove his sleep mask and see Sawamura's expression. He’s tired. He can tell what kind of face Sawamura is making without looking, though. He's probably demoralized. But most of all…
Miyuki may know how to cheer up the pitcher's spirit, but he doesn't know how to comfort a crestfallen boyfriend.
Many students seem to have gone home; the chatter has died down. The room grows quiet again. Only the sound of Miyuki's own breathing, the ticking of the clock and...
A warmth touches his hand, somewhat cool, somewhat lukewarm. Sawamura's hand slips out of the futon and grabs Miyuki's hand, or rather, his index and middle fingers.
“I'm sorry.”
For what? Miyuki thinks.
"I… I wanted to be helpful this time because when you were injured last year, I was the last one to know and I couldn't do anything to help you. So I tried… but even now, I can't do anything to make you feel better. All I have done is make a mess.”
“You know you have, huh?”
“I thought you were sleeping, why aren’t you sleeping? Sleep!”
“So demanding.”
Sawamura lets go of Miyuki's hand and grabs it again. This time, he squeezed all five fingers, palm to palm.
"I know you're good at doing things on your own, but you're sick! When you're sick... it doesn't matter if you need help or not! Even if you can do it yourself, you can ask someone else to do it for you. Lean on them, rely on them, make your boyfriend do nice things for you... it's okay to do it! If you're sick, I mean."
“Are you asking me to boss you around, Sawamura? Are you M?”
“M? What's that, and why are you laughing like that? M is you, Miyuki Kazuya, and technically I'm S, because my surname is Sawamura!”
Sawamura shakes the hand he’s holding.
"I can't tell if you're naive or stupid, Bakamura.“
”I'm not stupid!“
”Really? That's too bad. I was going to ask you to kiss me.“
”Can I?“
”No, you can't. you’re gonna catch a cold.“
”You said you were going to ask me to kiss you! That means you thought about kissing me! Don't tempt me!"
“Stupid people don't catch colds, but you're not stupid, so it's dangerous.”
“What are you talking about!”
Miyuki bursts out laughing. It's a hoarse, ridiculous sound, more like the sound of a kettle ringing than a laugh. Sawamura doesn't tease. He doesn't laugh. He just holds Miyuki's hand more tightly.
“Get some sleep now, okay?”
Sawamura says softly. You do know how to speak quietly, huh? Miyuki thinks. and as he lets out a long breath, some of the tension he hasn't realized he was holding seems to escape with it.
His hands feel like they’re pounding. The sound seems to be ringing in his ears. He can feel Sawamura's breath on the back of his hand. He can almost hear the pitcher’s breathing. It is that quiet, but it doesn't feel quiet anymore. It always is. With Sawamura, it's always noisy. There's never a moment of quiet. His eyelids become heavy. Finally…
“Hey, Sawamura.”
“Sleep. Why can’t you sleep? Do you want me to sing you a lullaby or what?”
“Yeah.”
“Eh?”
Sawamura’s voice cracks. What a silly voice. Miyuki considers making fun of it, but instead says something else. In a small voice. So small that he can't tell if he really says it or not. Barely audible in a very, very quiet room.
"Sing me a song. A lullaby."
Sawamura Eijun, the ever-loud boy, the one who yells as if he wants everyone in the world to hear him, the pitcher whose eyes shone as if he always wants to prove himself, hears that small voice. He clears his throat.
Let's go, straight down this road. Overcome any obstacles. Go, Sawamura, go, go…
“A walk-up song? I don't know if you're trying to put me to sleep or wake me up…”
“You asked me to sing for you!”
“You are too loud, Sawamura.”
Even as he says that, Miyuki squeezes Sawamura's hand that’s holding his. Sawamura continues singing in a much smaller voice. Neither the pitch nor the beat is right.
Blood is hot, now is the time, hit it away...
Sawamura's voice slowly fades away. This time, he actually seems to be falling asleep. A hand touches his hair... Miyuki's head follows the touch.
The room with only Miyuki in it. When all the machines in the factory were turned off, when everything was quiet, when you were immersed in silence, when the world seemed to cease to exist... The moment came when it became noisy again: footsteps climbing the stairs, the front door closing softly, the rustle of his pants as he sat down next to Miyuki, the sigh that tickled his ear. The cold hand that touched his forehead. A callused, rough hand. Kazuya... his father’s voice calling his name, those sounds. The room no longer quiet.
Miyuki lets the waves of sleep wash over him. The sound of the waves lulling him to sleep is Eijun's voice.
I like it loud, after all.