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Heart pounding.
Feet tingling.
Hands sweaty.
Asahi rested his head against the wooden panels of the back of the baseball dugout, eyes closed tight, wondering if this was a huge mistake.
He'd only been in the club for the last few weeks and he wasn't sure that any of the skills he'd honed in practice would bear fruit in a real game.
He was used to the protection of anonymity behind a screen. He could fashion a character model into the ideal form: tall, broad, confident, with a commanding voice that would make a villain stop in their tracks. No one had to know what he truly looked like, sitting at his desk, baby fat hanging on his cheeks, creating a head that he thought far too large for his tiny body, with an awkward squeak to his voice when he was enthused.
How was he ever supposed to fit in?
He'd spent the better part of these few weeks desperately trying to, but he didn't know how to read social cues. Did the other club mates appreciate his suggestions? It always felt like Kawakami was having to garner their attention before they'd look Asahi’s way. Was his playbook too much? He'd probably spent far too much time considering different scenarios. He was never sure if the intense stares as he pointed out a hypothetical play were because they cared or because they thought he was crazy.
Kawakami told him it was the former.
Asahi wasn't sure he believed him.
He was positive his new friend was going to become exhausted with the responsibility of making sure he was acknowledged, but Kawakami did so effortlessly. The way he tugged on his arm to pull him closer into a huddle. How he would ask Asahi specifically what he thought when a decision was being made. All the times he bumped into him in school to tell him the plan for the next practice.
Kawakami had wanted him there, so Asahi had kept going.
Now he was in an actual game.
A real, honest to God baseball game where he would help call the shots…
As long as he didn't choke.
The thickness in his throat made him wonder if he already had.
Dark jade gloves reached up to cover his face, a brown sleeve following that matched the tan of his skin. Maybe he could squash himself out of existence. That had to be someone's quirk. That would save him a lifetime of embarrassment.
“There you are!” A joyful voice resonated beside his ear as two hands came to rest on his shoulders. He jumped ever so slightly, skittishness a trait he'd yet to shake, and Kawakami chuckled, lifting his hands in the air. “Oh jeez, sorry…” Asahi turned around to lean his back against the wooden structure, hand pressing to his erratic heart.
He wasn't sure if it was from the sudden greeting or the ghost of Kawakami's breath that he still felt against his ear.
It shouldn't have been surprising that the social butterfly that was Kawakami Yuusuke had little defined personal space, but it still threw off Asahi on a daily basis.
People just didn't get close to him.
Asahi tugged at some of the blonde strands under his cap, moving them over his ear, covering the essence of a touch. “It's fine! I was just… um…”
“Making sure you didn't throw up?” The blue haired youth sidled up to the dugout as well, arms crossed, leaning against his shoulder and hovering slightly over Asahi. The slighter boy groaned, head hitting the wooden structure as he wrung his glove out between his hands. “Sa-sa, come on, you're going to do great!” Asahi felt his head tugged down as Kawakami grabbed the bill of his cap and tipped it over his eyes.
Asahi was thankful since it covered the blush that brightened his cheeks at the nickname bestowed upon him. His first. Ever. Taking the same sound found in both his first and last name, what Kawakami had said made it effortlessly flow. A-sa-hi Ma-sa. Something about it sounding like a river. The way Kawakami had described it, Asahi felt like he couldn't protest. It was comfortingly poetic. It was unique. It was his.
And it made him feel like he belonged somewhere. At least, wherever Kawakami was.
It was also relegated only to him. The club didn't use it. Like a secret only he and Kawakami shared.
Asahi wished he'd been just as creative, but he'd simply acquiesced when the other boy had told him that meant that Asahi should call him “Yuu”. That's what his friends called him, after all.
And they were that. Friends.
Asahi prayed the crimson in his cheeks looked like a sunburn.
“I feel like you're obligated to say that as the captain.” Asahi grabbed his cap and moved it back up, adjusting his mane of hair underneath.
“You know the plays?”
“Well, yeah, I helped refine some of them.” Asahi mumbled, eyes rolling down to the ground, avoiding the piercing gaze beside him.
“You know everyone's name? Position?”
“Obviously. I mean, that's a given.”
A hand rested on the long sleeved tawny undershirt beneath the emerald green and chestnut striped jersey worn by the team. Asahi was covered as much as possible to prevent any quirk accidents from occurring.
“Then stop doubting yourself. This,” Kawakami shook his arm, “Is your costume. Heroes don't have to run around cities in capes. You put this on,” He lifted his hand and ran his fingers over the bill of Asahi's cap, ending with a quick flourish that tilted it to the side, “You become unstoppable.”
Asahi looked back up at the ocean of blue hovering above him, hat tilted back just so the sun could catch Kawakami's eyes and give them a gem-like glow that reflected the warmth of the day, and that which exuded from his pores. The kindness that had led Asahi through feeling more safe about his quirk than he ever had. From the sleeve that was being touched, to the conversation Kawakami had initiated with the club, so they knew enough about Asahi’s power; To be cautious, but not fearful. Open and honest. His eyes. His demeanor. His heart.
Asahi wasn't sure he could ever trust the way that Kawakami did.
But he was willing to try.
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Asahi’s ears had burst from the cheer that sounded around him as he stood exhausted, breath hot and heavy, sun scorching, eyes glued to home plate as he barely registered the unbelievable.
They'd done it.
Second.
First.
Home.
Three outs.
One shot.
A triple play.
He could still feel the impression of the ball in his mitt after he'd picked up the grounder without more than a second glance, his eyes moving across the field to see the hesitation of the runner on third. The way he looked at the batter. Those moments where the other team was unsure had switched on the play in Asahi’s brain. They had time. They just had to make it quick.
The player running to second was fast, but that didn't matter in the slightest. The sneering red head who had been up at bat? He could be fast, but they'd been playing an entire game and he was beat.
Asahi was banking on him not having the juice he'd started the game with.
He called out his teammates names as the ball was intended to fly. Dust kicked up in his face from the ball flying into his palm. His fingers curled around the stitching, gripping the white leather to give it a hefty flick as his body angled to the side to shoot for second base.
In a blink, it had made it to the other destinations, Asahi feeling his voice go hoarse simply from the desperate call, hoping his team could pull it off.
They had.
Kawakami had seen it all from the pitcher's mound.
And he'd cheered loudest of all.
“I'm telling you, the whole thing was like slow motion!” In dirt and grass stained uniforms, six of the club members were huddled outside a convenience store, all manner of grab and go foods being shoved into their hungry mouths. Kawakami stood tallest, hands aloft as he dramatically reenacted his view from the center of the baseball diamond while standing on a bench outside the shop. “Asahi grabs the ball, Morishita catches it! Out! Straight to Izumi… out! Asahi is yelling the whole time, ‘Mori! Zumi! Ku!’ And Kumagai catches it at home plate and tags the guy! ”
Kawakami threw his arm like a ball was sitting at his fingertips. He hopped over a boy with a short cut mohawk who slapped his calf while passing. The acting captain feigned like he was catching the invisible ball he'd thrown. He ended with a leap onto the ground, Asahi looking behind him, bracing himself as Kawakami grabbed hold of his shoulders while descending, slipping his arms around to lean on the smaller boy, laughing as they tilted toward another of their teammates who assisted the catch by placing a hand on Asahi’s chest to steady him.
Touch.
Covered, safe, warm, welcoming, and supportive.
Asahi found himself laughing rather than fearful when a wide eyed, glasses adorned brunette made sure he didn't fall, and Kawakami used him as a not-so-sturdy column in his one man baseball show. Over these weeks at the club he'd found acceptance for who he was, mind, body and quirk. Granted, not everyone was literally jumping at the opportunity to tackle him, but he wasn't alone in feeling unsure about his power and finding solutions to do normal things other kids his age did within safe parameters.
Like the bespectacled boy keeping him and Kawakami steady, Morishita Haruto, could turn plants to glass with a touch. He wasn't always on, the way Kawakami and Asahi were, but he had yet to fully grasp his quirk and found that any emotional deviation could set him off. He likewise wore gloves when playing, in case he fell into the grass. Granted, they were now in his back pocket, whereas Asahi couldn't afford a break from his coverings, but he had a similar understanding of some kind of danger. Glass grass could cut and harm. However, It was avoidable off the pitch, unlike Asahi’s shots of pain to the human nervous system, but similarities in quirk danger gave a modicum of uncertainty that had connected the two boys.
A sense of normalcy in their threat Asahi didn't know was possible beyond the orphanage.
It was one of the factors that had made him stay with the club.
That, and how there was one person who could touch him.
The person whose cheek had brushed his ear when he'd fallen on him, leaving a trail of red glitter shimmering in Asahi’s hair as it fell over the spot, sparkling in the afternoon sun.
“Eh! Kawa-kun! Don't crush our newest addition!” A playfully annoyed grunt sounded from the ground where a boy with thick brown dreadlocks poking through his backwards cap punched at Kawakami's leg, his words contradicting the action as it sent Kawakami leaning further into Asahi while steadying himself.
The boys all jeered and joked at Kawakami's overexuberance. Asahi drank it all in. The camaraderie. The joy. The success.
“But seriously, how did you know?” Kawakami asked after they'd settled down and he was back on his own two feet with a half eaten pork bun in his hand.
“Know what?” Asahi looked up from where he'd taken a seat on the bench.
“Know that third base was going to for sure try to steal home? It was bottom of the eighth. They still had a chance to bring it back, and that guy seemed really cautious.” The blue haired youth bit a chunk out of his bun, perching himself precariously on one of the bench’s arms.
A chorus of agreement rose up from the other boys as they turned to Asahi, making him center stage.
He swallowed the lump in his throat from the excessive attention and quiet as his clubmates waited on bated breath for his response. “Oh, well…” They wanted him to talk. To explain. He still couldn't believe it. They were all waiting for his words. “If you watched him throughout the game, you would have noticed that every time that red headed teammate of his would look at him, he kind of froze up. Like he was… intimidated? So when he came to bat and looked at him, I could tell that he was going to do whatever that guy said, which, by the way he flicked his fingers, told me…”
Words poured from him, a story of the observations he'd made for the entirety of the game. He thought that someone would stop his flood of information, but all he heard was encouragement to continue. Bodies tilted toward him and eyes shone with curiosity, marveling at his strategy.
He'd never been held so closely by so many without a single finger on him.
It was the most comforting embrace he'd had in a long while.
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The sun slowly descended in the sky, painting the sidewalks burnt orange and red through the dappled shadows of trees that offered their broken shade to the early summer. The crunch of concrete and tinkling of the afterglow of a game won filled the serene painting as Asahi held a hand to his mouth while laughing at another over-the-top impression Kawakami made.
“I am A catch-ER.” Kawakami continued in a stilted, robotic voice, “That IS my di-RECT-ive. I CAN-not throw, on-LY catch.” His cadence rose and fell on syllables awkwardly chosen as he moved his arms up and down in jolting motions. Asahi continued to giggle as Kawakami had to catch his gear bag from slipping off his shoulder in his attempt at playing the part of the robot assistant from the space opera manga the two had a small obsession with.
“I think Kikai would know that if you can hold an object, you can also not hold it.” Asahi managed to say between breathing in to suppress his laughter enough to counter his friend’s ludicrous assumptions about limited technology.
Adjusting the bag on his shoulder, Kawakami shook his head fervently, “No, no, no! Remember in the first arc when Colonel Aurelius wanted a musical band for the Captain’s birthday and Kikai gave him a wedding band?”
“And then he actually started to plan their wedding because he thought that was how the succession of ‘Captain ‘ was supposed to be passed down?” Asahi added, pointing to his fingers to signify the steps of the false assumption from the story.
“So they had this, like, combination wedding and military ceremony with the swords…”
“With that handshake?”
Kawakami paused and held out his arm. Asahi reached toward him and gripped his forearm. Simultaneously they recited, “Under Galactic Law 2.45, I solemnly swear to protect this vessel, and you, for all eternity.”
The laughter of the two boys continued to ring through the suburban streets as they finished the re-creation of a pivotal scene from the story they knew by heart. Asahi looked up from under his green cap, squinting in the bright light of the horizon that sprayed his blonde locks with a more vivid yellow.
Kawakami’s laughter trailed off as his eyes wandered from Asahi's face, to their hands. Asahi looked down as well. Then he felt it. Imperceptible on the underside of his arm. Kawakami was probably just adjusting his grip. Flexing his hand.
Just two fingers, sliding along his arm, smoothing the brown long sleeve underneath.
Then the thumb moved as well.
Just an adjustment.
Gliding toward his frozen hand as their arms dropped.
Fingers touching for a second. Knuckles bending ever so slightly to catch fingertips as they swung low, then parted.
Asahi looked back up.
Kawakami was already waiting for him.
Songbirds chirped as they searched for their evening meal.
A train whistle sounded in the distance.
And a hot breeze blew between the houses they stood in front of, catching Kawakami's hair in a whirlwind that parted the blues and blacks, creating a waterfall of color that failed to hide the pink in his cheeks in the early summer heat.
Nervously, Asahi cleared his throat and adjusted his bag, tearing his eyes away from Kawakami and continuing his walk home, his own flush blazing from long hours standing and staring in the light of a sun.
Kawakami followed, his long stride catching up after falling behind.
“I always liked that arc best.” Kawakami broke the brief silence, fondness evident in his tone as he kept pace beside Asahi.
Asahi's heart ran a marathon while he did his best to keep a leisurely stride.
He could feel Kawakami looking over at him.
He glanced to the side.
Kawakami's smile was not as sure as usual. He seemed hesitant, hand running over the top of his cap, tilting it back slightly. He looked up into the sky as his hand fell to his neck.
It was one of his favorite story lines.
He knew the words by heart.
Kawakami caught Asahi's eyes.
One of their favorites.
Kawakami looked forward.
Asahi did the same.
“Yeah.” The slight blonde cleared his throat once more. “Yeah, me too."
Asahi could hear Kawakami breathing. Slow, full, with an accompanying sigh.
Relief?
Asahi cleared his throat, nervously laughing. "They never really resolved it, though.”
“What do you mean?”
Asahi's breath came in like a faulty engine. "Well, um..." He tripped over his thoughts, trying to articulate what he'd heard so often. "I mean, fans are really divided because, uh..."
His thoughts slowly started to flood his mouth, garbling the muddled ideas he haphazardly presented to his peer.
Asahi frequented online forums to sate his thirst for community in his niche hobbies. There he could enter discussion with the openness that Kawakami came with in person. "Not that I agree. I don't. It's just..."
There he had anonymity. Here he had Kawakami.
Staring at him.
Waiting.
Knowing the thoughts he spoke were directly connected to his person.
No screen to hide behind.
The open faucet of his mouth dripped incessantly as he tried to stumble into and out of the conversation.
"It was supposed to be a joke, I guess..." He bit the inside of his cheek.
He didn't agree with it. He was just talking.
Talk, talk, talk.
Saying things that others thought.
Why was he so desperate to say the popular opinion?
He couldn't look at Kawakami.
He felt like a fool.
His hands slipped against the strap of his bag, hot and heavy from miscalculated phrases.
Kawakami had said it was his favorite.
He closed his eyes and shook his head. "But, um, they're still, you know, married?"
Asahi braced himself for the inevitable faux pas.
He could feel the cold linoleum against his skin.
An arm twisted behind his back.
Slurs whispered behind him as he clung onto what he wanted to say and what he shouldn't.
What was outside of his gloves and what was within.
Kawakami chuckled, nudging his side against Asahi's as they walked. “Well, it's Galactic Law.”
Asahi's eyes cracked open and looked over at the smiling boy beside him.
His knuckles were white, hands clutching his bag just as tightly.
It was his favorite.
It was their favorite.
Asahi let out a breath that burned his lungs, unaware of when he'd began holding it in. He smiled softly. Kawakami grinned, appearing to have regained his confidence. Asahi's heart, however, had not resumed its normal beat. If anything, it ran faster. “Yeah, I guess you're right.”
A hand rested on Asahi's head, gently shaking it while sliding along to the bill to push it down playfully across his eyes. “Yeah, I guess Captain Osiris is a man of his word.” Kawakami sarcastically responded. Asahi laughed, batting the offending hand away as he readjusted his cap to look over at his rambunctious friend. “And maybe he cares about the Colonel.”
“Maybe?” Asahi huffed, raising his hand and gesturing to an audience of none but the boy to his side. “It's his right hand man. Of course he cares about him!”
“You're right.” A smile crossed Kawakami's face like he'd achieved a small victory. Of what? Asahi wasn't sure. All he knew was that he saw that pink crawling back into Kawakami's cheeks.
And it felt... different.
Good different.
Normal different.
Their different.
Silence spilled across them again before Asahi spoke up as they reached a corner they'd parted at before. Asahi's street branched off, while Kawakami had a few more blocks to walk.
“I'll, uh, see you Monday?” Asahi awkwardly shuffled from foot to foot as Kawakami stood in front of him, his own toe grinding into the concrete as he searched for a phrase in the pavement. He hummed in approval, nodding as he looked up from his contemplation at Asahi. “Then… see ya…”
“Masa?”
Asahi turned back from his half measure to leave, hand adjusting the strap on his shoulder once more.
“You know you can take your gloves off…”
For two seconds…
Asahi saw a flash of purple hair. Felt the cool wind from a rooftop. He was ten again. Kind eyes found his. Only now they weren't the color of twilight, but that of day. They didn't hide secrets of bruises covered and an unknown struggle that only faded when sleeping peacefully amongst stacks of books and a humming computer. Asahi wondered, then, how they felt so similar. Why was he equally drawn toward them?
“... Around me.”
Asahi blinked and he was back on the street corner, hearing something new.
Worse things have happened...
A memory echoed in his brain, but was replaced by fair skinned fingers reaching toward his and hesitating. Asahi flexed his fingers outward. The two hands hovered near one another.
“I wouldn't let anything bad happen. I swear.”
Similar… but different.
This wasn't only about his quirk.
Kawakami wasn't talking about justice and wrong versus right.
This felt… more. More something that Asahi couldn't name and wasn't sure he even wanted to because the feeling was too complex to pin down to a single word.
He slowly pulled his hand back and placed it on his chest. His heart.
Racing.
Kawakami took his back as well, holding it up, fingers rubbing together as if they were trying to hold onto something that had yet to fill the empty space. He smiled gently, moving the hand into a mock salute under his cap.
“Captain's honor.”
Asahi laughed, failing to relieve the tension in his chest. Instead it only made it bloom and grow, the warmth carrying out to his limbs.
Three years had passed.
Three years since he'd felt remotely comfortable around anyone enough to be bare in mind or body.
Three years since he hadn't been constantly scared of himself.
Three years, and he wondered…
“I'll try?” Lips tilted in a side smile, shoulders shrugging, as Asahi timidly accepted.
The grin on Kawakami's face grew, reminiscent of the one that had graced his features at the end of the game.
Victorious.
“Deal.”
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