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kuramochi plays baseball the same way he laughs, moving fast and fluid and alive, a high-flying arc of motion across the diamond. ryousuke still hears him in his head, voice softened with time but bright and clear as the afternoon sun: kuramochi, voice loud and brash and unmistakable, heart in his hands and soul in everything else. watching him play on television is a curious experience, the familiar trajectory of kuramochi’s throw rendered fresh and new on the screen, a stop-motion portrait plucked straight from ryousuke’s memory onto the pixelated plane of glass.
“ — and with a fine play from shortstop kuramochi youichi, seidou closes out the match, continuing on into the second round…”
cameras rewind to playback kuramochi’s throw from a different angle, slower this time, stirring into wakefulness a weight in ryousuke’s chest he hadn’t realised was there at all until he felt it, push-pulling in his chest, chasing after the path of the ball from kuramochi’s hand into haruichi’s mitt. the feeling doesn’t stop even after the shot pans back out, following real-time again, ryousuke’s hand reaching out as if to grasp the familiar heft of a baseball but coming into contact with his phone instead.
and there it is, blinking small and insistent at the corner of the screen — a text from kuramochi, received the night before and still unopened. pulling up the message at last, ryousuke reads what a part of him had perhaps always expected to find, or at least quietly yearned to see, if unsure of the exact words in which he might receive the message: first game’s tomorrow, gonna kick off senbatsu with a win and hit the ground running.
kuramochi doesn’t voice it, but the question reaches ryousuke anyway, unasked but no less significant for it; maybe even more so, in light of the asker.
are you coming? can you, would you, please could you —
ryousuke once told kuramochi this: if it’s a request from my year-long partner, then i can’t just ignore it. he finds the sentiment still sounds true, even after almost a year and two entire seasons of baseball. fingers tapping along the screen, the push-pull weight in his chest doesn’t lighten, exactly, but evens out into something easier to deal with, a familiar, more bearable ache.
i hope you’re planning to win tomorrow, he replies. i don’t expect to see anything less.
kuramochi’s answering text comes early the next morning, ryousuke’s left hand at the front door, right hand reaching to cradle his phone close enough to read, my plan’s the same as it’s always been, ryou-san. i wouldn’t settle for anything less. and in the wake of it, this: kuramochi’s laugh echoing in ryousuke’s ears, ryousuke finally realising the sound only comes out softer in his memories because it’s always recalled around the edges of kuramochi’s grin, effortless and faithfully, faultlessly open, directed straight at ryousuke.
after all, two seasons of baseball and almost one entire year ago, kuramochi had promised ryousuke, hadn’t he? let’s absolutely go to koshien together, ryou-san.
to: ryou-san
from: kuramochi youichi
what??? a haircut, no fair, ryou-san, you can’t just drop that and not lemme see —
April 6 | Received 6.42 PM
to: kuramochi youichi
from: kominato ryousuke
oh? well, i suppose you’ll find out soon enough. but until then… [attachments: image1.jpg]
April 6 | Delivered 8.25 PM
to: aniki
from: kominato haruichi
i’m not sure what you sent you-san, aniki, but he opened it twenty minutes ago and hasn’t been the same since
April 6 | Received 9.14 PM
in this dream they’re back at seidou again, a fact ryousuke barely registers apart from the glove wrapped snug around his hand, already diving forward for the baseball just ahead falling, falling, falling — and suddenly the baseball is kuramochi, or maybe it’s always been kuramochi and ryousuke’s only properly noticing now — as ryousuke tangles into him and they drop to the ground together, a syncopated mess of breath and skin and kuramochi’s voice filtering down into something surprised but not altogether displeased. “ryou-san, hey now, ryou-san.”
“i’m listening,” ryousuke answers, already moving to sit up but still so caught up in kuramochi his voice leaves him breathless and light and loud all at once. kuramochi’s still sprawled out across the grass, beaming up at him, ryousuke’s expression already mirroring the smile, worn small and sure on his face where it sits all-encompassing on kuramochi, stretched across kuramochi's face and spilling out into the rest of him.
“i know you are,” kuramochi’s saying, “i just wanted to say it. your name — i just wanted to, that’s all.”
“and nothing more or less, is that it?”
“well,” kuramochi pushes up onto his elbows but ryousuke doesn’t let him go any higher, arm tipping outward and forward to rest a hand on kuramochi’s chest, the baseball glove still worn by his hand blurring the lines of the touch somewhere between casual and intimate.
“careful,” ryousuke hums, “liars owe ten laps around the field.” bringing their present location back into relevancy doesn’t shift their focus from each other, though. after all, it’s on these grounds themselves they learned to tune into each other first, easiest, best.
“hya-ha, gotcha,” kuramochi says, syllables pronounced like individual words, hand reaching to rest over the top of ryousuke’s glove. there’s a baseball in the grip of his fingers as ryousuke thinks ah, there it is. and kuramochi must see it on his face, the way he seems to see everything, because he adds on, “wanna play catch ball for a bit?” ryousuke knows the answer to that, says without needing to think about it: “i can catch for more than just a bit —,” watches happiness dance across kuramochi’s face, pure and simple, before he finishes, “if you’re up for it.”
“ha! you know me, ryou-san. anytime, anywhere.”
shifting his grip, kuramochi slides the baseball into ryousuke’s upturned glove, and ryousuke holds the moment for much longer than a moment in his head: the constant of seidou’s field A and the promise of baseball and kuramochi, here beside him, in this moment forever here, steady against the curve of ryousuke’s gloved hand. when ryousuke stands he pulls kuramochi along with him, not needing to hold on, kuramochi rising in time with ryousuke’s motions, pushing through space and gravity without ever shifting from his nearness to ryousuke.
“well then,” ryousuke says, “what are we waiting for?”
to: kuramochi youichi
from: kominato ryousuke
good morning, kuramochi, happy birthday. is the season treating you well?
May 17 | Delivered 5.58 AM
to: ryou-san
from: kuramochi youichi
you r emembe r de i ‘m g o nna c
May 17 | Drafted 6.00 AM
to: ryou-san
from: kuramochi youichi
ah, thanks!! i’m good. i’m doing good. morning to u too, ryou-san, u seem like you’re doing just fine
May 17 | Received 6.22 AM
summer for ryousuke is the shortest of all seasons — it just happens to be the one that stays with him longest, that’s all. and with summer comes finals then semester break then koshien, seidou’s second run in just as many years. this time, ryousuke’s at the stadium right before their first game, coming in on the train ahead of his parents to catch the team as they head for the dugout. kuramochi sees him first, catching ryousuke off-guard along with every other spectator in the immediate vicinity, hyahahaha! bouncing off the walls and sinking into ryousuke’s skin.
then comes kuramochi himself, darting out from somewhere to ryousuke’s right, stopping right in front of him, shifting from foot to foot, undeniably real and thrumming with energy.
“you came,” kuramochi’s words rush out, fast and fierce as their owner, “you came, ryou-san, you’re here — at koshien —.”
“if memory serves, i was here the last time you played, too.” the jab is pointed but lacks any sting. kuramochi lets it shrug off of him, undeterred.
“yeah. yeah, you did, but it’s great seeing you here now, too, i’m — i’m really glad you’re here, ryou-san.”
ryousuke’s reply is equally complete in its honesty: “so am i.”
and because kuramochi’s still looking at him, unmoving, ryousuke stays right where he is and looks back, disregarding the hassle they’re probably going to start in the hallway if they don’t get moving soon, until a pink head of hair pops up from behind kuramochi, haruichi’s voice floating along to ryousuke saying, “aniki! you’re here.”
“yes. we’ve established that,” ryousuke agrees, fingers tapping the top of haruichi’s head when he comes to stand beside ryousuke. haruichi grins, and ryousuke shifts his gaze from kuramochi to haruichi and back again, expressions similar but vastly different in the way ryousuke files them away in his head for later perusal. reaching a hand to each of their shoulders, ryousuke turns them around and starts walking them to the dugout, their matched footfalls covering the sound of ryousuke’s fondness for them hanging close and warm in the air.
haruichi’s telling him some story or another, details washing over ryousuke in favour of haruichi’s voice itself, older and lower than it used to be but still the same understated birdsong hum ryousuke’s always remembered it as. kuramochi joins in on the anecdote, which ryousuke catches on as one of miyuki’s now supposedly much less frequent tribulations as captain. when kuramochi laughs ryousuke does too, haruichi looking on at them both quietly, happily until ryousuke lets his hands drift away from them and back to his side, waving towards the rest of the hallway, barred to everyone but the players.
“ah,” haruichi says at the same time as kuramochi’s “eh? ryou-san —.”
“you two,” ryousuke says, nudging them both ahead of him, away from him, “have somewhere to be right now, remember?”
“right, yeah, but. you’ll stay after, right, ryou-san?” kuramochi’s walking backwards to keep facing ryousuke, haruichi calling out over his shoulder, “aniki, get mom and dad to stay, too.”
“of course,” ryousuke echoes after them, “did you think i only came to watch?”
he does watch them, though, watches all of the team play, familiar figures shaped into different silhouettes, playing harder, stronger and more alongside the occasional face ryousuke doesn’t recognise, new threads of a team dynamic ryousuke’s no longer as completely enmeshed with.
ryousuke watches the game with such quiet intensity driving his focus that he doesn’t cheer alongside his parents and everyone else on their side of the stands, but he does stand, leaning forward against the railing when a hard linedrive shoots straight into haruichi’s waiting glove. haruichi’s throw to kuramochi after is immediate, seamless, connecting to kuramochi in a double play as the commentators let loose and the stands roar. haruichi’s bounding over to kuramochi as they move to change sides, but just before he reaches him kuramochi turns, facing ryousuke’s spot in the bleachers like he’s never had any doubt ryousuke would be there, raising a fist in his direction as ryousuke smiles wide then wider, helplessly, immeasurably pleased.
raising his fist up and out in return, ryousuke lets something inside him finally finish taking flight, carrying the weight in ryousuke’s chest away with it as it soars. summer sun shines down on them both, bearing its heat out over the whole stadium, but the heat ryousuke feels comes from somewhere else entirely.
static over the line: “ah, crap, i… ryou-san! it’s, that is, i meant to send you a mail, but by accident i hit, dammit, call instead…”
“oh? then, want me to save you the trouble and hang up myself?”
movement from the other end of the line. the static clears.
“…i didn’t mean it like that. you know i don’t.”
“do i?”
a breath croons rough into ryousuke’s ear, then another, more intentional this time; possibly even the muffled beginnings of a laugh.
“well, alright. let’s try this again, shall we?”
“ryou-san?”
teasing, now: “kuramochi. how nice of you to call.”
“huh? oh, yeah, just — i found a cat today, ryou-san. did you know?”
“give me another minute and i might.”
“hya-ha! right, so. i found this cat, and i was gonna take a picture to send ‘cause it reminded me of you, but i ended up calling instead and. yeah. yeah. so now you know.”
“mm, i suppose i do. let me guess: you tried to pet the cat and had it eating from your hand instead? or did it let you follow it for a while before deciding it’s actually adored you all along?”
“… actually, it scratched my hand. that’s why i pressed the wrong button.”
“well. that was careless of you.”
“yeah, i know, miyuki’s already nagged on about it —.”
“ — but you’re right.”
“ryou-san?’
“you’re right. i would’ve liked to see it.” a pause. “… it was nice of you to call, kuramochi. and i mean that.”
“yeah? maybe i should do it more often, then.”
“yes, maybe you should.”
ryousuke’s university baseball career begins as almost an exact inversion of his high school one, making meiji university’s bench fall season of his first year, just in time for a practice match against toudai before the start of the season proper. and objectively ryousuke knows making the bench at all is nothing short of incredible, but he also stands in the dugout and yells himself hoarse ignoring the softer, subjective, intensely personal part of his heart, whispering you could be out there, too, you know. insisting you wouldn’t lose out to any of these giants.
maybe he wouldn’t, maybe he would. ryousuke’s familiar enough with this line of thought to recognise its inevitable conclusion: you can’t win or lose if you don’t play at all, which means ryousuke’s still got that much more to go before —
“kominato. i’m switching you in at takeda’s next at-bat.”
— he claws back to that stage, blinking back summer-haze fragments of balls between second and third, jersey number 4 at his back, kuramochi’s voice a quick-starting engine pushing him forward, forward, forward. so forward he goes, stands in the batter’s box with shoulders loose and breaths steeled, fouls off four balls consecutively before getting a grounder good enough to advance the runner, but toudai’s fielders are better and ryousuke’s traipsing back to the dugout, two seconds shy from first.
it aches less than ryousuke thought it would, pulse pounding overtime on adrenaline while his mind stays still and clear, sweeping over the field with the awareness of someone with so much more left to give: registers coach mention something to one of the managers; the cup of water waiting for him back at the dugout; spectators’ attention slipping over ryousuke, now, and back to the match, save the figure standing at the edge of the field, fingers fisted into the chainlink fence, silhouette still taut and oriented to ryousuke.
you’ve got my complete respect, ryou-san, says the voice in ryousuke’s head that’s no longer ryousuke’s, might not have been since the match started, maybe even longer. ryousuke’s lips tick upwards, the ache no longer an ache but something older and known and just as welcome. he tips off his helmet in the direction of the fence just before he steps back into the dugout, one-third acknowledgment and two-thirds indulging his particular brand of selfishness.
kuramochi is always surpassing ryousuke’s every expectation of him.
“someone come to see you play?” a teammate asks, and ryousuke hums. “something like that.”
ryousuke isn’t sent out for the rest of the game, but kuramochi stays for the whole thing all the same.
“that was unnecessary,” he informs kuramochi, later, walking him back to the train station because it’s the least he can do for kuramochi and for himself, too, feet pressing on from one step into the next despite himself. ryousuke’s body has always the most honest thing about him. kuramochi raises his eyebrows, lips pressed together, holding back.
“i didn’t even know you made the bench,” kuramochi replies. “maybe i was just scouting out universities and happened to stop by.”
“and how did that work out for you? find your next potential team?”
kuramochi says, “oh, i don’t know about a team, but i found something, alright.”
“don’t be vague,” ryousuke smiles around the words. for the first time, ryousuke’s smiling bigger than kuramochi is, but he finds he doesn’t mind. his relationship with kuramochi is one he’s never felt he’s needed to quantify, in words or anything else. still, ryousuke nudges his elbow against kuramochi’s ribs, startling out the grin ryousuke knows was always there.
“can i come watch you again?” kuramochi asks.
“don’t you have exams to study for?” ryousuke trades question for a question.
“what, those,” kuramochi dismisses the current state of his academics with a wave. “those are nothing. and it’s only an hour from seidou by train, on good days.”
ignoring the first half, ryousuke softly addresses the second: “and on bad days?”
“c’mon, ryou-san, didn’t you know? the day’s gotta improve after sitting through more than an hour of traffic. you can ask science about it.”
“no need,” ryousuke laughs, “i’ll take your word for it.”
to: kuramochi youichi
from: kominato ryousuke
just for the record, i refuse to accept blame for any math exam mishaps tomorrow. my record is clean and i plan to keep it that way
Delivered 9.38 PM | December 14
to: ryou-san
from: kuramochi youichi
say what u want ryou-san, u still sent the pic first. i’m just followin ur example here
Received 11.50 PM
to: ryou-san
from: kuramochi youichi
nah but don’t u worry ur pretty head, ryou-san, i got u covered. between nabe and nori i’ve got the quadratics drilled into my bones. can’t say the same for miyuki tho lol
Received 11.52 PM | December 14
to: kuramochi youichi
from: kominato ryousuke
an unfortunate casualty, i’m sure. get some sleep before you join the ranks of the fallen with him. good night and good luck
Delivered 11.55 PM | December 14
to: ryou-san
from: kuramochi youichi
challenge accepted, like hell i’ll fail u now, gnite to u too ryou-san. rest well
Received 11.58 PM | December 14
he’s just stepping off the train for winter break when the call arrives. it’s been a while since the last time he was home, muscle memory the only force driving his hand away from his coat pockets to answer his phone, hustling lights and colourful footsteps rushing past him on both sides of the street. pressing the phone to his ear, ryousuke wonders when he last returned for a summer afternoon at home instead of chill cutting its way through his clothes to press into his skin.
“ — there? sorry, is this a bad time, ‘cause i can call back later…”
“no better time than the present,” ryousuke interrupts smoothly. “hello, kuramochi.”
“ryou-san, hey! didya just get off the train?”
“mm-hmm, but it’s fine. we can walk and talk. you’re back at chiba, i presume?”
“yeah. it’s good to be back — it’s freakin’ cold, though.” a pause, then kuramochi laughs: “man, but i’ve got it easy; no winter training camp from hell this year. can you believe it, ryou-san? i can actually feel my limbs right now.”
“i believe it. liberating, isn’t it?” it’s a red light at the intersection. pressed in on all sides by people, ryousuke shifts his weight from one foot to the other, trying to keep warm. his fingers aren’t trembling yet, but he tightens his grip on his phone nevertheless. there’s rustling from the other end of the line: is kuramochi indoors right now? he sounds like he is. he sounds like he’s warm. he’s always warm.
“sure, if we count out the fact i gotta help gramps plow all the snow out of the path, help fix up the building a bit… well, not like he’s ever let me off the hook, anyway.”
ryousuke lets out a breath. it mists into the air; a thin, fleeting kind of laugh.
kuramochi continues, “my mom’s great, though. it’s nice getting more time with her, she never gets the time to come to the games.”
“i’m sure she would if she could,” ryousuke murmurs, not sure why he’s offering the comfort. he knows kuramochi doesn’t need it. he doesn’t regret it, though. with kuramochi, he rarely regrets anything.
“yeah. yeah, she would. that’s enough from me, anyhow: what’s up on your end, ryou-san?”
“me? oh, it’s all the usual, catching all the red lights, staying out in the cold. not so different from you, really.”
“hyahaha! i don’t pity haruichi trying to follow after you in a few days. post-training camp, to boot.” from the other end of the line kuramochi’s laugh sounds like tires screeching on a road, a climb of constant motion. ryousuke starts walking a little slower, phone stuck to his ear to catch more of it.
“well, haruichi’s always been faster when he’s chasing.”
“yeah?” static, the sound of someone else’s voice in the background, and youichi’s muffled reply, gotcha, be there in a sec.
“snow plowing calls?” ryousuke says, offers kuramochi the easy out while he stops where he is.
“nah, ’s my mom. dinner’s on the table, she says. like i need to be told.” kuramochi’s voice is unmistakably fond.
ryousuke replies, “since we both know how good you are at following directions,” gratifying in kuramochi’s snort afterwards.
“yeah, yeah, ryou-san, you got me there. i’ll catch you later, yeah? when do you head back to tokyo — i could see you at the station.”
“oh? and here i thought i was about to get an invite to the elusive kuramochi residence, newly unsnowed and all.” kuramochi sputters, and ryousuke continues, tone light as ever, “i’m joking. still, for what it’s worth, you’d be more than welcome in yokosuka, if you’d like, i know haruichi wouldn’t have any complaints.” in his head, ryousuke sees it with utmost clarity: haruichi, softly, undeniably pleased; mother and father open and happy to meet any of guys from seidou, let alone you-san, haruichi’s present and ryousuke’s former fielding partner; kuramochi himself, blustering through his manners but grinning ear to ear through it all.
kuramochi blurts out: “i’d like that. coming to visit sometime, i mean. if, that’s — well, someday, yeah? have a good night, ryou-san.”
“yes yes, you too. go have your dinner, kuramochi.”
it’s another moment or two before the call cuts, and ryousuke blinks down at his phone before letting his hand fall to his side. then he adjusts his grip on the bag on his shoulder and pushes off the wall he’d been leaning against, unlocking the front door. he’s still smiling when he steps inside.
to: ryou-san
from: kuramochi youichi
ur welcome anytime too, u know. to my place. i’m like, 99.9999% certain mom and gramps already basically love u
Received 6.21 PM | December 26
the spring kuramochi graduates rushes by in a flurry of sakura petals and what seems a veritable wellspring of emotion coming into bloom. eijun-kun wouldn’t stop crying for hours, haruichi informed him a few days ago, it took you-san and miyuki-senpai almost as long prying him off of them. the thought makes ryousuke smile. swamped in end-of-year exams and assignments, he hadn’t been able to see it firsthand, but that’s alright. this, ryousuke thinks, gait slow and easy as he walks to the station, is more than enough. and it really is: the train hasn’t come in yet by the time ryousuke reaches the station, which means he gets to perch by the steps at the bottom of the platform and wait to be the one who sees kuramochi first, this time around.
overhead, the speakers chime, “the keikyu line is now arriving. from tokyo, the keikyu line, now arriving.”
then it happens, the train swooping in, all wind and speed, doors sliding open to a torrent of passengers, some flying onto the platform while others straggle behind. ryousuke pays attention to neither, sights and senses focused for only a single person —
kuramochi exits the train somewhere between the go-getters and the nearly left-behinds, shoulders loose and stance easy as he stretches, crossing the platform with the sureness of someone in their element, their home territory, never mind some train station he’s never seen in a prefecture he’s never visited in his life.
it had been simple enough, slipping train tickets into a graduation card for haruichi to pass along, slim fingers running over the edges of the envelope while his eyebrows slipped up into his hair. aniki, haruichi smiled, i thought you didn’t have time to spend money on things while you’re at school as ryousuke smiled back, fingers laced primly together, and said, i don’t know what you’re talking about.
but he had, and he does still, watching kuramochi take the steps from the platform two at a time without slowing down, constantly moving, unable to stand still if he tried. he doesn’t, though, and ryousuke’s glad for it, uses the time kuramochi spends getting his bearings to fall into step beside him, managing nearly five steps before kuramochi notices. his eyes don’t widen, half-closing instead from the force of a smile that’s all teeth, dazzling bright and wide and ryousuke thinks, there it is, there you are.
from anyone else’s perspective, they could’ve been walking together all along, strides matched to their breaths to their smiles outshining everything else about them, a pink-and-green portrait in a landscape of people coming and going.
“hello, you,” ryousuke says. then, because he doesn’t bother keeping it in: “i see you got here in the end.”
when kuramochi laughs — hyahaha! — everyone except ryousuke turns to see, because ryousuke had already been looking from the beginning. “ryou-san,” kuramochi wheezes, knocking his shoulder against ryousuke’s, “as if i wouldn’t. anytime, anywhere. but especially not after that card…” promptly collapsing into another sprint of laughter, ryousuke simply smiles, lets his shoulder keep taking some of kuramochi’s weight.
“oh — are you doubting me?” ryousuke’s tone is teasing, not meaning it in the slightest, but when kuramochi replies it’s so obvious he does mean what he says.
“me? doubt you? i’d never.”
digging into his pockets, kuramochi pulls out a familiar envelope, wrinkled from travel and handling, but the card he takes from inside is still smooth. wordlessly, kuramochi passes it to ryousuke, who accepts it and glances down, sees his words in his own writing: if you’ve got some somedays stored up your sleeve now that you’ve graduated, the offer still stands. i’ll even meet you at the station. below it, kuramochi’s writing, rushed slanted and smudged: i’ll take as many somedays as you’ve got.
“as many as i’ve got, huh.”
ryousuke looks from the card to kuramochi, pink-cheeked and eyes set on ryousuke, who says, softer this time: “even after more than an hour by train? almost two hours?”
kuramochi smiles smaller, now, but it doesn’t take any of the light from his face, only heightens it.
“ryou-san, didn’t i tell you? the day’s gotta get better after all that time in transit. it’s practically guaranteed.”
“well then,” ryousuke says, tugging the sleeve of kuramochi’s hoodie, stopping them just before the station’s exit. “i’m glad you got what you were waiting for.”
“oh, did i ever,” kuramochi answers, “it’s gonna keep getting better from here, ryou-san.”
youichi’s phone wallpaper is blurry, but youichi remembers it well enough:
“you suck,” ryou-san laughed, snatching the phone from youichi’s hands, “let me do it.” and youichi does, grinning the whole time without a word of complaint when the photo comes out even worse than the last. “well,” ryou-san said, and then youichi laughed, echoing him, “yeah, well.” they’re taking terrible pictures at yokosuka bay, which is probably some huge level of cliche but they didn’t care, and neither does the photo: ryousuke and youichi, off-focus and almost cheek-to-cheek, not a trace of the bay behind them in sight.
youichi kept the photo anyway, long after the memories of the moment were tucked safe and sure in his head, his chest, his hands, spring sunlight and ryou-san’s face, his shoulders, his fingers, light and light and light.
actually, youichi remembers it perfectly, holding onto it in his mind as his phone rings, youichi pressing the phone to his ear to answer, already smiling.