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kazuya meets sanada again the spring after they graduate high school. everything about the encounter curls indistinct and hazy in kazuya’s memory, the grey afternoon light of the day curtained by the thin mist of rain in early april, everything shrouded in cloud and dew until kazuya’s once-dry collar clings too close to his neck to ignore. and anyway, by that point there was nothing to be done except perhaps walk a step faster in search of temporary cover without tripping over cracks in the sidewalk, ordinary cement made shimmering and unfamiliar with the rain.
the flowershop awning is deliberately small, barely enough to bear away the brunt of sunlight streaming through the storefront glass, and obviously nowhere near wide enough to shelter kazuya from the steady downpour. still, it covers his head and maybe half of his torso if he leans right back against the glass of the window, which means it’s definitely wide enough to keep his scorebook away from further damage if he holds it up over his head, so…
“hey, lemme hold that.”
kazuya blinks, facing left to find an open hand connected to a shoulder with a leather bag slung across it, then sanada shunpei’s easy smile, unfettered by the rain, promising kazuya’s scorebook’s guaranteed safety if nothing else. so he hands it over, waits for sanada to slip it into his bag before he says, “sanada. it’s been a while.”
“disappointed to see me?” sanada moves to lean against the storefront beside miyuki, about a hand’s width apart.
“right now? can’t say i am, no.” miyuki laughs, throws a glance back at sanada. sanada stares back. “you always did have great timing. a reliable ace, and all.”
“annoying, you mean,” sanada translates, and miyuki laughs at that, too.
“if that’s how you want to look at it.” a pause. “i haven’t seen you since our match last summer.”
“yeah? i’ve seen you — television broadcasts, and all that.”
“you watch my games?” kazuya’s not sure why he’s surprised, but he is.
sanada hums. “sure. ‘sides, not everyone gets to go first in the rookie draft fresh out of high school. guess i was curious what you’d do with it.”
“and how am i measuring up so far? have i won your approval yet — is this a ‘yes’ i’m about to hear from sanada shunpei.”
“well,” sanada muses, “that depends on what you’re asking for.”
interesting.
“so there is a yes from sanada shunpei? for something, at least.”
“something. sure, that’s a good way to put it.”
“oh?” kazuya turns, faces sanada properly. like this, there’s probably less than a hand between them now. “then, think you could tell me a better way of wording it?”
sanada turns to miyuki now, too, just his face. from this angle kazuya’s caught between the image of sanada, standing steady and still before a backdrop of rain and sanada’s reflection, a blurred silhouette against the glass, half-hiding away a display of irises.
“i guess i may as well,” sanada allows, “seeing as we probably won’t be leaving for a while yet.”
“probably,” kazuya agrees, no longer focusing on the flowers or the rain, just sanada, the stretch of his shoulders and the pull of his smile, sharp and clear right in front of him.