Work Text:
First:
The whole team is there, but honestly, it feels like it’s just them—their eyes locked, their matching smiles, their hands reaching out to touch each other first.
The first time, Youichi wins, his hand closing around Miyuki’s forearm, slipping down to his wrist in a congratulations—nice job, captain.
Miyuki’s got a matching grip on Youichi’s forearm only seconds later, their wrists brushing, their hands slipping over each other’s, fingers curling around each other’s—brief, experimental.
Miyuki grins at him, and he doesn’t have to say anything just yet. But he doesn’t pull his gaze away from Youichi’s right away even as others are praising him, cheering for his part in claiming victory as their own.
Their locked gaze might break, their hands may slip from each other, but the moment doesn't. They've still got it, tight within their grasps, as they walk back to the dugout—shoulder to shoulder—as they sit side by side on the bus on the way back to Seido.
Second:
This time, it’s Miyuki who reaches Youichi first, his victory claimed in the way his arms wrap around Youichi’s waist, in the way he practically sweeps him off his feet in that hug.
There’s surprise, for a moment, when it happens, but Youichi’s always been quick to recover, and wraps his arms around Miyuki’s neck.
Youichi’s laughing when they break apart, smiling brightly. “What’s that all about?”
“You got us another run.” Their hands don’t leave each other’s bodies. They don’t step away just yet.
“Yeah, thanks to Toujou and Haruichi.”
“And your steal at second.” Miyuki’s hands finally slip from Youichi’s waist as the moment of bliss, of celebration sinks back to reality. They’ve still got a game to win—a freshly acquired lead to keep. “Nice run, Kuramochi.”
He steps away now, bumps Miyuki’s shoulder with his own on his way back to the dugout, maybe a little bit thankful that he had to pass Miyuki waiting on his way there. Maybe a little bit thankful they got to share even the tiniest moment together like this. “Get us another!”
“On it.” Miyuki shoots him a grin as he steps into the batter’s box.
Third:
Youichi grabs Miyuki by the front of his jersey, pulls him close and smashes their lips together.
There’s a halt in everyone’s cheering for a moment, noticeable only after Youichi’s (slightly) come down from the high that kissing Miyuki always brings him. Miyuki and baseball and winning—all things he wants, all things he loves—are right within his fingertips and something Youichi doesn’t want to give up. He doesn’t ever want to quit this feeling.
When they break the quick and spontaneous kiss to look over at the rest of team, much quieter now, Youichi doesn’t know what he’s expecting.
What he gets—what they get—is some joking and telling them to get a room, some laughing, some looking away embarrassed from the private moment they’d made public, some—better put: Sawamura—stomping over and standing in front of them, telling them to go line up properly. The game's over after all!
“Okay, sure,” Miyuki says, laughter permeating his agreement. Youichi knows the smile on Miyuki’s lips so damn well now after three years of becoming acquainted and reacquainted with it that catching its mischievous glint is effortless. “Just. Give us a minute.”
And he’s pulling Youichi into a kiss again, holding his face in his hands. This is their moment, their victory. This is them taking their future into their hands—they’ve made it to Koshien with this win, they have a lot to celebrate.
But as Youichi’s fingers tighten their hold on Miyuki’s shirt, he thinks, they’ve got a lot more to look forward to, a lot more to celebrate together.
Home:
The moment Miyuki hits the perfect ball, the hit that’ll crown them Koshien victors, Youichi’s running. He makes it home first, scoring that final point they need to take it all into their hands, to claim as their own.
It’s always like this when they win:
Youichi’s mind and body buzzing with excitement, the inability to stay still for even a second, the desire to let all of those pent up feelings free.
And he’s got a one-track mind anyway, a single-sighted view of Miyuki, in all his glory, running for home. And Youichi heads in that direction too, knowsexactly where he wants to be right now.
At first—before they’d become like this, before they’d grown close like this—he might have congratulated Miyuki with a tight grip on his arm, a bump to the shoulder, or a (very) fond smack to the back of his head.
Now?
Now there’s none of that holding back.
Neither Youichi nor Miyuki can claim they reach each other first now. This time, this time, they meet in the middle. Miyuki’s steps slow the slightest bit, like he’s waiting, like he’s ready for Youichi to surge forward and jump into his arms.
Even with the expectation, the knowledge that it’s coming, Miyuki still stumbles a little, at first, as he catches Youichi, until his arms settle around him, fingers curled tightly in his jersey, around the number 6 embroidered on his back.
He laughs louder than he ever has as he knocks the helmet away from Miyuki's head; smiles wider than he thought he could as he wraps his legs around Miyuki’s waist, bumps their foreheads together.
Youichi leans closer, his fingers trailing through Miyuki’s hair, tangling themselves in it. He presses his lips to Miyuki’s ear.
“Nice hit, captain!”
“Nice run, vice-captain.” Youichi can feel the outline of Miyuki’s smile, pressed to his cheek, can feel his lips trailing over his flushed skin.
And then. And then he doesn’t need to feel it there, anymore, because he pulls back from one type of proximity to initiate another, his hands slipping from their place in Miyuki’s hair, resting on his cheeks as he leans in for a kiss.
The whole team is there, finally catching up to them, finally joining in on their moment. And even as Youichi pulls away from Miyuki’s mouth after promptly kissing him breathless, even as Miyuki squeezes his waist tight before he sets him down, their arms don’t leave each other’s for a moment. Not really, anyway. He keeps his arms wrapped around Miyuki in a tight hug, their bodies swaying a little in time as the rest of the team is cheering, slapping their shoulders, grabbing onto each other, hugging.
They won. They've done it.
And this moment—their moment—is perfect. Always will be.