Chapter Text
The last light of a late January sunset slipped into Kuramochi’s apartment, softening the edges of the room until the half-empty whiskey bottle on the table glowed warm as amber. Eijun sat on the arm of the couch, cheeks already flushed pink, tie hanging loose around his neck. Kuramochi slipped into his dress shirt, fingers quick and practiced as he worked the buttons. He watched Eijun tilt back his glass again.
“You ready for Nori’s wedding?” Kuramochi asked, smoothing the collar.
Eijun huffed dramatic, sloppy, endearing and reached immediately for the bottle to top himself off. “Ready to watch Nori get married? Sure, why not.” He took a long drink, winced, then laughed. “Am I ready to see the Tanuki and Chris? …Not really.”
Kuramochi snorted.
Eijun blinked at him, eyes glassy, then burst into loud, reckless laughter that bounced off the walls. “Does anyone even know I'm your plus-one?”
Kuramochi couldn’t help but grin. “No,” he said, leaning back on his hands. “And I don’t care. Seriously. It’s not like people don’t know you're my best friend. The great Sawamura Eijun, world-famous Ace of the Los Angeles Dodgers, two-time World Series champion in a row, infamously single according to every tabloid and more than happy to let whatever guy he mee—”
“Shut up, Mochi,” Eijun wheezed, throwing a pillow with terrible coordination. It missed by at least a meter.
Kuramochi laughed so hard he had to hold the dresser for balance. “I swear, Chris is gonna pretend to be busy all night just to avoid talking to you.”
Eijun made a face and downed the rest of his glass in one go instead of answering.
“Hey.” Kuramochi nudged him with his foot. “You’re on vacation. There are more hot guys in Tokyo than Miyuki and Chris-senpai.”
Eijun lifted his head slowly and said, dead serious, “Sanada Shunpei.”
Kuramochi let out a deep, suffering groan. “Not that again, please. I use my right to veto. But maybe there's some poor Korean Idol around you haven't traumatised yet.”
Eijun grinned, teeth bright and whiskey-laced. “It seems my options are shrinking fast.”
Kuramochi slipped his jacket on and turned toward him, gaze softening. “You and Miyuki shouldn’t have broken up.”
For a heartbeat, the lightness drained from Eijun’s face. The whiskey glass stilled between his palms, his fingers tightening just enough for the ice to crack faintly. “Yeah, well…” He drew in a breath that didn’t quite make it to his chest. “Sometimes life has other plans, my beloved Mochi.” His voice dipped, rough at the edges. “Especially when your partner suddenly decides you’re not worth the trouble of a conversation. No warning. No explanation. Just, gone. Ghosting par excellence.” He laughed once, short and bitter. “And all because he couldn’t handle the idea of the MLB. Our dream, remember? The one we planned for years?” His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “He dumps me out of nowhere, disappears and then, oh, let's not forget the best part: shows up in a damn gossip magazine with some actress on his arm less than a week later.” A tight, humorless smile pulled at his mouth. “Guess I was easier to replace than I thought.”
Kuramochi clicked his tongue. “Yep. Shouldn’t have broken up. Still saying it.”
Eijun rolled his eyes, but his grin came back, soft around the edges. “Fuck you and help me with this tie.”
Kuramochi walked over, took the tie from his fingers and began fixing it. “You’re drunk,” he murmured, amused.
“I’m not—” Eijun swayed slightly. “—shut up. I’m as drunk as you are stingy. Why don’t you finally get one parking spaces in the parking garage?”
“Shut up.” Kuramochi tightened the knot and patted his cheek. “Come on, prince charming. If we don’t leave now, you’re gonna pass out before we even see the cake.”
Eijun grinned, eyes shining, not just from the whiskey. “Lead the way, captain Mochi.”
The city outside the windows blurred into soft streaks of light as Kuramochi drove, careful on the ice. Inside the car, the heater hummed low, melting the frost only in a small patch on the windshield. Eijun watched the city pass by, chin tilted toward the cold glass.
“You know…” Eijun murmured, voice almost lost under the heater, “I always thought by now things would feel… different.”
Kuramochi glanced at him. “Different how?”
Eijun’s breath fogged the window. “I don’t know. Like I’d have… arrived somewhere. That all the things I worked for would add up to something that feels like home.” His smile was faint, fragile. “But I’m still… looking for something. Or someone. I guess.”
Kuramochi’s hands tightened on the wheel. “Eijun…”
“I’m happy for Nori,” Eijun whispered. “Really. I just wonder if… I’ll ever get that. Someone waiting for me, y’know? Someone who actually stays. I hope one day I get to feel that kind of peace Nori has. Even if…” He smiled faintly. “Even if it’s not now.”
As Mochi looked at Eijun, something inside him wavered. The kind of waver that comes when you see someone who’s always burned like a wildfire suddenly look… small. Broken. Eijun didn’t hide behind bluster or bravado now. He wasn’t shouting, wasn’t complaining, wasn’t buzzing with that restless energy. He was just staring out at the icy city, expression soft and tired and older than twenty-six should look.
“Oi…” Kuramochi tried again, this time softer. “Don’t talk like you’re running out of time. You’ve got—”
But Eijun shook his head, slow, almost absent, eyes closed.
“I keep telling myself, y’know… that it’s okay if it takes time. That I don’t mind waiting. That him breaking up with me was not the end. That joining the Dodgers was the right decision.” He swallowed, breath catching on something fragile in his throat. “But sometimes I get tired. Not of baseball. Never of baseball. Just… of being the one always running to people who never stay.”
Kuramochi felt something twist hard in his chest.
“You idiot,” he muttered, voice rougher than he expected. “You’re not alone. I’m literally right—”
They approached the next intersection and the moment he spotted the green light turning yellow, he pressed the gas just a little harder.
Eijun laughed quietly, bitterly. Not the loud, ridiculous Sawamura laugh. This one was soft and cracked at the edges, this was Eijun.
“I know you’re here,” he said. “But you’re not… Not in the way, you know. Not in the way Nori’s wife probably looks at him. Not like Mi—that guy, like before I mean.” He blinked slowly at the frosted window. “I wonder what it’s like. Going home to someone who actually wants you there.”
Kuramochi’s breath hitched. He wanted to tell him he was wanted. That he mattered. That there were people who saw him, really saw him. But the words got stuck somewhere behind his ribs.
Eijun exhaled, slow and shaky. “I hope someone finds me one day,” he whispered. “Before I get too tired of searching.”
Kuramochi opened his mouth, maybe to tease him, maybe to reassure him, maybe something in between, but the words never came.
The darkness split open. Headlights, blinding and far too close, shot in from the left. The tires on the other car skidded helplessly across the ice. A split second where Kuramochi’s instincts kicked in too late, the brake useless on the glassy ice. He knew. Instantly. In the cold, sick flash before the impact, he knew, Yellow…
His heart lurched. He turned toward Eijun just as the world shattered. The impact was sharp, sudden, a violent shove that sent the world tilting sideways. Eijun’s breath caught in his chest, then vanished entirely as the seatbelt jerked him back. Metal groaned. Glass burst into glitter. The car spun once, twice. Then silence. A hollow, unnatural silence. No sound. No motion. Just the ringing hush that follows a violent stop. Cold air seeped thinly through the cracked frame of the car. Snowflakes drifted inside, slow and aimless, settling on shards of glass and dark fabric. For a long moment, everything was still. Then, Kuramochi stirred.
Barely. A shallow inhale, shaky and thin, like his body was fighting through layers of ice to reach the surface. His vision was smeared light and shadow, the world swimming in and out of focus until finally, painfully, Eijun came into view. Slumped toward him. Too still. Too quiet. Face streaked red, peaceful in the most frightening way imaginable.
Kuramochi tried to lift his hand. It felt impossibly heavy, but he pushed through it, inch by inch, until his fingers brushed Eijun’s.
“Ei…” The whisper was barely a sound, just a breath against the cold. Eijun didn’t answer.
Kuramochi blinked hard, forcing his vision to hold steady. He tightened his fingers around Eijun’s hand, still warm and a breath escaped him, half sob, half apology.
“…or…” Sorry for not being by your side when you needed a friend. Sorry for the pain. Sorry for the yellow light. Sorry I didn’t stop.
His fingers squeezed just a little tighter, the last of his strength.
His last sight was Eijun’s face. His last warmth was Eijun’s hand in his.
And then quietly, gently, the dark pulled him under.
The wedding hall glowed warm with soft lights, gold and champagne tones reflecting off crystal glasses and polished cutlery. Laughter drifted through the tables, gentle and content, the kind of warmth only a long-awaited wedding could bring.
Two seats near the front remained empty.
People joked lightly about “traffic” and “fashionably late” and Nori’s bride had laughed, teasing that Kuramochi was probably crying because his date dumped him last minute.
But then someone stood up. The person approached the head table quickly, expression pale, phone clutched tight. Nori blinked, confused as the guest leaned in and whispered something. His smile fell instantly. The color drained from his face. He reached into his jacket with shaky fingers, pulling out his phone. His bride touched his arm gently.
“What?” she asked, voice soft, worried.
Nori didn’t answer immediately. His eyes were fixed on the screen, frozen. He swallowed hard, once, then looked at her, broken and disbelieving. The article opened slowly, the bright screen cutting through the dim wedding lights, cruel in its clarity.
BREAKING NEWS: Yakult Swallows shortstop Kuramochi Yoichi (27) and Los Angeles Dodgers pitcher Sawamura Eijun (26) found dead following suspected hit-and-run collision on icy road
His breath hitched but he kept reading.
Tokyo, 18:42 — Two professional baseball players, Kuramochi Yoichi of the Tokyo Yakult Swallows and Los Angeles Dodgers (MLB) Pitcher Sawamura Eijun, were discovered unresponsive inside a vehicle following what authorities believe to be a hit-and-run accident caused by icy road conditions in western Tokyo.
The crash occurred shortly after 5:20 PM. Emergency responders arriving on the scene reported significant damage consistent with a high-speed impact. Despite immediate efforts, both athletes were pronounced dead at the scene.
Nori’s fingers tightened around the phone. His vision wavered, but he forced himself onward.
Sources close to the investigation state that the other driver fled immediately after running a red light. Police are currently reviewing traffic cameras for identification.
His throat closed. He blinked rapidly, trying and failing to clear the burn behind his eyes.
One first responder, who spoke under condition of anonymity, stated that the two men were found holding hands when the team arrived. “It looked like… they were together at the end,” the responder said.
Nori kept reading, though his entire body was beginning to shake.
Sawamura Eijun had recently completed his sixth MLB season, winning two World Series titles with the Dodgers in a row. Kuramochi Yoichi was a fan favourite known for his speed, charm and fiery spirit.
“Yoichi…” His voice cracked. “Sawamura…”
His chair scraped loudly against the floor as he stood. The music faltered. People began to look up.
“Everyone,” Nori said, louder now, struggling to keep his voice steady, “Yoichi and Sawamura... Apparently something—”
He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to, because dozens of guests, Seido alumni with and without their partners, pulled out their phones. Nori stood frozen beside his bride, His eyes were wide, unfocused, unable to comprehend that the two empty seats were not a delay, not a coincidence but permanent.
Then silence. Until a sound, small at first, broke through. Quiet, strangled sobs.
Heads turned, one by one. At a table near the middle of the hall sat Miyuki Kazuya. Catcher of the Yomiuri Giants. Always composed, always put together. But now his glasses lay abandoned on the tablecloth. His hands covered his face. His shoulders shook silently, violently, as if the article had ripped open something he’d been trying to keep locked away for years.
Next to Miyuki, Chris didn’t move. He stared at his phone as if he couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. No tears. No sound. Just shock. Deep and hollow, draining the color from his features.
Other guests stared, frozen, waiting for someone to speak, to deny it, to say it wasn’t true. But no one did.
And in the golden glow of Nori’s wedding hall, two empty seats remained empty. Forever.
Kuramochi’s eyes fluttered open. A groan escaped his lips, low and throaty, as if his body remembered exhaustion it hadn’t yet earned. The air was sharp and familiar, scented faintly of old textbooks and dust. He blinked, slowly realising the ceiling above him wasn’t the apartment he remembered. This ceiling was low, painted a pale blue, with faint posters peeling at the corners.
His heart began to thump.
He was in his childhood bedroom. The familiar clutter of forgotten notebooks, a cracked pencil cup and the old baseball glove sitting on the shelf... everything screamed the past. His gaze darted to the calendar pinned crookedly on the wall.
29.01.2011.
“The same fucking day,” he muttered under his breath, voice rough with disbelief.
He looked again. His hand went to his mouth, and the word came out before he could stop it. “Eijun!”
His feet hit the floor before his thoughts fully caught up. He sprinted down the hallway, barreling into the living room. Darkness. All the lights were off.
“Typical,” he muttered, voice tight, bitter. His parents were absent. Always had been, really. Middle school had labeled him a problem child, Tokyo had been the escape. Now, in this second chance, the neglect that had shaped him could be wielded. He went straight to his old drawer, rummaged and found the small bundle of savings he knew he had kept hidden over the years. Every coin, every bill, it wasn’t much, but it was enough. He dressed quickly, lacing his sneakers, the familiar rhythm of preparation steadying him.
“Hold on tight, Bakamura,” he whispered, almost a dare to the universe, almost a promise to himself.
Hours later, after nearly eight grueling hours on the train, Kuramochi arrived in Nagano. The winter sun was low in the sky, casting long, cold shadows across the snow-dusted streets. His breath puffed in clouds as he stood in front of the modest, quiet house that he knew so well: Eijun’s parents’ home. He lifted a hand and pressed the doorbell. The chime echoed faintly, and after a moment, the door creaked open.
A little girl with pigtails blinked at him. Her eyes were wide, curious, unafraid.
“…Mochi?” the girl asked, voice tentative.
“Eijun?” Kuramochi whispered, disbelief thick in his throat.
The girl nodded once, slowly. Both froze for a moment, staring at each other, time suspended between recognition and wonder.
From the hallway came a gentle voice. “Ei-chan, who is this?”
Kuramochi’s head snapped up. Eijun, frozen mid-blink, went silent.
“I… uh… I got a little lost,” Kuramochi said quickly, voice low, trying to sound casual.
Eijun’s face broke into a grin, small and mischievous. “Come on in,” he said, stepping aside to let him through.
Minutes later, Kuramochi found himself sitting at the small kitchen table of the Sawamura household. A steaming teacup was pressed into his hands. The aroma was familiar and grounding.
Eijun poured another cup for himself, smiling softly. “Here,” he said, offering it.
Mochi straightened immediately, blinking. “Thank you. I-I’m Kuramochi Yoichi,” he said, trying to sound composed despite his inner turmoil.
The door at the other end of the kitchen opened and Eijun’s grandfather Sawamura Eitoku leaned in, twinkling with curiosity. “Don’t you wonder why a girl is named Eijun?” he asked, amusement in his eyes.
Because you Sawamuras are all nuts, Kuramochi thought, suppressing a grin.
“My son thought he had a boy, not a girl,” the grandfather continued, chuckling. “So he went ahead and registered the name and never changed it. The idiot.”
The family erupted into laughter, except Eijun’s father Sawamura Eitaro, who only turned red and muttered under his breath.
Eijun’s mother leaned over to Kuramochi, voice gentle. “Do you want me to call someone for you, Kuramochi-kun?”
“My parents are pilots,” Kuramochi replied easily, shrugging. “They’re always busy.”
Eijun, still smiling, leaned forward, eyes bright. “You wanna play catch until the sun goes down?”
All eyes in the room shifted toward him.
Kuramochi’s lips curved into a grin. “Sure!”
Eijun led the way down the narrow hallway, their feet crunching softly against the worn wooden floor. “Ball’s in my room,” he said, tossing Mochi a sideways glance. “Let’s get it before it gets cold out.”
Kuramochi followed, mind spinning. Every unfamiliarly familiar detail made the house feel impossibly real, impossibly past and impossibly present all at once.
They reached Eijun’s room. The walls were covered with old drawings and baseball pennants. Eijun dug under his bed and pulled out a slightly scuffed baseball. “Here,” he said, tossing it to Mochi.
Kuramochi caught it with ease, spinning it once in his hand before handing it back. He hesitated. Finally, he asked the question that had been gnawing at him ever since he’d opened his eyes in the past.
“What the hell happened?” Eijun’s voice was low, more serious than usual.
Kuramochi shrugged, letting the ball roll idly in his palms before tossing it back to Eijun. “I… don’t really know,” he admitted.
“Well, at least you’re normal. A boy. Meanwhile… I somehow got turned into a girl.” Eijun shook his head, muttering under his breath.
Kuramochi’s lips curved into a crooked grin. “Maybe the universe thought you’d be better off as a girl… thinking of the number of guys who shot their loa—”
He didn’t get to finish. Eijun’s eyes narrowed with mock precision and with a sudden flick of his wrist, the baseball flew straight into Mochi’s stomach.
Kuramochi doubled over, but only in laughter. “Ha! Nice pitch,” he wheezed between chuckles. He leaned back against the wall, wiping a tear from his eye.
“Whatever happens,” he said quietly, almost to himself, but loud enough for Eijun to hear, “you’re not alone.”
Eijun froze for a fraction of a second, then smirked, the seriousness of the moment softened by the shared warmth between them. “I know,” he said, tossing the ball lightly into the air and catching it again.
The snow crunched sharply under their boots as Mochi and Eijun stepped out into the yard. The late afternoon sun glinted off the icy edges of rooftops and tree branches, casting long shadows across the garden. Eijun, small and scrawny, in the body of a little girl, held a carefully packed snowball in his mittened hands. Mochi twirled the baseball between his fingers, grinning as he watched. They started tossing the ball back and forth, cautious at first, each throw soft, careful, as if testing gravity and the other’s reflexes. The air filled with the sound of laughter, short bursts, sharp and carefree, cutting through the cold.
After a few throws, Mochi tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his dark eyes. “So… how’s life been for you?” he asked, casual, but with an undertone of something heavier.
Eijun froze mid-throw, eyebrows knitting, fingers tightening on the snowball. “I woke up today and now…I’m… a girl,” he said, voice flat, almost resigned, yet there was a flash of mischief in his eyes.
Mochi rolled his eyes, exasperated. “Right, right. Female Sawamura Eijun. Still into baseball, or… more into… I don’t know… drawing?”
Eijun let out a small, breathy laugh. “Seems like this Eijun has been… surprisingly like the original.” His grin was crooked, a little self-conscious, but undeniably there. “All the same stubborn, ridiculous habits apparently.”
“Good,” Mochi said, satisfied, tossing the ball lightly back, his eyes glinting with challenge. “Show me how you pitch.”
Eijun’s grin widened. He scooped up some snow, rolled it expertly into a tight ball and wound up. The throw was fast, precise and Mochi barely had time to react before it slammed into him squarely in the stomach.
“Hahahahahah!” Mochi doubled over, laughter bursting from him despite the shock, brushing snow from his coat. “You still got it, Ace.”
Eijun’s grin faded into something quieter, tinged with a hint of worry. “But… what do I even do now?” he asked softly, voice carrying a strange vulnerability. His gaze dropped to the snow.
Mochi stepped closer, his shadow falling across Eijun’s smaller frame. “What’s wrong?”
“I… I can’t play with you… because I’m a girl… Is this all worth anything?” Eijun asks, his voice breaking slightly. He lifted his face, eyes shimmering, and Mochi could see the heartbreak beneath the bravado.
Mochi didn’t hesitate. He wrapped him in a protective embrace, holding him close as the chill of the afternoon pressed against their backs. Eijun’s tears fell against Mochi’s shoulder, hot against the cold and his small hands gripped Mochi’s coat like a lifeline.
“We’ll figure something out,” Mochi murmured. “You will pitch, Ace.” He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Eijun’s head.
Within the blink of an eye, Mochi’s balance failed and he flew sideways into the snow.
“KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF MY GRANDDAUGHTER, CITY BOY!” Eijun’s grandfather bellowed from the porch, voice booming across the yard.
Mochi froze, blinking in disbelief, while Eijun bursted out in laughter, sharp and unrestrained, cutting through the tension like sunshine.
“Did this City Boy make you cry, my angel?” the grandfather teased, stepping closer.
Eijun giggled, brushing snow from his cheeks. “No! I just had something in my eye and Mochi-nii helped me… and then I demanded a kiss,” he admitted, shrugging like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The grandfather’s eyes twinkled. “You like this boy?”
“Yes. Very much,” Eijun said, laughing again, the sound ringing across the yard, blending with the crunch of snow under Mochi’s boots.
“Before I accept you as my granddaughter’s boyfriend, you have to prove yourself!” the grandfather declared and before Mochi could react, he found himself being half-dragged, half-carried through the snow.
The grandfather was surprisingly strong and Eijun’s laughter echoed after him. In that moment, the past and present blurred. All that mattered was that Eijun was laughing again.
Mochi blinked as Eijun’s grandfather let go of his coat only briefly before giving him a firm shove into the house. The cold air bit at his cheeks, but it was nothing compared to the feeling in his chest.
He stumbled a few steps inside, still half-dragged, half-aware of Eijun’s sparkling eyes on him. The boy, or rather, the girl in front of him, sat down on the couch before him, legs tucked neatly under him, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
Mochi’s brain was still trying to catch up. Boyfriend? His… boyfriend? Ah, hell nah.
Eijun winked. Just a small, mischievous little wink, enough to make Mochi feel like the universe had personally ambushed him. Amused. Unfazed. Absolutely enjoying the chaos he’d just created.
“Sit down,” Eijun said, patting the couch next to him. “Don’t want you to catch cold while you’re… well… whatever.”
Mochi’s eyes widened. “Wha—wait, what?!”
“What… is this development?” Eijun’s father asked slowly, voice calm but edged with incredulity.
Eijun, sitting beside Mochi on the couch, didn’t miss a beat. He draped an arm casually around Mochi’s shoulders, pulling him slightly closer. “He’s my—”
“I don’t accept him as your boyfriend,” interrupted his grandfather.
Mochi froze, eyes wide. I swear… I am going to throttle you later, he thought, looking at Eijun but he didn’t move away. Instead, he leaned into the absurdity, letting the warmth of their familiarity and the strange comfort of their friendship guide him. Eijun’s parents blinked, taken aback. His mother opened her mouth, clearly about to ask something, but Eijun waved a hand dismissively, grinning.
Mochi pinched the bridge of his nose, resisting the urge to sigh dramatically.
Yeah, he thought, shaking his head. You can't slap him, Kuramochi-sama… even if this maniac is now a girl. We don't hit girls, even if they are gay lunatics named Sawamura Eijun. We don't hit girls…
Eijun’s father leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin, trying to hide a small smile. “Well… that’s certainly… unexpected,” he muttered, a hint of amusement creeping into his tone. “So… you showed up at our doorstep today and now you're my daughter’s boyfriend?”
Mochi blinked, frozen. What the hell am I supposed to say?
Eijun, sitting beside him, draped another arm around his shoulders and leaned close into a hug, smiling as if this were completely normal. “He’s my best friend, not my boyfriend,” he said lightly, grin mischievous.
Her mother tilted her head, studying him. “And what exactly do you do, Kuramochi-kun? What kind of boy is my daughter’s best friend?”
Mochi swallowed, cheeks warming. “I play baseball. I’m… pretty good.”
Eijun’s father exchanged a glance with his wife, nodding slowly. “Baseball, huh? Discipline, focus, teamwork. Qualities we value.”
“Yes, Sawamura-san,” Mochi said, trying to sound confident. “I take it seriously. I work hard.”
Her mother smiled faintly. “And how long have you known her?”
Mochi hesitated, then shrugged lightly. “Just… today,” he said truthfully, letting his tone imply that their connection had been sudden.
Eijun’s father leaned back slightly, expression softening. “Well… I suppose that’s possible. It seems she’s made a strong first impression on you, then?”
Eijun smirked, leaning closer to Mochi. “I make strong impressions,” he teased quietly, eyes sparkling with amusement.
Mochi groaned softly, letting the girl in front of him, his best friend in a body he still had to wrap his head around, run the show. Eijun winked at him, clearly enjoying every second. Whatever. Endure it, Kuramochi-sama. Even if he’s… a girl now.
Eijun’s grandfather, sitting quietly nearby, huffed and shook his head. “Her big character certainly distracts from her scrawny appearance,” he muttered, voice low but amused.
Mochi blinked and for the first time, really looked at Eijun—the Girl Version—in the soft living room light. Golden eyes, huge and doe-like, staring at him with playful warmth. Despite the transformation, despite the new softness in the lines of his face, Mochi couldn’t help the thought that sprang unbidden to his mind.
He still looks like an idiot, even as a girl. Fucking lunatic. Fucking gay disaster lunatic.
He… he didn’t see a girl. He saw the boy he had known: the same messy hair, the same crooked grin, instead of the scarf, he saw the tie he had struggled to knot around his friend’s neck just yesterday, the tie that hung from his bloodied, lifeless body, before Mochi had closed his own eyes in the car. Tears pricked at Mochi’s eyes, blurring the room around him. The years of friendship, the tragedy and the impossible twist of fate hit him all at once.
Without thinking, he leaned forward, letting himself be pulled into Eijun’s arms. Eijun wrapped his arms tightly around him, still smirking, warm and alive around him.
“I’m not so ugly that you have to cry,” Eijun said softly, laughter threading through the words, teasing but tender.
Mochi let out a shuddering breath he didn’t realise he had been holding. The chaos, the shock, the grief, it all condensed into this one moment: Eijun, impossibly alive in a body that wasn’t his and Mochi, caught somewhere between horror, relief and the warmth of a decade-long bond.
God, you’re still absolutely ridiculous. Always have been, always will be. But even as he held onto this version of his best friend, he realised that he wouldn’t trade this impossible moment for anything. I’ve got him back. I’ve got my Eijun back... even after killing him.
Eijun leaned back slightly, grinning like a maniac. “You look stupid when you cry, Kuramochi-kun.”
Mochi groaned softly. And even as he tried to regain his composure, the warmth, the absurdity and the familiar chaos of Eijun’s presence wrapped around him, grounding him in a way only she—he—ever could.
Eijun’s mother just shook her head, but her lips curved slightly. “I suppose we’ll have to get used to this,” she said softly, eyes lingering on Mochi.
Eijun smirked, leaning closer. “See? Nothing to worry about.”
Mochi groaned quietly, but a small smile tugged at his lips despite himself. I swear… I’m going to throttle you later…
Eijun’s mother tilted her head, eyes curious. “Kuramochi-kun… are you going back today?”
Mochi blinked, realizing for the first time that he hadn’t thought this through at all. Uh… no plan… no way home… His shoulders tensed.
Before he could answer, Eijun leaned back, arms crossed, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Kuramochi-kun can totally stay here,” he said. His parents raised their eyebrows in surprise.
“I have more than enough space in my room,” Eijun chirped, voice cheerful, as if it were the simplest solution in the world.
Eijun’s grandfather’s voice cut through the room, low and firm. “We are certainly not letting a boy sleep in your room, Angel.”
Eijun froze for a fraction of a second, then blinked, realising fully, Oh… right. I’m a girl now. A small laugh escaped him as she turned to Mochi.
“Mochi,” he said, tone gentle, “would it be okay for you to sleep on the sofa tonight? I can bring you to the station tomorrow morning.”
Mochi looked at Eijun’s parents, who were smiling warmly at him and nodded slowly. “Okay…” he said, his voice still a little uncertain, but the tension in his chest eased slightly.
Eijun’s grin widened, and she clapped her hands together in delight. “Yay! Perfect!”
After dinner, the house grew quiet. The adults were in the kitchen, the TV murmured softly in the background and the winter wind rattled faintly against the windows. Mochi and Eijun sat in the living room on the warm carpet, a blanket tossed over their legs.
Eijun toyed with a strand of his long hair, brows furrowed. The playful light he’d carried all afternoon had dimmed.
“Mochi…” he began quietly, eyes on the floor. “How am I supposed to get to Seido now? I didn’t get in because I was smart. I got in because I could play baseball.”
Mochi’s chest tightened. He knew that. He knew exactly how hard Eijun had fought, how much the boy, his boy, had loved that dream.
“And even if I did get into some school…” Eijun whispered, voice trembling, “I’m not even a boy anymore. How am I supposed to play baseball like this?”
The last words cracked, thin and painfully fragile.
Mochi inhaled slowly, thinking. Another sport… another path… something competitive… something where he can shine…
“Hey,” Mochi said finally, nudging Eijun’s knee with his own. “What about track and field? Athletics?”
Eijun blinked, sniffing once. “Track…?”
“You got the stamina, the legs, the lungs. And you’re loud enough to scare every opponent off the track.” Mochi smirked.
A tiny, reluctant laugh escaped Eijun. “I’ll… think about it,” he murmured.
“Good.” Mochi nodded. “We’ll figure something out.”
He leaned back, arms crossed behind his head. “So tell me, what can you do besides yapping?” he asked with a teasing grin.
He expected a comeback, a shove, something. But instead he saw Eijun’s face fall. His lips trembled. And then the tears welled again.
“…Oi—no, hey, that was a joke,” Mochi said quickly, leaning forward. He hadn’t meant to hit something sensitive, but clearly he had. “Oi, don’t—don’t cry again.”
Eijun tried to wipe his cheeks, but more tears fell. He looked so small. So lost. So far from the loud, unstoppable idiot Mochi had known and yet exactly the same.
Mochi scooted closer and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him against his chest. “Hey,” he murmured into Eijun’s hair, warm and steady. “It’s okay. We’re gonna figure something out. I’m here, okay? I’m right here.”
Eijun clung to him, shoulders shaking. Different world. Different bodies. Same two idiots.
Almost two months after that fateful weekend in Nagano, Kuramochi was standing at a Tokyo train platform, hands in his pockets, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He’d arrived early, way too early, but excitement had been buzzing in his chest since he’d woken up. Eijun had pestered his parents relentlessly, day after day, until his mother finally gave in and bought him a phone so he could “stay in contact with my best friend.”
The morning train rolled in with a loud screech. Before the doors had fully opened, Eijun burst out, running full speed toward him and jumping into his arms. “Mochi!”
Kuramochi caught him on instinct, almost stumbling back. This body was smaller, lighter, but the energy was exactly the same. Behind them, Eijun’s father stepped off the train, watching the reunion with thinly veiled exasperation.
“Punk,” he muttered, shaking his head at Mochi.
Mochi pretended he hadn’t heard, though the corner of his mouth twitched.
They spent the late morning wandering through a massive sports store, Eijun darting from aisle to aisle, touching everything, gasping at every glove and pair of spikes. His father trailed behind them with the patience of a seasoned soldier.
“I have a surprise,” Mochi announced as Eijun was holding up a pair of running shoes.
Both Eijun and his father turned to him with identical suspicious expressions.
They look like idiots. Like father like son.
Mochi snickered. “Just follow me.”
Twenty minutes later, they stood in front of a baseball center. Eijun blinked at the entrance, confused.
“You said big surprise…”
“Come on,” Mochi said, walking ahead. “Just trust me.”
Instead of going toward the batting cages, Mochi led them down to the dugout area.
“Yo! My best friend arrived!” Mochi shouted.
Eijun’s heart almost stopped. Standing inside, leaning against the netting with a bored expression, was a young Miyuki Kazuya. Young, but unmistakably him. Sharp eyes. Smug eyebrows. Aura of arrogance.
“A girl?” Miyuki asked immediately.
Mochi exploded. In two steps he’d grabbed Miyuki’s collar and yanked him down to eye level.
“I did not lie when I said my best friend is the best pitcher you’ll ever see.”
Miyuki merely flicked an eyebrow up and glanced at the girl and then at her father behind her.
“…Right,” he muttered. “Sure.”
He straightened, exhaled long and slow, and then turned to Eijun formally.
“My name is Miyuki Kazuya. This guy made a bet with me, so I’ll catch for you today.”
Eijun bowed politely. “Sawamura Eijun. Please take care of me.”
Behind him, his father sighed deeply. “What is it with my daughter and city boys…”
While Eijun stretched and warmed up, Mochi stood with Miyuki, explaining nothing and everything at once.
“Let’s go, Eijun,” Mochi finally called.
Eijun bounced on his toes and nodded.
“What pitches do you throw?” Miyuki asked.
Eijun grinned, mischief flashing in his eyes.
“Do you really want to know? Or do you want to be surprised?” Mochi asked, arms behind his head, smug.
Miyuki shot him a weird look. “…Okay, pitcher-kun. Surprise me.”
God, was he surprised. Eijun delivered eleven different pitches, things that shouldn’t be possible from a 12-year-old girl’s body but were undeniably Sawamura. Miyuki stood up slowly, mask in hand, staring at her as if she had turned into a dragon.
He turned to Mochi with his mouth hanging open.
“What is that?” he demanded, pointing at Eijun with total lack of shame.
“My best friend,” Mochi said proudly, slinging an arm around Eijun as they walked over.
Eijun, cheeks flushed from pitching, only stared back at Miyuki, really stared. The set of Miyuki’s shoulders. The shape of his hands.
The high pitched tone of his voice.
I missed you but I hate you so much, Tanuki… Eijun thought, heart aching like a fresh bruise.
Mochi saw the flicker of melancholy in those golden eyes.
“What are you staring at?” Mochi snapped at Miyuki. “You lost a bet.”
Miyuki glanced briefly at Mochi, but his eyes drifted right back to Eijun.
“Can… we exchange numbers?” Miyuki asked, rubbing the back of his neck.
Eijun froze, startled. Before he could say anything, Mochi stepped in front of him like an attack dog.
“No. You can send messages through me, if I approve of them.”
Eijun giggled, covering his mouth. Mochi saw the faint blush creep onto Miyuki’s cheeks and he smirked like he’d just won a championship.
Mochi had planned the rest of the day carefully: a late lunch in Eijun's favourite Ramen shop before Eijun and his father had to take the evening train back to Nagano.
What he hadn’t planned was Miyuki Kazuya walking behind them like an uninvited cat. Eijun blinked at him. Mochi glared at him. Eijun’s father looked like he was one deep breath away from calling the police.
But Miyuki only shrugged. “What? I’m hungry.”
“You weren’t invited,” Mochi snapped.
Miyuki clicked his tongue. “Relax. I’ll pay for my own food.”
“You better,” Eijun’s father muttered.
At the small ramen shop, the four sat together; Miyuki plopped himself into the seat next to Eijun before anyone could stop him.
“So, Sawamu—”
“No.” Mochi inserted himself verbally like a brick wall.
Miyuki exhaled. “…Fine. Kuramochi-kun, then—”
“No.” This time it was Eijun’s father, sipping his tea with a dangerous glint in his eyes.
Miyuki stared at them. “Can I talk to anyone?”
“Me,” Eijun’s father said.
Eijun giggled behind his bowl. And every few moments, while pretending to sip his ramen or adjust his hair, Eijun’s eyes slid sideways towards Miyuki. And every single time, Miyuki caught them. He would pause mid-bite, raise an eyebrow and stare back in confusion that edged dangerously close to interest.
Mochi noticed first and kicked Eijun under the table.
“Stop that,” he hissed.
“I’m not doing anything,” Eijun whispered, far too innocent for his own good.
“You’re crawling toward disaster.”
“But he’s so—”
“No.”
Eijun giggled behind his sleeve.
Miyuki tried again halfway through lunch, leaning slightly toward Eijun. “So, uh… Sawamura—”
A pair of chopsticks landed sharply on the table between them.
Eijun’s father didn’t even look up as he said, “This one City Boy is already bad enough. But my daughter will have no boyfriend until she’s thirty.”
Miyuki choked on air.
Mochi immediately added, with a solemn nod, “At least thirty.”
Eijun’s father turned to look at him. Then he nodded approvingly. “Well said, son.”
Eijun burst into delighted giggles, shoulders shaking as he tried to hide his laughter behind his hand.
Miyuki, caught between insult and confusion, pointed at Mochi. “Why the hell are you deciding that?!”
“Because I can,” Mochi said, sipping his broth smugly. “And because I know what kind of disaster you are.”
“I’m not—”
“Yes,” Eijun and Mochi said at the same time.
Eijun’s father grunted in agreement. Miyuki gave up, sank into his seat and slurped his ramen in defeat.
But Eijun… Eijun glowed. He hugged his bowl, cheeks warm, golden eyes sparkling at the absurdity of it all, at Mochi’s protectiveness, his father’s sternness, Miyuki’s frustration.
For the first time since waking up in this world… he felt alive again and looked around.
“…Are you looking at him again?” his father demanded.
Eijun jerked, hands flying behind his back. “No?”
Miyuki snorted and Mochi facepalmed.
His father set his bowl down with a thud. “This is unacceptable. Entirely unacceptable.”
The sun was already sinking behind the Tokyo skyline when they reached the train station. People hurried past them, announcements echoed from the speakers and Eijun clung to the straps of his bag while Mochi stood beside him like the world’s most exhausted chaperone. His father, arms crossed, radiated pure disapproval like a furnace.
Miyuki had followed them again, now the entire walk to the train station, hands in his pockets, pretending he had just happened to be going in the same direction. He was not subtle.
At the platform, Eijun turned, smiling brightly. “Thank you, Miyuki-kun. Really. Today was… amazing.”
Miyuki’s eyes softened, the usual smirk fading into something gentler. Then he took a step closer, not too close, not inappropriate, but enough that Mochi tensed.
“I’d like to see you again,” Miyuki said plainly. “If you want… I mean—” He glanced at Eijun’s father’s murderous stare. “—at some point. Maybe. Before thirty.”
Eijun beamed. His father made a noise that sounded like choking on air.
“And,” Miyuki continued before he could lose courage, “I’d be really happy if you came to one of my games.”
“Games?” Eijun repeated, eyes sparkling.
“Yeah. If we make it to Koshien this year… come watch. I’d like that.”
There it was, the real smile. The unguarded one. It hit Eijun so hard she almost forgot how to breathe.
You're so pretty when you smile, stupid Tanuki.
“I’ll come,” he said without hesitation and his father’s soul visibly left his body.
Mochi groaned. “Of course you will.”
Miyuki’s grin practically split his face. “Then it’s a promise.”
Eijun nodded eagerly. “Promise.”
His father stepped between them so fast Mochi flinched. “No promises! No city boys! No invitations to anywhere! She’s twelve!”
Miyuki blinked. “Sir, with all respect—”
“NONE TAKEN!” his father snapped.
Mochi dragged a palm down his face. “She’s going to Koshien, Oyaji. You can’t stop her. You know your daughter.”
“I CAN AND I WILL TRY!”
Eijun pressed her hands together, whispering, “Sorry…”
Mochi felt lighter when he saw how Eijun was smiling softly, the smile of someone who had found a spark Mochi thought Eijun’d lost when he woke up in this strange new body. The train began to roll into the station. Miyuki took one last look at Eijun, his expression almost earnest.
“See you soon, pitcher-kun.”
Eijun’s heart jumped. “See you soon, catcher-kun.”
His father physically shoved her toward the train.
Mochi muttered, “Oh my god, you two are unbearable. It’s like watching puppies flirt.”
Eijun elbowed him, giggling, before entering the train, while Miyuki waved from the platform.
As the doors closed, Miyuki mouthed just one word: Promise.
Eijun pressed his forehead to the window, cheeks warm, eyes bright. His father groaned into his hands. And Mochi... Mochi rolled his eyes so hard he nearly saw stars.
Eijun balanced the phone between shoulder and cheek while he tugged at the ribbon in his hair. The screen read 'Mochi'
He hit call, it rang once. Twice.
“Yo.” Mochi’s voice, rough as usual.
“Happy birthday, my beloved Mochi!” Eijun chirped.
A short pause. Then a quiet, unwilling huff of laughter.
“Yeah, yeah. Thanks, brat.”
Eijun kicked his heels against the floor. “What’re you doing?”
“Nothing. Recovering,” Mochi muttered.
“Recovering? From what?”
Mochi groaned loudly into the speaker. “I met Miyuki on Sunday.”
Eijun practically squeaked. “REALLY?!”
“Yes, really. And before you get excited, he was exactly as unbearable as I remember. Middle-school Miyuki is the same smug, know-it-all bastard as the pro-catcher we both know.”
Eijun burst out laughing. “That’s good for you though! Maybe he’ll get used to you earlier this time.”
“Why would I want that?!”
“Because,” Eijun said, voice softening, “both of you didn’t have many friends before Seido. He was the weird kid who got bullied all the time and you were the problem child, remember? So… maybe this time, you both get more people in your corner.”
Mochi went silent. Then he sighed. “…Yeah. Maybe.”
“But Miyuki is still annoying,” he added quickly.
“Obviously,” Eijun said, grinning. “Oh, some kid just… gave me a little birthday present and said I looked pretty.” He carried on.
“Oh god.” Mochi sounded personally offended. “Pretty? You?”
“Yes! Exactly my thought,” Eijun said, laughing.
“No, seriously,” Mochi insisted, “you look like a fucking lunatic with a wig.”
Eijun nearly dropped the phone from laughing so hard. “I DO NOT!”
“You do. 100%.”
“Shut up,” Eijun giggled. “I still feel like myself. I don’t think I look that different.”
“You’re Sawamura Eijun in a girl body,” Mochi said. “It’s like someone modded you in a character creator but kept the same personality stats. It’s terrifying.”
“Rude!” Eijun wheezed.
Another small pause. Then Mochi’s tone shifted, cautious.
“Did… you get a parcel today?”
“No?” Eijun blinked. “Should I have?”
Mochi sighed again. “Yeah. I sent you something for your birthday.”
“EH?! You did?!” Eijun practically vibrated. “What is it?!”
“Not telling.”
“Tell meeeee!”
“No.”
Eijun kicked his legs harder. “Well then I won’t tell you my present.”
“You got me something?” Mochi asked, startled.
“Duh,” Eijun said proudly. “But I’m not mailing it. I wanna give it to you in person.”
Mochi didn’t respond immediately.
When he did, his voice was softer than before. “…Okay. I’ll wait, then.”
Eijun smiled, warm and bright. “Happy birthday, Mochi-nii. Love you.”
“Yeah,” Mochi murmured. “Thanks, ace. Love you, too.”
By the end of the week, Eijun heard the doorbell and practically skidded across the hallway to receive a package. Addressed to Sawamura Eijun. He hugged it to his chest all the way to his room and tore the tape open with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever. He saw that there was another neatly packed bag inside the parcel and ripped it open.
Inside was a brand-new pitching glove, smooth and perfectly shaped for smaller hands. Five pristine baseballs. A handful of cute baseball keychains and charms, clearly chosen at random but with love. And below it all sat a navy cap, embroidered with the emblem of Miyuki’s Middle School.
Eijun froze. That was Miyuki Kazuya’s school. There was a note pinned under the brim. He picked it up.
Sawamura-kun,
happy birthday. Kuramochi-kun told me it was this week. If you come watch one of our games, let me know. I can reserve good seats for you, one of your guardians and Kuramochi, I guess. Looking forward to seeing you pitch again.
—Miyuki Kazuya
At the bottom, in smaller handwriting, looking almost hesitant:
My number: 0X0-XXX-XXXX
Eijun blinked at the digits. Then immediately grabbed his phone.
Contact name: Stupid Tanuki Bastard
He giggled while typing:
Me (15:34): Thank you very much for the presents! I would love to come watch you at Koshien!
—Eijun
He hit send and clutched the cap to his chest, grinning like an idiot.
Then he returned to the box. There was one last item. A tube of magnesium powder, the cheap kind athletes kept in every locker room. On top was a sticky note, written in loud, aggressively sharp handwriting.
Don’t overdo it, ace. Also, happy 13th/27th birthday.
—Mochi
Eijun burst out laughing so hard he almost fell backward. He grabbed his phone again and typed:
Me (15:37): MOCHI!!!! I GOT YOUR MAGNESIUM YOU MEAN OLD MAN!!!! THANK YOUUUU!!! LOVE YOU!!!!❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
He attached a picture of himself wearing the Tenba cap, hugging the new glove, smiling with all his teeth. Within seconds, Mochi replied:
Mochi (15:38): You look like a fucking lunatic. Don't waste the magnesium. Cost me 300 yen. I'm not loaded like that fucking four eyes.
Eijun snorted.
Me (15:39): I’ll treasure it forever, my sweetest Mochi-nii.
Mochi (15:39): Don’t. Use it. And don’t flirt with Miyuki.
Me (15:39): I’m not—!
Mochi (15:40): You ARE. I feel a strange itch. It's my Bakamura-sense. It never disappoints.
Eijun flopped onto his bed, still laughing, still glowing.