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Eijun falls to the ground, the baseball he had previously held in his pitching hand now rolling on the grass; slowly, slowly, ever so slow. Kazuya tugs at the braces of his catching gear, tosses them to the ground with little to no care, scrambling towards the mound. He’s seven – six, five, four – three steps away when a muscled body pushes him away.
Away, away, away – too far from Eijun – farther away. Kazuya remembers screaming, remembers how Kuramochi had patted his back and held him by the arm, shouting at him to listen, Miyuki and then Kazuya sees – sees the muscled man clad in all white who was still restraining him, sees a couple more people dressed the same carrying medical equipment into the field, sees the green grass contrast against tanned freckled skin, sees Eijun lying face-down, pitching arm set to an awkward angle, and there’s red.
There’s red dripping from pretty brunette hair and the mound’s dirt was clinging to Eijun’s jersey, sees the big block letters of Eijun’s initials stitched to the back of his shirt, sees the distorted figure of the number ‘1’. Kazuya screams, because Eijun isn’t moving and they have a game to win and this fucking guy keeps on pushing him farther away.
Someone’s saying something, and she’s being very loud, Kazuya can’t tell, really. Actually, he’s a bit out of it at the moment. His throat is scratchy, his voice strained, so he stretches out an arm and claws at the muscled guy’s arms that was still pushing him back. Miyuki pleads, god he pleads, he never did that before – or probably he did, sometime ago when he was young and the doctor said he wasn’t allowed in the operating room even though his mother was there dying – but anyway, Eijun.
Kazuya couldn’t cry. He feels like there are tears behind his eyes, but there’s no sting in the back of his eyelids or a lump in his throat – his chest feels tight, his knees feel weak – but all he really cares about is Eijun. His best friend, his partner – probably something more, okay scratch that, definitely something more – and Kazuya can’t lose Eijun.
Eijun who loves baseball and who understands Kazuya better than he understands himself. Eijun who took them to Koushien and brought the team’s dreams ever closer to reality. Eijun who was loud and annoying and oh, so, very very sweet. Eijun whose body was being lifted and hooked to a bed with those rollers on the bottom that pull through the baseball field’s grass, and Kazuya’s not screaming anymore but he still yearns.
His eyes follow the blob of bodies surrounding Eijun, who had his eyes closed shut and his mouth set into a slack worried line. The stadium is in a state of pandemonium and Kazuya sees the coach and the manager talking to reporters. Kazuya wants to cry, but he can’t. He looks at the other side of the field, sees Chris-senpai far into the bleachers who had tear tracks running down his face.
Still, Kazuya doesn’t cry, and he eventually stops struggling when he hears the fading sounds of ambulance sirens carried in the wind. He slumps down, slowly, slowly, ever so slowly on his knees. He closes his eyes and tries to remember where it went wrong, when it went wrong, because surely Eijun was doing fine in last week’s game, even if the brunette didn’t do so well during pitching practice he still – oh.
Kazuya sinks his heels deeper into the ground.
*
Three days later, Kazuya’s father visits Eijun in the hospital.
It was early, far too early for his father to be there. The sun hadn’t even risen and Kazuya still hadn’t slept – not like he could, really, when all that happened in the solitude of his nightmares was an endless loop of Eijun’s lifeless body falling to the ground and Kazuya not being able to do anything about it – so he doesn’t sleep. Instead, he took residence of the dirty, coffee-stained one-person couch in the private hospital room the Sawamura family decided to get for Eijun.
Eijun, who has been asleep for three days, who had pins and needles inserted in places Kazuya knows pins and needles shouldn’t be put. Honestly, this is all ridiculous. Eijun shouldn’t be there, he should be in Seidou’s dorms, sleeping under the warm and dirty covers of his bunk bed. He should be the same energetic adorable ball of life Kazuya knew he is, but instead he’s unmoving, unconscious, and pale as a sheet.
Kazuya was there for three days, only eating when Sawamura-san is there to force the food down his throat, and only sleeping for no longer than a couple of minutes. He’s been there, telling Eijun stories and telling him to wake up you little dumbass shit I fucking miss you and then drawing little baseballs on the arm of the coffee-stained couch he had claimed his for the last three days because he can and because he knows Eijun would probably smile that bright little toothy smile of his that gives Kazuya flip-flops in his stomach and flittery-flutters in his chest.
There have been lots of visits, and Kazuya had been there to witness every single one of them – teammates and family members and doctors and more teammates – but then his father showed up at the crack of dawn on the third day of Eijun’s hospitalization and Kazuya stared at the man he calls his dad enter the hospital room carrying a paper bag filled to the brim with snacks, stepping towards the far end of Eijun’s bed to settle the bag down next to the pile of gifts that other visitors had left.
Kazuya stares, and he’s tired but he still has some spare energy left enough for him to open his mouth and ask, “What are you doing here?”
His dad sighs, lowers his head and his eyes to the floor, and Kazuya would smirk smugly if he could – but his mouth is tired from frowning so he settles for a deadpan look. “I,” His dad starts, and Kazuya watches as the older man lifts his head and turns towards the hospital window that overlooks the fields of Nagano, breathing deeply, “I came here to tell you a story.”
*
They end up in the hospital cafeteria, drinking instant coffee from paper cups and doing their damndest with avoiding eye-contact.
“Are you going to tell me whatever it is you’re going to tell me now because I really don’t – “ Kazuya starts before catching himself, tries to tell himself that this person – his dad, supposedly, who had been absent for the most part of his life – doesn’t deserve to hear whatever it is he has to say, but thinks better of it. Really, what difference would it make?
“I don’t want to leave Eijun there alone.” Kazuya finishes, and he side eyes his dad who was looking down at the paper cup of coffee settled in front of him. Kazuya averts his eyes, listens to his father hum a thoughtful tune.
“By the time I was your age I’d give anything to fall in love truly – it was all I could think.” He starts, and Kazuya listens, because he has a feeling that’s what he’s supposed to do, so he sips his coffee – and… - and he listens.
“That’s when I met your mother, the girl of my dreams,” His dad’s voice hitches, “The most beautiful woman that I’d ever seen. One day she said to me, ‘I can’t help but notice you’re staring at me, I know I shouldn’t say this but I really believe, I can tell by your eyes that you’re in love with me’.”
Kazuya looks, his dad was smiling sadly.
He swallows the lump in his throat, averts his eyes, and sips at his coffee.
“We’d share everything and would laugh at the stars. She was… she was my best friend.” His dad continues, voice distant, like he was remembering. “And then one day I told her, ‘You know that I love you, will you marry me?’ and she said yes.”
“So we got married, lived a life in the city then had a pretty little baby boy we named Kazuya.” And there’s so much truth and sincerity in that voice that Kazuya thinks he would break. “But then –“ His dad says, voice hitching.
“But then one day she said ‘It seems that I’m sick and I’ve only got weeks. Please, don’t be sad now, I really believe, you and Kazuya were the greatest things that ever happened to me.’” He says, and Kazuya feels his throat tighten with choked up words.
He’s got his hands fisted, “Why are you telling me this?”
His dad looks at him, and Kazuya looks into familiar eyes which looks like his own, with a sad smile on his face. “Now, son, I’m only telling you this because life can do terrible things. I hope and I pray that god shows you differently…” He trails off. “Don’t fall in love, there’s just too much to lose. If – if you’re given the choice then I beg you to choose that you walk away, don’t let them get too close to you. I can’t – I don’t think I can bear to see the same thing happen to you.”
And Kazuya watches as his father pushes away from the cafeteria table, takes his coat that was hung on the armchair’s back rest, and with a last sad-smile farewell, turns and leaves. He sits there, probably for just a couple minutes, trying to get his emotions back in check. He thinks, and he knows that it's too late - he's probably in too deep, had probably fell in love already, anyway.
He doesn’t cry.
*
It’s been seven days in the hospital when Kazuya watches as Eijun’s eyes flutter open, struggling to adjust at the bright lights. Eijun turns his head to the side, winces at the pain and grimaces at the sticky tape plastered all over his body. Kazuya feels elated when Eijun says bastard what’s’wiff thos’ ugly baseballs on ‘he couch?
So happy that he has to laugh – louder than he ever thought he could – and he cries.
Eijun gives him an exasperated look, pale chapped lips set into an annoyed line, and with snot and tears messing up his face Kazuya decides it’s the perfect moment to stand beside Eijun’s bedside and lean down to press his lips against Eijun’s for no longer than a few seconds.
When Kazuya pulls away, he sees Eijun scowling, a faint dust of pink on his cheeks. Bas’ard he says, and then Kazuya leans down for one more.