Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Eijun’s first flower appears when he is five years old.

It’s nearly three A.M. when he jerks awake to the feeling of his hand being scalded, and panic sets in almost immediately. He throws off his covers, gasping for air in his suddenly very hot bedroom, stumbling across the floor to flip on his light switch. He stubs his toe on one of his toy trucks his mother had told him to put away earlier, but he hardly notices.

Instead he focuses on the bright yellow rose on the back of his left hand -- it’s blooming, spinning and swaying as if caught in an imaginary breeze that sends chills down his spine. He stares, open mouthed, for what feels like an eternity.

And then he screams.

By the time his mother pushes her way into his room he’s in hysterics, choking on his own tears and snot as he holds his hand out in front of him. He leans back as far as he can, as if hoping his arm may detach and he can forget this whole ordeal has ever happened. His mom pauses for a minute, taking in the scene before letting out a breath of relief and near-excitement. She sits, pulling Eijun into her lap and cradling him to her chest. She waits until his sobs turn into hiccups before she says anything.

“I didn’t expect you to get your flower this early, Eijun. Looks like you’re just as special as I’ve always said you were.” He frowns, unsure as to whether or not he should feel flattered or insulted, and she laughs. “Don’t worry, baby. It’s a good thing. A very good thing. You know about our flowers, right?”

Eijun scrunches up his nose a bit, his eyes puffy. “I know about my flower,” he says. As if to make sure they’re on the same page, he lifts the hem of his shirt to his chin, pointing at the sunflower on the right side of his chest, directly beneath his collar bone. “This one, right?”

His mother smiles as she nods, pulling his shirt back down and ruffling his hair. “Yes, that one. And you know mine and Papa’s, right?”

It takes him a moment to think, his eyebrows furrowing in concentration before he remembers. “A cherry blossom! And Papa has a bonsai tree.”

She nods again. “Yes, that’s right. And do you know why we have these flowers?”

Eijun shakes his head, genuinely unsure as to why they were there. He’d been born with it -- it was something that had always just been there. His mother takes a moment to think about what she says. She watches Eijun, closely, starting off slow as she decides how best to explain.

“Eijun, everyone on this Earth is born with a flower.”

“Everyone?”

“Everyone,” she nods. “And when you love someone, their flower appears somewhere on your body.”

“Really?” Eijun asks, eyes wide. “Where’s yours and Papa’s?”

“You know that my cherry blossom is on my right shoulder. And your Papa has it on his left calf. His bonsai tree is on his back,” she turns, patting a spot on her right shoulder blade, “and his is on my right thigh.”

Eijun hums, pushing his mother’s sleeve up a bit to see the bottom of her flower poking out from beneath the fabric. She continues, smiling as she watches him. “When you love someone, their flower appears. They’re there so that you can find your soulmate, Eijun. When someone gets your flower in return, it means that they love you, too. It’s to help you find the person that you’re going to marry.”

Eijun freezes, pulling back a bit and letting his mother’s sleeve fall back down her arm. He lets her words sink in before making a face, sticking his tongue out and frowning.

“But this is Wakana’s flower!”

His mom’s smile turns into a grin, nearly reaching her ears as she claps her hands together. “Oh, is it? Baby that’s great! She’s a really sweet girl.”

He shakes his head, his hair whipping back and forth across his forehead. “No, no you don’t understand! I don’t want to marry Wakana!”

The only response he receives is a small laugh and a kiss on the forehead as his mother scoops him up in her arms, standing from her place on the floor and carrying him to his bed. She lays him down, pulling his covers to his chin and running her fingers through his hair. “Maybe not now, my love, but you might end up wanting to someday.”

Eijun only sticks his tongue out again, making a noise of disgust as he rolls over in his bed to pout for the rest of the night.

The next morning he’s up before his dad can wake him. He practically vaults out of his bed and marches to his dresser, pulling out a change of mostly matching clothes and a pair of shoes. It takes him three attempts to get his t-shirt on right, but once it is, there’s no stopping him. He stomps down the stairs, barely acknowledging his parent’s calls to him from the kitchen as he waves them off, yelling that he’s going to Wakana’s and closing the front door behind him. It doesn’t take him long to reach her house, being only three doors down, and he pushes his way through her front gate and rings her doorbell.

He taps his foot a bit as he waits, arms crossed, cheeks puffed out in annoyance.

The moment Wakana opens the door, he shoves his hand in her face. She takes a startled step backwards, apparently having just woken up from sleep herself, and her eyes grow wide at the sight of her own flower twirling on the back of Eijun’s hand.

“Wakana,” he says, his determination strong, “I do not want to marry you.”

They stare at each other for a long time -- Wakana attempting to process exactly what is happening, Eijun waiting for her to react. She finally snaps out of whatever daze she’s in, shaking her head a bit and frowning.

“Well.... Good!” She cries, stomping her foot a bit and tightening her grip on her front door. “I don’t want to marry you , either!”

She steps back, slamming the door in his face.

Eijun is satisfied, nodding to himself as he turns and marches back to his house, mind already wandering to the pancakes his mother had been making when he’d left a few minutes earlier.

His second flower comes half of a year later, on the playground at his school.

He’s playing on the monkeybars with Wakana and a boy from his class when the small string of astrantia appears on his right wrist. The pain hits him the same way it did with Wakana’s rose -- it sears through his wrist and seems to settle in his bones, setting his entire arm on fire. He falls from the bars, yelping as he crashes into the woodchips below.

The boy he’s playing with climbs off of the ladder he’s standing on, jogging to his side, eyes wide.

“Are you okay?” He asks, reaching out a hand.

Eijun nods, blinking back tears. “Yeah. I think so.”

“Okay! Why did you fa-”

The boy cuts off when he sees Eijun’s wrist. He lets go of his hand almost immediately, letting Eijun fall back into the woodchips with a loud “oof!”

“Don’t talk to me anymore,” he says, the venom in his words nearly burning Eijun as much as his new flower does.

Wakana squares up to the boy almost immediately, pushing him by the shoulders until he backs away from Eijun. “Get out of here, meanie. Before I go tell the teacher.”

The boy gives him one more angry look before walking away.

As he leaves, Eijun catches a glimpse of the astrantia string on the back of the boy’s neck.

Two years later he gains a red maple tree on the back of his left leg, and he asks his mother if there’s something wrong with him.

She tells him that he wears his heart on his sleeve, in the most literal sense of the word.

He doesn’t know what she means until much later.

When he turns 10 he corners his mother in the kitchen.

“Is there something wrong with me?”

He asks it from the table as she washes dishes in the sink, and he hears a fork clatter down the drain before she regains composure, setting it aside to dry and turning to face him.

“Why do you ask that, baby?”

Eijun stares down at his hands, folded on the table, and shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve just been thinking about it.”

His mother wipes her hands on her jeans, frowning. “Did something happen?”

“No,” Eijun says, low, “it’s just... Everyone makes fun of me. No one likes to talk to me. No one... No one will take my flower.”

He hears his mom sigh from across the kitchen, her feet padding across the tile until she slides into the seat across from him. She folds her hands together on the table, mirroring Eijun.

“You’re like a puzzle.”

Eijun looks up at her, frowning. “What? Mom, this is no time for one of your riddles-”

“Not a riddle,” she says, a soft smile on her face. “Just a comparison. You’re like a puzzle.”

“How?” Eijun asks, entirely unconvinced.

“You have so many pieces. But you’re still missing one. You just have to wait to find it, is all.”

“Mom,”  Eijun says, holding his arms out in front of him on the table, “That makes literally no sense. How many pieces do I need?”

She laughs, leaning back a bit in her chair. “However many come in the box.”

Eijun wrinkles his nose. “Seriously?”

“Yeah!” His mom says, tilting her head back to look at the ceiling. “You’re a puzzle. A beautiful mosaic of flowers and sunshine and you . Pre-made by whatever creator designed you. All of these pieces are just a part of your puzzle. But until you find that last piece, the puzzle can’t be completed. Does that make sense?”

“I guess,” Eijun says. “But how will I know when the puzzle is done?”

His mother smiles at the ceiling, closing her eyes and humming to herself.

“Trust me. When you find the right one, baby, you will know.”

He never finds the missing puzzle piece.

He collects even more instead, filling his body with more flowers than anyone he’s ever known.

He nearly blacks out during his middle school baseball game when a willow tree drapes itself over his left shoulder.

He quits the team.

He’s rushed to the nurses office after crying out in pain during his high school English class, later discovering an amaryllis on the top of his right forearm from the girl that sits one desk over.

He transfers classes.

He picks up a string of bleeding hearts on the inside of his left bicep from his favorite barista when he’s 20.

He finds a new coffee shop to visit.

The list seems to go on forever, each story ending the same way: Eijun running away, avoiding the people whose flowers he gains, whether it be by choice or by the force of others.

By the time he turns 22, he’s covered in flowers.

He’s used to the stares; he’s used to the looks, the whispers, the disapproval in most people’s voices when they speak to him.

By the time he turns 22, he’s given up on finding his missing piece.

Who could honestly love someone covered in the tattoos of other people?

Chapter Text

The first time someone hits Kazuya, he’s 9 years old.

It’s 2 days after his school’s Mother’s Day dance, in which the school had cleared out all of the tables and chairs in the cafeteria and filled it with streamers and balloons, covering the walls with so much pink it had looked like someone had poured pepto bismol straight onto everything in sight. It was hideous, and stupid, and everyone had made fun of the idea of moms dancing with their sons to cheesy pop songs that were probably no good in the first place.

He had wanted to go more than anything.

His mother had told him that she’d take him as soon as the doctors allowed her to leave the hospital.

“I should be getting discharged next week, Kazuya,” she’d said, pulling him onto her hospital bed and pulling him close. “I’ll go with you, don’t worry.”

The dance came and went, but his mother never did.

No one else paid it a second thought -- who would possibly pay mind to the fourth grader who’d mother didn’t come to the school dance?

He preferred no one to notice, really, which is why, when one of the girls in his class asks him where he had been, Kazuya simply laughs it off.

“Why would I want to go to some dumb dance anyway?” He says, grin stretching from nearly ear to ear. “That’d be embarrassing. Those things are for babies.”

A murmur runs through the classroom as a handful of kids agree, while another handful argue. He laughs at all of them.

One boy, however, seems particularly angry, offended at the thought of being a baby, like most children tend to be.

“Who’re you calling a baby?” He asks, hands on his hips as he squares up against a snickering Kazuya.

“You, if you went to that dance.”

“It’s not for babies. It’s for moms.”

“Yeah,” Kazuya says, “for moms and their babies .”

“Alright,” the boy says, taking his hands from his hips and grabbing Kazuya by the front of his shirt instead, “I’m tired of listening to you.”

“Then why don’t you leave?”

“Then why don’t you shut up?!”

The kid is offended and Kazuya knows it. He’s not sure why he keeps pushing -- it isn’t like the boy had ever done anything to offend him .

But he did , he thinks to himself, watching the boy’s eyes flare with anger. He did.

Kazuya had never been hit before. Nor had he ever hit anyone else. But in this moment he wants nothing more than to hit the kid across from him, bitter and angry and insulted at the fact that this stupid kid got to dance with his mother, while he didn’t.

This kid gets to go home to his mother, and he doesn’t.

This kid’s mother is fine.

His isn’t.

But he closes his eyes instead, smiling as the kid across from him rears his fist back.

He almost laughs as the kid’s fist met his face.

Almost.

He’s ten when he joins his first little league.

It’s there that he decides to be a catcher -- the one position that no one could argue with. He calls the plays and he calls them well, and he always looks forward to visiting his mother to tell her about the games he plays.

She would always watch him with interest, asking questions about his team and laughing as he’d jump on the bed, reenacting plays that had been made earlier that day.

He loves it almost more than he loves playing; being able to watch her laugh and smile, telling him how proud she is that he was such a valuable member of the team. It drives him, pushes him to become a stronger player, the most important player on the field.

Not everyone else feels the same, though.

Being a catcher means being in command, and not everyone is interested in following the smart mouthed kid that had proclaimed himself their leader. He’s too honest about their plays, and about the ways they could improve - that’s what a teammate is supposed to do though, right?

So along with his position comes violence from his teammates, anger and resentment at being surpassed by some irrelevant ten year old. He’d come to the hospital sporting new bruises and bandages covering the scratches on his cheeks, telling his mom all about how much his teammates love him, and how many friends he has.

He fell a lot while he was running, but that was just baseball, he’d say, and his mother would laugh and ruffle his hair, and tell him to be a bit more careful.

“I don’t want you to get hurt, Kazuya,” she’d tell him. “How will you be able to play if you’re hurt? I’m going to get to come and watch you soon. I want to see you hit a homerun, or throw someone out at second.”

Kazuya would nod, though he could never shake the feeling that this would end up the same as the dance.

He’s eleven when his mother dies.

He doesn’t pick up a baseball for nearly a year.

It’s Kuramochi that convinces him to seriously play again.

He’s 16, going through prospective schools and narrowing down his options. He had gotten a few offers from schools that wanted to offer him baseball scholarships, but he hasn’t played seriously since his mother’s death.

He and Kuramochi play recreationally, with Mei and Nabe and a few other kids their age, but he refuses to join a real team.

When Kuramochi asks him why one day, he shrugs.

“There’s no point if there’s no one there to watch you.”

His friend hums, but doesn’t push the subject further.

So when he comes back a few weeks later with a brochure and a grin that makes Kazuya consider running in the opposite direction, baseball is the last thing he thought Kuramochi would bring up.

But it’s the opposite.

“Come with me to Seido.”

“Hah?”

He tosses the brochure onto Kazuya’s lap, dropping onto the grass next to him. They’re at the park, waiting for the others to show up so they can play a game.

“Seido,” Kuramochi repeats, bumping shoulders with Kazuya, who gives him a look of skepticism. “Come with me. It’ll be fun.”

“The baseball school on the other side of the country?” He asks, flipping open the brochure despite himself. “There’s no way they’d take me.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Kuramochi says, snorting a bit and looking anywhere but Kazuya. “They’d take you up in a heartbeat. You’re good. They’re already taking me.”

Kazuya raises an eyebrow. “You’re going?”

“Yep. Don’t have many other options, at this point.”

“Ah, because you’re a delinquent.”

“Shut up.” There’s a hint of a smile on Kuramochi’s lips, but he makes no move to deny Kazuya’s claims. “Just... Come with me. It’ll be boring over there if I’m all alone.”

“Why, ‘Mochi,” Kazuya begins, slinging an arm around Kuramochi’s shoulders and pulling him closer, “are you saying you would miss me?”

“No,” Kuramochi denies, shoving Kazuya’s arm off of his shoulders and punching his side. Kazuya wheezes out a laugh. “I just think it’d be cool. Nabe’s going, too. And Zono.”

Kazuya frowns a bit. “What about Mei?”

“That’s the best part,” Kuramochi grins, eyes flashing, “He’s going to Inashiro.”

“That rival team?”

“Yeah,” he nods, elbowing Kazuya. “So come with me, and we can fight him. We’ll take them on and win, and go to nationals. Then we’ll go pro. It’ll be awesome.”

“This sounds like a romance novel.”

Kuramochi laughs. “You’re my best friend, dude. I wouldn’t want to do any of this without you.”

Kazuya smiles, closing the brochure and turning to Kuramochi. “Sure, I’ll go. If you confess your undying love for me.”

Kuramochi laughs even harder, elbowing him a second time. “I don’t have this stupid string of lavender winding up my leg for nothing, man. Do you want me to kiss you while I’m at it?”

“It wouldn’t hurt,” Kazuya says, “It’d be a nice end to this rom-com you’re plotting out.”

Kuramochi snorts. “Just come with me, okay?”

“I don’t know.”

Kuramochi is silent for a moment, staring out across the baseball field in front of them.

“She’d have wanted you to play.”

Kazuya moves into the dorms with Kuramochi less than three months later.

By the time Kazuya is 23 he’s exactly where he knows he should be.

He plays on a local college team with Kuramochi. Mei joined them, too, after high school, along with Sanada Shunpai and Todoroki Raichi. Both Kominatos, Furuya, Nori, Chris... His team was a dream lineup, and they worked together better than Kazuya could have ever hoped.

He works at a diner downtown with Kuramochi, and they share an apartment as well. They spend their days at work or at practice, and any free time Kazuya has is usually spent alone.

He has no problems with it, considering he has Kuramochi when he wants company. But he’s told himself over and over again that he doesn’t need anyone, really. Getting close will only hurt you in the end.

He isn’t sure if he fully believes that, but he’s decided to try his best to convince himself.

Chapter Text

September 22

“Do you recognize that guy?” Eijun asks, frowning at one of the waiters from across the diner. Wakana follows his trail of eyesight, humming.

“Uh, nope? I can’t say that I do.”

“Dammit.” Eijun falls back in the booth, sighing. “I swear I’ve seen his face before but I don’t know where! It’s killing me.”

“Ah,” Wakana says, nodding. “I hate when that happens.”

“Yeah,” he says, scrunching his nose. “Like you recognize someone but you can’t tell where they’re from. That’s what this is! It’s driving me insane.”

Wakana hums again, staring along with Eijun.

The waiter stands across the diner, laughing at something his green-haired friend is saying while attempting to dodge kicks aimed his way. His glasses are slightly askew, hair ruffled from the headlock he had been forced into earlier, but he’s still smiling and laughing, skirting out from behind the counter as his friend follows. After a few minutes a strict-looking cook sticks his head out from the window of the kitchen and they stop, though the one with glasses still tries to stifle his laughter.

“He looks kind of like this baseball player I know,” Eijun says, half to himself, “but I’m I’m not entirely sure it’s him.”

Wakana rolls her eyes. “Everyone looks like a baseball player to you, Eijun. Though they’re hardly relevant unless they’re the ace.”

Eijun scoffs, rolling up his sleeves he looks at Wakana in disbelief. “How many times have I told you that the ace is the center of the team? The strongest pillar! The person who leads them to victory!”

Wakana shakes her head, reaching out to grab her milkshake and stirring it a bit, watching her straw with an unamused expression. “There are plenty of other players that help them accomplish that, you know.”

“Well of course there are,” Eijun sighs, sinking a bit lower on his side of the booth, pouting. “But the ace is the unwavering center of the team. They couldn’t get anywhere without him!”

Wakana looks at him over the brim of her cup. “I think you’re just fixated on this position because of Narumiya Mei and your massive crush on him.”

She slurps on her milkshake as Eijun chokes.

“What?!” He lets out a cry of surprise, scrambling to sit up as he sputters. “I do not! That’s totally untrue! Besides, you don’t even like baseball!”

“I do too, you nerd,” Wakana laughs, setting down her milkshake and crossing her arms. “I just like messing with you even more.”

Eijun lets out a snort, leaning forward against the table and dropping his weight onto his forearms. He looks out the window, watching the rain hit the window outside.

“The rain is starting to let up,” he says.

Wakana nods as she pulls out her phone, scrolling through her messages. Eijun’s eyes fall on her left wrist, and he watches as his sunflower sways back and forth, its petals twitching happily.

“Yeah,” Wakana says, snapping him out of his daze. “We can probably leave soon. We had only meant to duck in here to wait out the storm, but it’s already been almost an hour.”

“It’s not like we really have anywhere to be, though,” Eijun sighs, extending his arm out and laying his head against the table, closing his eyes. “I’m pretty sure no one is going to want to play a game today in this weather.”

“That’s true,” Wakana says. “The diamonds are probably all muddy anyway.”

“That only makes it more fun, though,” Eijun pouts, cheeks squished against the laminate of the table.

Wakana laughs. “It’s fine, Ei. We’ll play tomorrow or something. I do want to get home, though.”

“Why?”

She shrugs. “Work sucked today, you know? I’m just gonna go home and take a bath. Maybe watch something online or sleep for the next hundred years.”

“‘Kana,” Eijun whines, “You can’t tell me that we’ll play baseball tomorrow and then threaten to sleep right through it!”

Wakana laughs, but is cut off by someone clearing their throat at the end of the table.

They both look up, Eijun lifting his head off of the table, to find a woman glaring from the next table over. Eijun raises an eyebrow, looking around in confusion before pointing to himself.

“Can I... Help you?”

“You can,” the woman barks, frown deepening. “You can cover those... marks ... all over your arms. Show some decency. There are children here. Are you trying to set some kind of example?”

As if to prove her point she sweeps her arm out in front of her, gesturing to a kid about 7 or 8 across from her. The kid stares at Eijun, eyes wide, sweeping over the flowers on Eijun’s forearm.

He suddenly feels very hot, and very sick.

“N-no,” he stutters, waving his arms as he simultaneously attempts to roll down his sleeves. “That’s... That’s not it at all! I just-”

He’s cut off by Wakana before he can finish.

“How about you get lost if it’s causing a problem for you?”

The woman’s mouth falls open, though Wakana doesn’t stop there.

“He’s a human being. Minding his own business. He was also here before you, in case you’ve forgotten. You don’t have to sit here, you know. I’m sure the waiter would be happy to find you another place to sit if it’s that much of a problem for you.”

The child attempts to hide laughter as the woman’s face turns 5 shades of red in 5 seconds. She pushes away from the table, chair clattering to the floor behind her as she stands in an attempt to most likely explode in Wakana’s general direction. Wakana spins in the booth, letting her legs swing out into the aisle, seeming ready to take the impact of whatever the woman throws at her. They’re both stopped, though, by the green-haired waiter, who steps between them.

“Alright,” he says loudly, arms crossed as he surveys the scene with a bored expression. “That’s enough.”

“It is not ,” the woman cries, and Eijun swears he sees her foot stomp. “I demand that those two be thrown out at once. They’re rude and awful, and a menace to the children present.”

“If I recall correctly,” the waiter says, uncrossing his arms and stuffing his hands into the pocket of the apron tied around his waist, “they’ve been here for the past hour in this back corner booth causing no problems at all until you came in. So I see no problem in letting them stay.” His expression darkens, though his expression doesn’t change. “You, however, are causing problems with my customers. So either shut up, find yourself another table, or leave.”

The woman’s mouth opens and closes for a solid ten seconds as she takes in what’s been said. After it seems to hit her, though, she grits her teeth, jaw set, and grabs hold of her child’s arm as she drags him from the restaurant. Eijun, Wakana, and the waiter watch them leave in silence.

After a few moments, though, the waiter turns to their table. Eijun focuses on shredding his napkin into strips.

“You good?” the waiter asks, and Wakana nods.

“Fine. Thanks, though,” she says, tugging on a strand of her hair. “Sorry if we caused any problems.”

“Nah, you’re good,” the waiter says, finally smiling and waving a hand dismissively, looking in Eijun’s direction. “That lady was out of line.”

Eijun nods, avoiding the waiter’s gaze. “Thanks,” he mumbles, reaching for his soda as a distraction. He finds it empty, and curses not asking for a refill sooner.

They waiter notices, and smiles. “Need me to get that for ya?” he asks, and Eijun only nods.

“Thanks,” he says again, sliding the glass to the edge of the table.

“No problem,” the waiter says, taking the glass and stepping back. He seems to remember something, eyebrows raising a bit as he bounces. “Ah! I’m Kuramochi by the way. Let me know if you need anything else, yeah?”

The two at the table nod, and he gives them a two-finger salute as he turns on his heel, heading back into the kitchen.

Wakana slides backwards a bit in the booth, leaning against the window and resting her elbow against the table. “Okay... Maybe we can stay a bit longer.”

Eijun rolls his eyes, throwing a bit of his torn-up napkin at Wakana and booing.

“You cannot talk about my supposed crush on Narumiya. Not when you have nothing but heart eyes for the waiter that rode in on his white horse, saving your ass from that dragon woman.”

Wakana only shrugs, smiling as Kuramochi appears from the kitchen with Eijun’s soda.

They leave a few hours later, but only after Eijun convinces Wakana to leave Kuramochi her name and number on a napkin.

Chapter Text

September 24

Eijun is reading when Wakana throws open the door to his room, striding across the room and falling onto his bed at his feet.

“I think I’m in love,” she says, voice muffled as she speaks into Eijun’s comforter.

“It’s been two days,” Eijun responds, not looking up from the manga in his hands. “Now leave me alone, I’m getting to a good part.”

Wakana kicks her legs a bit, whining. “But it’s true ! He’s so great. We’ve been texting nonstop and he’s really cute.”

“That’s not love, Wakana,” Eijun says, smirking. “That’s a crush. There’s a difference.”

“I guess,” she sighs, rolling over to stare at the ceiling. “But really, Eijun, he’s really great. I do like him a lot.”

“Well that’s good,” he says. He closes his manga, crossing his legs. “When are you going on a date?”

“I- what?” Wakana cries, flailing a bit as she sits up. “Who said anything about a date?!”

“That’s basic romance 101!”

“That’s basic shojo manga 101!”

“Either way,” Eijun says, “you have to go on a date with him sometime, right? Or are you just going to text each other forever?”

“Can’t we do that?”

“Stop it!” Eijun laughs, and Wakana groans. “Just ask him on a date or something. Ask if he wants to go to dinner. That’s always good.”

Wakana is silent for a moment, contemplating. She jumps a bit, clapping her hands and turning to Eijun excitedly.

“Come with us!”

Eijun nearly falls off of his bed.

“What?!”

“Yeah! Come with us!” She bounces on the mattress, beaming. “That way I’m not alone with him! It’ll seem more casual. That way I can get to know him but won’t have the pressure of a date!”

“No way,” Eijun says, shaking his head. “Uh uh. There’s no way I’m going to third-wheel on a date with you and Kuramochi.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I said so.”

“Eijun!”

“Wakana!”

“I’m going to ask him.”

“Yeah, if you can go out with him alone . I’m not going.”

“You’ll go.”

“I’m not.going.”

Three hours later they stand outside of Kuramochi’s apartment, Wakana holding the hem of Eijun’s shirt. Whether it’s an act of comfort or an attempt to keep him from running, he isn’t sure. He’s strongly leaning toward the latter.

“I hate you,” he hisses, and Wakana smiles.

“You’re the best.”

When she had asked Kuramochi out to dinner they had settled on eating at his place. He’d said he was working a long shift and could just pick up food on the way home; Wakana had said that was perfect, and that Eijun was coming too.

So here he stands, nervous and borderline panicked, contemplating whether or not throwing up might get him out of this dinner that he wants no real part in.

He’s never been one for socializing. He’s always been good at it, sure, but when it came down to one-on-one time with people, he tended to lose his cool. After finding out about his flowers people rarely spent time alone with him, so he had never really had time to practice.

He gives up on running, instead forming a game plan.

Just stay quiet, he decides. They can’t talk to you if you don’t talk to them, right? They’ll be so busy with each other that they won’t even focus on you.

Unless they run out of things to talk about , says a second voice to the first. Then they’ll probably focus all of their attention on you.

Then we evade, says the first voice. Redirect the conversation to Wakana or Kuramochi. Talk about something they’re interested in.

So our plan is to evade?

Very much so, yes.

Sounds good. Break!

He nods to himself in reassurance, and Wakana knocks on the front door.

A loud “come in!” is called through the wall, and Eijun lets Wakana drag him into the apartment with her.

They stand awkwardly in the middle of a small entryway, and Eijun scopes out the apartment to find any places he can attempt to run to or any topics of conversation he can find to draw attention away from himself throughout the night.

The apartment is a decent size, with the entryway directly in front of the door and the kitchen to the left. The living room and dining room combo lay on the opposite side of the kitchen wall, with a hallway to the right leading to what Eijun assumes are the bedrooms and the bathroom.

Kuramochi calls out to them from the kitchen, takeout bags in hand.

“Hey,” he says, waving. “Perfect timing.”

Wakana waves back, letting go of Eijun’s shirt and moving toward the kitchen. “What’d you get?” She asks, and Kuramochi hands her one of the bags from the counter.

“Chicken and beef mostly. And a lot of rice,” he looks in Eijun’s direction. “You like that, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Eijun says, forcing a smile and waving a hand thoughtfully. “That sounds great. Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Kuramochi says back, pushing past Eijun and Wakana and moving to the dining room table on the other side of the dividing wall. The other two follow, Eijun hanging back significantly.

As they situate themselves around the table, Kuramochi talks. Mainly about video games, and how he and his roommate are most likely going to the midnight release of the newest game in a series he plays.

“Miyuki hates it,” he says, dropping the bag of takeout onto the table and sliding into a seat. “But I usually make him go with me. It’s no fun to go alone, and I’ve been waiting for this game for months.”

He turns to look at Eijun from across the table as he digs through the bag in front of him. “What about you, Sawamura? Do you play videogames?”

“Ah!” Eijun jumps a bit, fumbling with the takeout box in his hands. “Well, uh, I just-”

Abort, the voice in his head yells, scrambling for some way to change the subject. Abort, abort, abor-

“Eijun’s always been more into movies than videogames. He likes sports a lot, too.” Wakana swoops in to save him, and he lets out a breath of relief.

The spotlight isn’t off of him for very long, though, before more questions are thrown his way.

“Yeah? What movies do you like?”

He begins to panic again, the voice in his head reaching for the eject button, when he notices Kuramochi’s face. He stares at him without judgement -- doesn’t gape at the flowers on his arms or attempt to avoid them.

In fact, Eijun thinks, he hasn’t stared at or mentioned my flowers once since I’ve met him.

He looks at Eijun, sees Eijun, and seems genuinely interested in what he has to say.

Eijun looks back at Kuramochi, excitement bubbling in his chest, elated at the thought of someone wanting to have a full conversation with him.

So he runs.

“I love everything!” He practically bursts, eyes shining as he leans across the table. “I love movies! I don’t think I could ever pick a favorite, there are way too many!! The writing, the cinematography, the acting -- there are so many amazing movies out there, I just don’t know if I could ever narrow it down.”

Kuramochi laughs. “Hyahaha! You sound like someone that spends the whole movie talking about how amazing it is.”

“Or how bad it is,” Wakana adds, smirking at a now-shocked Eijun. “You’ll know when Eijun doesn’t like a movie. Trust me. We went to see that new superhero movie that came out last week and he practically lost his mind. It was a miracle we were able to stay through the whole thing.”

“They ignored key canon plot points, Wakana!” Eijun throws his hands up in the air, as if she’d brought up a point he’d thought was already settled. “The writing was awful! There were so many plot holes in that movie, it was amazing that anyone sat through it!”

Kuramochi only laughs harder, leaning back in his chair and setting down his takeout box. “You’re hilarious. Are you this picky about your sports, too?”

Eijun shakes his head. “If it’s baseball, then I love it.”

Kuramochi’s eyebrows raise a bit. “Oh?”

Eijun opens his mouth to speak, but is interrupted by the sound of keys in the front door.

He panics for the second time that night, not realizing that there would be someone else that he would have to meet.

He looks at Wakana in a panic, but she only smiles, mouthing ‘ it’s fine ’ in his direction. He shakes his head, eyes wide. The voice lunges for the eject button. Kuramochi notices Eijun’s distress, coughing to gain his attention.

“It’s just my roommate. He’s alright.”

Almost as if on cue someone calls out from the entry way, their voice echoing through the apartment.

“I’m back. What’s for dinner?”

He hears a set of keys fall onto the kitchen counter, followed by the fridge door opening. Eijun frowns to himself. He recognizes that voice, but from where-?

Kuramochi stretches a bit in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. “It’s about time. What took you so long?”

He hears the person sigh, closing the fridge and seeming to move to a cupboard as the sounds of glassware moving reaches them. ”Tetsu tried dragging me into a shogi game after his shift ended. And you still haven’t answered me about dinner.”

The voice grows louder as the person it belongs to rounds the corner, leaning against the wall beside them. Eijun’s head snaps up to look at them. Where had he heard that voice-?

He’s met with a smirk and a pair of glasses, and he knows immediately.

“You’re the other waiter!”

His finger points accusingly at the guy in front of him, who tilts his head at his outburst.

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow, looking over Eijun’s head at Kuramochi. “You didn’t tell me we were having company.”

Kuramochi shrugs, holding out a half-empty takeout box to his roommate. “I didn’t think you were going to be out so late. You were technically supposed to get here before they did, but I guess you took your sweet time getting back.”

His roommate hums, pushing himself off of the wall and walking toward Kuramochi, taking the offered food and falling into the chair next to him.

“You know Wakana,” Kuramochi points, and she waves, smiling. “And this is her friend, Sawamura Eijun. Sawamura, this is Miyuki Kazuya.”

And that’s when it hits him. It all hits him. He knows exactly where he recognizes this person from, and suddenly his frustration from a few days ago becomes excitement, hitting him like a freight train.

“Baseball!”

He nearly breaks the table as he slams his palm down onto the wood, causing Kuramochi to jump, and Wakana to grab ahold of her soda so it doesn’t spill. Miyuki smirks as he places his elbow on the table, supporting his chin with his knuckles.

“Are you just going to spend the entire night yelling things at me?”

Eijun feels his cheeks begin to heat up but ignores it. “No! I just recognize you from the TV. I’ve seen some of your interviews!”

The guy is a college baseball player.

It’s different for Eijun to actually see him in person rather than the post-game interviews that he’s used to. His normal sports goggles have been replaced with thick black frames, and his bangs - which were normally pushed back from the hats or catcher’s helmet he always wore - nearly reach his eyes. He has an eyebrow piercing and an industrial, though Eijun supposes he wouldn’t be able to wear them during games.

It takes him a minute to realize that he’s staring and Miyuki is still smirking, the eyebrow with the piercing still raised questioningly.

“So you know who I am? Do you like what you see, then?”

Eijun’s eyes narrow, and he immediately turns to look at Wakana in annoyance. He gives her a look.

I don’t like this guy.

He receives a shrug in return, a sweet smile spread across her face.

Just deal with him for tonight.

He rolls his eyes, turning back to the catcher and reaching out a hand.

“Not particularly, no.” But now he’s got his own smile plastered to his face, deciding to play nice. “I’m Sawamura.”

“Sa-wa-mur-a~” Miyuki seems to test his name on his tongue, and Eijun suppresses a shiver as he shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you. I do remember you from the diner, though. You’re the loud one that comes in with Wakana sometimes. I can hear you all the way from the kitchen.”

Eijun frowns, sputtering out a nearly incoherent sentence about never even seeing Miyuki at the diner ever except for that one time and-

“I work in the back most of the time. I’m one of the cooks.”

He’s not exactly sure how to respond to this, so he settles for a small “huh”. Miyuki’s eyebrows pull together, but his smirk doesn’t move, and Wakana takes it upon herself to see to it that the conversation continues, clapping her hands together and looking back and forth between the two of them.

“Well, since you’re here, maybe we can all hang out!” She looks between Eijun and Miyuki, smiling. “Like a double-date, or something.”

Eijun looks at her for a moment, eyebrows raised, before Wakana realizes what she’s said.

“Oh no, wait! That’s not it!” She waves her arms, face red, and Kuramochi chokes a bit on his chicken beside her. “I meant like, that way no one would have to be alone, you know? Like a third wheel!”

“No one here would really be a third wheel, then,” Eijun says, jabbing his chopsticks in Wakana’s direction, “since this isn’t a date .”

Wakana narrows her eyes, and Eijun narrows his. 

Their standoff is cut short, though, as Miyuki takes hold of Eijun’s wrist and pulls it toward himself. He examines the flowers on his arms, using his other hand to trace along the outlines of a pink veronica flower on his outer right wrist. "So these are all real, then?" 

Eijun stares at Miyuki, frowning a bit, but he doesn't pull away. "Yeah... Why wouldn't they be?" 

Miyuki hums in response, seeming satisfied in what he's seen. He lets go of Eijun's wrist, falling back into the position he’d been in before, elbow on the table and chin on his knuckles. He shrugs.

"I've met people who get them tattooed on professionally. Not really to prove anything, just because they thought it looked nice."

Eijun scoffs at that, lowering his sleeves to cover his marks. "That's dumb. They shouldn't do that."

"Why not?" Miyuki asks.

He makes a face, a bit angry at the idea that marks can just be drawn on. "Because your marks are important. They should be something that's treasured by a person. If you get to give one to someone, you're lucky that they're able to receive it."

Miyuki laughs. "You have a ton of marks, you know. How does that make them at all special? You can't have that many soul mates."

Eijun’s expression changes from anger to confusion and he says, almost without thinking, “These aren’t from my soul mate. None of them are.”

“Oh?” Miyuki pulls himself up, leaning toward him questioningly. “How do you know?”

He shrugs in response. “I just do. I’ve never loved any of these people enough to marry them.”

“Then why are their marks all over you?”

Another shrug.

"Why not? There's more than one way to love a person, you know."

Miyuki's smirk falters, and he changes the subject completely.

Throughout the night, Eijun can feel his tolerance level for Miyuki Kazuya diminishing with each passing minute.

The man is relentless; annoying on a scale that Eijun has almost nothing to compare to, besides maybe himself. And according to most people, he's very annoying.

Miyuki talks about baseball a lot, Eijun thinks, but he doesn't mind. He loves baseball too, though he hasn't been on a team since he was younger. He'd been shunned from most sports after realizing that with every team he'd join, he'd gain at least one mark along with it. So he’s always settled for playing with Wakana and a few of their closer friends instead, pitching as much as he'd wanted and never getting hit over any new flowers that may have made his way onto his skin.

He asks about Miyuki's college team, interested to know what it's like to be able to play on one. Kuramochi plays with him, and something akin to jealousy prickles along Sawamura's spine, making him anxious and slightly upset. He ignores it, though, focusing on his questions instead.

"Do you have more than one pitcher? I hear some teams have a lot."

They’ve relocated from the dining room table, the four of them spread out across the living room. Miyuki shrugs from his chair by the sliding glass door leading to their balcony.

"We have a few. Mei and Sanada are pretty good, and Furuya and Nori are well on their way, too. There aren't many teams that have so many pitchers, though. Most only have a couple. But," Miyuki leans back, arms folded behind his head, "everyone comes to our school to work with me. I'm in pretty high demand, being so good and all."

Kuramochi snorts, throwing out a "boo!” from his place on the couch.

Eijun rolls his eyes. "Right. So you have an ace, then?"

Miyuki laughs as he pulls himself up a bit straighter. "Yeah, Mei's got the number right now. He's kind of a prissy kid sometimes, but he throws pretty well." He unfolds his arms from behind him, leaning against the armrest of the chair. "Why are you so interested in the pitchers?"

Eijun can feel his face heat up as he stammers his way through his explanation.

"Well I... I think they're really cool and... okay, well, see I am a pitcher... And I can't really, you know. I can't - I haven't -" he waves his arms about, trying to make his thoughts as linear and understandable as possible, but failing miserably. Miyuki laughs again.

"You're a riot. Did you say you were a pitcher?"

Eijun nods, and Miyuki hums in thought.

"You probably suck."

He receives a squawk of protest in reply, and that only sends Miyuki into another fit of laughter.

Chapter Text

November 13

Wakana shows him Kuramochi's string of blue hyacinth on her right wrist almost a month after they start dating, and Eijun feels the air in his lungs being sucked away at the thought of being replaced.

His rose doesn't bloom for another week, and he’s filled with a loneliness he hasn’t felt since he was a child.

Chapter Text

November 22

Kazuya sighs as the cook calls out another order. He over loads his tray in hopes of being able to make it to the table in one trip, pushing his way out the kitchen’s door.

He makes it in one piece without dropping a single plate, and he forces a smile as he calls out orders and passes out food. A child at the table screams at the sight of steamed vegetables instead of fries, flipping his plate and sending his food to the floor.

He smiles at the mother, assuring her it’s okay as he slips back into the kitchen to find the mop and broom. He lets out another frustrated sigh as the door closes behind him, turning to Tetsu at the grill, eyes wide in exasperation.

“I think I might explode.”

Tetsu stares at him for a moment before answering.

“Avoid the food if you do. That would be unsanitary.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

Sawamura and Wakana show up at around 3.

He’s coming out of the kitchen when he hears it -- Sawamura’s laugh, loud and obnoxious and very, very contagious. He hears him exclaim something to Wakana, and he smiles to himself as he drops off a pair of sodas at a nearby table.

He circles back to them, waving at Wakana as he rests his hip on the edge of the table and pulling out a notepad.

“Hey, wha’dyou want today?”

Wakana opens her mouth to answer, but is cut off by Sawamura.

"Miyuki Kazuya!"

He yells his name, pointing an accusatory finger at Kazuya. With one hand on his hip, he uses the other to lightly push Sawamura's hand out of his face.

"That's who I was the last time I checked, yes."

Sawamura's cheeks puff out in annoyance. "You said you were the cook here! Taking orders isn't a very cook-like thing to do. Unless," his eyes widen as he continues, "you were demoted! Were you demoted, Miyuki Kazuya? Or just a failure in cooking?"

"For your information, Bakamura , I wasn't demoted. Kuramochi is out of town today and we're short on servers, so I'm taking over his shift." He smirks at the offense that crosses Sawamura’s face, and laughs a bit at the “hmph” that follows. He shakes his head, pulling out his notepad and turning to Wakana so she can order.

As she hands him her menu he catches sight of her wrist. A string of blue hyacinth sits in the center, petals lightly moving as if blowing in the wind. He hums, folding the menu underneath his arm.

It had been nearly two weeks since Kuramochi had gained Wakana’s flower. When he’d discovered this fact he had barged straight into Kazuya’s room, turning on his light and screaming as he shook him awake. Kazuya had let him yell, panicking for over a half hour before he had shoved Kuramochi out of his room, telling him that it was fine, mumbling about how much he needed sleep.

He had found out a few hours later that Wakana had Kuramochi’s as well, and Kazuya had never seen him happier.

He turns back to Sawamura and notices that he’s rolled up his sleeves, his own flowers and vines wrapping around his forearms and disappearing beneath the bunched up fabric around his elbows. Kazuya’s eyes pause a bit as he stares, taking in each color like he was seeing it for the first time.

There’s so many...

"Are you a fan of poppies, Miyuki?” Sawamura asks nonchalantly, though Kazuya knows he’s been caught. “I’ll show you more of mine if you show me yours, first.”

Unfortunately for him, though, Miyuki Kazuya was not one to back down from a challenge.

"Nah, I'm more of a tulip guy myself. But if you want to see mine I can take you out back and show you, if you really want me to?" He cocks a hip out and winks, and Sawamura’s face explodes into a brilliant shade of red.

He sputters out something about Kazuya being stupid, and glares at him until he laughs his way back into the kitchen.

“Sawamura is in a good mood today,” he tells Tetsu as he passes, picking up a few more plates and turning to head back to the front.

“I’m not sure who that is,” Tetsu says, not looking up from the grill. “But how do you know?”

“Because he’s out there yelling at me,” Kazuya says, smiling. “Normally he can barely form two sentences.”

“And this is good?” Tetsu asks, seeming unconvinced.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kazuya replies, waving a hand as he adjusts a plate on his tray. “We hang out sometimes. You know that girl Kuramochi is dating?”

Tetsu nods.

“He’s her friend. So when she comes over, sometimes he comes over too. He keeps to himself a lot, though. Avoids conversation. But he gets in these moods sometimes where he’s really talkative. It’s hilarious.”

“Maybe he just needs to get used to your company,” Tetsu suggests, and Kazuya hums.

“Most likely,” he says, backing out the door to the front of the restaurant. “Because lately he just won’t shut up.”

“I don’t want to have this debate with you too, Miyuki Kazuya!”

“Then just admit that you’re biased.”

“You’re biased, too!” Sawamura cries, holding his cup out in Kazuya’s direction. “You can’t tell me that the catcher is the best position on the team if you are the catcher!”

“And you’re a pitcher,” Kazuya says, shrugging as he wipes down the table beside Sawamura and Wakana’s. “Albeit a bad one, but a pitcher nonetheless.”

Sawamura clicks his tongue, taking a sip of his soda and pouting in the corner of his booth.

“I still think the best position is shortstop,” Wakana shrugs, and Sawamura and Kazuya both scoff simultaneously. “What?”

“‘Kana, you’re biased too,” Sawamura says. “Your boyfriend is a shortstop.”

“And he’s good at it!”

“Yes but that has nothing to do with how cool the position is.”

“Whatever. This argument is just a big distraction anyways.”

“From what?” Kazuya asks, and Wakana flashes him a grin as Sawamura seems to scramble to shut her up.

“From the fact that Eijun is trying to figure out how to leave you his number without seeming desperate.”

Sawamura lets out a squawk as he falls backwards in the booth, flipping around to look at Kazuya behind him.

“That’s not true!”

“Oh?” Kazuya asks, smirking. “It’s not?”

“No! I don’t want to give you my number at all. Wakana is just being embarrassing!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Well either way,” Kazuya says, finishing up wiping down the table and turning to walk back into the kitchen, “as long as you leave me a tip I’m not complaining.”

He hears another shout from Sawamura as he enters the back.

Miyuki Kazuya [2:57 P.M.]

> Bakamura.

Bakamura Eijun [3:00 P.M.]

> Who is this?

Miyuki Kazuya [3:01 P.M.]

> Your favorite catcher. Come hang with Mochi and I tonight.

Bakamura Eijun [3:01 P.M.]

> Can't tonight.

> Also, how did you get my number?

> That’s weird, Miyuki Kazuya.

Miyuki Kazuya [3:05 P.M.]

> Wakana gave it to me. She said you were too chicken, and then told me the tulips on your collarbone were prettier than the poppies on your hand.

> Figured I should judge that myself.

Chapter Text

December 7

Eijun lets out a sigh, falling backwards onto Wakana’s bed and staring at the ceiling.

When she pays him no attention, he sighs again.

Wakana hums across from him, reading a magazine at her computer desk. He takes that as a signal that she’s listening.

“Miyuki Kazuya is the worst.”

This gains Wakana’s attention, and she closes her magazine to look at him.

“Oh? How so?”

“He’s just... The worst! He always makes fun of me and he’s just... He’s the worst! Did you give him my number as payback for making you give Kuramochi yours? Because last time I checked, that worked out for you." His arms fall to his sides, and Wakana laughs as he scrunches up his face in slight annoyance.

"It did work out for me, Ei, and I'm super happy about that. So I want you to be happy too." She shrugs, and Eijun lifts his head off of the mattress to look at her. "Isn’t he more tolerable when you guys hang out with Youichi, anyway? You’re over there all the time."

"No he is not !" He pushes himself onto his elbows, frowning. "If anything, they team up against me! Your boyfriend is mean, Wakana.”

She only laughs again, and he lets his head fall back onto the mattress, hiding a smile. “I mean honestly. You should see some of the texts he sends me!"

Wakana's eyebrows raise in question. "So you do text?"

He can feel his neck heat up, and he scrambles to sit up. "No! Well. Sometimes! But it isn't anything serious! I know that."

His face sombers as he traces the flowers on his arms. "There's no way someone will end up liking me when I have so any marks. Who would even want that?"

He looks up, catching Wakana's eye. There's a sadness in her expression that he can feel in his bones, and the rose on his hand burns a bit as he looks at her. So he looks away.

"You'll never know unless you try, right?" Her whisper is soft, almost pleading. Eijun smiles, though there's no humor in his words.

"I guess so. What's one more mark anyway, right?"

MIYUKI KAZUYA [5:12 P.M.]

> Come out tonight, yeah? We're watching bad movies and drinking. It feels kind of gay when it's just me and Kuramochi.

Sawamura Eijun B) [5:14 P.M.]

> Then maybe you should stop making out.

MIYUKI KAZUYA [5:14 P.M.]

> Why, are you jealous?

Eijun's face is still red by the time he makes it to Kuramochi's apartment. His hand hovers over the doorbell, debating whether or not he actually wants to go through with this.

Before he can make the decision to leave, though, the door is thrown open.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll grab extra-"

The wind is knocked out of him as someone collides with him. He finds himself on the ground after tripping over the other person's feet, rubbing his nose and groaning as he looks at the culprit of his fall.

"Miyuki Kazuya!"

The name flies out of his mouth on near instinct, and Eijun glares up at him, a smirk already growing on Miyuki's face.

"Jesus, you must weigh near nothing if I floored you just by bumping into you." He laughs, and Eijun frowns even more. "Either way, perfect timing. Come with me, I need to go pick up our food."

He reaches down and grabs Eijun's wrist, pulling him up to stand beside him. Before he can speak there’s an arm slung around his neck, Miyuki using it to guide him toward the stairwell he'd just walked up a few minutes ago. He hears Kuramochi call out something about soy sauce, and hears the door slam behind him. They make their way down the stairs, Eijun skipping them two at a time as Miyuki follows.

The takeout place is only a few blocks away, but it feels like it may as well be on the other side of the country as they walk in near silence, Eijun’s hands shoved into the front of his hoodie to keep his fingers from going numb. He focuses on his breath, watching it float into small clouds in front of him, hot mixing with cold in the evening sun.

He pulls his hands out of his pockets, tugging on the beanie he has pulled over his ears. He turns to find Miyuki staring at his hands as they pull away from the edge of his beanie and he pauses, staring at eyes through a pair of thick lenses for a moment before shoving his hands back into his pockets, walking a bit faster.

When Miyuki catches up to him, still silent, the question comes out before he can stop it.

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Stare at my flowers. I know I have a lot, but some people at least try and hide the fact that they're staring, you know." He looks at his feet as they walk, but can see Miyuki shrug out of the corner of his eye.

"I think they're interesting, is all."

Eijun frowns, "What do you mean by interesting?"

"I mean exactly that. They're interesting. I've never met anyone with so many, and they look good on you."

"Yeah, well other people don't really think so." It comes out harsher than he wants it to.

"Well I'm not other people."

He stops walking, and it takes Miyuki another couple of steps to realize that Eijun's fallen behind. He turns around to find Eijun looking at him, almost pleading.

"So... If your flower appeared on me one day, you wouldn't run?"

Worry. Fear. Exposing yourself to someone, hoping that they won't hurt you like everyone else.

There's no hesitation in his answer. "No, I don't think I would."

Eijun lets out a breathy laugh, jogging to catch up to Miyuki as he continues down the street.

Kazuya gets punched when he tells Kuramochi that he forgot to get extra soy sauce.

But he can hear Sawamura laugh as Kuramochi curses at him, and he suddenly doesn't really mind the throbbing in his shoulder.

Chapter Text

Bakamura Eijun [11:45 P.M.]

> Hey, do you wanna hang out tomorrow?

Miyuki Kazuya [11:46 P.M.]

> Why Sawamura, are you asking me on a date?

Bakamura Eijun [11:50 P.M.]

> NO.

> DEFINITELY NOT.

> GEEZE MIYUKI KAZUYA. GET YOUR MIND OUT OF THE GUTTER.

Miyuki Kazuya [11:52 P.M.]

> That’s a shame. I was going to say yes.

Bakamura Eijun [11:57 P.M.]

> ...

> ...

> Do you want to hang out tomorrow or not?

Miyuki Kazuya [11:58 P.M.]

> I’ll pick you up at noon.

December 13

Kazuya still isn’t 100% sure that this isn’t a date.

Sawamura hadn’t said no, right? So... should he dress himself up? Should he... bring him flowers?

No, Kazuya, he thinks. Even if it were a date, flowers would be really lame...

He shakes his head as he lays on his bed, phone in his right hand and left arm draped over his eyes.

What do you even do on a date...?

It’s ten in the morning, and he hasn’t moved from beneath his covers.

He thinks about whether or not he should plan something for the two of them to do. He hadn’t been told that it was a date, but wouldn’t it be better to show up prepared rather than not? He’d rather have something in mind and not have to use it, than not have anything at all and have Sawamura leave in annoyance.

But Sawamura had been the one to ask him to hang out. So would he have something planned-?

The whole thing makes his head spin, so he decides to stop thinking about it.

He’s not sure why he’s so nervous about this. He sighs to himself as he throws his blankets off of him, deciding that it was about time he got ready to leave.

He showers and changes into a pair of black skinny jeans and a grey t-shirt, reasoning that this way he looks nice enough in case it is a date, but casual enough in case it isn't. He lets out a laugh as he fixes his hair in the mirror, wondering why he was over thinking in the first place.

If he’s being honest with himself, the thought of going on a date with Sawamura both excites and terrifies him. The kid is interesting; in the few months that he's known him, Kazuya has grown fond of the guy that seems to collect flowers as a hobby.

Kazuya, on the other hand, has never thought twice about gaining another flower to compliment his own. It just wasn't something that had ever been on his priority list. The idea that someone could have that many is just so different from what he’s known - he has what feels like a million questions and no means to ask it, because he doesn’t want to offend Sawamura. What if he gets upset? He’s not quite sure how what the etiquette is for dealing with this sort of thing.

By the time he’s dressed and ready, it’s time for him to leave. Sawamura’s place is a 15 minute cab ride from his apartment, so he knows he’ll make it on time. He grabs his things, gives himself a quick check in his mirror, and heads to the door, slipping on his shoes as he hops down the hallway. Kuramochi calls out to him as he passes the living room, leaning from side to side, eyes trained on the television as he plays his game. Kazuya laughs, wallet in his mouth.

“Yo! Pick up some beer on your way back from your date with Bakamura! We’re all out.” Kuramochi yells it at him half-heartedly, focusing more on his game than his words.

“Yew fink et es a tate?” His wallet muffles his words, and he finishes slipping his shoes and hoodie on as he asks his question anyway.

“What?”

He pulls his wallet from his mouth, slipping it into his back pocket and swiping his keys off the counter. “I said ‘you think it is a date’?”

He hears a snort come from the direction of the couch. “Why, do you ?”

He only shrugs, knowing his friend isn’t watching, and he tells Kuramochi to figure out dinner for himself as he walks out the door.

He fidgets in the back of the cab, his stomach twisting into knots as he stares out the window.

He wonders if he’s started getting carsick.

When he gets to Sawamura’s apartment it takes him a quarter of a second to throw the door open, and Kazuya resists the urge to laugh. He thinks it might be in bad taste to laugh at someone you sort of hope you’re going to go on a date with.

But even if he had wanted to laugh, the grin that Sawamura is giving him is enough to take any breath he has away.

Ah, fuck .

“Miyuki Kazuya! You came!”

He has it bad.

“I told you I would, right?” He takes a step back as Sawamura pushes his way out the door, duffle bag thrown over his shoulder and a piece of toast in his hand. He raises an eyebrow. “What’s with the toast?”

“Really? I have a bag full of stuff that I’m bring with me, and you ask about the toast?” As if to further prove his point he hoists the bag further up his shoulder, huffing out a laugh as he sticks the piece of bread in his mouth. “If you must know, I didn’t eat breakfast this morning and I decided to make myself something before you came.”

“So... toast?”

“It’s delicious and fast and it fills me up!”

Kazuya laughs, grabbing ahold of the strap of the bag on Sawamura’s shoulder and yanking, causing him to practically fall into his side. There’s a squawk of protest from Sawamura and a scramble to keep hold of his toast, but Kazuya only slings his arm around his neck and pulls him closer.

“Alright, you got me. So what’s in the bag?”

Sawamura hums as he finishes the last of his make-shift lunch in one bite.

“You’ll see.”

And as Sawamura grins up at him, Kazuya can only think about just how bad he’s got it.

“You’re kidding.”

Sawamura grins up at him from his spot in the dirt, holding a catcher’s mit up in the air and practically shoving it into Kazuya’s hands. He had brought them to a park on the other side of town, finding them a small baseball diamond that was most likely used for a community or little league. But Sawamura had sprinted onto the small diamond as if it had been a national field, and Kazuya couldn’t find it in himself to complain.

“What? I brought a glove for you and I brought my own, and I even brought a bat and like a hundred baseballs and I even have a mask for you if you get scared to catch my pitches-”

“Did you go and buy this glove just so we could play catch today?” Kazuya smirks down at him, and he can see Sawamura’s cheeks begin to turn red.

Cute.

“No! I borrowed it from my friend. I know it’s probably not as great as your glove, but I thought that maybe-”

“It’s great, don’t worry. Just go get on the mound, idiot. Before I change my mind.”

He takes his position behind home plate, watching Sawamura kick the toes of his shoes into the mound across from him. He smiles to himself, holding his glove in front of him and waiting for him to throw.

But as soon as Sawamura locks eyes with him from the mound, he knows that this isn’t a game. His throwing hand twirls the baseball absent-mindedly as he thinks, most likely about what pitch to throw.

He’s a southpaw , Kazuya thinks to himself as he watches the flowers on Sawamura’s fingers wind their way around the ball.

And then he’s moving, his eyebrows pulled together and his leg swinging up, up, up so high and it’s like nothing Kazuya has ever seen before, and his arm is shooting out from behind him at an angle that he can’t see, and he knows that it’s pure luck that he’s able to catch Sawamura’s pitch at all the first time around.

He doesn’t move after the ball slams into his mit, staring at Sawamura with a look of awe and confusion. The pitcher beams at him from his place on the mound, his arms raised in a moment of pure elation, and it’s one of the most beautiful things Kazuya has ever seen.

Naturally, has to end it.

“That was terrible. Try aiming for my glove next time.”

He receives a curse and a flower-covered middle finger in response, and only laughs as he prepares himself for the next pitch.

They go back and forth for nearly three hours, Sawamura pitching and Kazuya making fun of his inexperience. They finally decide to quit, though, because he can hear Sawamura’s stomach all the way from across the plate. The pitcher tries his best to deny that the sound of his stomach is his stomach, but Kazuya shakes his head, standing and making his way across the space between them to practically drag Sawamura downtown to eat.

They find a coffee shop a few blocks from the park, and Kazuya can only think about how cliche it is that he’s paying for his maybe-date’s meal at a movie quality coffee shop, some acoustic indie band playing in the far corner and all. He sighs as he grabs their sandwiches and meets Sawamura at the table he grabbed for them.

“This place is cute, Miyuki. I didn’t peg you for the coffee-shop type.” The smirk Sawamura wears nearly causes his brain to short circuit. He needs to come up with a comeback quick-

“They have good coffee here.”

Smooth, Kazuya.

Sawamura only hums in response, unwrapping his sandwich and watching the band in the corner as he eats. Kazuya attempts to watch anything other than Sawamura.

He fails miserably.

He can’t help himself as he takes in the flowers on Sawamura’s arms. Normally he attempts to cover them, or is wearing a sweater, but he had taken off the leather jacket he’d worn today when they’d gotten into the coffee shop and is wearing a tank top underneath, showing off the marks on his arms.

It’s a bit cold for a tank top , Kazuya thinks, but considering he had taken off his jacket when they’d played catch earlier as well, he had figured that Sawamura had known he would be warm enough with the energy spent throwing to him.

Plus, now he could admire the marks that covered the southpaw’s arms, so he can’t really find the heart to complain.

He admires the flowers that cover the other boy’s skin, and he wonders about the stories behind each mark that was able to make its way into its own spot. Kazuya wonders if he remembers each one, each person that he’d loved enough to take their flower for himself.

He wondered where his flower would be, or if Sawamura would ever accept it.

His eyes are travelling down the pitcher’s arm when he sees it: Wakana’s rose blooms, petals opening and twirling, almost like a dance. Sawamura smiles, closing his eyes and laughing a bit to himself as he puts down his sandwich.

Something in Kazuya’s chest twinges at the sight.

“What does that mean, exactly?” He asks, and Sawamura looks at him with curiosity.

“What does what mean?”

Kazuya nods toward his hand. “When a flower begins to move.”

“It means someone is thinking of you, in a positive way. That they love you, mainly.” Sawamura shrugs a bit and smiles. Kazuya hums.

“What does it feel like?”

It takes Sawamura a moment of contemplation before he answers.

“Warm.” He’s looking at the band in the corner, eyebrows pulled together as he thinks through his response. “Like... The sun. Or like, when you drink hot chocolate on a really cold day, and it warms up your whole body. You know? It feels... Really good.”

Kazuya hums again, placing his elbow on the table and dropping his chin into his palm. “So is Wakana your soulmate or something? Because since Kuramochi’s got her flower, too, that seems like a conflict of interest.”

To his surprise, Sawamura laughs. “No way. Wakana was the first flower I ever got. But I’m not in love with her. I never have been. She’s my best friend, there’s no way I could see her as anything else. And I’m sure she feels the same about me if she has Kuramochi’s flower, too.”

Miyuki uses his ring finger to push his glasses up his nose. “So you don’t think any of the marks you have are from your soulmate?”

Sawamura shrugs. “Nah. I don’t think so at all.”

“Then why do you have so many?”

Another shrug, and another hum. “Dunno. Wakana thinks it’s a mental thing. And honestly? I kind of do, too.”

Miyuki raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”

He thinks that he may have started an intense conversation, judging by the gleam in Sawamura’s eyes when he asks his question.

“Well, most people go through life waiting for their soulmate, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Well then mentally, the only flower they want - or think that they need - is their soulmate’s. Like, on average, most people have three or four marks in their lifetime, right?” Sawamura holds up his fingers as if to count, like he needs the visual. “So, why don’t they have only one, for their soulmate?”

Kazuya shrugs.

“Because they’ve fallen in love with other people. You get it? Like...” Sawamura runs his hands through his hair now, leaning forward, elbows on the table as he rushes through his explanation. ”There’s no way most people will find their soulmate right off the bat. So they go through a couple of rejects, test runs, whatever you wanna call them. But then eventually they happen to fall in love with the right people, and since they never have to worry about falling in love with anyone else, they never think that they need any more flowers! So the flowers stop.”

Sawamura is practically glowing, cheeks flushed as he speaks, as if he’s been waiting to tell someone his theory his entire life.

“But what about people who get married, have kids, fall in love, whatever, but then down the line they have an affair? Or they just fall in love with someone else? They gain a new flower, right?”

Kazuya nods, leaning forward as well.

“Well then whatever happened to that soulmate theory?! Is the person that they had the affair with their soulmate? If so, then why do they have this other person’s flower on them at all?”

Sawamura is on the edge of his seat, and Kazuya watches as he throws his arms out in front of him.

“So see, these all aren’t my soulmates! There’s no way! Because that whole theory is a load of shit!” Sawamura laughs. “It’s all mental. Everyone thinks ‘I only need the flower of the person I’m in love with. The person that I’m going to spend the rest of my life with.’ But what if that’s not true? What if you don’t need only one or two or three people’s flowers? What if these flowers aren’t just about who you’re in love with, but just... The people that you love.”

He finally seems to calm down, voice lowering, and he looks down at his hands as he leans back in his chair.

“They’re meant for the people that you care about. Everyone just decided they should mean something different somewhere along the way.”

Kazuya is silent as he stares at the boy across from him. Something shifts in the atmosphere, and he watches with careful consideration as Sawamura seems to think about something before finally deciding to speak.

He finally looks at Kazuya then, a sad smile playing at his lips as he pulls his arm up onto the table between them. He points to an orchid that circles his right wrist.

“This was from a boy in my seventh grade class. He was really funny and nice and he would come over a lot and play video games with me at my house. And then one day I got this, and he suddenly didn’t want to play with me anymore.”

He pulls up his left arm to meet the right, rotating it to show him a lavender scabiosa on his outer left forearm.

“This was a girl from my little league baseball team. She was our catcher, and I was our pitcher. She would always tell me that I was doing good, even though she could never catch anything I threw to her.”

Kazuya’s chest grows heavy at the thought of someone else catching Sawamura’s pitches, but he pushes the thought away.

“Then one day at practice, I forgot to wear my under armor. She got so angry when she saw it, and so scared, and she refused to catch for me anymore. None of the other players wanted to do it, either, because they were worried their flowers would end up on me as well.” Kazuya remains silent, not able to say anything at all, and he swears he can see something glistening in the corners of Sawamura’s eyes.

Please, don’t cry. Please-

“So! Coach kicked me out. Said that I was causing problems for the team. I mean,” he laughs, clearing his throat, and the glistening in his eyes is gone. “He was right, of course, but that didn’t mean it sucked any less. I haven’t played baseball on a team since.”

He rotates his arm before Kazuya can say anything, showing him a pink camellia covering his right elbow.

“This was from a girl in my twelfth grade english class. Her name was Tsubaki, which, now that I think about it, makes a lot of sense.” He laughs, quiet and sad as he continues. “She was really pretty. She would talk to me every day, even though most of the other kids didn’t want to come anywhere near me. It was like my flowers were contagious to them or something.

“But she treated me just like anyone else. Asked me all about the flowers I had - I think I was up to 15 then? - and she told me that they were beautiful. She told me that I was lucky to be blessed with so much love.” He laughs again, darker this time, and Kazuya feels a lump form in his throat.

“Then one day this showed up. I really tried to hide it, you know. I wore long sleeves for two weeks even though it was the beginning of summer. I tried to tell her that she might not like the new flower that I’d gotten. That I really didn’t want to show her.

“Eventually she talked me into it. Plus, it was getting really hot wearing those long sleeves every day. So I showed her.”

Kazuya asks, even though he doesn’t want to hear the answer. “She didn’t take it well?”

“Oh, no, she was ecstatic. She took it really great!” The smile Sawamura gives Kazuya is so genuine that for a moment, he thinks that maybe this is one of the few flowers that comes with a happy ending. But when he speaks again, there’s no trace of happiness in his tone.

“Her boyfriend wasn’t as excited, though.”

Sawamura breaks from his story, sighing. He tilts his head back, looking around the coffee shop, and Kazuya follows his trail of eyesight. People are staring, faces pulled into disgust or pity or just plain shock, attempting to hide their pointing and their whispers as they single out the two of them.

Look at all those flowers.

That must be awkward for the boy that he’s with.

I would never be able to date someone with that many-

Sawamura sighs again, this time much louder, pulling his jacket off of the back of his chair and slipping it on, covering his marks completely. The people staring turn quickly back to their own conversations. He continues his story, ignoring them.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been beaten so hard. I mean,” he runs his fingers through his hair again, leaning back in his seat, “don’t get me wrong. I’ve been hit plenty of times over my flowers. Boys, girls, slaps, punches... I’ve been kicked a few times, too. But fuck, man. That day was the worst. The doctor said that if he wasn’t pulled off of me when he was, I would have most likely ended up with a broken eye socket, and a few broken ribs. Luckily it was all just bruised or fractured, though. It all healed okay.”

Kazuya can’t breathe, can’t think through the casual tone that Sawamura uses when talking about his marks. He wants to pull him away from the public, take him back to his apartment and keep him locked in his room under his covers forever so that nothing will happen to him again. His stomach hurts, and he’s so angry, and he can’t help but think about all of the times that he was in nearly the same situation-

He doesn’t realize that Sawamura is staring at him until he clears his throat, and Kazuya is snapped back to reality.

“Well anyway, the point is that I know that none of these people are my soul mates.” Sawamura shrugs, and Kazuya wants to scream that he shouldn’t be okay with this kind of thing, but he stays quiet instead.

“Mom always says that when I find the right person, I’ll know. She says that it only takes two halves to make a whole, and that all I have to do is wait for that other half to show up.” And then Sawamura is grinning again, bright and wide and as happy as Kazuya has ever seen. “So that’s exactly what I’m going to do!”

He stares at Sawamura, and he’s silent for a very long moment before he can find it in himself to speak.

“Yeah, but how will you know when it’s your other half if you pick up flowers left and right?”

Sawamura shrugs. “I just will.”

Something in Kazuya’s chest stirs.

Chapter Text

Sawamura [4:57 P.M.]

> Miyuki Kazuya! Did you know that Nintendo was originally a trading card company???

Miyuki Kazuya [5:00 P.M.]

> ... What?

Sawamura [5:01 P.M.]

> It’s true!!!

> Like they made CARDS and stuff!

> They didn’t make video games until like the 70s?????? That’s so weird!

Miyuki Kazuya [5:04 P.M.]

> Why are you telling me this, exactly?

Sawamura [5:05 P.M.]

> It was a good way to transition into asking if you wanted to come play videogames with me.

Miyuki Kazuya [5:05 P.M.]

> Give me 20 minutes.

December 22

“Hey Miyuki, what are you doing for Christmas this year?”

They’re in his apartment and Sawamura is sprawled out next to him, head resting on the cushion next to Kazuya’s legs, one leg thrown over the back of the couch they’re on. Sawamura’s phone is in the air above his face, and Kazuya has been waiting for the past 20 minutes for him to just drop it straight onto his nose.

He shrugs, turning back to the book he has opened in his lap. “Dunno. Probably just hang out here.”

Sawamura shifts, tilting his head so he can look at him from a better angle. “What? All by yourself?”

Another shrug. “Why not?”

“Because!” Sawamura sits up, and Kazuya closes his book with a sigh. “Kuramochi is coming over to me and Wakana’s apartment! You can’t stay here by yourself. That’s not what Christmas is for!”

“That’s how it’s always been for me.” He says it without thinking, and wishes immediately that he could shove the words right back into his mouth as Sawamura’s eyes nearly grow to the size of saucers.

A somewhat awkward silence falls over the space between them as Sawamura stares at him, a look of concentration and frustration on his face. And then he offers his solution.

“Come over then.”

“What?”

He lays back down, his head landing in Kazuya’s lap, his phone back in position above his head. “Hang out with the three of us. Have Christmas at my house.”

Sawamura smiles up at him and Kazuya can’t breathe. He can practically feel his train of thought grinding to a screeching halt, and it takes him a minute to recover before he can answer.

“That is the most stereotypical shoujo plot I’ve ever heard, Bakamura. No way.”

Sawamura laughs, scrolling through his phone. “I guess so. But still! I wouldn’t be able to have a good Christmas knowing that you’re here alone.”

“Why not?” He says it a bit harsher than he wants to. “You barely know me.”

He feels the pitcher shrug. “So? You’re my friend, Miyuki Kazuya. Just shut up and come celebrate Christmas with me.”

He debates with himself over whether or not to accept the offer.  

He’s found himself thinking about Sawamura a lot lately. He would come to Kazuya’s mind at weird times - like when he was waiting tables and a particularly loud customer would come in, or when he would hear a bad joke or a new song, and think about how Sawamura might like it, or whenever he would watch a movie and would find himself analyzing the plot, and picking apart the plot holes the same way Sawamura does.

Kazuya would think about him when he crouched behind the plate in the bullpen at practice. He would imagine a pair of golden eyes across from him, full of fire and intensity and a passion. He would imagine a form he’s never seen in any of the pitchers he’s worked with, leg climbing to impossible heights and an arm that shot out from an impossible angle.

He would imagine the smile that broke across Sawamura’s face after he threw a strike, imagined his smile which could probably blind the sun, imagined the smile that might spread across his face, slowly, beautifully, after Kazuya kissed him-

Maybe he thought about kissing Sawamura more often than he would ever care to admit.

Kazuya has never been one to get close to people, and yet here he was, closer to this one person more than he’s probably been with anyone else in a long time.

So the thought of spending Christmas with Sawamura but excites and terrifies him. He isn’t sure what the implications are in the invitation - was it strictly platonic? Romantic? Or was it completely out of pity?

He chooses to ignore the last thought -- whether it be for common sense or his own feelings, he isn’t entirely sure.

Besides , he thinks, Kuramochi will be there, too .

He’s grown accustomed to his best friend’s presence around the holidays, and he thinks that maybe suddenly being alone again would be a bit depressing. Maybe he’ll ask ‘Mochi what he thinks when he gets ho-

Smack.

There’s a long moment of silence before Kazuya laughs so hard tears begin to form in the corner of his eyes, as he watches Sawamura scramble to grab his phone from off of his face. He doubles over, his forehead almost touching Sawamura’s as he laughs.

Kazuya can smell his shampoo, can feel the fringe of his bangs on his nose as he laughs, and he thinks that Christmas with Sawamura might be nice, no matter the context.

“Okay, Sawamura. I’ll go.”

Chapter Text

December 24

Wakana had been ecstatic when Eijun had told her that Miyuki would be spending Christmas with them. It wasn’t going to be anything huge; just the three ( well, now four ) of them in their apartment for dinner and maybe gifts if they had the time or money to get some. She and Eijun did the same thing every year - now they were just adding a few more people.

She was really excited to spend the day with the people that she loves. Eijun , on the other hand, may be losing his mind as he wipes down their kitchen table for the upteenth time, followed by a frantic glance at the clock above the kitchen window. He groans, and Wakana stifles a laugh.

“Calm down, Ei. You’re fine. The apartment looks great.”

“But what if he doesn’t like it? What if it’s not clean enough? What if the walls are covered in too much decorations? What if the colors of the walls are too bright?! I knew it! I knew we should have gone with a green instead of a yellow-”

“Eijun!” And now she is laughing, making her way across the living room and into the small kitchen area to put her hands on his shoulders. “Listen to me. Everything looks great. So shut up, okay?”

Eijun’s eyebrows pull together, his mouth forming into a line as he looks down at her. “Well that’s not very nice, Wakana.”

She smiles, rolling up onto her tiptoes and squishing his cheeks together, shaking his head back and forth a bit before letting go and moving back to the living room. “You need to calm down. You have it bad.”

She hears a loud sigh as he follows, falling down next to her on the couch and sinking into the cushions. She strokes his hair as he leans his head on her shoulder.

“I know.” His answer is mumbled through puffed cheeks, and she laughs. “He’s so stupid and handsome. I hate it.”

He sighs again, but doesn’t sit up, so she continues playing with his hair.

“Like... We’ve only known each other for what, a month? Two? But he’s so interesting and infuriating and funny and smart and for some reason everything just kind of makes sense when I’m around him, you know? It’s really weird.” His arms are extended out in front of him, now, as if gesturing to something that’s sitting in front of them that Wakana can’t see. But she nods anyway, and he nods with her, tilting his head to look up at her.

“Plus, he’s a real jerk. Have I mentioned that yet?”

“Once or twice, yes.”

“Hmm. Well, it’s true. But he’s really handsome, too, so maybe I guess it kind of evens out?”

She shrugs. “Perhaps.”

“How are you and Kuramochi?”

“Good. He’s at practice a lot, but I don’t mind.”

“Oh yeah, he’s on Miyuki’s team, huh?”

“Yeah, they practically live on that baseball diamond. I would be jealous if I didn’t know that he loves me just as much as the sport he plays.” She laughs, and Eijun pulls his head off of her shoulder, shifting to the side to lay his head back onto the armrest and drape his legs over her lap instead.

“Do you go watch his practice at all?”

“Sometimes. You should come with me the next time I go.”

He pulls an arm up, laying it over his forehead and staring at the ceiling. “Maybe.”

“Do you miss it?” She’s quiet when she asks it, even though she already knows his answer.

“I mean, kind of.” His eyes close, and Wakana pulls her legs up and crosses them under her. “How can I miss something I was never really able to take part in? You know?”

“Mm.” She leans her head back, resting it on the back of the couch.

“Like, sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I didn’t have these things all over my arms. If I were able to join an actual team, work on my skills, maybe become someone who’s actually worth something. I want to play baseball. Or even if I could do something else, that would be just as good - like acting or dancing or anything else. But no one wants me anywhere near them, Wakana. What happens when Miyuki doesn’t want me near him anymore, either?”

She opens her mouth to speak, to tell him that no , that’s not true. That he’s wonderful the way he is, that he’s her best friend, that if Miyuki decides to leave then she’ll kick his ass for the next 6 months-

But she doesn’t.

How is she supposed to think that telling him that he’ll be okay will work?

She’s never been looked at the way he has. She’s never been kicked out of an establishment for causing a disturbance, or refused entry into something that she loved because the other kids were scared of her, or isolated for years because her heart was so big that she literally wore it on her sleeve. That was always him, who took everything in stride, who never complained or held it against anyone.

It was always Eijun, who was always so wonderful and happy and full of love.

So instead of saying anything she stands, walking to the end of the couch before dropping to her knees and throwing her arms around his neck, holding him and refusing to let go.

He stiffens for a moment before hugging her back, and somehow this has turned into him comforting her as he strokes her hair, laughing. It makes her angry and it makes her laugh, and she rests her head on his chest as they simply exist together, there on the couch in the late afternoon sun that breaks through the living room window.

December 25

Wakana watches with amused interest as Eijun and Miyuki bicker across the table. It had started nearly immediately after he and Youichi had gotten to the apartment, when Miyuki had told Eijun that the tree in the living room was too big. Youichi had only rolled his eyes, kissing her and dragging her to the kitchen before the argument started.

They’re at the table now, finishing the takeout that they had ordered for the night. Since Eijun can’t cook (and she has never been very good at it either), they had decided that this was probably the best way to go.

“You could have asked me to cook, you know.” Miyuki says for the second time that night, looking at Eijun across the table and smirking as he places another piece of orange chicken in his mouth.

“Yeah well, I bet that it wouldn’t have been any good.” Eijun stabs at the rice in his take-out box with his chopsticks, cheeks puffed out in protest.

Miyuki responds through a mouthful of food, “It would have been amazing.”

Youichi laughs next to her, and Wakana smiles to herself as Eijun snaps back, “Well then you’re cooking on New Years.”

“Who says I’m going to be with you on New Years?”

“Why wouldn’t you be?”

“Maybe I have something better to do.”

“Yeah right, Miyuki Kazuya! There’s no way!”

She watches the back-and-forth like a tennis match, head whipping from side to side as each person tosses sentences at each other so fast, she might have thought it was scripted.

It’s all so domestic that it nearly makes her laugh out loud. Miyuki sits on one side of the table, chopsticks pointed at Sawamura with a smirk on his face and an eyebrow raised, snickering about whatever insult he’s just thrown out; Eijun sits on the other, right leg drawn up to rest on the cushion he sits on. His arm rests on his knee as he holds his food in one hand, the other waving through the air defensively as he yells at Miyuki half-heartedly.

“They’re so married ,” she whispers to Youichi, who nearly chokes on the noodles he’s just shoved into his mouth. He nods, thumping a fist to his chest as he coughs a bit.

“Seriously. Isn’t it gross?” He rolls his eyes, pulling a piece of teriyaki chicken from Wakana’s take-out box.

“I think it’s kind of cute.”

“Yeah, you don’t have to deal with it all the time. It’s like this whenever Sawamura comes over to our place.”

Wakana only laughs, taking another bite of her food and watching Miyuki and Eijun like they were Sunday morning cartoons.

Chapter Text

December 31

Kazuya isn’t entirely sure how Sawamura and Wakana have ended up in his apartment on New Year’s Eve, and he’s not entirely sure how much they’ve all had to drink.

What he is sure of, however, is that it’s 11:32 p.m. and they’re all watching the countdown on the television, with Sawamura sandwiched between him and Kuramochi, and Wakana on the floor between Kuramochi’s legs. He is also sure that there is a band currently playing on the television, but he hasn’t been able to focus on it for the past 15 minutes, as Sawamura sits cross-legged next to him, his knee resting on Kazuya’s thigh.

And he is definitely sure that if something isn’t done soon, he might just explode.

“Listen, listen,” he decides to try and focus on what Kuramochi and Wakana are currently arguing over, “if Superman wanted to, he could probably just crush Batman in a heartbeat.”

“No way! Batman has his suit.” Wakana doesn’t look up from the phone in her right hand, her left arm draped over Kuramochi’s thigh. “Besides, all he would need would be like, a pebble of Kryptonite and it would be over. That’s really lame.”

Kuramochi scoffs, running his fingers through Wakana’s hair.

Kazuya wonders what it might be like to to run his fingers through Sawamura’s hair. He thinks that it might be messy enough that he could make the excuse of trying to fix it, thinks that it might be really soft, thinks that it’s right there next to him right now so maybe he could just -

Kuramochi’s counterpoint snaps him out of his train of thought. “And you think that Superman would let it get to that point? He could just laser-eyes him! Or freeze him. Or even just crush his whole head with his fist .”

He puts his hands on either side of Wakana’s head, squeezing. She laughs, wiggling her way out of his grasp and turning her body to face him.

“Shut up, there’s no way Batman would ever let him get that far. Just admit you lost.”

Kuramochi crosses his arms, pouting. “No.”

Wakana giggles, scooting closer and resting her chin on Kuramochi’s knee. He relents, smiling down at her and leaning forward to kiss her forehead. Kazuya makes a face.

“Gross. Get a room.”

“Hyahaha! Don’t be jealous ‘cause you’re lonely, Miyuki. I’m sure Sawamura’d give you a kiss if you asked for one.”

Sawamura chokes on the drink he’s just taken a sip of, his entire face exploding into a brilliant red.

“Sh-shut up, Kuramochi! Go back to your dumb arguing, no one wants to hear you!”

Kazuya laughs, leaning across the space between them and slinging an arm over Sawamura’s shoulders. He pulls the pitcher close, their noses nearly touching.

His brain is fried, there’s no way he can go on, he can feel Sawamura’s skin beneath his and it takes everything in him to speak-

“Oh come on, Sa-wa-mur-a~,” his voice is low, and he manages a smirk as he continues, “You wouldn’t kiss me? Even if I asked nicely?”

Sawamura opens and closes his mouth for a solid 10 seconds before he panics, scrambling out of Kazuya’s grasp and sliding to the floor next to Wakana. He uses her body like a shield, crouched behind her back and peeking over her shoulder at Kazuya, frowning.

“ No , Miyuki Kazuya. I would not kiss you, even if you ‘asked nicely’.”

Kazuya feigns hurt, refusing to believe that the heaviness in his chest is real. “Sawamura, you wound me.”

Sawamura scoffs, flipping himself so he and Wakana sit back to back. “Yeah, well too bad.”

Kazuya watches Sawamura for a moment, trying to ignore the way his chest tightens at the rejection. He laughs a bit as he stands, brushing non-existent dust off of his jeans and stretching his arms across his chest.

He needs to get out of here, before he loses it completely.

“Well, not that this isn’t fun or anything, but I want snacks.” He makes his way to the edge of the living room, stopping before the hallway. “I’m going to the corner store.”

“We already have snacks, dude.” Kuramochi says, question apparent on his face as he motions to the scattered bags of chips and cookies that surround them.

Kazuya shrugs. “I don’t want any of that.”

It’s a simple answer, and as Kuramochi narrows his eyes in his direction he knows that he doesn’t buy it. But he ignores him, shrugging again as he backs into the hallway and ducks into his room to grab his wallet and keys.

By the time he makes his way back into the living room, Sawamura is by the door waiting for him. Wakana and Kuramochi are lying on the couch, a tangle of limbs and chip bags as they hoard the snacks, as if trying to show Kazuya what he could have, but doesn’t.

On all fronts.

He makes a face, frowning as he looks at Sawamura at his post by the door.

“What are you doing?”

“I figured I’d come with you.”

“Why?”

“Because Kuramochi told me that he and Wakana are kicking me off of the couch and are going to make out for the rest of the night.”

Kazuya snaps his head in Kuramochi’s direction, but the green-haired demon only shrugs, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“You might wanna stay out for a bit longer.”

It’s 11:52 by the time Kazuya pays for the snacks they end up choosing at the corner store. He knows because the cashier tells him, confused as to why “two handsome boys like yourself aren’t out at some club somewhere”. He tells her that they’re on their way home from one, and the old woman winks and tells him to have fun.

Great.

Sawamura, meanwhile, is completely oblivious, humming to himself as he gathers the bag full of snacks from the counter and practically skips out the door. Kazuya follows, sighing to himself as the old woman behind the counter giggles.

They move down the street together at a pace slower than he’d like. Although the corner store is only a block away from the apartment, the streets are full of people bar hopping and celebrating, the new year growing closer with each minute. Sawamura jogs up to Kazuya’s side, linking their arms together.

Kazuya forgets how to breathe.

“You know,” Sawamura says, “I’ve never really gotten the point of New Years.”

Kazuya looks down at him, snorting. “It’s the start of a new year, stupid. People are pretty excited about it.”

“Yeah, but why ?” Sawamura’s body leans into his own, and he waves his free arm out in front of him in a gesture. “Like, everyone makes a big deal about it. You know? ‘I’m gonna lose weight!’ Or ‘I’m gonna finally get some work done!’ But what’s the point?”

He smiles as Sawamura scrunches up his nose in contemplation. “Why can’t you do any of that during the year? Why do you have to wait until the next one comes around? Why should you have to wait until a certain day to be able to get your shit together, you know?”

“You ask way too many questions.” Kazuya laughs, pulling them to a stop in front of a bar, watching as people stumble out onto the street, singing and laughing and being way too loud. “People like the idea of new things, I think. They like the idea of being able to put everything behind them and start entirely fresh. The new year is a time where they can do that. They can become a new person, a better person, whether it be in work, or their personal lives, or... relationships. It makes them confident. That’s all.”

He turns to look at Sawamura, whose face is still scrunched up in concentration. It takes him a moment before he finally nods, a smile breaking out across his face.

“You’re really smart, you know that?”

Kazuya smirks. “Yeah, I do.”

“Shut up, you’re so conceited!” Sawamura laughs, looking up at him through his eyelashes.

The crowd in the bar begins to chant, counting down from ten as the new year approaches.

Ten .

“I lied, you know.”

Nine.

“About what?”

Eight.

“About never kissing you, even if you asked.”

Seven.

Sawamura looks up at him, eyes wide, and Kazuya takes in every inch of his features.

Six .

The freckles that dot his nose-

Five.

The fringe of his bangs that nearly cover his eyes-

Four.

The curve of his lips as he smiles-

Three.

Sawamura’s smile fades, replaced by something that Kazuya can’t identify.

Two.

And suddenly he’s on his rolling onto the balls of his feet, giving him the extra couple of inches needed to reach Kazuya’s height.

One.

And then he can feel it - the ghost of Sawamura’s lips, soft and fleeting on the very corner of his mouth as his eyes flutter closed and their fingers intertwine.

Cheers erupt around him, and he swears that it’s just the sound of his heart screaming out in sheer wonder at the fact that he’s still standing as his legs turn to lead and his stomach drops through the ground below him. He can hear fireworks - or can he see them? - and just as soon as he registers exactly what’s happening, it’s done, over, and his eyes are open again, half-lidded, and he’s staring at the sun-

No.

He’s staring at Sawamura.

His eyes are sparkling , the fireworks that are erupting behind them reflecting through his irises, and the smile that covers his face is the most beautiful thing that Kazuya has ever seen. His cheeks are pink and he is laughing, and Kazuya can’t remember what his life was like up until this moment.

“You were right, Miyuki Kazuya,” Sawamura says. “The new year gives people confidence.”

Kazuya feels something in his left rib cage almost burn, and his entire body feels warm.

It feels like the sun...

Chapter Text

January 1

“What if he hates me now?”

“What?”

“What if he hates me , now?! What if I screwed up, and he never wants to talk to me again? Oh my god, Wakana, what if I’m a terrible kisser?!”

Eijun throws himself onto Wakana’s bed, face down and legs kicking as they dangle off the edge of the mattress. He hears a combination of a laugh and a sigh in front of him as Wakana closes the book she’s reading.

“Did he punch you after you kissed him?”

“No.” His response is muffled through the sheets.

“Did he tell you that he doesn’t like you?”

“No.”

“Did you guys walk back to the apartment and spend the rest of the night together until we left, as if nothing had changed at all, to the point where Youichi and I didn’t even know that anything had happened while you were out?”

“... Yes.”

“Then stop worrying. He likes you.”

Eijun pushes himself up, resting on his forearms and frowning at Wakana. “Are you sure about that?”

She laughs again, eyebrows pulling together in clear confusion. “What are you talking about?”

He scrambles into a sitting position, legs crossed beneath him as he leans forward, palms against the mattress.

“I said: are you sure about that? Like, did he tell you that?”

Wakana laughs again, folding one leg over the other and leaning back in the chair she’s currently sitting in. “No, he didn’t.”

Eijun throws himself back, arms flailing, exploding. “Then how do you know, Wakana?!”

She sighs, rolling her eyes. “Because I just know. You kissed him and he let you, right? He likes you. You’re both so obvious while simultaneously oblivious, and it’s kind of frustrating.”

Eijun stares at her for a moment, mouth slightly open, before he puts his elbow on his knee and drops his chin into his palm.

“Then what are we?”

She frowns. “What?”

“What are we, then?” Eijun holds up his free hand, counting off possibilities. “Are we dating? Are we friends with benefits? Are we going to pretend this never happened? Or are we just friends that sometimes happen to kiss each other?”

Wakana sighs, uncrossing her arms and standing, making her way to her bed. She falls into the open space next to Eijun, one leg dangling off the edge of her mattress, staring at the ceiling. She holds up her hand as well, countering Eijun’s questions.

“Well you aren’t dating. Yet.”

Eijun nods, watching her intently. “Makes sense.”

“And you haven’t really done anything besides kiss once on New Year’s Eve and never mentioned anything about moving on to the next step, so I would probably strike a friends with benefits relationship off the list, too.”

“Fair enough.”

Wakana shrugs. “So the way I see it, you have two options at the moment: act like it never happened, or platonic friends that kind of kiss every once in awhile.”

“That last one doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Eijun!”

“What?!”

She sighs, rolling onto her side and propping her head up, elbow on her pillow. “You need to talk to him. Don’t act like this never happened. Okay? You need to communicate -- you should decide if you should date, or remain friends. If you don’t then things are only going to get more confusing from here.”

“Okay, okay. I get it.” Eijun props himself up with her, mimicking her position. “But consider this instead: I act like nothing ever happened and we continue on with our lives, and no one ever has to talk to anyone about anything ever again.”

Wakana throws a pillow in his face and he squawks as he falls off the bed, limbs flailing.

Chapter Text

Miyuki [3:09 P.M.]

> Hey, check out this video I found of this dog wearing pajamas.

Sawamura Eijun B) [3:12 P.M.]

> WHAT THE HECK THAT IS THE CUTEST THING I’VE EVER SEEN

> I’M JUST

> ARE YOU KIDDING

> LOOK AT IT

Miyuki [3:15 P.M.]

> It reminds me of you tbh

Sawamura Eijun B) [3:15 P.M.]

> Miyuki Kazuya it’s not very nice to compare people to dogs.

Miyuki [3:17 P.M.]

> It is if they’re both cute.

Miyuki [3:20 P.M.]

> Once you’re done freaking out, do you want to go to dinner tomorrow night?

January 6

Eijun is ready for dinner 3 hours before Miyuki shows up at his apartment to pick him up.

So by the time six rolls around and Miyuki texts him to tell him that he’s in the downstairs parking lot, Eijun is a nervous wreck. Wakana walks him to the door, smoothing down the cardigan he’s wearing and smirking up at him.

“I feel like a mom sending her son off to prom.”

Eijun snorts, rolling his eyes and pulling her hands off of his chest. “Yeah okay . It’s just dinner.”

Wakana crosses her arms, still smirking. “Is that why you changed your outfit 5 times?”

He feels his face heat up, and backs away from her, opening the door. “ Okaaaaaay Wakana goodbye I have to go I’ll see you laaaaater!”

He hurries out of the apartment, hearing Wakana laugh behind him as she calls out, waving, “Be safe! Have fun! Be back by 11 or you’re grounded!”

Eijun laughs with her, waving back in her direction as he skips down the stairs.

He hurries across the half empty parking lot, pulling his cardigan tighter around himself as he waves at Miyuki through the window. Miyuki waves back, an amused expression on his face.

He slides into the passenger seat, careful not to slam the door behind him. He turns to face Miyuki, legs lead, stomach flipping, grin nearly reaching his ears.

“Hey.”

Miyuki smiles back. His smile isn’t nearly as big as Eijun’s, but it’s just as genuine.

“Hey.”

The wind bites at Eijun’s cheeks through the open window of Miyuki’s car. He closes his eyes, letting his right arm stick straight out the window, fingers dancing, knees pulled up to his chest as he hums along to the music through the radio. They’ve been driving for almost an hour, and Miyuki refuses to let him know where they’re going.

“Why do you have the window down if the heater is on?” Miyuki calls out over the music - some new pop song that Eijun’s heard a hundred times on the top 40 stations that are on a constant loop at his work.

He hums as he answers, “The contrast feels really nice. The hot and the cold, you know?”

“Not really, no.”

“Then roll down your window and find out!”

Miyuki shakes his head. “Nah, I’m okay. I’m not a big fan of the cold like you.”

Eijun laughs, resting his head against the seat and rolling his window up. “Fine, you win. And I don’t love the cold or anything. I just prefer it to the heat.”

“Please, you’re wearing a cardigan in 30 degree weather.”

“Okay first of all it’s like 60 degrees out? Like, 50 if you’re really stretching. And second, this is my favorite cardigan. I look really good in it.”

“Yeah, that’s true. You do.”

A warmth creeps up the back of Eijun’s neck, and he resists the urge to bury his face in his hands.

“So when are we going to get there?”

Miyuki smirks. “We’re almost there, don’t worry.”

“You still haven’t told me where we’re going. It’s not somewhere super fancy or anything, is it?”

“Don’t worry, your cardigan is just fine.”

The heat from his neck begins making its way to his cheeks. “I’m not worried about my cardigan!”

Miyuki lets out a laugh, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m kidding. I already told you I like it. Besides, I’d rather save the really fancy places for our second date.”

Eijun chokes, moving his feet from the edge of his seat to the floor beneath him.

“So this is a date?”

Miyuki raises an eyebrow, tone taking on that of uncertainty. “Uuuuuhh... It.... was....?”

He jumps a bit in his seat, waving his arms frantically in an attempt to backtrack. “No wait! That’s not what I- Uh, I would hope that this would be- I mean-”

He trails off as Miyuki snickers, crossing his arms and puffing out his cheeks in slight annoyance.

“Wait a minute... Why is the fancy stuff not good enough for our first date?! Am I not worth it, Miyuki Kazuya?!”

The snickering stops, and it’s Miyuki’s turn to become flustered. “No! No, uh- no that’s not it. You’re definitely worth it. I mean, um, I just figured maybe this would be less pressure, I guess? If that makes- well, I guess it doesn’t make much sense. But I just-”

Eijun smiles, pulling his feet back onto the seat. “No, that makes sense. And I was just giving you a hard time, you know. I’d love to go anywhere, if it was with you.”

Miyuki’s cheeks take on a pink hue, and he smiles as he pulls off the freeway.

“Did you know that strawberries aren’t actually berries?”

“What?”

Sawamura nods, a strawberry half-way into his mouth. Kazuya waits as he takes a bite, pulling out the stem and waving it through the air as he speaks.

“It’s true! They aren’t considered a part of the berry family. But bananas are.”

Kazuya smirks, leaning back in his chair and poking at the scrambled eggs on his plate with his fork. “Really?”

“Yeah!” Sawamura picks another strawberry off of the waffle in front of him, taking another bite and discarding the stem in the corner of his plate. “Like, who decided that? And why did they decide to name it a strawberry if it wasn’t allowed to be a berry, you know?”

“It’s just so unfair.”

“A regular crime against strawberries! We should start a petition.”

Kazuya laughs, shaking his head and pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “The real crime here is that I drove us an hour out of the city just to eat at a waffle house.”

Sawamura clicks his tongue, “What?! Waffle houses are amazing. Besides, I didn’t see you shouting out ideas as to where we should’ve eaten.”

Kazuya hums. “Fair enough.”

“What are we going to do after this, anyway?”

“That’s a surprise.”

“Oh! Kind of like how driving out here and then stopping on the side of the road to Google restaurants was a surprise?” Sawamura smirks at him as he cuts off a piece of waffle. Kazuya’s stomach flips.

“ No . I actually know what we’re doing this time.”

Sawamura smiles, popping the piece of waffle into his mouth. “Sounds good to me!”

“It will be, don’t worry.” Kazuya smiles back, signaling to their waitress and asking her for their check.

Sawamura watches her leave before turning back to his nearly finished food. “Did you know that the world record for the most waffles eaten in 10 minutes is 29?”

“What?”

He nods, cutting off another piece and sticking it in his mouth, pointing his fork in Kazuya’s direction. “Yeah! Can you believe it? Some guy at a national waffle eating contest got 29 waffles down in 10 minutes. I think it’s taken me like an hour to eat these two? Could you imagine?"

Kazuya laughs, folding his arms as he leans against the table top. “Where do you keep coming up with these facts?”

Sawamura shrugs. “I dunno. Internet? They’re really interesting. Plus they’re good conversation starters. And when people tend to be hesitant to talk to you, they’re usually a good way to break the tension.”

Kazuya nods, and Sawamura shrugs again.

“People get distracted by my flowers. So facts about them - and other things - sometimes make them feel a little bit better. I think the only place that people don’t care about how I look is my work, and that’s only because I’m being paid to be there.”

“What do you do?” Now that he thinks about it, Kazuya had never bothered to find out what it was that Sawamura did.

Now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t know too much about Sawamura at all.

“I work in a warehouse. I do inventory, and during the holidays when we get swamped I help with packing. It’s a pretty easy job, and it pays pretty well, too.” He leans back, pushing his plate further across the table.

Their waitress swings by their table, dropping off the check. Kazuya stops her before she can leave, handing her his debit card and ignoring Sawamura’s protests across from him.

“I can pay for my own food! Really, Miyuki, it’s fine. I don’t want you to have to-”

“Don’t people do that on dates?” He interrupts, smirking as Sawamura’s face nearly explodes into a brilliant shade of pink.

“I- well, it’s just-”

“Or is this not a date...?”

Sawamura waves his arms, shaking his head and looking anywhere but Kazuya as he answers. “No! I... I thought we already said that it was!”

“Then stop worrying.” He smiles as the waitress makes her way back to their table, returning his card and wishing them a good night. He leaves her tip and they duck out of the restaurant into the cold, half-jogging to Kazuya’s car as the wind picks up around them.

They’re shaking with both laughter and the night air as they slide into the car, and Kazuya blasts the heater almost as soon as the car turns on. He pulls out of the parking lot and onto the road, hoping that the heat will kick in soon.

“So I wanna go up to this place I know. It’s another like, 15 minutes north? But you’ll really like it.” He points toward a group of mountains out in front of them, white capped and practically glowing in the distance.

Sawamura only nods, smiling, shuddering a bit as he stops shaking once his body adjusts to the temperature of the car. “I didn’t bring a heavier sweater, you know. I only have my cardigan.”

Kazuya smirks. “Well that’s your problem for not dressing as if it’s the middle of winter.”

A squawk of protest comes from the seat next to him, and Kazuya snickers.

“Don’t worry, though. I have extra sweaters in my trunk. You can wear one of them.”

Sawamura smiles, pulling his feet onto the seat and resting his chin on his knees.

The mountains are dark as the city fades behind them. Eijun has never been this far out of the city since he moved here 4 years ago with Wakana -- he’d never really had a reason to.

Eijun marvels at the way Miyuki seems to know exactly where he’s going; the rough twists and turns of the mountains don’t seem to phase him in the least. His headlights only reach about a dozen feet in front of them, but Eijun is too busy staring above them to notice.

He watches the stars through the sunroof as they drive, the constellations moving fractions of inches as they go on for miles. He hums along to the radio as they drive, leaning back against the center console in order to get a better view of the sky.

Miyuki pulls off the main road, turning onto a small dirt road leading up a cliffside. Eijun laughs, pulling himself into a sitting position and taking hold of the handle above the door.

“Are we going offroading tonight? In your 1995 Toyota Camry?”

Miyuki snorts as the car rolls to a stop on the edge of the cliff. “No, thanks. I’m not looking to kill my car tonight.”

Eijun unbuckles his seatbelt, following Miyuki’s lead. “Then what are we doing?”

“You’ll see. Come on.”

They climb out of the car, Eijun heading for the cliffside and Miyuki popping open the trunk and pulling out a handful of sweaters and blankets.

He meets Eijun at the cliff’s edge, dropping a heavier jacket over his shoulders and placing the palm of his hand on the top of his head.

“This’ll be better than your flimsy little cardigan.”

Eijun smirks. “But now my outfit is ruined.”

Miyuki smirks back, challenging, “Or maybe it’s slightly improved.”

He chokes, pulling Miyuki’s jacket higher in order to cover the red that’s creeping up the back of his neck.

The cliff side overlooks the neighboring city, and Eijun marvels at the lights that dot the horizon in front of them. A small brick wall separates them from the edge of the cliff, and he makes his way to sit on the cold stone, swinging his legs over the side and dangling them out over the steep drop. Miyuki follows suit, swinging his own legs over the wall and sitting beside him .

They sit in silence, Eijun slightly shaking -- from the cold or the feeling of Miyuki’s leg against his, he isn’t quite sure. He hums, kicking his feet against the brick wall in order to distract himself.

“Do you want to play a game?”

Miyuki turns to him, a look of amusement on his face. “A game?”

“Yeah!” Eijun beams, gripping at the edge of the wall excitedly. “Let’s play 20 Questions.”

“Isn’t that the game you play when you want to ask weird sex stuff?”

Eijun’s face explodes in a brilliant shade of pink, and he nearly falls backwards off of the wall in his attempt to deny Miyuki’s idea.

“N-n-n-no!!! No, no no , that’s not it at all! It was a normal game before, you know. People just made it weird!”

Miyuki laughs, clutching at his sides as he keeps himself from falling as well.

“I know, I know,” he gasps a bit between laughs, shaking his head and calming himself down until he’s talking between near giggles. “I know. Sure, Sawamura, let’s play. You go first.”

Eijun snaps back almost immediately, too excited about his idea to care about Miyuki’s joke.

“Okay! Okay...” He sits for a minute, silent, frowning as he stares out over the horizon. He nods to himself, turning to Miyuki excitedly.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Eh?” Miyuki looks at him incredulously, laughing a bit as he repeats, “What’s my favorite color?”

“Yes!”

“That’s an incredibly simple question.”

“And yet I don’t know the answer.”

Miyuki hums. “Fair enough. My favorite color is blue, I think. Like a dark, navy blue. What about yours?”

Eijun hums back, pulling the sleeve of his sweater up to his elbows, showing off a lilac peony on his inner left forearm, “This. This is my favorite color.”

Miyuki takes hold of his arm, bringing it up higher between them. “I can’t see it very well, but I’m sure it’s pretty.”

Eijun’s arm tingles where Miyuki’s skin touches his, and his stomach flips as he chokes out, “It is.”

He notices Miyuki’s fingers linger as they trace the flower on his arm ( or is that wishful thinking? ), and his stomach flips again as he lets go.

“It’s my turn, right?”

Eijun nods, not trusting his own voice.

“Okay... If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?”

Eijun whistles a bit, leaning back on the wall and tilting his head back to look at the sky stretched out above him.

“That’s a good one... Probably Paris if it’s foreign, Portland if we’re talking local.”

“Why the distinction?”

“Well, I’d really like to live in Paris but there’s no way I could learn French. But I hear people are covered in flowers there -- or at least it isn’t nearly as uncommon as it is here. But I think that Portland would be a nice change, too. I love the weather and the music scene and the area in general is really pretty. You know?”

Miyuki smiles, “Yeah, I do.”

They go on for nearly an hour, asking each other the most interesting questions they can think of.

Eijun learns that Miyuki hates sweets. He loves to cook, is an only child, has been playing catcher since he was seven, is good at math but terrible at history, has known Kuramochi since high school and has never been to Disneyland.

Miyuki, on the other hand, learns that Eijun loves sweets. In fact, it’s the only thing he can cook (or bake, in this case). He loves English and history and is awful at math and science, has known Wakana since they were toddlers and has been to Disneyland more times than he can count.

Miyuki tugs on the blanket that’s ended up wrapped around the both of them, pulling it tighter. It pulls Eijun along with it, and it’s warm as he falls into Miyuki’s side.

“Honestly, we’re not very similar, are we?” he asks, laughing. Eijun shrugs.

“I guess not? But I’m sure there are some things that we can agree on. Like... What’s your favorite sport?”

“Baseball.” The response is immediate, and Eijun nods excitedly.

“See? We both love baseball, right? There’s that. Plus, I’m a pitcher and you’re a catcher. So there’s that, too!”

Miyuki nods, laughing again. “That’s true, too. Now it’s my turn to ask a question.”

“Huh? No, I thought it was my turn!”

Miyuki shakes his head, smirking. “No, you just asked me what my favorite sport is.”

Eijun throws his head back, smacking himself on the forehead. “Ah, no! I meant that like, rhetorically!”

Miyuki shrugs, “Too bad, you asked.”

He groans, relenting. “Alright, alright. Fair enough. Go ahead, then.”

Miyuki is quiet for a moment, as if debating whether he should ask his question at all.

“You said before that you stopped playing.”

“Yeah?”

“Because of your flowers.”

“Yeah...?”

“Would you change that? If you could.”

Eijun frowns, not fully understanding. “Change what?”

Miyuki nods in the direction of his arm, his flowers hidden by his sleeves, “Your marks. Would you change it? Get rid of them?”

Eijun tugs at his sleeves, considering. He pulls his hood up before he answers, hiding part of his face from view.

“I’m not really sure.”

Miyuki watches him, seeming to expect him to continue, so he does.

“Honestly, sometimes I do wish they were gone. I miss baseball a lot, and there are so many other things that would be easier if they were gone. There are times where I’ll meet people for the first time, and even sometimes a second or third, and I’ll be wearing sleeves or something and they won’t know I have them, and they’ll treat me just like anyone else. But as soon as they catch a glimpse of my flowers they freak out, telling me that they misjudged me, or that I really need help if I’m sleeping around with this many people. It kind of sucks sometimes.

“But at the same time, these marks are a part of me. I’ve gained them all, with a story attached to each one -- people and friends and memories that I wouldn’t trade for anything. So that’s a really tough question, because I really am not sure what I would do if I was able to get rid of my flowers.”

He shrugs, tilting his head back and taking a breath. The night air is cold, and he smiles as he counts the stars above him.

“Do you ever wonder what else there is?”

He can feel Miyuki watching him as he asks, “What do you mean?”

Eijun points above them with one hand, the other gripping the end of the blanket wrapped around him. “Out there. Do you ever wonder what else there is?”

“I can’t say I do,” Miyuki says, and Eijun smiles.

“I do. All the time. There’s so much out there. Like, look at the stars. There are so many. Hundreds, thousands, millions of stars in millions of galaxies, with who knows how many planets to match. We’re so small, on this big huge planet in this big huge solar system in this big huge galaxy, and here we are, sitting on a wall watching stars that are already burnt out and gone, leaving us behind.”

He laughs. “That’s not crazy to you? The fact that we can do anything - anything - and it would be so insignificant in the huge, grand scheme of things. Because none of this matters! None of it does. You know? We’re all just star dust in the end.”

Miyuki hums next to him, and he closes his eyes, taking another breath.

“But at the same time, it does matter. Because even though it doesn’t affect the big picture, it affects our picture. All of the little things we do, all of the things we say, the actions we take - it all matters to someone. It all matters to us . If I gain a flower, I’ve effectively intertwined my picture with someone else’s, and they’re been intertwined with me. Every move we make, every sentence we say to someone, every active choice that we make will change our life and the lives of others.”

The silence between them continues, Eijun watching the sky and Miyuki watching him. This time when he speaks, it’s quieter.

“When I was younger, I used to lay out on the grass in our front yard and watch the night sky as it moved. It was always subtle, but it was always there. The stars would rotate above me, changing place in the sky. It was as if even the constellations couldn’t stay still.

“I used to see Earth as a dome -- have you noticed? If you watch the sky from the right angle, it looks like a dome above you, like an observatory. I used to think that maybe we were trapped. That none of this was real. That maybe one day someone would open the hatch next to the Big Dipper and tell me that it was over, that I could leave, that there was no need for me to stay here. But it is real. All of it. The stars and the galaxies and the universe, it’s all real and it’s all out there. And it amazes me.”

“ You amaze me,” Miyuki whispers, so quiet that Eijun almost misses it.

He feels a flood of warmth flow through him, and he knows his ears are turning pink. He smiles, rubbing at the back of his neck, hoping Miyuki doesn’t notice. He laughs, much too loudly, the warmth from his ears spreading to his cheeks.

“I’m sorry! I went on forever there! Enough of that, right?” He laughs again, turning to face Miyuki, “It’s your question next.”

Miyuki is quiet as he watches him, seeming to search his face for something that Eijun isn’t sure is there. He leans in a bit, using the wall between them for support, and his voice is low as he speaks.

“Can I kiss you?”

Chapter Text

January 7

By the time Kazuya takes Sawamura home, it’s well past 1 A.M.

He’s exhausted as he drives, focusing on reciting possible pitching combinations in his head to keep awake. Sawamura nods off beside him, letting out a small snore before jerking awake again.

Kazuya laughs. “You can sleep, you know. I don’t mind.”

Sawamura’s head lolls to the side, and he looks at Kazuya through narrowed eyes. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Miyuki Kazuya?”

“Why make it sound so sinister?” He reaches across the space between them, poking Sawamura on the forehead as he smirks. “Just sleep, dummy. We’ve still for a while to go before we get back to the city.”

Sawamura hums, letting his head fall back onto the headrest of his seat, eyes closing.

Kazuya feels a hand intertwine with his own, and his heart skips a beat.

He can’t remember the last time he was this happy, being in the company of another person. He thinks the closest thing may be Kuramochi - he is his best friend - but Kuramochi never made him smile so much that his cheeks felt they might fall off, or made his stomach feel like it was so full of butterflies that he may just burst.

Sawamura does, though.

Kazuya sneaks glances at him as he sleeps, the freckles that scatter across his nose made up of the same constellations as the stars they’d laid under.

They had stayed out under the stars for hours, talking and laughing and kissing until Kazuya was nearly dizzy with happiness, mind fuzzy and limbs so heavy he was sure that was the only thing stopping him from floating away.

Sawamura tastes like honey and sunshine, and Kazuya can’t think of anything he’s ever enjoyed more. The way Sawamura laughed as he kissed him, the way his eyes shine like the lights that gleam like the lights that sprinkled over the horizon in front of them, the way he smiled at Kazuya like he was the most important thing in the entire world -- nothing compared to him.

Nothing compared to Sawamura.

It was amazing to him, the idea that someone could slip into his life so easily, so effortlessly, and could work his way under the seams of his skin and into his soul without any effort at all. And what amazed him even more was the fact that he’d let him -- he had let Sawamura in without a second thought, and with no hesitation at all.

It had happened before he’d even noticed; this flower-covered boy that yelled too much and had so much love to give had become a large part of his life before he could stop it.

He had crawled into his ribcage, settled himself between his ribs directly next to his heart, bringing a warmth and a sense of being that Kazuya can’t explain.

Sawamura isn’t like anyone he’s ever experienced before, and he isn’t quite sure how to handle it.

They drive home, the quiet hum of the radio the only sound between them, Sawamura’s hand wrapped in his own the entire way there.

Chapter Text

January 7

“Oh my God, that’s adorable.”

Wakana pokes out from behind her easel, the top half of her head peeking over the top of her canvas. Eijun smiles from his place on the bed across from her, his head dangling off the mattress.

“I know, right? It was probably the greatest date I’ve ever been on.”

“It’s also the only date you’ve ever been on,” Wakana laughs, and Eijun scoffs.

“Just because it’s the best by default doesn’t mean it isn’t any less great.”

“No, no,” Wakana waves her paintbrush absentmindedly, her tongue sticking out a bit as she attempts to decide the next color to use. “That’s very true, Ei. I’m glad you had a good time.”

“Do you think I should text him today?” Eijun asks, crossing his ankles and resting them on the wall. “Is that something you do after a date? Or should I wait a bit?”

“I think you’re overthinking,” Wakana says. “Just do what you want. Do you want to text him?”

“Yes.”

“Then do it,” she says, shrugging.

“But what if he doesn’t want me to?”

Wakana looks around the canvas, a deadpan expression on her face.

“He wouldn’t have taken you on a date if he didn’t want you texting him.”

Eijun hums. “Fair enough!”

“You’re distracted today, Kazuya.”

Mei’s voice calls out to him from across the bullpen, annoyed and three octaves higher than Kazuya would like it to be. He sighs, letting his knees rest on the dirt behind the plate, pulling his glove off. He pushes his glasses up on his face, rubbing at his eyes. “I had a late night, is all,” he calls back, and Mei rolls his eyes.

“Well that’s your own problem. You knew practice was early today!”

“I thought I could deal with it.”

Mei sighs, resting his glove on a cocked hip as he stares at Kazuya. “What were you doing, anyway? You’re normally out by like 9, maybe 10 at the latest.”

“Nothing.” Kazuya is too quick to answer, and Mei notices. He takes a step forward, an eyebrow raised.

“That sounds like something to me.” Kazuya rolls his eyes, dropping his attention to readjusting the laces of his cleats, hoping that he can feign uninterest in the conversation and hope that Mei won’t push the subject. Unfortunately for him, Narumiya Mei is not someone that gives up easily. Mei takes another step forward, and another, and another, until he towers over Kazuya, his un-gloved hand on his hip. “So what was it? A party? A girl?”

“No,” Kazuya says, and Mei hums.

“A boy, then?”

Kazuya pauses in retyping his left cleats’ laces, and it’s a moment too long. Mei notices, and his eyes widen as a grin stretches across his face.

“ Kazuya ,” he says, squatting down so he’s at Kazuya’s eye level. “You never told me you had a boyfriend .”

“He’s not,” Kazuya says, too quickly for a second time, and Mei’s grin only widens. “We aren’t- I don’t know. We haven’t really talked about it.”

“Oh ho ho,” Mei practically coos, and Kazuya falls backwards to sit in the dirt, letting his legs straighten out in front of him. Mei falls backward as well, sitting cross legged and taking his glove off, letting it rest in his lap. He clasps his ankles, giving Kazuya a wicked grin that could only lead to trouble. “But you’re something .”

“Maybe.”

“And that’s where you were last night?”

“Yeah.”

“Where did you go?”

“The Point? Up in the mountains. Where we used to go when we were younger.”

“I remember us going up there, and I remember it being strictly platonic. You aren’t quite my type, Kazuya, though I’m flattered.”

“Well I made this trip very un-platonic,” Kazuya says, snorting. “You aren’t my type either, you know. I’m not attracted to spoiled princes who think they’re better than everyone around them.”

“It takes one to know one.”

“Oh stop,” Kazuya leans back onto his hands. “Sawamura is different. He’s... Good.”

“I’d be offended if I didn’t know what you were talking about,” Mei says, tilting his head a bit to the side. “But I’m glad you found someone, finally. What’s he like?”

“He’s a southpaw,” Kazuya says, and Mei raises an eyebrow in interest.

“Oh?”

“His form is... Interesting. His pitches are wild, but I think he has real potential.”

Mei hums. “And is that all you have to say about him?”

“What do you mean?”

“His form? His pitching? That’s all well and good, Kazuya, but what is he like?”

“Since when do you care about other people?”

“Since when do you ?”

Kazuya paused, and Mei hummed again, a thoughtful noise that was clearly meant to show Kazuya that he was right. So Kazuya gives in.

“He’s... happy.”

Mei considers this for a moment. “Happy as in?”

“Just that,” Kazuya says. “He’s happy. All the time, no matter what. And he makes me happy.”

“No one can be happy all the time,” Mei says, rolling his eyes. “And no one can make you happy, either.”

“Somehow he accomplishes both.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” He moves to stand, but pauses. “Is he cute?”

“What?”

“Is he cute , Kazuya,” he repeats, raising his voice as if Kazuya were deaf. “ C-u-t-e .”

“Oh,” Kazuya says. “Yeah. He’s very cute.”

“How many flowers does he have?”

“Ah,” Kazuya says, considering. He’d known this would be a question asked often, but it didn’t mean he wanted to deal with the reaction. “That’s uh... That’s the thing.”

“What,” Mei snorts. “Does he have like, 4 or 5?”

“Quite a bit more, actually.”

“Wait-”

“Like... All over. They’re very nice, actually. Like tattoos, they wind all the way up his arms.”

“Hold on-”

“There are flowers and trees and so many colors. There are even some on his fingers-”

“Kazuya.”

Kazuya stops, looking up at Mei.

“He has... a lot.”

“Yes?”

“Yet you still like him?”

“Why not?”

“Because doesn’t that mean-”

“No,” Kazuya says. “He explained it to me and it made sense. Plus, he’s just... he’s great. So great. So even if he had, I don’t think I’d mind very much.”

Mei takes in his answer, considers it, humming a bit before nodding and standing, dramatically brushing dirt off of his pants. “Well then, I want to meet him. Eventually. Plus, I would like to see his pitch. I know it’s nowhere near as good as mine, obviously, but still. I’d like to see it.”

“Maybe I can bring him by practice sometime,” Kazuya says, smiling and pulling himself up as well. Mei nods again, putting his glove back on and pulling the ball from Kazuya’s glove before turning to head back to the practice mound.

“Maybe you can.”

Chapter Text

January 25

Two weeks are spent in a nearly perfect bubble.

They spend all of their free time texting, unable to see each other due to Eijun’s work and Miyuki’s practices (they'd doubled during the off season). They talk about nearly everything, and other than the times that Miyuki is busy at practice, they’re in constant communication.

Miyuki has a late practice today as Eijun lies in bed, attempting to stay awake until Miyuki gets home. He fights to keep his eyes open as he types out a new message in a half-asleep haze.

Sawamura Eijun B) [5:30 P.M.]

> Do you want to play catch tomorrow?

His screen is blurry through his half-lidded eyes, and his hand falls to the mattress almost immediately after sending his message, exhaustion beating out his need to see Miyuki’s response.

I hope he doesn’t get annoyed, he thinks.

The bubble is delicate. The slightest thing could ruin all of this.

Not that he's very sure what “ this” is.

They'd never established that it was anything serious -- though Eijun doubts that Miyuki would have kissed him so many times if it wasn’t.

But people do this kind of thing all the time, right? The small voice in his head asks. Like a no-strings-attached kind of thing? Is that what this is?

Eijun has no real idea what the protocol is for a situation like this. He’s never gotten close enough to someone to have to worry about it before. Either way, though, he doesn't mind; the feeling he gets in his chest whenever Miyuki talks to him mutes any concerns he may have.

It does, at least, until the bubble pops.

Chapter Text

January 26

Eijun hasn’t had a new flower appear in a little over a year.

So when he wakes up in the early morning, throwing his covers off of him and gasping for air, he scrambles out of bed and turns on the light in his room so he can see exactly what it is that’s burning on his chest, directly below his own mark.

It’s a string of lavender.

Purple and huge and breathtaking - it wraps around his sunflower, purple nearly bleeding into yellow as it seems to grow and climb across his chest. He feels any breath he has sucked away from him as he stares into his mirror, tears hot in his eyes as he realizes exactly whose flower this is.

He turns off the light and backs onto his mattress, curling in on himself as he pulls his comforter to his chin, hiding the still-burning flower that seems intent to merge with his.

He can’t see anything save for the notification light blinking on his phone, filling his room with blue before plunging it into darkness again every few seconds. He counts out the lapses in time, using it to clear his head in an attempt to stop his crying.

One, two, three, blue. One, two, three, blue. One, two, three, blue.

He turns on his screen to see that he has new messages. He ignores them, stomach twisting, and pulls his knees to his chest.

He chokes at the thought of Miyuki leaving him sooner than he’d hoped.

He shuts himself in his room for the rest of the day.

He knows that he needs to deal with Miyuki at some point, but he’s going to put that off for as long as possible.

Instead he lies in bed half-asleep, thinking about the way Miyuki’s lips felt against his, and the way his heart had soared at the feeling of their fingers intertwined. He thinks about how Miyuki smiled after they kissed, eyes half-closed and cheeks slightly flushed.

His eyes feel heavy from his tears, his entire body exhausted as he curls in on himself, drowning in his sea of blankets.

He lets himself think about the way that Miyuki looks behind home plate when they play catch, and about the way that he treats Eijun as if he’s the greatest pitcher in the entire world.

He doesn’t think, though, about the other pitchers that actually do get to work with him; he doesn’t like to think about the fact that there are other pitchers on Miyuki’s team, that there are other people that he gets to see on a near daily basis. He doesn’t like to think about the fact that Miyuki might enjoy working with those other people more.

He can feel his phone vibrate distantly, and he focuses instead about how Miyuki looks at him with interest when he tells him a story, or gets too excited about a new movie or television show that he watches. He thinks about the way that Miyuki listens to him, plays video games with him, takes him out to pretty cafes and buys him sandwiches and texts him just to see how his day is going-

He thinks about the fact that other than Wakana and Kuramochi, Miyuki Kazuya is one of the only people he’s met that hasn’t been afraid to get close to him.

But while the thought makes his heart practically burst with joy, it also makes him worry. Since they played catch that first day in the park, Eijun has been waiting for the inevitable explosion that he knows comes once he gets close to anyone.

And now everything has blown up, just as he knew it would.

He isn’t quite sure why he’s so scared. He’s gained tons of flowers from friends, or people that he wanted to be friends with. He’s lost so many people, and he’s been hurt by so many more. He’s grown numb to it, at this point.

He’s accustomed to the people around him shying away when he goes to hug them, or the way that they all look at his flowers when he lifts his sleeves. He’s used to being rejected, or being ignored after they discover their flower on their body, no matter how much he tries to hide it.

He’s used to it. He’s used to it.

He keeps telling himself that he’s used to it.

So why is the thought of Miyuki leaving him so different?

He feels his phone vibrate a second time before he drifts off to sleep completely, his cheeks warm with tears.

Chapter Text

January 27

Eijun wakes up with a headache and 10 missed text messages from Miyuki.

He sighs he slides his hands across his mattress in hopes to find his phone, eyes slightly swollen and aching nearly as bad as the throbbing in his temple. He squints as he turns on his phone, the light nearly blinding him, pulling up Miyuki’s contact name and scrolling down the message thread.

Miyuki [10:32 P.M.]

> That’ll be the third time this week. I have other things to do, you know.

Miyuki [10:35 P.M.]

> My schedule is free tomorrow, though....... What time do you want to go?

Miyuki [8:46 A.M.]

> I thought maybe we could go at like 3.

> If that works for you, I mean.

Miyuki [9:37 A.M.]

> Bakamura.

> Hey.

> Are you going to answer me?

Miyuki [11:05 A.M.]

> Sawamura?

Miyuki [12:10 P.M.]

> Eijun....?

Miyuki [1:15 P.M.]

> Okay, I’m going to assume that you don’t want to talk right now. Which is fine... Just text me when you get these, I guess?

Eijun’s chest aches at the sight of Miyuki using his given name. He feels guilty, knowing that he wouldn’t have used it if he didn’t feel like something was really wrong. He locks his phone, tossing it to the end of the bed and pulling the covers over his head.

Kazuya checks his phone for the tenth time this morning, sighing and running his hands through his hair as he rolls over in bed. He buries his face in his pillow, sighing again, and pushes himself up into a sitting position to stare at his wall.

He was never this needy, or clingy, or anxious. And this wouldn’t have been an exception, except for the fact that it’s Sawamura, and Sawamura always sends him a million texts a day. The fact that he hadn’t responded to any of his texts over the past two days is unusual.

Kazuya hadn’t slept all night. His thoughts had traveled from the simplest option to the worst case scenario, and none of them had made him any less worried.

He groans as he throws his blankets off of him, climbing out of his bed and making his way across the hall into Kuramochi’s room. He’s still asleep, lying on his stomach with his face in his pillow as he snores. Kazuya places his hand on the back of Kuramochi’s head, simultaneously ruffling his hair and shoving his face farther into his pillow.

Kuramochi jerks awake mid-snore, flailing arms and legs and immediately swinging at whatever he thought may have been attacking him. Kazuya only steps back, knowing the routine well enough by now to avoid it. When Kuramochi finally calms down enough to what’s going on, he frowns.

“What the fuck man? I was sleeping.” He runs his hands down the sides of his face, falling backwards onto his mattress and throwing his pillow over his head to block out the light of his room. Kazuya sits on the floor next to his bed, leaning against the boxspring.

“Sawamura isn’t responding to my texts.”

He hears Kuramochi throw the pillow to the side, saying, “So you need to wake me up at God-knows-what time because Sawamoron isn’t messaging you? Seriously dude, quit being such a needy boyfriend. He’s probably just asleep like most normal people are.”

Kazuya shakes his head, frowning. “No, because even when he’s asleep he responds to me. It’s usually like, jumbles of letters and half-words, but he still at least tries to text me back. But he hasn’t sent me anything since yesterday, and it’s starting to annoy me.”

“Why?” Kuramochi sighs, giving up any hope of sleep, and pulls his pillow back over his eyes.

“I dunno... Do you think he’s mad at me?”

“Did you do something stupid?” The question comes muffled through the pillow, and Kazuya shrugs.

“I don’t think so.”

“Then probably not.”

“Do you think he hates me?”

“He kissed you.”

“Yeah. Do you think maybe that’s it? He just doesn’t like me?”

Kuramochi groans, finally sitting up and throwing his pillow at Kazuya’s head.

“He kissed you, dumbass. He went on a date with you, and he kissed you. And you’ve been texting him like some giddy schoolgirl for the past two weeks. Why would he do that and then refuse to talk to you?”

“Well that’s exactly what’s happening!”

Kuramochi frowns, leaning back against his headboard and digging his phone out from beneath the blankets. “What’s with you, man? You’re usually never this....”

“Expressive?”

“I was gonna say ‘clingy’, but that works too. I mean,” he swipes open his lock screen, tapping out what Kazuya assumes is a message to Wakana, “you’ve never cared about anyone but yourself before.”

“That’s rude, ‘Mochi. I care about you!”

Kuramochi snorts, smacking Kazuya in the back of the head. “Yeah, sometimes. But never to this extent. I mean, when was the last time you ever came to me about anything having to do with your personal life?”

Kazuya opens his mouth to speak, but closes it instead.

When was the last time he came to Kuramochi for something personal?

“Exactly.” Kuramochi sighs, pulling his knees toward his chest and folding his arms behind his head. “You never like to share. Yet here you are, in my room at 9 A.M., crying about someone you want to be your boyfriend but are too scared to-”

“I’ve got his flower.”

Kuramochi falls silent for a moment, and Kazuya stares at his feet. It’s almost a full minute before Kuramochi speaks again.

“Let’s go get some breakfast.”

“I don’t want any.”

“Come on, Eijun! Open the door please. You need to eat something.”

“Not hungry.”

“Then come out and take a shower, then.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“Then let me in. I have your new issue of Baseball Digest .”

“I don’t care.”

“Eijun I swear to God, if you don’t open this door in the next 30 seconds I’m going to kick it down and kick your ass along with it.”

“Mmm.”

He hears Wakana sigh, hears something thump against the door, hears something slide along the wood to sit on the floor. She is tired, he knows, too tired to deal with him and his mood. But she does it anyway, and she always has, being the only person who seems to understand what he’s going through.

Her voice is quiet through the door.

“You got his flower, didn’t you?”

His silence seems to be enough of an answer for her.

“So where is it, then?”

Kuramochi scoops another fork-full of scrambled eggs into his mouth, watching Kazuya expectantly. He sighs, scratching at the back of his neck and avoiding Kuramochi’s gaze.

“My left ribcage. It showed up on New Years.”

Kuramochi hums with a mouthful of food, waving his fork through the air and swallowing. “That long ago? And you’re worried because...?”

“Because what if that’s why he’s ignoring me?!” Kazuya frowns, stabbing his own fork into his pancakes. “What if he hates me or something?”

“Dude, how could he possibly know that you have his flower if you haven’t told him?” Kuramochi rolls his eyes, shaking his head a bit as he reaches for his orange juice. He pauses, frowning. “Wait, and why would he have even gone on that date with you the other night if he was mad at you about his flower?”

“I dunno... Can’t you like, tell when someone gets your mark? Like, do you feel it or something?”

Kuramochi snorts, taking a sip of his drink and practically slamming the half-empty cup onto the table. “No way dude. Do you think I had the reassurance of knowing that Aotsuki had gotten my flower after I had picked up hers? No way! I had to stress the fuck out until I saw her in person, and hoped she wouldn’t freak out after seeing this giant rose on my neck!”

Kazuya laughs. “That’s true. I nearly died laughing at you panicking over it.”

“Yeah I know, ya dick.”

He laughs again, this time at the mental image of Kuramochi nearly tearing his bedroom door in a panic, practically screeching at him to help cover up the rose that had appeared on the left side of his neck.

“It was funny, dude. You were practically crying.”

Kuramochi snorts. “Whatever. Just be grateful it’s somewhere you can easily hide, yeah? Sawamura ain’t seein’ it unless you want him to.”

Kazuya hums, a small sense of relief flooding over him at the thought that Sawamura doesn’t know he has his flower.

“That’s true, isn’t it? So now I guess I just have to figure out what’s wrong with him.”

Kuramochi doesn’t look up from his plate as he answers, “Oh, I already know what’s wrong.”

“What?! How?!”

“I texted Youichi.”

Wakana’s voice is soft, but it still makes his heart leap into his throat. He finally rolls over to face the door, pulling the covers off of his head and curling his knees to his chest.

“What did you say?”

He can hear a laugh, followed by Wakana shifting her weight, pulling herself into what Eijun assumes is a standing position.

“Open the door and I’ll tell you.”

He frowns, knowing she has him beat, and slides off of his mattress, pulling his comforter around him like a cocoon. He pulls the door open, revealing a smirking Wakana, arms crossed in front of her.

“About time.”

He turns around, shuffling back toward his bed. “Shut up.”

She sighs, moving to the corner of his room and dropping herself onto his beanbag chair, shifting her weight, the leather squeaking beneath her. She frowns, shifting from side to side, sinking lower and waving her arms in frustration.

“This thing is stupid! Why do you have it?!”

Eijun laughs, though the action contradicts the lump in his throat and the tears in his eyes. “I like it. They’re comfortable, if you’re not an idiot.”

Wakana puffs out her cheeks, finally seeming to settle on a position and pulling out her phone. “Is that any way to talk to someone you’re trying to get information from?”

He lowers himself onto his bed, the mattress groaning beneath his weight.

“You didn’t say anything bad, did you?”

Wakana waves a hand, tilting her head and closing her eyes. “Of course not! I would never say anything bad about you.”

“She says he’s miserable. Won’t eat, won’t get out of bed, won’t talk to her or anything.”

“Seriously?” 

“Yeah man,” Kuramochi throws a handful of bills on the table in front of them, sliding out of the booth and shrugging on his jacket. “She doesn’t really know what to do. He won’t answer her for anything, and it’s getting her worried. But she says she’s dealt with it before, so she’ll be able to ride it out for the next few days.”

Kazuya follows him from the diner, pulling on his own jacket and shoving his hands in his pockets. “She’s dealt with it before?”

Kuramochi nods. “She says it’s not new for him.”

Kazuya only hums in response.

“You told them that?!”

“I didn’t tell them why . Don’t worry. I only told him you were upset and having a bad time. He says Miyuki is super worried and won’t get off his back -- I had to tell him something!”

Eijun sighs, falling back onto the mattress and pulling his cocoon tighter around him. He stares at his ceiling, chest practically burning, Miyuki’s flower like a weight, crushing him.

“Miyuki’s really worried?”

Wakana hums, “mhm. Youichi says he woke him up this morning in a panic. He says it was really annoying.”

Eijun laughs, the tears in his eyes threatening to fall, and he rolls over on his bed, curling up and facing Wakana.

“I got his flower, ‘Kana. I got his. Right on my chest, underneath mine.”

Wakana sighs, crossing her legs on the beanbag chair, propping her elbows on her knees with her chin in her palm. She’s quiet as she watches him, seeming to wait for him to speak first.

“It came the other night. I woke up in the middle of the night, and I freaked out. I’m still freaking out.”

He pulls his knees to his chest, cocoon tightening around him, and the tears in the corners of his eyes finally break free, falling down his cheeks and across the ridge of his nose as he lays staring at Wakana from across the room.

“I’m scared, Wakana. I’m really scared. What if he leaves me too -- I can’t have him leave me too.”

The last of his sentence gets lost in his throat, a guttural sob breaking out instead. He squeezes his eyes shut, burying his head in his pillow and wheezing as he cries.

He feels the corner of his mattress dip down beside his head, feels his pillow being replaced by legs, feels Wakana’s fingers running through his hair the same way his mother’s did when he was little and panicking the same way he is now.

She doesn’t say anything, letting Eijun cry until he has no tears left.

Chapter Text

January 29

It takes Kazuya three attempts before he finally works up the nerve to knock on the apartment door.

He wonders if he should be here -- if it’s his place to come to the apartment of the person that seems to be actively avoiding him. He wonders if it’s okay for him to act like he knows what Sawamura is going through; though, honestly, he thinks that maybe a part of him does.

He sighs to himself as he paces in front of the welcome mat, stopping and working up the nerve to raise his fist to eye level, stopping it just an inch from the door.

He pulls it back instead, sighing again and running his hands down the sides of his face.

He has no real game plan, if he’s being honest with himself. He doesn’t know what he should say, doesn’t know what he should do , doesn’t know if he’s close enough to Sawamura to act at all.

He wonders how you’re supposed to act after you take someone on a date, and they avoid you.

He wonders if maybe he acted wrong, did something wrong, reacted wrong just like he always does-

Kazuya grits his teeth, practically stomping back to the door and raising his fist to knock again, only to fall short a second time.

He wonders if he’s overstepping his boundaries by coming here -- if someone kisses you and avoids you, aren’t you supposed to give them space?

Then again, if someone kisses you and avoids you, don’t you deserve answers?

He sighs for a third time, backing up from the door and leaning against the railing of the landing the apartment is on.

He wishes that his mother was here. He wishes that he could call her, ask what the proper thing to do would be.

She would know.

She always knew.

He leans his elbows on the railing, tilts his head back, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Thinking about his mother makes his heart hurt, but he can’t think about that right now. If he thinks about it, he’s not sure he’ll be able to do anything else. And right now, he’s here for Sawamura.

He’s here for Eijun.

He shakes the thoughts of his mother out of his head, pushing the weight off of his heart before it can settle there completely, and takes two strides across the landing to stand in front of the apartment door for the third time.

He finally knocks.

He nearly turns and takes off down the stairs, but Wakana answers before he can, a smile breaking out across her face as she realizes who it is.

“Hey!” She steps back, opening the door as she does, letting him inside.

He hesitates before taking her up on her silent offer, making his way into the living room and standing awkwardly in the center of it, seeming unsure as to what he should do. Wakana follows close behind, crossing her arms over her chest and raising an eyebrow.

“You okay there?”

“To be honest, I didn’t really think I’d make it this far.”

Wakana smiles and rolls her eyes, walking past him toward the kitchen. “His room is the one on the left.”

Their apartment is small -- two bedrooms on either side of a living room and kitchen combo, so Miyuki is in front of Eijun’s room in only a handful of steps. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, his internal debate as to whether he should knock or not beginning again.

Wakana decides for him, pushing past him and banging on Eijun’s door. “Ei! Miyuki is here to see you. Get out of bed. Now.”

He’s shocked that Wakana can be as stern as she is, but he’s even more shocked at the voice that answers her with just as much determination as she has.

“I’m not coming out.”

He chokes a bit at the words, feeling as though he’s received a swift kick to the chest. He takes a step back, the lump in his throat keeping him from saying anything. He feels a hand on his lower back, and turns to see Wakana behind him, a sad smile playing at her lips.

“It’s okay. Do you want something to drink?”

“This happens sometimes,” Wakana looks at Miyuki from over the rim of her cup, the steam from her tea warm against her eyes. “It’s not often, though. He hasn’t gotten to this point in a few years.”

She leans against the counter, her right arm behind her to support her weight. Miyuki sits across from her on a barstool, staring down into his own mug.

“Don’t take it to heart, okay? When Eijun is upset, you just need to kind of give him time.”

“Is that really good for him, though?”

Wakana half shrugs and half sighs, lowering her mug onto the counter she leans on.

“I don’t know. I never know. But it’s not like I can drag him out of his room, or into his shower, or out to the diner, or over to play videogames with you and Youichi.” She eyes Eijun’s door, as if half expecting him to come out. “All I can do is offer to help him if he needs it. That’s all I’ve ever been able to do.”

Miyuki’s eyebrows pull together. “When was the last time he ate?”

“I’ve been putting stuff in front of his room, and when I come out to the kitchen sometimes the trays are gone, so I know he’s not starving.”

“Good.” Wakana watches as he holds his teabag by the string, letting it twirl and spin, dipping it down into the water. “Are you the one that usually helps him?”

“Yeah,” she picks her mug back off of the counter and taking a sip. “I have been for years. We moved out here when we were 19. We help each other, you know?”

Miyuki stares her down, and there’s something in his eyes that she can’t quite place.

“What about his parents?”

She shrugs, talking into her mug as she holds it in front of her, “They live about three states over. He calls them and sometimes Skypes, but we don’t get to see either of our families all that often, you know? Everyone is busy.”

A visible tension seems to leave Miyuki as he nods, pulling out the small bag of tea and placing it onto a napkin.

“Anyway, I don’t think he should be too bad for too long. He usually bounces back pretty quickly, but...”

“But...?”

She shakes her head. “This time seems different. He’s having a really hard time.”

“Why?”

She shakes her head again. “It’s not my place to say, you know?”

Miyuki nods, lips drawing into a thin line as he looks in the direction of Eijun’s room. “That’s fair.”

“You can ask him yourself, you know,” Wakana says, setting her mug down on the counter next to her hip.

Miyuki’s quiet for a moment, seeming to contemplate whether he should make an attempt at talking to Eijun.

“I don’t really know if I should.”

Wakana sighs, folding her arms across her chest. “Honestly? I think that if it were you, he might end up talking.”

Miyuki doesn’t respond. He slides off of his barstool instead, thanking Wakana for the tea and her time, and leaving.

January 31

He comes back the next day, and the day after that. Both days he knocks on Eijun’s door, and both days he’s quietly told to go away. He leaves both times, without any question.

He stops coming after the second day, and Wakana wonders if he’ll come back again.

Chapter Text

February 13

They spend nearly two weeks in a state of limbo.

Youichi watches as Miyuki seems to shut down, he and Sawamura ignoring each other as they only tangle themselves further into the web that they’re trying to avoid.

He corners Miyuki one morning, determined to fix the silent back-and-forth that they’ve caught him in as well.

“What are you doing?”

He catches Miyuki in the kitchen, deciding to interrogate him as he makes himself coffee.

That’ll give me maybe 10 minutes.

Miyuki doesn’t bother looking at him as he pours coffee grounds into the top of the coffee maker.

“I’m making coffee.”

“Okay, smartass. I can see that.”

“Then why are you asking?”

Youichi growls as he runs his hands down his face. He should have known a morning interrogation would do nothing but frustrate him.

“I’m not asking about that,” he says, slowing down his sentence in an attempt to calm himself. “I’m talking about you and Bakamura. What are you two doing?”

He sees Miyuki pause for a second before he continues with his coffee, moving to the sink to fill the pot with water.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit,” Youichi says, moving from his place in the entryway to inside the kitchen, hopping onto the counter next to where Miyuki is working. “You know good and well what I mean. You go out on a few dates, you kiss a few times, you wake me up panicking because he’s ignoring you, and now for some reason you’re acting like he doesn’t exist. I mean, if I even mention him, you act like you’re in some... some minefield!”

Miyuki turns around, coffee pot in hand, and raises an eyebrow. “A minefield?”

“Yes!” Youichi cries, arms raised in a show of his exasperation. “It’s like you’re terrified of him, or something. What did you do?”

“Nothing!” Miyuki fires back, and Youichi doesn’t miss the annoyance in his voice. “Nothing. We went out. He kissed me. We texted. Everything was going fine. And now all of a sudden he begins avoiding me, distancing himself, acting as if we didn’t spend over three hours making out the other night. I don’t know, I don’t get it, so I’m just going to drop it.”

Youichi scoots over on the counter as Miyuki fills the coffee maker with water, shoving the pot back into its spot with a bit more force than necessary.

“So you mean you’re going to drop him .”

Miyuki sighs, putting both hands on the counter and hanging his head.

“I don’t know. I just... I don’t know right now, okay?”

Youichi can hear the defeat in his voice, and he frowns as he kicks his leg sideways, hitting Miyuki.

“Stop it.”

“What?”

“Stop it! You always do this! You give up right when things start to get even a little bit complicated! You like this kid, right? When was the last time you liked anyone ?” Miyuki stays silent, and he continues. “Sawamura makes you happy, right?”

He nods. “I... yeah.”

“Then suck it up. Stop being stupid and fix things.”

Miyuki frowns, pushing himself off of the counter and busying himself with searching for a coffee mug in one of the cabinets.

“If he wants my help with whatever is going on, he’ll tell me. And right now, he obviously doesn’t want anything to do with me. He won’t even talk to me.”

“So make him talk to you, idiot.” Youichi crosses his arms, glaring at Miyuki from across the kitchen.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he says, and Miyuki’s frown deepens as he pulls a cup from the shelf in front of him. “I said to make him talk. I’m telling you right now, Miyuki, that if you don’t go fix whatever shit you caused with him, he’s going to distance himself until you just stop talking completely.”

He hops off the counter, kicking Miyuki again as he makes his way across the kitchen. “I don’t care if I have to drag you over there myself. Fix it.”

He hears Miyuki laugh a bit behind him, full of exhaustion and annoyance.

“You care too much sometimes, ‘Mochi.”

Youichi stops in the entryway, and he actively avoids letting Miyuki see the red that dusts his cheeks.

“Idiot. I don’t care. It would just make things awkward for me and Aotsuki, that’s all.”

He can hear Miyuki snicker as he leaves the kitchen, and Youichi can’t help but smile himself.

Chapter Text

February 14

This time Kazuya doesn’t hesitate when he knocks on the apartment door.

Wakana opens it after a brief pause, her eyes widening as she realizes it’s him. He smiles, holding a hand up in salutation.

“Hey, Wakana.”

Her grin nearly reaches her ears, and she ushers him in almost immediately.

“I thought you wouldn’t come back, to be honest,” she says, tugging on the towel she has slung over her shoulder and wiping paint off of her hands. “I was getting kind of worried.”

“Your boyfriend kicked my ass to get me here.”

Wakana laughs, and Kazuya smiles a bit. “No, really! He literally kicked my ass.”

“No, no, I believe it,” she says, shaking her head as she slings the towel back over her shoulder. “He likes to pretend he’s heartless, but he’s a giant marshmallow.”

“Exactly,” Kazuya laughs. He raises an eyebrow, pointing at a spot of paint on her cheek. “What’s with the paint?”

“Ah,” she reaches up, wiping at the spot and smearing it more. “I’m painting.”

“I never would have guessed.”

Wakana snorts a bit, cocking her hip out and crossing her arms. “Don’t ask the question, then, if you don’t want to hear an obvious answer.”

Kazuya shrugs. “Fair enough. What are you painting, then?”

“It’s for Youichi,” Wakana says, turning on her heel and nearly skipping to her room. “It’s for Valentine’s Day. I thought maybe making him something would be nicer than buying something.”

“Ah.”

Kazuya doesn’t say much else as Wakana disappears into her room. He’d completely forgotten about Valentine’s Day; it’s not like he’d needed to remember, really. Though as he stares at Sawamura’s door, he wonders if he should have brought a gift just in case.

His thoughts are cut off by Wakana poking her head through the opening of her doorway.  “You know where his room is! Go for it.”

Kazuya nods, though his throat is so dry he doesn’t think he could respond anyway. But he marches across the living room despite himself, stopping in front of Sawamura’s door and knocking.

It’s silent for a minute, and Kazuya sighs before knocking a little harder.

“Sawamuuuuura. Open up.”

He hears something move from behind the door before a muffled voice calls out, “Go away.”

Kazuya sighs again, dropping to the floor and sitting cross legged, patiently.

“Nope.”

There’s a pause.

“Well... I’m not talking to you, if that’s what you want.”

Kazuya smirks. “You’re talking to me right now, aren’t you?”

Another pause.

“I’m not talking to you, starting now.”

“Now?”

“Yes. Ah! Dammit!”

Kazuya laughs, leaning back onto his palms. “Don’t think so hard about this. You’re too stupid.”

He hears a squawk of protest, and he knows he’s hit his mark.

“Shut up, Miyuki Kazuya! I don’t want you here. Go away right now.”

“Or what?”

“Or... Or... Or I’ll make you!”

“Ah, then you’d have to come out here and talk to me. And you’d have to come see me, too. I bet you haven’t showered in like a week, so you probably don’t look too good, either.”

He hears grumbling, followed by what he assumes is Sawamura throwing his sheets off of himself and marching toward the door.

“I’ll have you know that my bathroom is attached to my bedroom! I showered just this morning!”

“Then you shouldn’t have a problem with seeing me, then.”

“You’re the exact person that I don’t want to see!”

Sawamura’s words hit him like a kick to the teeth.

“Why not?”

The pause that stretches out between them is heavy this time. Sawamura’s voice drops so low that Kazuya nearly misses his response.

“I can’t say.”

Kazuya frowns, anger bubbling up inside of him. He pushes himself forward a bit, resting his elbows on his knees.

“You can’t say?”

“No. So just... Go away, Miyuki. I don’t want to see you.”

“No.”

He hears Sawamura click his tongue, and he can practically feel his eyes burning a hole through the door in between them.

“Why don’t you just listen to me, for once?”

“Because,” Kazuya says, “you owe me an explanation.”

“I don’t owe you anything,” Sawamura snaps, “because we aren’t even together. We never were .”

“Bullshit.” Kazuya ignores the sting of Sawamura’s words, pushing himself onto his knees and pointing at the door. “We might not have been together, but you can’t pull the shit you pulled with me and just drop off the face of the Earth.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“You kissed me,” Kazuya spits the word out, and it comes with more anger than he’d wanted. He stands, balling his hands into fists at his sides. “You kissed me. We went out, on a date that went very well , thank you, and you kissed me there too. You’ve been texting me for weeks, everything has been going great, and now all of a sudden you think you can just drop me and expect me to just get over it? No. Nuh-uh, no way, try again.”

“What do you want, then?!” Sawamura cries out through the door, and Kazuya can hear him pacing back and forth. “I thought things were going good, too. But now I just... I can’t .”

“Then tell me why!” He’s yelling now, eyes stinging, resisting the urge to run the way every part of him is aching to. “At least tell me why .”

“I can’t!” Sawamura yells back, and Kazuya nearly punches through the door.

“You can!” He’s seething, hands shaking at his sides as his legs turn to lead.

Run, every fiber of him is screaming, pulling at him to get the hell out of here. He doesn’t need you. He doesn’t want you. Run.

He plants himself instead, choking out his words as tears blur his vision.

“You can. You just won’t. And I won’t let you do that.”

Sawamura’s voice is low behind the door, and Kazuya hears him sniff. “You don’t get to choose that for me, Miyuki.”

Kazuya’s chest breaks, a flood of tears and words and anger pouring out into the space between them.

“I do! I do get to choose this time!” He takes a step forward, jabbing at the door as if it were Sawamura’s chest. “Because I haven’t been able to choose any of this. I didn’t choose for you to come into my life. I didn’t choose for you to look at me the way you do, and I didn’t choose for you to make me so happy, to make me want to be with you, to make me fucking love you so much that it hurts.”

He takes a breath, shuddering, the lump in his throat growing as he rests his forehead against the wood of the door. “It hurts me, Eijun. Because I’ve never loved anyone before. Not in the way that I Iove you. And it’s not... It’s not fair.”

He chokes on his words, voice cracking, and he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes to attempt to stop his tears.

“It’s not fair. I didn’t choose for you to kiss me on New Years. I didn’t choose for your flower to show up. I didn’t want it. I didn’t want any of it. Because I knew that it would end up like this. Everyone leaves me. Everyone always ends up leaving me. And it’s always because they choose to. I never get a say.”

He straightens up, wiping at his eyes and frowning to himself. “So you know what? I’m going to choose this time. I’m going to choose to sit in front of this fucking door until you finally open it and talk to me, because I’m not going to leave until you give me a valid fucking reason to. Because ignoring me isn’t going to get rid of me. Not now, not ever. So give me one good reason to leave and I will. But until then, I’m not moving.”

His hands shake at his sides as he calms down, a beat of silence passing between them before he speaks again.

“I’m choosing to love you, Eijun. And that’s something that you don’t get to choose for me. ”

Sawamura remains silent on the other side of his door, and Kazuya is filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. He debates whether or not it’s too late to run as the door finally swings open.

He’s met with a pair of golden eyes, and any thoughts of running are forgotten immediately.

Sawamura is crying, tear stains on his cheeks as he hiccups out sobs. He’s still in his pajamas, hair sticking up at odd angles from the way it dried after he had crawled back in bed after his shower, the bags under his eyes nearly purple from exhaustion.

Kazuya is still breathless, wanting nothing more than to kiss him until they’re both dizzy.

He stays rooted to the spot, though, his bottom lip trembling dangerously as he bites back another round of tears.

Sawamura watches at him for a long time, his eyes wide as he searches for something that Kazuya is worried he may not find. When he finally speaks, Sawamura’s voice is soft.

“You... You have it?”

Kazuya’s stomach freefalls, and he suddenly feels uncomfortable under Sawamura’s gaze.

“What?”

“You have... You said you have my flower. You have it? Really?”

Kazuya can only nod, attempting to swallow the lump in his throat.

They stand across from each other, silent save for the sound of their breathing. It isn’t until Sawamura begins choking on his own sobs that Kazuya begins to panic.

“I’m... I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all of that. I just- I’m sorry. I can leave if you-”

“Shut up,” Sawamura says, though it comes out as a combination of a choke and a laugh. “Just shut up. You... I can’t believe you.”

Kazuya frowns.

Sawamura laughs again at his confusion, more tears falling down his cheeks. Kazuya resists the urge to reach out and wipe them away.

“Do you know why I’ve been losing my mind for the past three weeks?”

“Yes,” Kazuya says sarcastically, growing annoyed, “which is why I’m here. Yelling at you through your bedroom door.”

Sawamura’s laughter grows, and he waves his arms a bit in an attempt to calm himself down. “Okay, okay, that’s fair.”

He takes a step forward, tugging on the hem of his shirt and pulling it up to his chin. “This is why.”

Kazuya’s breath catches in his throat.

There on Sawamura’s chest is a string of lavender.

His string of lavender.

It wraps around Sawamura’s own sunflower, the leaves of both flowers weaving in and out of each other like vines. The leaves of his flowers overlap Sawamura’s own, and he watches with amazement as the petals of the chain bloom, swaying gently as if in a breeze.

He sucks in a breath as he feels a warmth rush over his own ribcage, his head becoming light as it seems to fill his entire body.

Like the sun.

“We’re so dumb,” Sawamura begins to say, “We’re such idiots. I was panicking for no reas-”

Kazuya takes a step forward. He can hear Sawamura’s breath hitch as he reaches out, runs his thumbs along his cheeks, wipes away his stray tears and closing nearly all space between them.

He lets his forehead fall forward against Sawamura’s, tilting his head at an angle so that their noses brush. Sawamura’s nose crinkles, and Kazuya lets out a breathy laugh.

“Miyuki, I-”

“Stop,” Kazuya says, cutting him off as he shakes his head. “There’s no need to say anything.”

“But I put you through all of this for nothing,” Sawamura whispers back, frowning as he looks up at Kazuya through his eyelashes.

Kazuya hums, pulling back a bit to smirk down at him. “That’s true. Maybe I should take all of this back and leave, then.”

“No!” Sawamura cries out almost immediately, and Kazuya laughs.

“Okay, then. I’ll stay.”

Sawamura smiles up at him, gripping the front of his shirt a bit tighter and pulling him closer. He rests his forehead against Kazuya’s chest. Sawamura laughs as well, and Kazuya kisses away the tears that fall down his cheeks.

He hears Sawamura choke out a laugh beneath him, halfheartedly swatting at him in an attempt to make him stop.

He laughs, dipping down to kiss him instead.

Chapter Text

February 16

“ Back home! ”

Eijun watches as Kazuya tears off his catcher’s mask, stepping in front of the plate and pointing at Kuramochi.

The shortstop laughs, scooping the ball from his mit and sending it in his direction, pumping a fist in the air as the runner is tagged out. Kazuya smiles, high fiving Kuramochi as they jog to the dugout to change the inning.

“Our boyfriends are pretty great,” Eijun says, taking another sip of his hot chocolate and pushing his sunglasses up a bit.

“Ah, so he is your boyfriend, then?” Wakana asks.

“Mhm,” Eijun smiles. “He asked me when we went to dinner the other night.”

Wakana hums thoughtfully, pulling her knees to her chest to rest her feet on the back of the seat in front of her. “On Valentine’s Day?”

Eijun’s smile grows. “Yeah.”

“You still never told me what you guys did after you made up, you know,” Wakana says, resting her chin on her knees.

“Why do you want to know?” Eijun says, cheeks turning red.

“Because I put up with your pouting for weeks!I deserve to know the ending to what happened.”

“Fair enough,” Eijun sighs, sinking lower in his own seat. “After we made up he took me out to dinner at this fancy restaurant, and then we went back to his place and watched movies all night.”

“Uh huh,” Wakana grins, raising her eyebrows as she takes a sip of her hot chocolate. “ Movies .”

Eijun chokes, arms flailing as he rights himself in his seat.

“Wakana! What is that supposed to mean?!”

“You know exactly what it means.”

“Well it’s wrong! ” He exclaims. “That’s all we did! We’ve only been dating for a day . We’re taking small steps, ya freak.”

Wakana snorted, downing the rest of her hot chocolate and leaning over to set it beneath her seat. “Small steps, huh? Is that why you decided to come today?”

“Wakana, it’s common knowledge that a good boyfriend supports his significant other in all of their activities!” Eijun nods, taking another sip of his own hot chocolate.

“Boyfriend. That thought is so weird. Mainly because you refused to tell me after you got one, like a terrible best friend would do.” Wakana looks at him out of the corners of her eyes, and Eijun gasps.

“Wakana!”

She shrugs. “It’s true. Here I am, your best friend , and I wasn’t even told you had a boyfriend. Your first boyfriend. The one I helped set you up with. When I was in the same apartment when you made up! Honestly, Eijun, I’m incredibly hurt.”

“Wakana no!” He clings to her arm in mock-desperation, shaking her a bit for good measure. “Forgive me, please!”

“Too late,” she says, pointing in the direction of a woman three seats over. “She’s my best friend now. We’re going for sushi later tonight and everything.”

Eijun lets out a cry, raising his fists and shaking them toward the sky. “I’ve been replaced!”

Wakana laughs, crossing her legs and resting her elbow on her chair’s armrest. “Really, though, I’m happy for you. This is a big deal!”

“Now, now!” Eijun blushes, scratching at the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t say this is too big of a deal or anything!”

“Is he a good kisser?”

He freezes, slowly turning to face Wakana. She’s grinning at him, eyebrows raised expectantly, and he blanches.

“W-what?!”

She nods, leaning closer. “Yeah! Is he a good kisser or not?”

“Why, Wakana, are you going to kiss him?!”

“No!” She laughs, bumping his shoulder with her own. “I’m just curious. There are some really bad kissers out there, and it can be such a shame.”

“Well Miyuki Kazuya is not one of them,” Eijun says, as if it’s the most normal statement in the world. “He’s a great kisser.”

Wakana hums, nodding to herself. “I can see that.”

“Well I lived it.”

“Kuramochi’s pretty good, too.”

“Wakana, that’s the last thing I’d ever be interested in knowing.”

She scoffs, “But you told me about Miyuki!”

“You didn’t give me a choice!”

The voice of the announcer breaks up their conversation, her voice ringing out through the stadium.

“Now batting: Number two, catcher, Miyuki Kazuya.”

The crowd roars as Miyuki steps out of the batting circle, shouldering his bat and walking to the batter’s box. Eijun feels a swell of pride, sadness and jealousy, the mix of emotions flashing across his face in rapid succession. Wakana notices it all.

“You wish that was you?”

“I wish these girls in front of us could contain their hormones, mostly,” Eijun snaps, and one of the women in front of him turns around, offended. He makes a face, and she scoffs as she turns back to the game.

“Ah, is that jealousy , Eijun?” Wakana’s grin is near sadistic, and Eijun frowns a bit.

“No! I just think it’s in bad taste to yell out like that, is all.”

“Mhm,” it comes out condescending, and Eijun sticks his tongue out in Waka’s direction. She smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Are you doing okay, though?”

There’s a crack on the field, and Eijun jumps a bit as the crowd around him yells out in excitement, the words “home run” flashing across the jumbo screen in neon flashing letters.

Miyuki rounds the bases with his fist held high, and Eijun smiles down at him.

“I’m doing great.”

“So coach made an announcement tonight after the game,” Kazuya says casually, watching Eijun pull a couple plates out of the cabinet across the kitchen.

“Yeah? What was it?”

“They’re going to have open tryouts for the team in a few months.”

Eijun drops the plates.

“Oh!” He says, much too quickly and about 3 pitches higher than usual. “That’s great! You’ll probably find some great people!” He stares at the shattered plates on the ground in front of him, seeming unsure as to what to do next. “Uh, ah. I- I’m sorry about the plates. I can.... I can clean them. Um.... Paper towels. I need paper towels...”

Kazuya laughs softly, sliding off of the barstool and stepping over the broken plates. Eijun stares past him at the floor, his eyebrows pulled together.

“I’ll have to... I’ll have to buy you new plates,” he starts, but Kazuya cuts him off, wrapping his hands around his wrists and pulling Eijun closer.

“They’re just plates,” he says, shaking his head. “I think Kuramochi bought them at the dollar store. It’s okay.... Are you?”

Eijun looks up at him. “Am I what?”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” He echoes, and it seems to be a minute before he understands what Kazuya is asking. “Yeah! Yeah. I’m okay. I just... My hand slipped, is all.”

Kazuya hums. “If you say so.” He pushes Eijun back softly, until he’s backed up against the counter. Kazuya settles in front of him, leaning his weight forward so his hips rest against Eijun’s. Eijun rests his cheek against Kazuya’s chest. “You know, Sanada is graduating next year,” he says, and he can feel Eijun tense beneath him.

“Oh really?” He asks. “What about Narumiya? Or you?”

Kazuya shrugs, resting his chin on the top of Eijun’s head. “Mei and I have another year or two left, we think. Sanada only came to play baseball because he thought it was fun to do in his spare time, and because his scholarship helped reduce the price of his schooling. He’s already done, he says.”

“Ah,” Eijun says quietly, and Kazuya can practically hear the gears in his head turning. “That’s... interesting.”

“Mhm,” Kazuya hums. “Which means that we’ll be down a pitcher.”

Eijun’s responding hum is a few pitches higher than usual, and Kazuya isn’t sure if it’s from excitement or an attempt at avoiding the obvious implications of where this conversation is headed.

“So,” Kazuya starts, slow and careful, “I was thinking... Maybe you could, I dunno, come try out. See how it goes.”

He can feel Eijun’s body tense again, and can feel him let out a small exhale, his breath warm on Kazuya’s neck. It’s a long moment before either of them speak; the silence is nearly suffocating. Finally, Eijun breaks the atmosphere, his voice muffled as his face presses against Kazuya’s chest.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Kazuya pulls back. “Why not?”

“Why no- Kazuya. Look at me.” As if to prove his point he jerks up his sleeves, twisting his arms so that Kazuya can get a better view of the flowers that wind their way upward, as if he’d never seen them before. “No one is going to want to play with me. The press will have a field day. If word of our relationship got out then you would be criticized and I don’t want to do that to you and plus I’m nowhere near good enough to stand on the same diamond as you and-”

Kazuya cuts him off, placing a hand on either side of his face and tilting his head up to look at him.

“Eijun,” he says, and Eijun looks up at him with wide eyes. “I wouldn’t have brought up the tryouts if I didn’t think you were good enough to make the team.”

“But my flowers,” Eijun begins, and Kazuya cuts him off again.

“Are amazing,” he says, and Eijun’s eyes grow wider. “No one will care. Trust me. And if they do, then I’ll take care of them.”

“That’s not-”

“It’s fine, Eijun,” Kazuya says again, kissing his forehead and smiling. “And I don’t care about the media. If they can’t see how talented and amazing you are then that’s their own problem.”

Eijun sniffs a bit, and Kazuya drops his hands to run down Eijun’s arms. They ghost over his flowers, tracing the patterns and the vines that wrap between them.

“Your flowers don’t define you, Eijun,” he says. “They’re just a part of who you are. You have so much love to give, you know. And no way to show it. So this-” he traces over the string of astrantia on his wrist, “- is how you show it. You shouldn’t let people who can’t understand that dictate how you live your life.

“I love you,” Kazuya whispers, moving his fingers to lace through Eijun’s, pulling him closer. “And I love every part of you, including your past. All of it. Your flowers do make you unique, but they don’t make you. You’re a person, with a future, and I want that future to be with me.”

Eijun lets out a small laugh, hiccuping and wiping at his eyes with the back of their intertwined hands. “That’s a bit selfish, Miyuki Kazuya,” he says.

“I don’t care,” Kazuya says simply, and Eijun laughs again. “Come play baseball with me, Sawamura Eijun. Let me catch your pitch.”

“I’ll think about it,” Eijun says, removing his hands from Kazuya’s and wrapping them around his waist instead. “Because playing baseball with you sounds like a life that I would really love to have.”