Chapter Text
Miyuki tried his best to focus on balancing the chemical equations in front of him. He really did.
However, when there’s a grumpy pitcher rolling around on the ground of your dorm, it’s hard to get anything done. He sighed long sufferingly, turning to Sawamura, who was kicking his feet a little too hard and grumbling under his breath, resting on a pillow on the ground while poring over a book of some kind.
Part of this was normal enough, with the younger player often barging into Miyuki’s room to bother him, accost him to catch, or pretty much anything else. The new part was the pitcher’s abysmal mood. Everyone was more or less aware of the beef between Sawamura and the abrasive first-year catcher that also happened to be Miyuki’s roommate. Something about food? Miyuki still didn’t really understand how the conflict arose, but it was his headache now.
Said roommate was out right now, which is why Sawamura barged in. Miyuki did enjoy teasing the pitcher as much as the next upperclassman, and would have normally done so as soon as soon as he walked in, but he had a chemistry test coming up that he is fucked for.
“Sawamura?”
“Hmm?” The pitcher said, still focused on his book.
“Can you go be whiny somewhere else? I gotta finish this homework,” Miyuki said long-sufferingly.
“What kind of a captain are you? It’s your job to listen to me complain! Especially when it has to-”
“Yes, yes, you’ve told me already. I said I’d deal with him, right? Just let me talk to him,” he appeased, knowing how easily riled up Sawamura gets.
“You’d better hurry up, or I’ll have to sort him out myself! Young ones nowadays have no respect for their elders,” Sawamura said with a huff.
Miyuki snorted at his theatrics. “Pot, meet kettle. Give me a few days. And time to study for this test.”
Sawamura stood up with a groan, stretching. “Fine, but I’ll be expecting results,” he said, narrowing his eyes at the catcher and making an ‘I’m watching you’ gesture. He grabbed his book and the bag of chips he stole–from Miyuki’s side of the room–before exiting the room.
The catcher sighed again, rubbing his temples. These kids would be the death of him if chemistry didn’t kill him first.