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Considering how many nights Kuramochi has spent playing video games instead of sleeping, he understands the art of being exhausted. He knows that the first few hours after a sleepless night are full of energy, the brain still running off of the energy of the previous day–although this may be more of a placebo than anything–followed by a progressive decline in concentration. This very quickly devolves into almost face-planting into his notes, and this continues until the pivotal moment where his body decides to give up.
This is the moment he gets his chair kicked by a ‘helpful’ Miyuki, who all the way back in 1st year gave him a sly grin and sited Kuramochi’s falling asleep in class as the reason the first few times he had done it, and after 4 non-consecutive times, didn’t even bother making up reasons for being a Class-A prick. 2 years later, every time Kuramochi begins nodding off–which was now more commonly caused by extensive practice rather than video-games–there’s a foot harshly kicking his chair in, causing Kuramochi’s head to barely avoid smacking the table, or on one rare occasion, fall completely out of the chair onto the floor. Although Miyuki mocked him consistently for an entire week after the event, the strength of the attacks noticeably decreased thereafter.
And while not this specific event, the seat-kicking is where Kuramochi’s predicament began. The usual movements into a new semester were relatively normal; he greeted Sawamura, scared the shit out of Asada–who only seemed to get worse once the poor soul realised both of his roommates were key members of the 1st string–and roped both underclassmen into an intense night of Street Fighter, as per Room 5 tradition. What he failed to realise was that Sawamura, that bastard, had conducted “independent training” over the summer, and thought that this alone meant he could measure up to Kuramochi’s skill. In reality, all he had learned to do was button-mash quicker considering Sawamura couldn’t remember the input sequences for combos–or perhaps no one had told them they existed–but either way Kuramochi was forced to spend the night reminding him who the champion was.
The warning signs were all there when Kuramochi woke up after a grand total of–being generous–4 hours of sleep. He got up faster than normal, hands a bit more jittery than normal as he collected his uniform for morning practice. He internally sighed; despite it being somewhat of a hazing ritual to spend the first night of any new year gaming, he still always forgot to brace himself for the inevitable exhaustion that followed. He wouldn’t have to, after this year, a somewhat grim reminder that set the tone for the day (and, as it turned out, the following months).
While Sawamura had learned his lesson after his disastrous first-day, setting an alarm out of range from Kuramochi’s inevitable tampering, Asada remained sound asleep as the two got ready, somehow sleeping through Sawamura falling head-first onto the ground when attempting to put on socks. Kuramochi would be worried about brain damage if the idiot had any brain cells left to actually absorb the damage. As it stands, he tries his best not to burst out laughing at the sight of Sawamura somehow losing coordination in all 4 limbs at once. As he observes the boy’s precarious position for anyone without insane amounts of flexibility, he shudders. No human should be able to be in that position without extensive damage to something important, but as per usual, Sawamura seemed to defy expectations.
After he finally manages to get into a somewhat normal position, this time equipping his socks from the ground rather than attempting another gymnastics routine, Kuramochi looked to him as the door closed, grinning wide. “Not gonna wake Asada up?”
“Of course not! Learning to follow an independent schedule is the most important thing I learned during my 1st year,” he claimed loudly, prancing ahead towards the practice fields.
“I’m sure Coach would be ecstatic to learn how much you value the lessons learnt on pitching control,” Kuramochi snickered. Sawamura whirled around in rampant protest about Kuramochi telling Coach, which was not what he should have gotten out of that statement, and the ensuing argument carried them all the way to practice, with Kuramochi jokingly pretending to walk over to Coach whenever Sawamura was watching. Someone had to keep him on his toes.
Exhaustion had already begun setting in by the time practice was done, perhaps because he was out of practice after a long summer break, and to the surprise of absolutely no one, this accumulated in him drifting off during the very first class of the day for a total of maybe 3 minutes before he was rudely awakened by a sharp pain in his calf. Glancing sharply back, the primary suspect has his head slightly ducked, supposedly looking at the poem they were meant to be analysing. The somewhat-smug grin still stuck to Miyuki’s face gave him away, just like always. Poser.
Kuramochi moved his chair back just a bit to kick the other’s desk, which did nothing except cause a slight shift in its position, Miyuki only briefly looking up in a mock-innocent manner that made Kuramochi want to deck him. Instead, he glared for another moment before once again attempting to pay attention, which was to absolutely no avail as the droning of the teacher’s voice continued to be deceivingly melodious. Only his absolute willpower to avoid being kicked awake again–and most likely mocked for the rest of the day–kept him going until lunchtime. His earlier annoyance had already faded away by this time, recognising that it was better to be rudely awakened by Miyuki than his teacher.
As people began filtering out of the room, Kuramochi quickly turned around, his chair grating lightly on the floor as he pushed it a bit towards the other boy’s desk. Miyuki had a set of papers in front of him, and at a closer glance, it appeared to be some of the first year’s statistics prior to joining Seidou.
“Anything interesting?” He leaned a bit further in to see which he was currently on, Miyuki not looking up from the sheet as he responded.
“There’s a lot of them aiming for different positions, which is good. Creates more competition,” he remarked, before finally looking at Kuramochi, eyes glinting. “There’s a new shortstop, too. Better watch out!”
“As if I’d give up my spot that easily,” He snickered. “Any fancy new catchers to finally make you worry about your position for once?”
“What, are you finally getting sick of me? Only one year to go!” He grinned, focusing back on the sheet. The reminder abruptly took some of the cheer out of Kuramochi and he tipped back a bit.
“Not sure what you mean by ‘finally’. I don’t think I’ve ever not been sick of you,” he ribbed the other, attempting to dismiss the dread that always came when he thought of their ever-shortening time with Seidou.
“Thank you!” Miyuki laughed, and Kuramochi only rolled his eyes, gladly assimilating to their usual dance. Yet, his mind kept going back to the playfully-tossed reminder of how this was their last year to play with their team, to bring them to Koshien.
Kuramochi let out a breath. He knew what they were aiming for, and he knew that it was achievable given their current roster. Koshien was a far-away goal, but something he completely believed in their ability to grasp. The concept that their team wouldn’t qualify wasn’t what dampened his mood, as it wasn’t something he thought of as worth considering at all; instead, it was something more inevitable.
One more year. One more year listening to Sawamura’s incessant sleeptalking that he had somehow grown used to. One more year hearing the birds chirp their welcome alongside fresh morning air as he lightly stretched on the way to morning practice. One more year of trading quips with Miyuki, working together to cover classwork whenever possible and slowly becoming–despite the other’s best efforts–the closest friend either has ever had. One more year of tasting victory, and being comforted by like-minded sadness during loss. One more year of Seidou.
While Kuramochi did want to qualify for Koshien to live up to Coach’s expectations, finally proving to the world–and Inashiro–that Seidou remained a powerhouse team, the more prevalent reasons for his voluntary practicing, popping blisters from batswinging and growing nauseous after hours of running laps, revolved around the selfish desire to spend even one more day with this team. He focused his attention on Miyuki rather than spiraling into his thoughts, resuming his previous position as the other went back to looking over the sheet, pointing at one specific name.
“I’ll have to tell Coach about this one later. He could be a good addition to the batting lineup, especially as a pinch-hitter,” Miyuki hummed.
“What, only you’ll tell Coach? You soaking up all the credit?” he teased. Kuramochi’s position meant he was for once the taller one, and Miyuki looked up through his hair at the other, eyes twinkling with mirth and mouth shaped into a smirk. Kuramochi immediately found the floor much more interesting than a few seconds prior, refusing to allow his face to heat up. Was that tile always scratched?
“Well, I would say we, but this task involves analysing game statistics and I’m still not entirely sure Coach knows you can read-” Miyuki was cut off by Kuramochi throwing an eraser directly at his head, who barely caught it. How the fuck was he finding this asshole attractive?
“One day I’ll get you,” Kuramochi tsked. Miyuki snickered.
“Maybe try a different method than throwing things at the first-string catcher.”
–
The final year continued on at a steadfast pace, despite Kuramochi’s fervent efforts to make every moment last. He indulged Sawamura more when he wanted to practice his newfound pitching style, and often attempted to get Asada a bit more out of his shell, which was a monumental task considering that the younger boy seemed to consider every moment Kuramochi spent with him to be a test.
This often leads him hours into the night, at first unintentionally, and then as a result of him not wanting to sleep and let graduation come just that much closer. He knows it’s not necessarily healthy, letting sleep pass by in exchange for another hour spent in his teammates’ presence, conducting extra practice, or sometimes simply committing the atmosphere of Seidou to memory, but there doesn’t seem to be any harm in it. Sure, he falls asleep in class more often, and perhaps he’s a bit less focused when team meetings are called, but he’s sharp as ever during practice and there hasn’t been a noticeable fall in performance; he would never allow his pointless nostalgia to impact his play.
The only person Kuramochi knows for a fact realises his increased levels of daytime exhaustion is Miyuki. After all, he sees Kuramochi nodding off in class much more often than even during the dreaded Training Camps of previous years, and is the one to wake him up before the teacher has the opportunity to yell at him for something besides not doing the homework. Yet, he doesn’t mention it once. Kuramochi reasons it’s because there has been no obvious impact on the field. There’s no reason to bring it up when it hasn’t directly impacted anyone except Kuramochi, and despite Miyuki’s insistence on being as blunt as possible when critiquing people’s play, he’s not a confrontational person when it comes to anything beyond baseball. Sometimes, Kuramochi is convinced that Miyuki’s not a person beyond baseball.
This is how things proceed for weeks, and then months. Kuramochi doesn’t get worse, decidingly not letting his endeavours put him past the level of exhaustion he felt he could manage, but he also doesn’t improve. Late-night practices continue, and the early wake-up times that he’s become accustomed to were relentless. At least he found one thing he won’t be missing.
The ultimatum comes when, for the first time in what he assumes must be since he joined Seidou 2 and a half years ago, he startled awake from the teacher sharply slamming the desk in front of him. The disappointment radiating from her was embarrassing, but the predominant emotion raging within him was confusion. Why had Miyuki not woken him up? As much as he used to make a fuss about the other’s harsh methodology in keeping him sentient during lessons, he’s always internally acknowledged that it was at least a bit thoughtful for him to consistently be reliable in this.
So why had he stopped? He looked behind him once the teacher’s annoyance had waned and she continued with her lesson, and met Miyuki’s stare, motioning a little in confusion. Miyuki simply tilted his head before looking back towards his notes, although by the lack of content on the page, Kuramochi could tell that he’d been distracted. He looked forward, chewing a bit on his lip.
After so long, he considered himself somewhat adept at reading Miyuki–a ‘Miyuki-whisperer’, as nicknamed by Sawamura late last year, who had been appropriately drop-kicked for the transgression–but even with this, he wasn’t exactly sure what to make of the situation. Miyuki had seemed- annoyed? At what? The rest of class passed in this same mindframe, with Kuramochi’s infrequent attempts to lock into any lessons all failing before they even began.
The moment class ended, Kuramochi turned around, glaring. “What was that for?”
“What?” Miyuki answered, eyes remaining glued to his (still tellingly empty) notebook.
“You didn’t wake me up,” he accused, somewhat frustrated by the lack of anything in Miyuki’s posture or tone. One more point towards him being annoyed, but Kuramochi was still in the dark on why.
“Maybe I thought you needed the beauty sleep”, Miyuki had said, joking words not matching his still somewhat subdued tone. He finished packing everything on his desk and approached the exit of the classroom, with Kuramochi hurriedly following after a moment to haphazardly throw his own belongings into his bag. He scowled. It was pointless to deny that he wasn’t sleeping as much, but why Miyuki cared was still disconcerting.
“So you just decided on a random Monday after 2 years of consistency to-” Kuramochi stopped short, unsure of what to say. To leave him hanging? To prioritise his sleep over classwork? He realised that it was less the humiliation of being startled awake that bothered him, and more the fact that the situation was bad enough to warrant Miyuki taking the initiative on something he knew was bound to cause conflict. “To not wake me up?” Kuramochi finished somewhat lamely. They had approached the exit of the school, Miyuki setting a brisk pace considering the set-up they both needed to do considering the schedule for afternoon practice.
“Lack of sleep can affect play,” Miyuki responded, and Kuramochi exhaled hard. So it was baseball-centred. For some strange reason, he felt more disappointed than gratified by his initial assumption being correct, but both emotions were quickly overridden with frustration. “As vice-captain, shouldn’t you be focused on setting an example? What if Sawamura lands up face-planting in the middle of a game because he starts following the leader?” Kuramochi would have laughed at the concept if it weren’t for the situation at hand.
“Sawamura would do that on a full 9 hours of rest, and he literally has, but that’s not the point. There’s nothing wrong with my play at all, I made sure of it.” Miyuki seemed to be walking faster with every word Kuramochi said, and he rushed a little to catch up, not wanting to break into a jog. He stubbornly pressed the point further. “Plus, if you were so worried about my play, why not just yell at me on the field instead of- can you slow down?”
Their speed-walk had turned into a near jog, and Kuramochi sped them to a halt by harshly grabbing Miyuki’s bag. The other didn’t pull away–perhaps out of fear of his bag-strap breaking off–and instead looked back, having the gall to look confused. Kuramochi was only slightly relieved to see that he seemed less… flat than before, with his mouth in a grin. “I’m taking precautionary measures, ‘Mochi. Contingency planning and all that.” Kuramochi looked at him blankly, and Miyuki pointedly glanced down at Kuramochi’s backpack where his notebook lay. “Maybe you were asleep during that lesson.”
Kuramochi growled in annoyance, letting go of the bag strap in favour of taking up a much more normal walking pace in the direction of the practice fields. “Me not getting enough sleep won’t be magically fixed by an extra 5 minutes during Math class.”
“Well, your first mistake would be trying to learn about contingency planning from Math class,” Miyuki hummed, and Kuramochi attempted a kick, which he miraculously avoided and skittered away from to conduct the ritual they had wordlessly fallen into at the beginning of the year after observing which tasks each preferred and when.
In the throes of practice, Kuramochi sidelined the strange occurrence in his mental folder of ‘Weird Miyuki Things’, and loses himself in the familiar ache of repetitive exercise.
–
The event remained in the back of his mind, but after practice, it seemed to draw more of his attention than before. Why had Miyuki suddenly decided today was the day that he would draw a line? It didn’t make sense; his play hadn’t been any different during morning practice, and their walk to class together had been as amicable as usual (which is to say the normal amount of teasing and kicking).
Kuramochi brushes it off as he gets ready to enter the bath, somewhat excited considering the brutal nature of practice this afternoon.
Evening baths were always his favourite part of a long practice, and this hadn’t changed going into his 3rd year. He was especially grateful given the voluntary practice he now underwent, and by the time he was done soaking, it was nearing 10:30pm. This is most likely why, when entering Room 5, he didn’t expect Sawamura to be sitting at the room’s desk looking like the world's worst detective, complete with only the single desk-lamp on and a pile of clothes to resemble… a cat, maybe? Wasn’t that stereotype usually for the villains?
“Don’t you think Miyuki’s looking tired?” Sawamura asks upon entry. Kuramochi paused, side-eyeing the pile of clothes. Sawamura strokes them, not breaking eye contact once.
“...Are those mine-”
“Don’t avoid the question!” Sawamura whisper-yells, pointing a mini gavel–where the fuck had he gotten a gavel?–and Kuramochi finally processes more than the strange situation he had been introduced to upon entry to the room.
His initial reaction was to tell Sawamura that he was overexaggerating as the younger boy was prone to doing–and on top of that, it was none of his business what Miyuki chose to do with his time–but the second he took to muster up the proper energy to shout this gave him pause. Miyuki had been- not slower, never enough to impact practice, but…less attentive? Zoning out more outside of Baseball, taking a second longer with scathing quips that would have effortlessly shot out before. Nevertheless, he waves Sawamura off.
“He’s a grown man, and I’m pretty sure that if anyone told him you were concerned about his wellbeing, he’d be more offended than worried,” he states, before looking at Sawamura and hurriedly adding, “also, give me my clothes back, you dumbass!” He lunges for Sawamura, who screams girlishly and hides under his duvet. Coward.
“I’m just saying!” Sawamura yells from under his covers, cat-eyes just barely visible from the shadow realm. “Isn’t it your job to make sure he doesn’t die, or something!?”
Kuramochi takes mercy on him, only lobbing a single pillow at the blanket-covered lump, before answering. “We’re all tired; it’s only a few weeks until qualifiers properly begin.”
Sawamura grumbles something indistinct–perhaps annoyance at how his worry was taken, or maybe just general grievances in Kuramochi’s direction–before readjusting himself and his covers, and Kuramochi takes this as a sign to switch off the light.
A few minutes of blissful silence pass, wherein Kuramochi gets changed and climbs into bed, before Sawamura sleepily murmurs, “If you’re both tired, there’s no one to yell at either of you for being dumb.” Before Kuramochi can even begin to understand what that’s supposed to mean and find an argument for why Sawamura’s abundantly wrong, a crescendo of snores greet him. Great. Kuramochi shuffles under the duvets, fluffing his pillows and sighing.
Maybe Miyuki wasn’t sleeping as much as he should. Of course he had noticed some signs, but it wasn’t nearly bad enough for Sawamura to pick an issue with. As far as he knew, everything was orderly. Practice was going well, averages were improving, and the team was slowly meshing in ways that could matter when push came to shove. Hell, maybe just this once, overworking is what the team needs. Kuramochi pushed his face into the pillow. He could get on Miyuki’s ass about it after they had won the initial game, and pressure had fallen even a little bit.
–
It was nearing 1 in the morning, and Kuramochi was wide awake, mind rampaging between the inevitable drag of time until the end of his 3rd year and the possibility of their team failing, drawing that time-limit ever closer.
He keeps circling back to Sawamura’s words, noticing more and more to support his theory; a drag to Miyuki’s steps when they leave together to class after morning practice, the way Kuramochi had neglected to follow up when Miyuki had randomly missed a pre-established study session pre-afternoon practice last week. This inevitably throws him back to Miyuki’s first few weeks as captain, the Coach’s cautionary words of the amount of pressure on him as captain, catcher, and cleanup all at once. His leg bounces with nervous energy. Had he been neglecting his duties as vice-captain, his focus on the future leading to him neglecting any current issues? Is Kuramochi’s own tiredness impacting his ability to reality-check Miyuki (who, no matter how much he makes fun of the other, is a core feature in the team’s success)?
There is zero chance he’s going to manage any sleep like this.
Fuck.
He silently drops out of bed, slipping shoes on as he edges his way out the door, listening for hitches in Asada’s breaths and falters in Sawamura’s strange sleep-ramblings. When nothing changes, even as he quietly shuts the door, he walks down the walkway and ascends the stairs to Miyuki’s corridor, before stopping in front of the room.
Just by luck of the draw, Miyuki had landed up not sharing a room with anyone, not even a freshman. Kuramochi usually cursed him out for this–sometimes internally, mostly externally–at least once a week, and as he approaches his door and sees light arc softly through the underside of the curtains, painting the otherwise-shadowed path with droplets of yellow, he feels these grievances return even more forcefully than usual. What the hell is he doing at this time in the morning?
Pushing aside any brain cells asking him why he is currently stood outside Miyuki’s door at 1am, about to knock and criticise him for doing the exact thing Kuramochi is currently attempting to get away with, he harshly kicks the door a few times in favour of using his hands, which were currently avoiding hypothermia in his pockets.
Silence.
Kuramochi shifts nervously, unsure whether to knock again–this time in a more usual manner–or to leave the issue. He had just steeled his resolve to be more upfront, perhaps in exchange for waking up the neighbours, when the door to Miyuki’s room opens somewhat slowly.
Miyuki stands in the doorway, clad in pajamas. The light softens around him, highlighting his somewhat ruffled hair and–most likely importantly if Kuramochi could actually focus on the issue at hand instead of the other’s stupid hair–disleveled appearance. Although he’s wary of giving Sawamura credit, he does have to admit that Miyuki looks tired. However, at the moment, he looks more confused than anything, which Kuramochi does have to admit is fair.
This most likely is not helped by the fact that, after harshly kicking his door at an absurd time in the morning, Kuramochi does absolutely nothing of value except stare at him. He tips his head a little in greeting after about 5 seconds of kicking himself to do something, approaching just a bit to be in the way of a potential door-slam. Miyuki doesn’t move, instead raising an eyebrow, but he doesn’t seem to be thinking about avoiding the impending conversation by fleeing. Most likely because he doesn’t know one is coming, but Kuramochi counts his victories whenever they come.
“Did Sawamura finally choke on his tongue while snoring?” Miyuki begins, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms.
“Wouldn’t that be nice.” Kuramochi deadpans, earning a slight chuckle, which is abruptly cut off as he pushes his way into the lit room. Miyuki stares from where he still holds the door ajar, both eyebrows now raised. He lets the door close gently behind him and faces Kuramochi again, who is looking around the room–the still-made bed, open notebooks with pens strewn about–and somewhat annoyingly concluding that Sawamura may be onto something. “He’s concerned, actually.”
“Concerned?” This seems to finally grab Miyuki’s full attention, and he stops openly judging why Kuramochi magically appeared at his front door at a ridiculous time and welcomed himself in. Then, something unexpected happens. Miyuki looks Kuramochi dead in the eye and says, “He did tell me you’re not sleeping as much, and after what happened in class, I’m actually almost convinced he’s onto something.”
Kuramochi blinks. “Wait. He told you that I’m not sleeping enough, and you’re concerned about that?” He looks around incredulously. “Miyuki, what time is it right now?”
“It’s not that late, and I just had one more thing to finish.” Miyuki glances from the clock reading 1:23am on his wall back to Kuramochi, before grinning. “I’ve heard through the grapevine that your late-night endeavours are more active than reviewing practice schedules and score-sheets, anyway.”
“Practice isn’t an ‘endeavour’, you-” Kuramochi starts aggressively, before cutting himself off abruptly. He is here for two reasons: to confirm if Sawamura was somehow correct in his accusations, and to get Miyuki to sleep if he somehow did land up being right. Only one of these remains to be realised. “You’re going to sleep. Now.”
“What, are you worried?” Miyuki teases, his gaze once again drifting back to the sheets on the table. “At least it’s not affecting my grades.”
“That’s your fault!” Kuramochi scowls. “Why didn’t you wake me up!?”
“Didn’t I tell you that you needed the beauty sleep?” Miyuki makes his way over to his desk, half sitting-half leaning against the worn wood in favour of taking the drawn-away chair where he had previously been perched before Kuramochi barged in.
“As if that’s the actual reason, you dick.” Kuramochi mutters, before pausing. Why had Miyuki not woken him up? It had been 2 consistent years that Miyuki had made sure he wasn’t caught in class–even times where they were both incredibly sleep deprived thanks to extra practice before their final match, or spending sleepless nights desperately revising before finals they had neglected in favour of just one more swing–and then he randomly stops? What had changed?
Miyuki is talking again, and Kuramochi traces the movement without taking in the words. After class, he had seemed distant, as if his mind was on something else, eyes slightly unfocused. At the time, he had interpreted that as annoyance, or perhaps disappointment, but it wasn’t at Kuramochi, especially since Miyuki had gone back to normal right after practice. The dots begin to align, slowly but surely, until Kuramochi looks up, cutting Miyuki off from a sentence he hadn’t heard the beginning or end of.
“You didn’t wake me up because you were also falling asleep!” Kuramochi accused, perhaps a bit too loudly for 1am, but nothing about this situation was appropriate for 1am excluding their pajamas. Miyuki’s eyes widen for a split second, his hands pressing into his arms a bit harder than necessary, before he goes back to relaxing against the desk. Kuramochi thanks the past 2 years of Miyuki-analysing–alongside his entire life of picking up random details faster than everyone else–as that was all he needed to confirm his hypothesis. “You’re such a hypocrite.” He snarks, watching as Miyuki switches from crossing his arms to grazing his thumb over the wood of the desk behind him.
“Unlike someone, I do actually sleep when it’s necessary,” Miyuki grins, but there’s a hint of unsteadiness now. Kuramochi gestures to the papers on the desk once again.
“Do these rank above necessity, then?” He asked, and Miyuki went quiet, which was the final nail in the coffin on if something was wrong. There would be a lot more kicking and dragging if Miyuki was awake enough to actually argue his case. Kuramochi allows himself a brief moment to feel smug before Miyuki inevitably finds his tongue, which happens not a moment later.
“So what, you bully me into sleeping and go right back to pretending you’re not falling over yourself by 2pm? Gonna sing me a lullaby too?” He asks, standing up straight and staring at Kuramochi. “I trust you’ll never tell him I said this, but Sawamura is right; you’re not sleeping, either, and it’s not because of spreadsheets.” Kuramochi is torn between striking a victory pose at getting Miyuki to admit he was losing sleep, or booking it as fast as possible to avoid this part of the conversation.
He shifts nervously, hoping futilely Miyuki doesn’t pick up the movement, but he knows that for every time he catalogued Miyuki’s behaviours–the slight twitch of his hands when he got excited about an idea, an intentional disregard when discussing the potential results of something he intrinsically needs to go well, the way he gets slightly more talkative when it’s something he enjoys discussing, and his fervent belief that he can care for an entire team while not sharing any of the burden with his vice-captains–Miyuki has been indexing every movement himself.
“It’s not- It’s stupid.” Kuramochi mutters, and Miyuki only tilts his head, for once staying silent apart from the systematic scrape of his index finger against the desk. Kuramochi exhales through his nose slowly, accepting that he wasn’t getting out of this without at least a slight admittance of his issue. “I just…It’s our final year.” He glances up at the other boy, who grins a little.
“That’s a bit ominous. Should I start writing my will?”
“You’re such a dick,” Kuramochi scowls, but it slowly pulls into a smile, and Miyuki mimes zipping his lips and throwing away the key, once again waiting for Kuramochi to continue his thoughts. “After this, it’s over. No more Seidou, and I don’t even know if baseball is in my future, it all depends on what I get offered.”
Miyuki cuts him off there, a quick interjection. “Any team would be lucky to have you. You know that.” Kuramochi only rolls his eyes, dismissing him with a hand-wave before continuing.
“We won’t ever have this team again, and I won’t ever room with Sawamura and hear his snores, or have to clean up dirty-ass practice equipment, or practically murder myself during training camps-”
“You’re really selling it, here…”
“-or analysing the freshmen with you and Zono, making fun of Sawamura’s pitching formation in the dugout, stressing out over exams and comparing equally shitty notes, teaching your incompetent ass Mario Kart. Having a team we know we can trust, that’s been built up for three years, and looking towards the home plate and knowing-” He stopped short. And knowing you’re there.
He breathes for the first time in what seems like minutes, and looks up. He wants to see belief, or better, understanding. The lack of interjection throughout the latter half of his tangent gave him hope that maybe Miyuki was, in the round-about way of working tirelessly on practice routines and previous score-sheets, losing sleep over the exact same thing; the hopes of continuing onto just one more game with their team.
Instead, he’s met with Miyuki purposefully not meeting his gaze, neck slightly flushed. Kuramochi frowned, going over what he had said. As he backtracks, his eyes widen somewhat, and he feels his skin go noticeably warmer. Almost all of the good moments he mentioned–no, every single one he had recounted–things he was actively losing sleep in attempts to make last even one second longer, had included Miyuki.
Shit.
Kuramochi knows that Miyuki is an instrumental part of the team, fulfilling three major roles and being its foundation, and he was bound to play a part in why he loves Seidou so much. Yet, somewhere along the line, he had become Kuramochi’s foundation, too. A core part of Seidou, and an essential part of why he’s so anxious about their final year going so quickly. He had known this, deep down. That it wasn’t only about this year ending meaning no more Seidou; that it also meant no more Miyuki.
Silence envelopes the dorm, and Kuramochi realises he has never seen Miyuki this- anxious? Flustered?- perhaps ever. His fingers were drumming on the desk, which he had begun to put his full weight on sometime during Kuramochi’s tangent.
The absurdity of this–a random fucking conversation sparked by Sawamura’s meddling and Kuramochi not knowing when to shut up–being what finally causes Miyuki to actually be flustered after literal years of not even reacting beyond a mild smile when being confessed to by multiple people surprises a giggle out of Kuramochi, which soon turnes into a cackle, only increasing in severity when Miyuki lookes up in minor alarm, just to also start laughing when Kuramochi snorts when attempting to inhale. This lasts for a while, each setting the other off just when one had calmed down, and Kuramochi ached. One more year.
This puts a slight damper on his mood, which soon leads to a recovery on both sides. The quiet was more comfortable now, akin to time spent in each other’s presence while studying or reading or simply existing without even really acknowledging that the other exists. Glancing at the clock, Kuramochi despairingly reads 1:56am. On a Tuesday. Awesome.
“So, if you’re not sleeping, and I’m not sleeping, and neither of us particularly want to sort out this issue, there is a very obvious solution at hand.” Miyuki speaks up after following Kuramochi’s eyeline to the clock and grimacing. Kuramochi contemplates this for a second.
“Oh yeah, obviously,” he nods after a moment. Kuramochi knows Miyuki is most definitely referring to mutual ignorance. Kuramochi also knows Miyuki is sometimes an idiot. They could keep the charade going, but that would inevitably lead to more issues later on, and he knows that both of them often make admittedly bad decisions when it comes to prioritising various activities over sleep. All of this leads to Kuramochi having the brilliant idea of walking over to Miyuki’s bed, and plopping down in it.
Miyuki stares at him, baffled. Kuramochi hadn’t seen the other so much as at a loss for words in the past 2 years, and he takes the fact that he has managed to induce a similar state twice in one night as a personal achievement.
“If neither of us want to sleep, but we both want the other to sleep, the obvious solution is to just do it together,” Kuramochi remarks, a lot more confidently than he is currently feeling, before quickly adding, “also, you’re taking the chair.”
This seems to snap the other out of it, and he walks over a bit hurriedly to the bed, halfheartedly attempting to pull Kuramochi out. “You’re not making me take the bed in my own room.” Miyuki says, most likely laughing at the absurdity of the claim (or perhaps just the situation). Kuramochi stands–or sits?–his ground, refusing to be pulled off.
“Well, there’s no other bed in here, and I’m not sleeping on the floor.”
“You have your own room.”
“With a snoring Sawamura. And,” Kuramochi says, slightly smug, “if I walk out of here right now, I am definitely not going to sleep anytime soon.” He pauses, before offhandedly remarking, “and neither are you, I’d bet.” At the end of this phrase, he harshly pulls the limb Miyuki was currently using as leverage to get him off his bed, resulting in Miyuki haphazardly stumbling onto the surface.
This was not the plan, but Kuramochi is quickly realising that this may be the best outcome. It seems stupidly simple, in that moment, with Miyuki sprawled halfway onto the bed. He doesn’t want to sleep because each moment meant another moment missed with Seidou, and specifically, with Miyuki. But if Miyuki is right here, that eliminates at least a third of his incentive to stay up so late chasing memories.
“I’ll review the practice regime if you do the scoring sheets during lunch,” Kuramochi says, watching as Miyuki has about one second of contemplation before physically deflating into the mattress, tiredness taking over. Kuramochi shifts over, facing the wall rather than Miyuki as they manoeuvre under the duvet. He dully notices that it’s a bit of a tight squeeze, but ultimately dismisses it, too tired to mind.
“You have your own bed,” Miyuki murmurs, tone of voice finally matching the hour.
“I also have a perfectly good bed right under me,” he answers, almost whispering it against the white wall. An answering huff, and darkness descends around them as the light is switched off.
Maybe Kuramochi should be focused on sleeping, but instead, all he can feel is the slight warmth against his back, and he begins listening for light breaths, attempting to ignore the somewhat-inevitable anxiety that crawls through his skin. What was he doing? He knows a lack of sleep can lead to bad decisions, but- he can’t even pretend this was because of sleep deprivation.
He’d thought about this before. Not this exact situation, not even being in the same bed, but being close. They had gone from snappy 1st years to playfully mocking 2nd years to–somehow–friends; probably the closest friend Kuramochi has ever had. And he wanted–he wants–to know, before they only saw each other again at their 10-year high-school reunion or some sappy bullshit, what it would be like to push that boundary, go just a bit further than friends. He knows it’s stupid; Miyuki is the exact opposite of what anyone would define as ‘wanting a relationship’, and he’d meticulously rejected every single person who had approached him with romance in mind, citing baseball as a reason for most and a busy schedule for the others, and afterwards had come right back over to Kuramochi, gifting him any chocolates received.
Was this pushing a boundary? To be able to hear when Miyuki shuffles around a bit next to him, be completely aware of the dip in the bed? Do friends do this? He internally pushes this last thought out; it’s not like either of them have a point of reference. Knowing Miyuki’s prickly tendencies, he doubts anyone was ever particularly close with him–not like this–and Kuramochi was completely aware–even if it was 3 years too late–that the people he was close to when he was younger were not even close to being considered friends.
Miyuki sighs as his foot kicks Kuramochi’s shin lightly. “You’re thinking too loud.”
“How the fuck am I thinking too loud?” Kuramochi snarks back, and he feels more than hears the other snicker.
“You’ve somehow found a way!” He teases, and Kuramochi turns around in the bed somewhat harshly in an attempt to find the best spot to kick, only to stop short when he is met with Miyuki’s face rather than his back. His insult dies on his tongue. Kuramochi can make out that Miyuki is still smiling a little, mirth clear in his eyes, for once not blocked by glasses. “Wasn’t this your master plan of getting us both to sleep?”
He hopes Miyuki can’t hear his heart. From everything Kuramochi knows about science, this is very unlikely, but with the way it seems insistent on being twice as loud as the silence whenever Miyuki ceases to talk, anything seemes possible.
He doesn’t want to sleep, for this to end, and for them to probably never talk about this again. Miyuki was hardly ever vulnerable, Kuramochi’s not even fully sure why the other agreed to this at all, and it’s bound to be a one-off occurrence. He glances past Miyuki, attempting to concentrate on the darkness clouding the walls in an attempt to calm down, but just lands up tracing the shape of his shoulder under the blanket hopelessly. He really doesn’t want this to become another memory.
“‘Mochi,” Miyuki whispers. Kuramochi centres himself, meeting his eyes. “We have 147 days left of Seidou, and every minute you spend not sleeping is another minute you’ll be having a raging headache because of someone’s screaming instead of actually enjoying it.” Kuramochi rolls his eyes.
“That also applies to you, dumbass,” he says, still quiet, and then, “147 days.”
Miyuki had been counting. Kuramochi moves a little closer. He’s not even sure it’s discernible under the duvet. He laughs a little. All that worry about sentimentality not being well received, and their reasons for stealing moments even in the dead of night boil down to the same thing. 147 days until they would leave Seidou behind.
“Let’s make it count, then.”