Chapter Text
Sawamura remembered the first day he saw Miyuki Kazuya skate surprisingly well, seeing as, usually, his brain had little space for anything that wasn’t hockey related.
He’d been stomping around campus for a few hours by that point, rigidly shaking his head at everything he saw like a food critic forced to dine at a fast food chain. After staring down a tree for five minutes, he was forced to admit that his attempt at convincing himself he didn’t like anything was failing miserably.
He’d ended up squatting down under said tree, pulling at his hair while muttering curses under his breath. He felt like he was committing treason, while the smiling faces of his friends kept flashing in his mind. Had it been a shoujo manga, Sawamura was sure the panel would’ve had those white, sparkly backgrounds that just let you know how good these people are. And wasn’t that the whole problem? Could he abandon them in good faith after everything they had done for him?
Sawamura started chewing on his hands. Now, most of them had already told him that he wasn’t abandoning anyone and that going to university away from home was a “perfectly normal life choice”. For once in his life, Sawamura felt like he understood reality better than everyone.
No one who knew Sawamura Eijun for more than three minutes would define him as sharp, much less reflective. He liked to think he wasn’t a complete idiot, but he did toe the line. A lot.
Anyway, the core of the issue lay elsewhere: he really had a hard time seeing anything that wasn’t right in front of him… or, well, in his general vicinity. It had been pointed out to him a lot and he liked to shout back that it was his “predator mindset”, but, really, it was mostly that his brain couldn’t handle focusing on too much stuff at once.
This also meant that, were he to move away, he’d probably end up losing contact with his friends.
It should’ve been enough to make him turn away, or, better yet, not even set foot on campus… but it wasn’t. He’d been rolling around in his bed because of it for weeks now. His brain had turned into an infinitely long hockey game where both teams were stuck in a tie and, until one of them made the puck go in the net, Sawamura would have to suffer. The worst part of this scenario was that he wasn’t even in his usual spot on the ice! He was the referee! Which, really, should say a lot about the quality of the game.
He suddenly stood up from his spot. He knew there was one last thing that could tip the scale, but he was hesitant. What if the imaginary team he didn’t like ended up winning? Was that even possible? Or rather, was that the only possibility?
But Sawamura wasn’t one to wait around. After slapping his cheeks a few times and screaming something incomprehensible that made a few students turn their heads, he started walking towards the ice rink.
The cold air hit him right in the face, knocking the breath out of his lungs. He squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden glare of the white lights. For a moment, he considered turning around and leaving, knowing how easily his own wary resolve to be impartial might crumble in front of the rink’s perfect ice.
It had been a terrible realization, but Sawamura wasn’t sure if he loved his friends more than he loved hockey. It had come to him as a stray thought while flipping the pages of the university leaflet he’d been given, late at night, right after fishing it out of his room’s bin hours after throwing it away.
He’d thumbed over a picture of the university’s hockey team and played the words back in his mind. “It’s a great opportunity,” the lady had said, and then his grandpa had repeated it, adding, “You’re not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed after all.” Which, rude. Sawamura was completely justified in yelling at him after that.
It had been difficult then, to make a choice, when the campus was only a 2D photo held between Sawamura’s index finger and his thumb. Now, with those same fingers pressed against the entrance door, he really had no chance. He clenched his hand into a fist.
Sure, he was worried about leaving his friends behind, but he was even more terrified about the ‘what if’ poisoning the friendship… poisoning him. He knew how much the others looked up to him and, sometimes, Sawamura felt they didn’t realize how badly he could mess up. And not the usual, chaotic mistakes where he went overboard, screamed too much and tripped over himself like a clown, but a petty, harsher wrong he could feel building up in his throat.
The sound of blades scraping the ice snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up.
A guy was gliding across the rink in slow, circular motions and, after staring for a moment, Sawamura was torn between curiosity and the urge to scoff. He wasn’t a stranger to figure skaters: he’d seen them plenty during his years on his school hockey team, but he’d always been perplexed by their sport and their insistence on being ‘artistic’… whatever that meant. For him, being on the ice had always been a desperate struggle where he had to push himself between the puck and the net at any cost. It was probably because his team was usually the one losing, but still.
Sawamura inclined his head, watching the skater in judgy confusion, at least for the first few seconds. Then, he registered the deep, controlled strokes of the skates on the ice, the sharp cut of the man’s physique against the background and, stupidly enough, the very distinct lack of any kind of faltering as he distributed his whole weight on one thin, metal blade. His brain dug around in his head to present him with the few memories of the figure skaters he had seen in his hometown’s rink, and a shiver went down his spine.
He did the mental math and was forced to face the very possible reality that this guy could out-lift most, if not all, of his high school hockey team. He couldn’t tell if the blood pumping in his veins meant he was irritated by it, or incredibly thrilled. Knowing him, probably both. Was this really the difference between doing sports for fun and at college level? The ceiling for what his hockey skills could become suddenly shot up, leaving him both disoriented and, despite himself, starving for more.
He opened his mouth without actually knowing what he was going to say (probably something loud and inappropriate), when he noticed the skater picking up speed. Before Sawamura could even register the shift, the blades left the ice.
It was a strange feeling. It wasn’t the first time he saw a figure skater do a jump, of course, and it probably wouldn’t be the last with how much time he spent around rinks. And yet, there was something in the way this guy launched himself in the air that made Sawamura freeze. The skater spun in the air and then landed without hesitation. The sharp sound of the skates slamming back down made Sawamura flinch, and then grit his teeth at his own reaction.
He didn’t stay to watch the rest of the routine. Turning on his heel, he walked out without thinking twice, retracing the steps from before, eyes focused forward. He didn’t really pay much attention to his surroundings and almost ran into a student, who yelled at him to watch where he was going.
Yes, he thought, a grin spreading across his face, that was a perfect jump.
A perfect jump.
Sawamura stopped in his tracks, his right hand gripping the strap of his gear bag, as he watched Miyuki Kazuya’s chest heave in the middle of the rink. He suppressed a groan.
Hockey practice had ended a while ago, but Sawamura was running late. It wasn’t unusual: with all the time required to take off his goalie gear, he was almost always the last one to the showers, and if someone made the mistake of distracting him with small talk, his hands would be too occupied with gesturing aggressively to do what they were supposed to do (see: unbuckle his godforsaken padding! Ugh- alright, it wasn’t fair to take out his frustration on his lovely gear just because he couldn’t multitask, but still!).
Today, especially, he’d spent far too long in the shower, hoping the hot water and the steam would soothe the bruise that was blooming on his skin from shoulder-checking the net post during practice.It didn’t really work, but by the time he was wrapping the towel around himself, the skin was so red he barely felt anything at all… a win, all things considered.
He only realized how late he was when he stepped into an empty locker room and found a message on his phone from Haruichi, apologizing profusely for leaving him behind and saying he’d meet him at dinner. Just how much time had Sawamura made him wait? The goalie had to stop himself from slamming his forehead against his screen in frustration, and only because he didn’t have the money to replace it if it cracked.
Sawamura let out a loud sigh as he met Miyuki’s eyes from across the rink. The skater’s lips curved up in a devious smile.
“Pretty sure you aren’t good enough to waste time gaping at me,” Miyuki said, skating closer to where the goalie was standing.
Sawamura jolted back as if he’d been caught red-handed. Following standard protocol, his brain pivoted to screaming, “Who’s gaping? I was just passing through!” to prove his innocence while waving his arms around to really drive the point home. Then he added, pointing a finger at the upperclassman, “How can you be so self-centered?”
Miyuki winced as his loud words echoed through the rink. “Careful there, if you don’t yell louder, someone on campus might not hear you.”
“I’m not yelling!”
Miyuki gave him an unimpressed look. Sawamura pressed his lips together and crossed his arms.
“Okay, maybe I’m yelling,” he conceded, lowering his voice. “But I just got out of training, so who’s really wasting time here?”
“Ah.” Miyuki nodded. “Then you just came to watch me in your free time? I’m flattered.”
“You!” Sawamura couldn’t help squeaking in affront, his hands quickly switching between finger-pointing and violently waving around, until they landed on a chaotic mixed gesture that he was sure made him look like a particularly angry windmill. “Just watching you skate makes me dizzy! Do you really think I’d go out of my way to see your smug face more than I have to?”
“Ah, don’t worry about it.” Miyuki leaned forward, his smile wide. “No reason to be embarrassed, I mean… it’s completely normal to be in awe of your seniors.”
“As if!” Sawamura shouted, resting his hands in closed fists against his hips. “Your scandalous behavior has precluded you from the title of senior for the rest of your natural life!”
Miyuki inclined his head. “Isn’t that sentence a bit harsh…” Then he coughed in a way that suspiciously resembled a laugh. “…Your Honor?”
Sawamura turned his head away dramatically. “One must not falter in the face of unrepentance.”
As he looked to the side, though, his eyes fell on the digital clock near the entrance, and his jaw dropped. He hadn’t really paid much attention to the time when he was checking his phone earlier. His voice lost any kind of authority as he yelped, “How is it so late?!”
The skater leaned over the side of the rink, letting his arms rest on it. “Sometimes I wonder if you live in a bubble outside of time and space.”
Sawamura glared at him. “Why are you even here at this hour?”
The skater sighed. “With you hockey players hogging the rink all day, I don’t have many options for extra practice.” He flashed him a smile. “Plus, Furuya is going to come by later and I do not want to be on the ice by then.”
Sawamura grimaced at the mention of the other freshman, but simply ended up nodding and waving Miyuki off with some loud exclamations that were more a promise of him being ready to continue their bickering the next time they saw each other… not that he’d ever admit it. He let himself watch the upperclassman’s back as he glided across the ice for just a moment before walking out in the warm evening air.
As he lowered his center of gravity, Sawamura felt steady in a way he never was outside the crease. His skates bit into the ice, his breathing evened out and his eyes stayed glued to the puck. He watched it flash between the sticks of offense and defense, seemingly indecisive whether it preferred one team or the other.
The next second, the disc broke free of the struggle, flying towards his net like a swooping bird of prey. His body moved on its own: he lunged, then the sharp crack of the rubber colliding with his stick echoed in the rink as the puck flew back towards the far end of the ice.
“Yes!” he yelled, a warm feeling making its way into his chest, as he looked at his teammates. “YES!”
“What are you shouting for, idiot?” Kuramochi’s annoying voice came from behind the glass wall. “This is a practice match!”
Sawamura turned towards him, waving his right hand in what should have been a pointed finger, but, because of the thick gloves, looked more like a downturned fist. “Shut up!” he bellowed. “Do you want to see me throw the next puck at your head?”
Kuramochi leaned forward, knocking on the glass as if Sawamura had forgotten it was there. “Are you blind?”
“I’d like to see you try with your puck control,” Miyuki snickered loud enough for Sawamura to hear.
The goalie watched the two upperclassmen, sitting next to each other like a pair of devils, and felt his eye twitch. He was about to skate off and chuck his helmet at them, when the puck moving across the rink caught his attention, pulling his focus back to where it belonged.
It was only after practice that he was able to defend his honor. As the others exited the rink, Sawamura skated towards the glass.
“Do you two come here just to make fun of me or are you secretly jealous of my agility on the ice?” he asked, clutching his helmet in his hand.
Miyuki and Kuramochi shared a look. Then, they burst out laughing. Sawamura shouted incoherently in indignation.
“I didn’t know,” Kuramochi wheezed, wiping a tear from his left eye, “that other than a shitty goalie, you were a clown too!”
Miyuki nudged his side with an elbow, covering his grin with one hand. “He does look the part with all that padding.”
“How dare you! How dare you make fun of the most well thought-out piece of hockey equipment?” Sawamura yelled, waving his arms over his head. He hadn’t let go of his stick, which ended up violently thumping against the glass.
Miyuki smirked, pushing up his glasses. “I’m not making fun of it: it makes you look like a brick wall. I don’t see ‘agile’ as an appropriate adjective for a brick wall.”
“For that matter, I’ve seen him trip too many times to see ‘agile’ as an appropriate adjective for Sawamura.” Kuramochi added dryly.
Sawamura stared down at the ice for a moment. He would’ve balled his hands into fists if his gear permitted it, but, unable to, he redirected that furious energy into sending a blazing glare at the other two.
“I’ll just have to prove it, then.”
“And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” Kuramochi deadpanned, but Sawamura was already skating away.
After putting a few meters between himself and the glass, he spun around, “Like this!”
And before either of them could complain or ask for clarification, Sawamura threw his helmet, sending it clattering against the ice, and, putting his hands up in the air, stick still gripped tightly, he pushed himself to the side.
A loud clatter reverberated through the rink as he slammed his stick flat down. His gloved hands planted right over the shaft, and, for one glorious beat, he was fully upside-down.
Even from his inverted perspective, Sawamura couldn’t help the brush of satisfaction that went through him as he watched Kuramochi’s mouth hang open and Miyuki’s face contort in genuine alarm. He refrained from giggling maniacally. It seemed even Miyuki Kazuya himself wasn’t amused at the prospect of watching Sawamura’s cranium split onto the ice.
It was at that moment that he realized, although belatedly, that he probably should’ve put his helmet back on…
Well, nothing to do about it now.
One hand left the stick, then the other. Ideally, he would’ve visualized himself as some majestic bird as he hovered in the air, but his gear was too heavy, and the most he could manage was a turkey. A turkey ready to defy gravity, nonetheless. He let out a sigh of relief once he was upright again.
It was too soon to celebrate, apparently. In the end, his trusted skates betrayed him at the last second, slipping forward. With a low thud, Sawamura found himself sitting down on the ice.
“Ouch,” he muttered.
Silence filled the rink as Sawamura looked up.
No one moved for a few seconds. Kuramochi’s face was pale as a ghost, one of his hands resting against the glass as if holding himself upright, or maybe getting ready to sprint on the ice to end Sawamura the way his stunt hadn’t managed to. Miyuki’s expression, on the other hand, was unsettlingly serious as he leaned forward, his arms crossed over his chest.
Sawamura gulped. Miyuki fixed his glasses with one hand, before letting his eyes bore into the goalie, still pathetically splayed across the ice.
“The execution wasn’t bad, but that landing?” Miyuki scoffed. “Disgraceful. 2/10, and I’m being generous.”
Sawamura looked at him for a moment as if Miyuki had just spoken the most outrageous alien gibberish known to man. Once the words actually registered, he felt his eyes widen. “You…” he whispered. “Wait, what?!”
He jumped back on his feet, opening his arms. “Are you serious? I just did a cartwheel on the ice! In goalie gear! WITH A STICK!”
Miyuki turned his face to the side, not even looking at him. “You call that a cartwheel? And weren’t you the one saying that your agility was perfectly fine even with all the padding?” He took off his glasses to clean the lenses, before pushing them back up to stare at Sawamura. “Disappointing at best.”
Kuramochi, who had been silent for a while, started cackling. “Yeah! A circus elephant could’ve done better than that! Anything over 1/10 is too much. Miyuki, you’re way too soft-hearted.” Then he leaned towards the other upperclassman, fake-whispering, “Did you see how his legs dangled in the air? Zero core-strength, I tell you.”
Miyuki nodded, closing his eyes. “True, true.”
“You!” Sawamura yelled. “Judges should be impartial! You’re not impartial!” He looked around for support and saw a head of pink hair watching from a few paces back. “Haruichi! Tell them!”
The defenseman just smiled softly. “You did a good cartwheel, Eijun.”
Sawamura beamed at him, about to turn back towards the glass, when Ryousuke appeared right behind his brother.
“Yeah, a good cartwheel if you want to die,” the older Kominato snorted, casually resting an elbow on Haruichi’s shoulder. “Do you plan on pulling something like that during an actual match? Because if so, I’ll tell the coach to not even let you step foot on the ice.”
Sawamura froze, his eyes slowly flitting over Ryousuke’s mocking smile. His heart may or may not have skipped a beat.
“What cartwheel?” He declared, laughing frantically and resting his hands on his hips. “I know nothing of any cartwheel!”
Kuramochi booed him as Sawamura skated away. He sent one last scathing look towards the two evil judges, ignoring them as they shouted at him that he forgot his helmet.
He’d pick it back up later, along with his dignity.
Sawamura chugged down the rest of his drink, slamming the glass dramatically onto the table. He wanted to complain, and he knew Haruichi would lend him an ear, but the words seemed stuck in his throat. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure of what he wanted to complain about, since it was more of a general feeling than something he could put into words. He’d been feeling antsy for months, and at first he’d been able to chalk it up to the natural anxiety of settling in. Now, though, the feeling persisted, and Sawamura didn’t know what to do with it… or with himself.
So, instead of saying anything, he just groaned, leaning his cheek against one of his hands and letting his eyes drift across his two companions.
Haruichi had been quietly nursing the same drink ever since they had come here, smiling when Sawamura said something particularly enthusiastic or a song he liked came up in the background. He looked so comfortable in his quietness that the goalie sometimes felt a spark of envy looking at him, which he expertly covered by either shoving some peanuts in his mouth or gulping down another drink.
Beside Haruichi, however, sat someone who, for once, didn’t instigate any of Sawamura’s more negative emotions, if not for some genuine pity. Furuya lay face down on the table, his forehead pillowed in his arms. Sometimes, while talking, Sawamura would jostle the table, wincing at the soft laments that left the skater’s lips. Altogether, the goalie preferred when Furuya was up and about with his usual cold flair. At least then Sawamura could yell at him without feeling bad.
“Yikes. I can’t believe he went down after only two drinks.”
Haruichi smiled sheepishly. “Not everyone has your tolerance.”
Sawamura wasn’t sure if his was alcohol tolerance, or if his personality made him always look drunk enough that no one noticed the difference when he actually was. Instead of voicing these doubts, he just let out an annoyed huff.
Haruichi looked thoughtfully towards the skater. “Do you think something is stressing him out?”
Sawamura leaned back in his chair, playing with his empty glass. “Being a professional skater is stressful. Sport is stressful,” he scoffed. “He should be used to it by now.”
“There are other things to factor in,” Haruichi said softly, looking at the goalie.
Sawamura pushed himself forward, thumbing over the edge of the table. “For a guy as obsessive as him?” He raised his eyebrows. “Like what?”
Haruichi was about to answer, but he stopped himself, looking to the side. Sawamura followed his gaze and saw Kuramochi, followed by Miyuki, approaching their table.
“What is this idiot doing?” was the first thing out of Kuramochi’s mouth as he pointed down at Furuya’s head. Miyuki, for his part, just offered a lazy wave and a snicker as he sat down.
Sawamura nudged Haruichi from across the table, whispering loudly, “Kuramochi likes calling everyone dumb, but he can’t even tell when someone’s passed out.”
The goalie ducked just in time as Kuramochi tried launching himself across the table to throttle him. His chair would’ve tipped over, hitting the innocent student sitting behind him, if Miyuki, hiding a laugh behind one hand, hadn’t caught it with the other.
Once the upperclassman settled down and Sawamura felt like he could sit back down without having a glass thrown at his head, he slowly climbed out from under the table. He sent Miyuki a glare that was more aimed at his hyper-competence than anything else, to which the skater just shrugged casually.
“Furuya had a bit too much to drink.” Haruichi explained. “He’s fine… I think.”
“Of course he is fine!” Kuramochi exclaimed. “Our lazy ice prince has just decided to cast himself as the Sleeping Beauty instead, hasn’t he? Too bad the evil stepmother is here!” And he started trying to shake the skater awake. For all his attempts, Furuya looked gone to the world and Haruichi, putting his hands up as if faced with a feral cat, tried to calm the upperclassman down.
“Man, he can’t even get the fairytale right,” Miyuki muttered while grinning. He didn’t say it in a low voice, but the chaos from across the table, which mainly consisted of Kuramochi shouting, meant that only Sawamura heard him.
“Still,” Miyuki’s tone shifted in a more thoughtful one, “Kuramochi’s been worried about him for a while, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. Furuya’s training too hard.”
“Why is everyone so concerned with him?” Sawamura huffed out, crossing his arms. “Professional sport is tough. Furuya knows that. He’ll learn how to handle it on his own or he’ll drown.”
Miyuki sent him a look between exasperated and amused. “You’re as bad as him,” he said, leaning his elbow on the table and then resting his head on his hand. “And yet, I don’t see you improving that much.”
Sawamura turned to look at him, letting his glass rest on the table. “Why do you always have something to say about my playing?” he complained loudly, though Kuramochi’s screeching drowned him out. “It’s not like I try to explain to you how to do your flashy jumps.”
Miyuki smirked. “That’s because you don’t have the authority to.”
“And you do? I think you should stay in your lane.”
Sawamura felt a chill run down his spine as the upperclassman looked at him from behind his glasses. “You talk big for someone who has the puck control of a three-year-old. Every time you send back a goal, no one knows where it’s going. One day you might end up sending it right back to the opposing team’s stick.”
He pushed his glasses up his nose. “Not only that, but your ability to cover the corners of the net is lacking at best. You rely mostly on agility and instincts, which is fine for now, but won’t hold up in the long run.”
Sawamura was speechless, which, well, didn’t happen very often. He blinked a few times at the other.
“You’re lucky your reflexes are so good, or you probably wouldn’t have even made the team. It’s clear you just react to the puck without any kind of thought behind what you’re doing, which could even be good because it means you don’t get tricked by feints, but it also means you rely entirely on your physical abilities, which against stronger players won’t work as well. Another consequence of this is that you have no idea what to do with the puck after, making you look like a stray chicken every time you have to deflect it back.”
Sawamura opened and closed his mouth a few times. He wanted to yell something back, but if there was something he’d learned since joining the team was that ignoring criticism was one of the stupidest things he could do. His pride had taken a big hit, though, so he just let his head fall in one of his hands, while using the other to gesture to Miyuki to stop.
“Why are you like this?” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.
The skater looked sheepish. “Like what?”
So perfect yet so annoying was the answer, but Sawamura was never going to say it. Instead, he just reached out and started pulling at Miyuki’s cheeks. “So know-it-all!”
“Ow!” Miyuki tried swatting the goalie’s hands away with varying degrees of success, until Sawamura got tired of it and let go.
The skater massaged his face with both of his hands, looking thoroughly annoyed. “Why do you never treat me as a respectable upperclassman?”
“I will when you start behaving like one!” Sawamura answered, resting one arm on the table.
Miyuki just sighed. “Is the Universe testing me by putting such an ungrateful pest in my general vicinity?”
Sawamura squeaked in affront. He opened his mouth, not knowing what exactly was going to come out of it, when a sudden ruckus caught both of their attentions.
A few paces back, a waiter had tripped over a customer’s foot, sending a stack of plates crushing down. It wouldn’t have been such a big deal if, while falling, he hadn’t knocked over a display of candles into a nearby curtain. Which was now on fire. People were panicking.
Sawamura looked at the flames, then at the rising smoke. He turned back around just in time to see Miyuki’s eyes flicking the other side of the table where Kuramochi was frantically gesturing at him. The skater let out a breath, looked back towards Sawamura and, grabbing the back of his hoodie, dragged him out.
He only let him go once they reached a quiet corner of the garden outside the restaurant’s side exit. Sawamura sent Miyuki a confused look, which made the upperclassmam grin. “What? Did you want to stay there and ruin your lungs?”
The goalie scratched his head. “No. I just didn’t expect you to treat me like a toddler.”
The skater’s smile widened. “No ‘thank you’? Kuramochi was about to rope both of us into dragging Furuya home.”
Sawamura grimaced at the thought, looking around. The fire seemed to still be going strong, but Haruichi was probably already out, holding onto Furuya’s feet while Kuramochi yelled at him to keep up the pace. The goalie felt a wave of gratefulness, which he was about to express… before realizing he was alone.
He whipped his head around and, after a few moments, spotted Miyuki a few meters from him, briskly walking away. Sawamura jogged after him, stopping once he reached his side.
“That was surprisingly nice of you. Have you been replaced by an alien?”
Miyuki snorted. “No. Just a moment of compassion I’m currently regretting.”
“You’re so mean!”
“And you aren’t?” Miyuki asked, turning his head towards him. “I vividly remember you saying Furuya could drown for all you cared.”
“I did not say that!” Sawamura yelled, but he instantly deflated once he saw the other’s grin. The warm artificial light falling from above made Miyuki’s features look sharper than usual, and Sawamura realized the upperclassman had said it only to get a reaction out of him.
“I just find it annoying how everyone coddles him,” the goalie muttered, looking away.
Miyuki raised his eyebrows. “Well, if that isn’t an exaggeration. Are you projecting because you’re jealous?”
Sawamura stopped walking and stared at him. The skater kept going a few steps, not turning around with his hands shoved into his pockets.
“You-“ he started, but felt the words running away from him. “I’m not jealous!”
“Mhm.” Miyuki scratched the back of his neck, not even turning around. Sawamura quickened his pace to catch up to him and yelled in his ears, “I’m not!”
“Alright, alright. Geez,” the upperclassman answered, cupping his ears. “I’m not that old! I can still hear just fine.”
Sawamura ignored him, looking resolutely ahead. “I’m not jealous! I just… don’t get it.” He kicked a pebble out of the way. “All I hear is that I need to work harder, to push myself to the limit, but if he does it, it’s suddenly not okay? Is he that much better than me?”
Miyuki bristled. “Don’t be stupid. No one is upset because Furuya’s working hard. He got reckless and started training too much.” He looked over at him. “The body needs rest and the mind can’t live on sport alone. It’s a bad place to be mentally. That’s why everyone’s worried.”
Sawamura didn’t answer, but he looked up, meeting Miyuki’s gaze.
The skater grinned. “But I’m sure you already know that! I have no doubt your older teammates must’ve drilled it into your head early on, seeing how stubborn you are.” He looked away, idly scratching his chin. “You and Furuya are cut from the same cloth after all.”
Sawamura felt the knot in his chest loosen a bit as he yelled, “What?! We are nothing alike! I’m so much better than that idiot.” He laughed loudly. “Did you know he passed out after only two glasses?”
Miyuki shook his head, sighing, but listened to Sawamura recounting how much of a fool Furuya had made of himself that evening, and in general. The skater interrupted only occasionally with a jab here and there, usually aimed at the goalie, whose only result was making Sawamura’s voice rise up in volume.
After a while, Miyuki stopped and looked at him expectantly, to which Sawamura only reacted by staring at him in well-meaning confusion.
“Well?”
Sawamura inclined his head a bit to the side. “Well what?”
Miyuki sighed. “Why did you follow me to my dorm?”
The goalie stared at him for a moment before his gaze drifted to the door. It was a standard dorm room door, painted that same annoying shade of blue as his own. He looked at the sky outside, which was completely dark, the stars dimmed by the city lights, and then he looked back at Miyuki. “Follow you?”
The other didn’t deign him with an answer. Sawamura only managed to let out a “Oh…” and then “I didn’t mean to.”
It was the truth and they both knew it. Sawamura’s thoughts had been too occupied with other matters to worry about where he was going, and he had just naturally followed Miyuki because his mind hadn’t been able to come up with a reason not to.
The skater sighed again, looked up at the ceiling and then checked the time on his phone. “It’s still early.”
“The evening was abruptly interrupted. You know, with the fire and all.” Sawamura offered, feeling a spike of awkwardness because… well, had he really just followed Miyuki on autopilot? He felt his face heat up in embarrassment.
The upperclassman looked at him and sighed again, as if thinking ‘Why do I do this to myself?’
“Do you want to come inside?”
Sawamura stared at him. He pushed his hands in his pockets, maintaing eye-contact as he gave a non-chalant shrug. “Why not?”
And so, he followed him in.
The soft morning light seeped into the room, hitting Sawamura square in the face. He let out an annoyed exhale, stretching his shoulders slightly.
Interacting with others, he had slowly realized his relationship with sleep was a tad strange, in the sense that whether he woke up early or slept in entirely depended on the day and how he was feeling. Sometimes, he’d be up and running at 5 a.m., other times he’d try sleeping in until 10. A few nights, he wouldn’t sleep a wink. It was a confusing thing, and he had long since given up trying to figure it out.
As he opened his eyes to check the time, it took him a few seconds to realize he wasn’t in his room. He passed a hand over his face and propped himself up.
The layout was the same as his own dorm, which, really, brought up some questions regarding the laziness of the university’s architecture, but the overall impression the room gave was so different it made him falter.
The main contrast was the floor. Sawamura had the bad habit of throwing his stuff around without really caring where it landed. It had been manageable as long as he lived with his family or a roommate, since they usually ended up screaming at him to clean up after himself, but it had gotten progressively out of hand ever since he started university. Looking around now, he was both surprised and a bit put off by the lack of obstacles on the floor, as if the sheer cleanness of it was silently reprimanding him.
He was somehow glad that the tidiness didn’t extend to the whole space, or his good conscience would’ve forced him to kneel on the spot and apologize to his own room for being such a terrible owner. The desk, though organized, held several books that seemed to have been thrown haphazardly, a few of them with spines so mangled they made Sawamura wince.
His eyes fell upon a photo collection right above the desk. They were surprisingly organized, forming a small, orderly rectangle, and Sawamura imagined the owner of the room sitting at the desk and looking up at them from time to time, maybe thumbing the edges of the ones he liked best. Speaking of him, the goalie turned toward the other side of the small bed.
Miyuki’s back was turned toward him. Sawamura felt a bit strange looking at his hair, unusually messy as it fell against his nape, and had to repress the urge to poke him. Then he thought back to the previous night and his jaw went slack. He somehow managed to only let out a yelp. It was definitely a win, since what he actually wanted to do was curse very, very loudly.
Miyuki stirred at the sound. He exhaled softly, lifting one arm to tentatively feel around the bedside table for his glasses. Once he found them, he put them on and looked over, half-propped up on his elbow. His gaze met Sawamura’s. Miyuki bristled, a genuine grimace spreading across his features.
The goalie squeaked in outrage, “What’s with that expression?!” He pointed a finger at the other’s chest. “I should be the one scowling!”
Miyuki didn’t deign to give him another glance, flopping back down with his gaze fixed on the ceiling. Sawamura, for a moment, didn’t know how to react, and he was surprised to realize that the feeling settling in his chest was a strange mix of helplessness and shame. Feeling his cheeks heat up, he ended up leaning forward, tugging mercilessly at a fistful of Miyuki’s hair. “Don’t you dare ignore me right now!” he yelled.
“Ow!” Miyuki tried to stop the goalie by grabbing Sawamura’s wrist with one hand and prying his fingers loose with the other. After a small altercation, in which both of them ended up getting slapped in the face more than once, Sawamura finally let go, retreating to sit in a corner of the bed with his arms crossed. Miyuki sighed, getting up to move around the room. He slipped on a shirt before muttering, “Geez, where do you get all this energy so early?”
Sawamura huffed. “I’m not the problem. You’re just an old man.”
Miyuki looked at him for a moment and then shook his head. He brought a hand to his face to massage his eyes, momentarily lifting his glasses before letting them fall back on his nose. “I’m going to make coffee,” he said, turning toward the small kitchenette.
Sawamura stared at his back, letting his head fall against the wall. The cold seeped through his hair into his scalp, a small comfort since his brain had decided that the best way to handle such an embarrassing situation was to make his body temperature skyrocket. He looked at his hand for a moment and slowly closed it into a loose fist. An exhale escaped his lips and he jumped off the bed, going on a hunt for his clothes.
He stood in the middle of the room for a beat, scratching the back of his head while looking around. He felt a bit dazed once he found his clothes from the day before, and, considering the walk back, he was suddenly very glad it was so early. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, which meant he could slip back into his dorm without anyone questioning where he’d gone all night… a scenario that would’ve only resulted in him making even more of a fool out of himself than he already was.
As he pulled up his pants’ zipper and slipped his jacket back on, Sawamura realized he didn’t know what else to do and, after a few wary glances around the room, he ended up naturally gravitating to where Miyuki was. He watched the skater take a sip from his mug and then his gaze drifted to the empty kettle.
He narrowed his eyes at Miyuki, who just yawned. “I’m going to need all the coffee I can get if I’m supposed to function in the next five minutes.”
Sawamura huffed, “I didn’t want any anyway.”
He spent the next few minutes circling the room as Miyuki finished his coffee. It didn’t even cross Sawamura’s mind that he could just leave until he heard Miyuki put the mug down, and by then walking out would’ve been too humiliating. He might as well just shout at the upperclassman that he had no idea what he was doing.
“Stop pacing,” Miyuki said, before turning around and sighing. “You’re giving me a headache.”
Sawamura stilled, muttering, “This whole situation is giving me a headache.”
The skater leaned back against the kitchenette. “Why? It’s easily solvable.”
“And how exactly?!”
“We never speak of it again,” Miyuki said with a shrug. “Let’s just act like it never happened. That way both of our dignities stay intact.”
You make it sound so easy was what Sawamura wanted to say. Instead, what came out of his mouth was a hissed, “I’d rather eat a rat’s tail than tell anyone what happened here.”
The skater winced, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Always such a flatterer.”
Sawamura just flipped him off, and, not really knowing how to end the conversation, he just muttered a pathetic, “I’ll see you around,” and exited the room.
The morning light was still a bit grayish, painting the roads in a low, sad hue. Sawamura considered breaking out into a run, making good use of the little time he had before the streets filled with people, but ultimately decided against it. He suddenly felt very tired, and it was already a miracle he hadn’t decided to sprawl over a bench and wait there for the end of his days.
As he walked, a street vendor waved at him. Sawamura reluctantly waved back, reasoning that the man couldn’t know where he was coming from or what was painfully swirling in his head. He wished he could have Miyuki’s ease and confidence in handling such things, but, as he crossed the road, he was forced to make peace with his own lameness.
He stilled, looking down, horrified at a few wet drops on the asphalt. His right hand sneaked up to his face, his fingertips begrudgingly pressing against his cheek. Relief flooded in once he realized it was completely dry. As the rain started falling, though, he did not break out into a desperate sprint towards his dorm, hoping instead that the water would wash away the last remnants of his own stupidity.
Sawamura, completely soaked (and currently regretting his dramatic decision to walk in the rain like a tormented main character), managed to wobble into his room without running into anyone he knew. Once the door was safely closed behind him, he did a little victory dance. It sent water droplets all over his stuff, but the relief was far too great to care about that.
After carefully peeling off his wet clothes and flinging them into a pile on the floor, he threw himself on the bed. A deep sigh escaped his lips.
He could understand the embarrassment and discomfort he was feeling (Miyuki, after all, had been especially infuriating with that smug face of his), but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Not only that, but their persistence, along with the restlessness that dug its claws into his skin like a very angry stray cat, was making him doubt his own explanation. He slapped his face a few times and then aggressively scratched his scalp, hoping it would reboot him somehow.
It was useless, of course.
He didn’t really know what to do with all that awkward energy, and failing to handle it only made him feel even more inadequate. As usual, he couldn’t even manage his own head. Was there something he knew how to do?
Sawamura was self-aware enough to be able to certify that, no matter how much he ransacked his brain, he wouldn’t get a magic answer to why he felt this way. It simply wasn’t there. So, with a last, mostly believable, mental “Who cares?”, he picked himself back up and decided the best thing he could do was keep himself busy. So, going to his classes. Easy.
Not easy, as he soon realized. He ended up an hour and a half early to his first class, which meant he had to wait around at least forty-five minutes just for the building to open. Then, once he sat in his usual spot, his brain decided that was the right moment to shut off, and he fell fast asleep.
Yes, he was late to the second class. By half an hour. Mhm.
After he finally got out, he collapsed onto a bench, letting his head rest back to look at the sky. He had to squint a bit, because the deep, clear light blue was hurting his eyes. He ended up just covering them with his forearm as he took a deep breath.
Alright he told himself, so maybe not everything is fine, that’s fine and then huffed at his own ridiculousness. He’d been restless for months now, ever since he started university, and if the many late-night internet search held any truth, he was supposed to learn how to “sit with it”. Every time he read such tips, Sawamura’s brain ended up stuck on a loading screen, with just one question bouncing around. Can you sit with someone you want to punch?
After one last exhale, he pushed himself forward, letting his hands rest on his knees as he closed his eyes. One deep breath, and then he stood up. He had practice now, which meant everything else could take the backseat, at least for a few hours. It was with this exact mindset that Sawamura looked up and for a long, contemplative second, seriously considered diving behind the nearest tree.
Instead, he behaved like a normal human, for once. As he noticed Miyuki walking in his general direction, he stopped to say hello.
He was greeted by Miyuki’s wicked snicker. “Going to the rink?” he asked. “Try not to ruin the ice. I know the goalie gear is heavy, but you stomping on it instead of skating isn’t helping.”
“Hey!” Sawamura exclaimed loudly. “It’s not my fault my sport actually requires me to pull my weight.”
Miyuki’s smile didn’t falter. “Right.” He shoved a hand in his pocket, leaning his head a bit to the side. “Are you sure you aren’t actually collapsing under all that equipment? I can suggest a few strength training exercises if you need help.”
Sawamura was about to rip off his backpack and launch it at Miyuki’s face, when he noticed the skater’s eyes drift to something behind him. He considered taking advantage of Miyuki’s sudden distraction to violently tackle him to the ground. He stopped himself as soon as he heard Haruichi’s voice calling out.
“Miyuki. Eijun. Hello?” Haruichi greeted both of them, his tone quizzical.
The upperclassman just waved at him while Sawamura immediately started crowding his space, loudly whispering about how Miyuki was attempting at his confidence as a goalie out of bitter envy.
“You just don’t know how to handle constructive criticism,” the skater butted in, which just resulted in Sawamura sticking out his tongue at him.
Haruichi smiled patiently at their back and forth, occasionally intervening to give the goalie a bit of emotional support when needed. Soon, Miyuki waved them off, and the other two walked together towards the rink.
Sawamura was still loudly complaining about the skater when Haruichi asked thoughtfully, “Did you get back to the dorm without problems yesterday?”
The goalie froze completely, nearly stumbling, eliciting an alarmed look from the other. “Uh- yes, of course! Why do you ask?” he squeaked, feeling his face heat up.
Haruichi seemed flustered by Sawamura’s reaction. “Ah! No reason at all. I was just curious, since I noticed Miyuki dragging you out…”
The goalie laughed awkwardly. “Oh, he ditched me as soon as we were outside! And so I just ended up walking back. To my dorm. Alone.”
Haruichi nodded, looking at him strangely, and Sawamura cursed himself. He’d basically just completely screamed at his friend: “Something happened, but I don’t want to tell you!” Refraining from slapping a hand over his own face, he settled for a deep, defeated sigh.
The conversation died out. Sawamura’s nervous energy was clearly visible with each step and Haruichi was probably currently doing mental gymnastics trying to figure out the best way to gently poke at his wobbly lie and make it crash against the floor like a tower of cards. Or, much more likely, he was too nice for any of it, and was quietly wondering what he had done wrong to make Sawamura not trust him.
The goalie suddenly felt like the worst person on the planet.
It’s not like he wanted to lie to his friend… but he certainly wasn’t ready to tell him the truth. Maybe Haruichi could help him untangle his feelings, but he wasn’t ready to put himself through another humiliation ritual. At least not today.
Sawamura reached out to push open the rink’s heavy glass door, just to stop mid-motion. He caught his own tense reflection and sighed again. Slowly, he turned toward the other.
“Actually, I- uhm…” he started, scratching his head. “Let’s say the walk back wasn’t so straightforward.”
A small smile found its way back on Haruichi’s face. “Oh, really?” he asked softly.
“I…” He coughed lightly, feeling his throat close up. “May or may not have walked in the wrong direction… because I was too distracted to notice anything else.” Sawamura tried to stare a hole in a wall, hoping Haruichi hadn’t suddenly developed any mind-reading abilities. “And, well. I got back only in the morning, alright? Not one of my proudest moments.”
They looked at each other for a moment, Haruichi’s expression still gentle, although now with a worried edge. It was no surprise: Sawamura had just told him he’d acted worse than a lost child because he was daydreaming, after all. He wondered just what his friend would think if he told him his behavior had been closer to that of a stray dog… following people home… ugh.
“Anyway!” Sawamura blurted out, “Did you, uhm… did you manage to get Furuya out fine?”
Haruichi let out a very slow, very soft sigh, his mind clearly drifting back to the previous evening. “Yes. Kuramochi had some… enlightening opinions regarding the best way to carry someone who’s passed out.”
Sawamura laughed loudly, answering with a jab towards the upperclassman that was nowhere near as subtle as Haruichi’s, and the topic was dropped, probably for good.
After all, Sawamura thought, the idea of him getting lost on the streets was infinitely more believable than whatever had happened between him and Miyuki. It didn’t feel real even to him, now, and for a moment he wondered if really, it hadn’t been a trick of the light (or if he’d simply had one glass too many). The only proof of it was the restlessness he still couldn’t manage to shake off and the slight tremble of his fingers as he gripped his hockey stick during practice.