Archive of Our Own

Kazuya wasn't the type to pay mind to his surroundings, nor did he have the time to focus on anything other than the scoresheets on his desk or whatever his team might need from him. His usual way of destressing involved spending more time in batting practice, followed by the never-ending rewind of their past games with other schools—or, occasionally, modifying any of the pitchers' repertoires to their advantage.

All of that should have been the case during dinner. He should be reading through a scoresheet on the table, but Youichi had apparently found it in himself to bother him, one of his unusual whims. Though, perhaps he'd been overworking himself, considering Youichi rarely ever stopped him when it came to doing anything remotely good for the team.

And somehow, that was how the two of them ended up sitting across from Eijun and his little circle instead of their usual seats upfront with Watanabe and Maezono. Eijun had been talking nonstop, hands flying animatedly through the air as his voice carried across the table. Surprisingly, both Youichi and Haruichi were engaging with him, whatever the topic happened to be.

Sports media? A manga? Kazuya couldn't care less. His brain simply switched off, filtering out anything that had nothing to do with their next game. At this point, he'd rather just finish his bowl in peace. But naturally, being caught in the middle of this particular circle of chaos meant he was bound to get dragged into it eventually.

It started with Youichi tugging on his arm with enough force to nearly make him drop his chopsticks. “I bet Miyuki never heard of it, even though it's the raging trend these days.” Youichi followed it with his usual obnoxiously loud laugh, earning a grimace from Kazuya. 

“Eh?” Eijun slammed his hands onto the table and leaned closer to him. “You're serious? I knew you were a baseball freak, but not to this extent!”

“Everyone's been talking about it in the classrooms. Haikyuu is so popular that a lot of students are joining the volleyball club. They even closed the applications.” Haruichi said with a smile.

“Not everyone reads this kind of stuff.” Kazuya frowned, pointing his chopsticks toward Furuya. “I bet Furuya doesn't even know it.”

Furuya swallowed his rice. “Actually, I—”

“Furuya was the one who gave me the manga!” Eijun grinned.

As if he had a pocket dimension hidden somewhere, he suddenly pulled out what looked like one of the manga volumes. Several sticky notes poked out from between the pages. He flipped through it before stopping at a particular spread, holding it up for everyone to see. The panel showed a character leaping into the air, arms raised as he blocked a ball above the net.

“It's so cool! The story is great, and the characters have great chemistry,” Eijun continued.

“Well,” Youichi said around a mouthful of food, “the story is great. But it's actually more popular with girls because they have that pretty-boy vibe…”

“Ho?” Kazuya's grin widened, that familiar devious smile already creeping across his face. “So which one caught Sawamura's attention?” He raised an eyebrow when the shortstop beside him groaned and rolled his eyes, as though his question had just opened the floodgates to a lengthy explanation none of them would be escaping anytime soon. 

He was used to a talkative Sawamura Eijun. A loud, boisterous one. But he wasn't prepared for the version of Eijun he was about to witness. He practically half-stood on the bench as he hurriedly flipped through the manga, stopping at a page where an entire panel was dedicated to a blond character with glasses. “I love Tsukishima Kei—!”

And so began Eijun's increasingly enthusiastic list of reasons why he loved the character. Youichi, despite clearly enjoying the subject himself, eventually started eating faster, seemingly determined to finish his meal and escape the situation before Eijun could drag him any deeper into it. Kazuya would later learn that Furuya's favorite was someone called “King,” while Youichi's was Nishinoya. By then, he was fairly certain he'd need to cleanse his brain of all this useless information with a good, thorough rewind of their game footage.

In all honesty, he'd already forgotten about the whole thing. Nor was it ever brought up again after that dinner. They were too busy preparing themselves, the days and months threading together through endless practices of batting, pitching, fielding—anything and everything that could sharpen them for the next game. The fatigue slowly wound itself into their bodies while their minds remained flooded with baseball and the ever-present mantra that they needed to win.

Or, at least, that was how it was for Kazuya. He was already on his third tape of game footage when Youichi suddenly barged into their room with enough force to rattle the walls. Even Okumura and Kimura's heads snapped toward the door.

The shortstop looked utterly exhausted, clutching his own pillow in one hand.

It wasn't surprising. They had all just returned from one of their coach's gruesome fielding drills, the kind where the balls came flying like bullets, screaming past their gloves and forcing them to throw themselves across the dirt. Some rolled while others took cruel, unpredictable bounces that left them bruising against the field. No matter how often they practiced, the balls always seemed to land somewhere no human could possibly reach.

“OI, MIYUKI!”

Youichi stomped into the room until his hands found Kazuya's shoulders, squeezing hard enough that, if he'd applied even a little more force, he was certain his bones might have started cracking.

“I'm sleeping here tonight.”

“Ah. So you've finally decided to become a parasite.”

“Just let me sleep here.”

“Why?”

“Because.” Youichi's brows furrowed.

“Compelling argument. I'm convinced.” Kazuya raised his shoulders, voice dripping with sarcasm.

That was apparently the entire explanation. And despite all of Kazuya's protests, Youichi remained adamant about claiming his bed. So that was how he found himself standing in the hallway in the middle of the night, pillow tucked under one arm and eye mask hanging from his fingers, having somehow been evicted from his own room.

How bad could it have been? It wasn't as though Eijun and Asada were a noisy bunch at night (Eijun still had the decency to keep his volume down believe it or not). Neither of them seemed like the type to pick a fight with Youichi either. His thoughts came to a stop when he spotted a pile of cardboard boxes stacked outside room five.

Asada stood by the door, holding what appeared to be a mini shelf. The poor kid looked like he might collapse at any moment. Anyone walking past without context would've assumed he'd been put through extra training by their coach that day.

Kazuya stared. Then stared a little longer. No. Absolutely not. He did not want to get involved in whatever was happening inside room five. For a brief moment, he seriously considered turning around, marching back to his room, dragging Youichi out by the collar, and reclaiming his bed.

Another option involved sleeping in the shed. He was fairly certain the shed would be quieter. Possibly warmer, too. He turned on his heel.

The shed it was.

“Oi! Miyuki Kazuya!”

Kazuya froze. Very slowly, he looked back over his shoulder.

Eijun was already making a beeline toward him, talking so quickly that Kazuya only caught pieces of what he was saying. Something about having to move his things around. Something about the new ones he just bought. There was a box tucked under one arm and somehow he still had enough energy to wave Kazuya closer as though he just arrived to save the day.

Asada, meanwhile, looked like he was about three seconds away from lying down on the hallway floor. Kazuya sighed. He really should have just kept walking. His eyes drifted toward the first year, then to the shelf in his hands. With another resigned sigh, he reached out and took it from him.

“Go on, Asada. You should rest.” The first year blinked at him, clearly surprised that he actually volunteered to help. Kazuya pointed at Eijun next. “And you, Sawamura. You should've done this in your spare time.”

“I was going to!”

“Clearly.”

Eijun puffed his cheeks, apparently offended by the accusation. “I am! I don't even have any more time than the night! Being the ace and all that actually takes up most of my time, you know?!” Kazuya chose not to argue. Mostly because the longer this conversation went on, the more he wanted to grab Eijun by the neck.

He stepped into room five and immediately regretted it.

It was more like a shrine than a bedroom. The character Eijun had rambled about a month ago was now everywhere. There were prints and postcards pinned all over the corkboard above the desk. Two blonde plushies sat proudly on his bed, while several smaller ones occupied the corners of the desk. There were even more boxes shoved beneath. Kazuya recognized the familiar lettering on one of them.

Haikyuu!!

He stared at it. Then at Eijun. Then back at the box. “…You bought all of this?”

Eijun looked genuinely confused by the question. “Of course!” Before Kazuya could even respond, he caught him by the arm and dragged him farther into the room. “I have to organize everything somehow!”

“I think you skipped organizing and went straight to hoarding.”

“I am not hoarding!”

“They all look the same.”

“They are not the same!”

Kazuya barely had time to look before the pitcher took the shelf from his hands. “Help me, Miyuki Kazuya!” Eijun was already crouching down again, reaching for another taped-up cardboard box beneath the desk. A large Animate logo was printed across the side, and judging by the way Eijun immediately brightened at the sight of it, he could already guess what was inside.

Kazuya glanced around the room again. There were too many plushies and tiny smirking characters staring at him from every available surface. He was certain that the blond character would hunt his dreams for days to come. He rubbed a hand over his face. He really should have chosen the shed.

“What's in that one?” he asked despite himself.

Eijun looked up at him with a grin. “Manga!”

“You're insufferable.”  Kazuya sighed.

“Hey!” Eijun chortled and went back to wrestling with the box. Kazuya watched him for a moment before glancing at the clock hanging above the door. If he wanted to get any sleep tonight, they needed to finish this quickly. They still had to wake up early, and with the tournament approaching, every hour of rest mattered. Kazuya couldn't understand how Eijun could get so engrossed in a series when baseball already consumed nearly every waking hour. Maybe having more than one passion was simply foreign to him.

He shook the thought away and looked toward the bunk bed. At least Asada seemed to be sleeping peacefully now. The kid had looked completely exhausted earlier.

Ah, to be young. Must be nice having someone else around to tell you when to stop. Someone to take over when you were too tired to keep going. Someone who'd send you to bed instead of letting you assemble furniture in the middle of the night.

Unfortunately, Kazuya was that someone. And his other roommate was this idiot, who had apparently spent enough money on merchandise to flood their entire dorm room. And judging by the way Eijun had already opened another box, Kazuya was dangerously close to becoming the senpai who strangled his kouhai.

“You know,” Kazuya said, reaching over a box, “you really shouldn't hoard this much stuff. You're going to run out of room.”

He picked up two plushies from the desk and placed them neatly on the new shelf, followed by a few manga volumes stacked beside them. He wasn't entirely sure Eijun would approve of the arrangement, but the quiet hum of approval behind him was answer enough.

“These are the last of my purchases,” Eijun explained. “Most of the other boxes belong to my classmates. They wanted to take advantage of a bulk sale, so they asked me to keep everything here until they had time to sort through it.”

Kazuya paused. “So they just turned your room into a warehouse?”

“Pretty much.” Eijun laughed, bright and unrestrained even in the cramped room.

“You let them?”

“I mean… It was a good sale.” Eijun scratched his cheek sheepishly. “I'll give everything to them eventually. I'll just... do it little by little.”

For some reason, Kazuya didn't find the whole thing as ridiculous anymore. Maybe it was the late hour. Maybe it was the quiet that settled over the dorm, broken only by the occasional rustle of cardboard and Eijun's soft humming. Or maybe it was simply the sight of the two of them moving things around together, rearranging the shelf while trying not to wake Asada.

There was something oddly domestic about it. It was the kind of atmosphere where someone could say whatever was on their mind without having to worry about filling every second with noise. And for once, he didn't feel the need to leave. He placed another volume onto the shelf and glanced at the character staring back at him from the cover.

“So this Tsuki guy…” Eijun's head snapped toward him so quickly that Kazuya almost laughed. “Is he the captain?”

“No.” Eijun grinned immediately, raising his hand into a blocking stance. “But he's one of the important players. His plays can actually stop powerhouse spikers.”

He paused, then huffed, squeezing the plushie in his hands.

“He's also a total asshole.”

“Oh?” Kazuya raised an eyebrow.

“He jabs at the main character a lot, and he loves teasing him.” Eijun frowned thoughtfully, kneading the plushie between his hands like a stress ball. “He's a fox. A fox!”

Kazuya's mouth twitched, stifling his laugh.

“But he cares about the team,” Eijun continued, his voice softening. “And it might not look like it, but he knows his limitations. That's why he works twice as hard. He knows what he lacks, and trusts his amazing teammates to make up for it.”

There was something in the way he spoke that made the words feel strangely familiar. Like he'd heard them before. Not from a manga, nor some fictional volleyball player, but from somewhere much closer.  Kazuya felt as though Eijun wasn't talking about Tsukishima at all. His eyes were bright with that same earnestness he'd seen countless times on the field.

He quickly looked away. Nope. Sincerity didn't suit him. Miyuki Kazuya was a sly tanuki and an asshole when necessary. He wasn't about to sit around getting sentimental over their ace's passionate explanation about some blond volleyball player. So naturally, he did what he always did when something got too sincere.

“Sounds like you're pining for a man. Are you in love, Sawamura?” Kazuya sniggered.

Eijun's expression immediately collapsed. “Miyuki Kazuya!” He lightly smacked him on the side, but the damage was already done. His cheeks could rival a tomato. “I am not! He—he's just—!”

Kazuya leaned slightly closer. “He's what, Sawamura?” he asked, keeping his voice even.

Eijun, however, seemed to catch something in his tone. His shoulders stiffened, suddenly looking far more defensive than before.

“He's just cool and pretty, okay?!”

A faint rustle of blankets came from the other side of the room. Asada had probably woken up again. Eijun realized how loud he'd gotten and lowered his voice, though the embarrassment remained written all over his face.

“He's... he's just the ideal man,” he muttered, fingers tightening around the plushie.

Kazuya's eyebrow twitched. He remained still, which was enough encouragement for Eijun to continue.

“He's so cold, but then you see these subtle little moments where he's actually warm. And—and he's the type to brush you off, but then secretly leaves snacks on your table.” Eijun's hands moved as he spoke. “He actually cares in his own little way. He's so admirable that I think he's even capable of being captain!”

He looked back at Eijun. The flush had not yet left the pitcher's cheeks. He was still holding the plushie against his chest, one hand wrapped around it protectively while his other hand fussed with the crooked little glasses on its face. 

Kazuya found himself watching the way Eijun's expression softened. The sharpness of his earlier embarrassment had faded, replaced by the same open admiration he always wore when talking about something he genuinely loved. There was no hesitation in it, no attempt to hide how much he liked the character. Eijun had simply decided that Tsukishima was cool and pretty and admirable, and apparently everyone else was expected to understand that. It should have been harmless. The character was fictional. A collection of ink, dialogue, and carefully designed personality traits. There was no reason for Kazuya to feel anything about him, let alone the sudden, unpleasant twist settling beneath his ribs.

And yet the feeling remained. Hadn't it been there all along?

Kazuya thought back to all the times it surfaced without warning. Whenever Youichi threw an arm around Eijun's shoulders and dragged him into some ridiculous wrestling match. Whenever the two of them laughed together over a joke Kazuya hadn't heard. Whenever Kanemaru interrupted one of Kazuya's conversations with Eijun to remind him about exam reviews. It appeared whenever Furuya cornered Eijun with some incomprehensible pitcher-related declaration about winning the game, passing the baton, or taking the mound against their next opponent. Eijun always listened to him with that same earnest focus, eyes bright and body angled toward him as though every word mattered.

And then there was Chris—Kazuya's fingers curled against his palm, blunt nails digging into the skin hard enough to sting.

Eijun looked at Chris with an admiration so deep it sometimes bordered on longing. He watched Chris's every movement, listened to every piece of advice, and carried his words around as though they were something precious. Kazuya had seen it countless times. He had pretended not to notice just as many.

But he noticed. He noticed everything when it came to Eijun.

The way his voice changed depending on who he was speaking to. The way his entire face lit up when someone praised his pitching. The way he leaned closer when he was interested, even if he didn't realize he was doing it. The way he gave himself so completely to the people he cared about, without ever stopping to wonder whether they deserved it.

Kazuya had always told himself the irritation was nothing more than annoyance. They were battery partners, after all. It was only natural that he paid more attention to Eijun than anyone else. He was loud, reckless, and impossible to control. Of course he'd get irritated when other people encouraged him. Of course he'd dislike seeing someone else monopolize his attention. Of course he'd feel a little put out whenever Eijun seemed to trust someone else more than him.

Except none of that explained why the realization felt so heavy.

It clawed its way through every excuse he built over the past few months, tearing them apart one by one. And humiliatingly, it made sense. All those reasons he'd found to seek Eijun out, to sit beside him, to provoke him into paying attention. The way he remembered every small detail about the pitcher without meaning to. The way he could identify Eijun's footsteps in a crowded hallway and recognize his voice even through the noise of the bullpen.

He'd been paying attention all along.

This epiphany was going to be the death of him. Because apparently it took a fictional blond volleyball player to make Miyuki Kazuya realize he was jealous; the word sat in his mind like an accusation.

He was jealous of a fictional character.

Eijun shifted in front of him. The movement pulled his attention back to the room.

The pitcher finally set the plushie down, though he kept one hand resting on its head as if Kazuya might attack it the moment he looked away. His breathing had evened out, but his face remained flushed, a faint crease between his brows and his mouth set in a stubborn line.

Kazuya knew that look. He'd seen it on the field, right before Eijun challenged someone stronger than him or declared he was going to crush an opponent who barely knew he existed. It was the look of someone who had already decided he was right and would rather die than admit otherwise. 

Something twisted in Kazuya's chest again. Only this time, he felt himself heat up at how fondly familiar it was.

He turned away before Eijun could notice. His gaze landed on the shelf, where the manga sat in an uneven stack beside a crooked plushie. He reached out and adjusted them despite neither needing it.

Behind him, Eijun made a small, suspicious noise. Kazuya could practically feel the questions forming. Why was he suddenly quiet? Why wasn't he making another joke?

He had no answer he could give without making a complete fool of himself. So he did what he always did when cornered. He changed the subject.

“How about baseball?” he asked. The words came out more abruptly than intended. Kazuya kept his attention fixed on the shelf, pretending to be concerned with the arrangement of the books.

“What do you mean?”

“Who do you like in baseball?”

The question escaped before Kazuya could reconsider it. He didn't even know what he was trying to accomplish. Maybe he wanted to know if Eijun had someone else he admired. Maybe he wanted to hear his own name spoken with that same enthusiasm. Or maybe he just wanted something—anything—that would make this humiliating realization easier to swallow.

Something bitter rose in Kazuya's throat, thick as bile.

“I-I haven't read any baseball manga,” Eijun said, suddenly looking away. “It feels a little weird reading about it…”

Kazuya sighed. “Not a manga, you idiot.”

“Oh.”

“I mean in real life.” Kazuya folded his arms, forcing his voice into something casual. “Is there no one you look up to?”

He hadn't intended for the question to sound serious. It was only a question. A harmless one, asked in the middle of the night while they were surrounded by cardboard boxes and a sleeping teammate. But Eijun's cheeks slowly turned red again. The younger man fidgeted, fingers wrapping a little too tightly around the book he'd picked up from the box. He stared down at the cover as though it'd suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the world, thumb dragging along the edge of the pages, once, twice, three times.

Kazuya watched him carefully. Eijun had no trouble talking about Tsukishima. He'd practically delivered an entire speech about the man without a second thought. He could talk about Chris for hours and never once seemed embarrassed. But now he couldn't even look Kazuya in the eye.

His pulse quickened at the possible implications of this.

“Hm? Don't tell me you have a secret baseball crush too.” He chuckled lightly.

Eijun's head snapped up. “I do not!” The answer came too quickly.

Kazuya's mouth curved despite himself. “You're red all the way to your ears.”

Eijun's hand flew to one ear as if he could check for himself. The realization only seemed to make him redder. He glared at him, but the glare lacked its usual bite. Kazuya should have let it go. He knew that. He should have laughed, made another stupid comment, and let Eijun shove him away. That would have been safer. Easier. He could pretend the question was nothing more than teasing, and Eijun would probably accept it.

But Kazuya already started down this path.

He wanted to know. 

“Come on, Sawamura,” he said, keeping his tone light. “Who is it?”

For a moment, the room grew quieter around them. The dormitory noises faded into the background—the hum of the old air conditioner, the faint creak of the bunk bed, the distant sound of someone moving through the hallway.

Kazuya could hear his own heartbeat.

He wondered if Eijun could hear it too.

Then, by some cruel intervention from whatever god had decided Miyuki Kazuya didn't deserve a good night, someone knocked on the door. Watanabe's voice followed, and before either of them could respond, the door opened, revealing him with Furuya in tow.

Kazuya cleared his throat and stepped back, putting some much-needed distance between them. Eijun seemed grateful for the distraction and hurried toward the door, leaving him with no chance to continue whatever conversation they'd been having. Furuya came to borrow some manga. Watanabe, apparently there for an entirely different reason, handed Eijun a folded newspaper.

Eijun's eyes widened. He glanced at the front page before quickly tucking it into his desk drawer, moving so fast that Kazuya barely had time to register what it was. Furuya wandered farther into the room in search of whichever manga Eijun had promised him, while Watanabe occupied their ace with something about tomorrow's schedule.

Whatever had just happened between them, Kazuya decided it was better left alone. There was no point dissecting every stupid little feeling that had surfaced tonight. He retrieved his pillow and settled into Youichi's bed. He'd expected sleep to be impossible after everything that had happened, but the moment his head hit the pillow, the exhaustion he'd been ignoring finally caught up with him.

Just before sleep took him, one last thought slipped through.

He's just cool and pretty, huh?

“…Idiot.” Kazuya frowned into his pillow.

As Seido players, their training increasingly became unbearable to endure, but needless to say, they still had to suck it up and work through the hellish schedule. They had new training menus every week. Kazuya had even found himself fighting to stay awake in class. Despite what people thought about him being naturally smart, the truth was that he was barely keeping up, studying just enough to keep himself from falling off the rankings.

His thoughts drifted from baseball, to catching, and inevitably to their precious ace, Sawamura Eijun.

He'd thought he'd be more bothered by it, like some hormonal teenage boy should be, but most of his frustration had a convenient way of burning itself out on the field. Between training, studying, and everything else demanding his attention, there was barely room left for thoughts he had no time to entertain.

Which was exactly why Kazuya didn't understand why he kept finding himself looking toward someone.

“Someone looks constipated.”

Youichi's voice pulled him from his thoughts. Kazuya glanced over as the shortstop pulled off his batting helmet, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. They'd just finished another round of batting practice, the pitchers taking turns throwing to them instead of relying on the machines. Kazuya's attention had already wandered toward the other side of the field, where Okumura sat behind the net with his mitt raised. Eijun stood on the mound, talking to him about something, gesturing animatedly before settling back into his stance.

Youichi followed his gaze across the field. When Kazuya finally looked back, he found the shortstop watching him with an expression that was far too knowing.

Kazuya frowned. “What?”

“You look like you're about to strangle Okumura.”

“He's just sitting there.” Kazuya glanced over the net again. Okumura was still waiting for Eijun's next pitch.

“Exactly.” Youichi rolled his eyes, running a hand through his damp hair. “You're gonna burn a hole through him.”

Kazuya reached for his water bottle, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an immediate answer. He clicked his tongue and took a drink, hoping that would be enough to end the conversation.

When he lowered the bottle, Youichi leaned closer. “Scared he's going to snatch your position as starting catcher?”

Kazuya nearly choked on the water. “If Okumura were actually a threat to my position, I'd have more substantial concerns than where he happens to be standing.” He tightened the cap a little harder than necessary.

Youichi snorted. “Sure.”

Kazuya gave him a look.

Youichi leaned back against the bench, studying Kazuya with the smug patience he learned to hate over the years. Youichi had always been irritatingly perceptive. He noticed the things Kazuya left unsaid, understood the pauses between his words, and had an uncanny habit of finding the truth beneath whatever explanation Kazuya offered instead.

He let the silence sit for a moment before glancing back on the field. “You know Sawamura's going to have to work with Okumura eventually. You can't catch every ball he throws forever.”

“I know.”

“Then what's with the face?”

Kazuya looked away. “Okumura could barely catch Sawamura's pitches last week. Someone has to make sure he doesn't screw up.”

“Someone other than you, apparently.”

“I'm the captain. It's my responsibility.”

Youichi laughed under his breath. Kazuya knew that laugh. It was the sound Youichi made whenever he heard an excuse too flimsy to bother arguing with. “Or maybe,” he snickered, “you just don't like seeing someone else get too close to Sawamura.”

Kazuya's expression tightened. It was small enough that he might have gotten away with it. Not with Youichi though. The shortstop went quiet, studying him. He didn't laugh this time or immediately throw another joke at him. Something seemed to settle in his expression as his gaze shifted from Kazuya to the mound and back again.

“Shut up.” 

Youichi's mouth twitched. “I'm not even saying anything.”

“Your face is loud.”

That earned a quiet snort. “You've been doing this for a while, you know.”

“Doing what?”

“Getting weird whenever someone gets comfortable with him.”

Kazuya scoffed. “You're imagining things.”

“Maybe.” Youichi shrugged. “But you're not exactly proving me wrong.”

Kazuya looked back. Eijun had just thrown. Okumura caught the ball cleanly, then said something that made Eijun laugh.

It was a small thing, but it still irritated him. The feeling settled beneath his ribs. Only this time, Kazuya didn't dismiss it. Because suddenly, the pattern was obvious. The irritation had always appeared whenever someone else received something from Eijun that Kazuya wanted for himself. His attention. His trust. That ridiculous laugh. The unguarded look in his eyes when he was comfortable enough to let himself be stupid.

Okay, so he was jealous. But why did it hurt so much? Had it really been nothing more than envy, simply wanting the same bond Eijun shared with other people? Then why did he want to be the first person Eijun sought out?

The answer came quietly, almost embarrassingly so.

Kazuya pressed his lips together. Of all things. He spent years reading batters, studying pitchers, and predicting the movements of everyone around him. He could look at a batter's stance and know where they were likely to swing. He could watch a pitcher throw a single ball and identify the flaw in their form. 

But apparently, when it came to his own feelings, Miyuki Kazuya couldn't put two and two together even if his life depended on it.

Since when did he start wanting Eijun?

Kazuya's face went hot.

There it was. Simple, embarrassing and now that he'd finally seen it, painfully obvious.

Kazuya went still. “…Oh.”

Beside him, Youichi stared. Then his eyebrows slowly climbed.

“Don't.” Kazuya closed his eyes.

A laugh escaped Youichi before he could stop it. “No way.”

“Kuramochi.” Kazuya opened his eyes and glared at him.

Youichi was grinning now, but there was something almost incredulous beneath the amusement. He knew Kazuya better than most people did—probably better than Kazuya would ever willingly admit. He knew when Kazuya was joking, when he was deflecting, and when he was being deliberately insufferable because it was easier than saying what he actually meant.

This was different.

Kazuya wasn't going to say it. Not to him. Maybe not even to himself.

“You're so fucking lame.” The shortstop snorted.

Kazuya's eyebrow twitched. “Excuse me?”

“I spent months watching you act like a jealous husband and you only figured it out now?”

Kazuya tightened the strap on his glove. “Are you finished?”

Youichi bumped his shoulder against his. “Miyuki Kazuya, you're so fucking screwed. And here I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.”

Though Youichi and Kazuya had that whole conversation about his undeniable affection for a certain pitcher, the two of them knew better than to actually do anything about it. There was a tournament to win. Kazuya would be lying, however, if he said the realization didn't stubbornly linger somewhere at the back of his mind.

For weeks, he tried to smother it beneath everything else. Baseball was easy enough to hide behind. There was always another game to study. It was much easier than admitting how badly he wanted to drag away anyone who wandered too close to Eijun. Because the last thing Kazuya wanted was to do something stupid and ruin the bond they'd built, especially now, when they were finally reaching the point where everything they had worked for was starting to take shape.

And yet, standing on the field that day against a formidable opponent, none of that mattered quite as much as it should have.

He could see Eijun so clearly.

The summer sun hung mercilessly overhead, its heat pressing against their skin and making every breath feel heavier. But Eijun seemed to burn brighter beneath it, those golden eyes carrying a fire that rivaled the scorching sky above. There was always something almost reckless about the way he played when he decided he would carry everyone forward.

The number on his back should have felt heavy. The expectations should have been enough to crush anyone beneath them. But Eijun was more than happy to take them all upon himself, carrying each burden with a determination that made them look almost weightless. The number wasn't an anchor dragging him down; it was more like a pair of wings, lifting him higher and carrying him onward.

He'd throw himself onto the battlefield and burn himself out before he'd let anyone behind him fall. Maybe that was why Kazuya thought he looked more beautiful than usual.

“Strike! Game Set!”

The call barely registered before the stadium erupted. The cheers rolled through the stands, loud enough to shake the air, the Seido chant rising together like a battle cry after a long, bloody war.

Kazuya heard none of it. His eyes had already found Eijun. That smile. Bright and almost blinding in the aftermath of the game. It was a smile that made the exhaustion in Kazuya's limbs disappear for a moment, like water after wandering through a desert for too long.

He didn't remember moving. His feet simply carried him forward, straight toward Eijun.

Then his arms were around the pitcher's waist.

Kazuya lifted him.

Eijun let out a startled sound before breaking into laughter, his arms instinctively catching around Kazuya's shoulders. Their bodies were still hot from the game, sweat clinging to their uniforms, but Kazuya barely noticed the heat anymore.

He was too busy looking at him.

Eijun looked down at him with that wide, breathless smile, cheeks flushed from exertion and victory. Strands of damp hair clung to his forehead, catching the sunlight whenever he moved. His golden eyes were bright with something so open and unguarded that Kazuya felt his chest tighten.

There was so much joy in his expression.

So much of Eijun.

And Kazuya didn't want to look away. He could only smile back, helplessly caught in the warmth of Eijun's happiness.

The sunlight spilled across his face, turning the edges of his hair gold against the endless blue summer sky. With Eijun laughing in his arms and the entire stadium roaring around them, Kazuya could think of nothing else. He only knew that he wanted to remember him like this. Wanted to keep seeing that smile. Wanted, selfishly and with a certainty that still frightened him, to be the person standing closest whenever Eijun smiled like that.

For one suspended moment, everything else seemed to disappear. He didn't even realize how far gone he'd been until Eijun's voice finally reached him.

“—yuki! Miyuki Kazuya!”

Kazuya blinked.

“We did it, partner!” Eijun was grinning down at him, breathless with laughter.

Kazuya swallowed the sudden lump in his throat.

“Yeah,” he managed.

His arms tightened around him almost imperceptibly.

“We did.”

The celebration eventually dissolved into the usual chaos. Teammates shouted over one another, coaches herded them toward the dugout, and someone was already arguing about where they were going to eat.

Kazuya barely registered any of it. He had finally set Eijun back on his feet when the pitcher caught his sleeve.

“Hey.”

Kazuya glanced back.

“You were really cool today.” Eijun was still flushed from the game, that stupidly bright smile refusing to leave his face. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking a little less confident now that he had Kazuya's full attention.

“I mean it. I couldn't have done it without you.”

“Obviously.” Kazuya looked away before Eijun could notice the heat creeping up his neck. “You'd be hopeless without me.”

Eijun's mouth fell open. Then his entire face scrunched up in outrage.

“Miyuki Kazuya, stop ruining the moment!” He smacked Kazuya's arm, once, twice, before he caught his wrist with a laugh.

“Watch it, Ace-sama.”

“Jeez, wouldn't hurt to be nice sometimes!” Eijun tried to yank his hand free, but Kazuya held on for another second before letting him go.

“Go on,” Kazuya said, nodding toward the dugout. “They're waiting for you.”

Eijun stuck his tongue out at him before jogging after the others.

The return home was nothing short of how winners should have celebrated. They had finally earned their spot at Koshien, along with the realization that they would once again be stepping onto that stadium.

For the most part, everyone was simply consumed by exhaustion, finally allowing themselves to breathe after months of training and the pressure of making it this far. The ride home was quieter than usual. Most of the team had collapsed into their seats, while a few still talked about the game between yawns, replaying their favorite moments before sleep inevitably claimed them.

Kazuya sat by the window, watching the scenery blur past.

Next to him, Eijun was still awake, hunched over his phone as he typed something with the stubborn concentration he reserved for everything. His hair was still a mess from the game, and every so often his head dipped before he jerked himself awake and continued typing.

Kazuya glanced over.

A small charm dangled from the phone case, swaying with every movement of Eijun's hand. A familiar blond figure with a permanently unimpressed expression.

Kazuya stared at it for a moment.

Seriously?

He almost huffed to himself. Apparently, even after everything, Tsukishima Kei was still following him around.

Eijun's thumb slowed against the screen. A few seconds later, it stopped altogether. His phone slipped slightly in his hand as his eyes finally closed. Kazuya watched him briefly before quietly taking the phone from his loose grip and setting it against his lap.

At some point, Eijun's head slipped sideways. It landed against Kazuya's shoulder.

He glanced down, fully intending to move him, but Eijun shifted closer in his sleep, apparently deciding the position was comfortable enough. Kazuya found himself staring at the top of his head, a strange warmth settling in his chest.

He knew he should have pushed him away. Instead, he stayed still.

Well, he thought, maybe he'd let him rest for a while. Eijun had carried them through the game, after all. Kazuya supposed he could humor their ace for once.

Just for a little while.

This was going to be a problem.

He looked back out the window, pretending he hadn't noticed.

Kazuya couldn't forget how bright Eijun had been after the game, how undeniable it had become that the kid had truly grown into the ace they needed.

It seemed Eijun had a habit of surpassing his expectations.

By lunch, the pitcher suddenly asked him to stop by their room to discuss something.

“So I talked to Nabe-senpai—” Eijun pulled a scoresheet from beneath a stack of papers and slid it across the desk.

He hadn't expected Eijun to come to him with a copy of the game sheet. Usually, if he wanted to go over a game, he'd simply show up beside Kazuya and ask him. There was something strangely deliberate about having the sheet already prepared, the notes sitting between them as though Eijun had been thinking about this long before.

Kazuya leaned over it, immediately falling into familiar territory. He pointed out a few things from their last game, explained where Eijun could have positioned himself differently, and talked him through the small details he missed in the middle of the play. Eijun listened closely, occasionally interrupting with a question before scribbling something down in the margins.

Kazuya's gaze wandered across the desk. A newspaper sat near the edge, mostly hidden beneath a folder. He didn't think much of it at first. His attention shifted instead to the plushies arranged along the far side of the table. He had grown used to them by now, though he still couldn't understand how Eijun had managed to accumulate so many in such a short amount of time.

When they finally finished, Kazuya straightened and pushed himself away from the desk. “That should be enough for now.” He turned to leave.

Something caught his sleeve.

He looked down to see Eijun was holding onto the fabric, fingers curled around it almost hesitantly. There was a nervousness in the way he shifted his weight that Kazuya hadn't expected. His heart gave an annoyingly sharp beat.

“Uhm…” Eijun glanced over the boxes stacked along the wall before looking back at him. “Can you help me for a little while?”

Kazuya raised an eyebrow. “And tell me why I should?”

Eijun rubbed the back of his neck, already looking like he knew he was asking for a favor he had no right to make. “Well, you're available now? C'mon, you're just going to carry a box or two and—ah!”

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Eijun startled and hurriedly pulled it out. He glanced at the screen and the color drained from his face. “Miyuki Kazuya!” He shot upright so quickly that Kazuya almost stepped back. “Please help me! Just—”

Eijun abandoned whatever explanation he'd been trying to give and darted to his desk. He snatched up the newspaper, shoved it into the drawer, then grabbed one of the already-opened boxes. “They're already here, Miyuki Kazuya! Just take any box and meet me outside!” Before Kazuya could get another word in, Eijun bolted through the door.

He stood there as he stared at the empty doorway. He sighed as he ran a hand through his hair before turning back to the desk. One of the plushies had somehow caught against the drawer, leaving it slightly ajar. Kazuya could make out a corner of the newspaper tucked inside.

Apparently, Eijun hadn't noticed it snag when he'd yanked the drawer shut. With a quiet hum, Kazuya reached over and freed the plushie, placing it back on the desk. His gaze lingered on the drawer.

He probably shouldn't. Curiosity, however, had always been one of his more troublesome qualities.

Kazuya opened it. He expected to find something embarrassing. Dirty magazines, perhaps. Something that would explain why Eijun always looked like he'd been caught committing a crime.

Instead, he found paper. Lots of it. Postcards, magazine pages, newspaper articles, printed illustrations, all carefully tucked away inside the drawer. Some featured the same blond character Eijun was so obsessed with. Others were baseball-related.

His eyes moved across them.

Then stopped.

There he was.

Photographs from games, newspaper and magazine pages. Some weren't even pictures of him alone. There were pictures of the two of them together. Standing on the field, talking, laughing, looking at each other.

Kazuya reached for one of the clippings, his fingers suddenly much more careful than they needed to be. He stared at the picture for longer than he meant to.

The two of them looked happy.

His gaze lingered on Eijun.

Had he always looked at Kazuya like that?

The candid photographs made it impossible to ignore. There was Eijun, grinning at him while Kazuya stood on the field, expression drawn tight with concentration as he commanded the game. Brows furrowed, mouth set, every inch of him carrying the authority expected of a captain and catcher.

And Eijun was looking at him like he was something worth admiring. Something more.

Kazuya's fingers tightened around the paper as warmth crept up his neck. It was the same look he'd spent months pretending not to crave: soft and open, full of an admiration that was almost embarrassingly sincere.

His chest tightened.

Maybe it meant nothing. They were teammates. Eijun admired his catching, his role in the battery. He admired plenty of people like that. Chris. Other players. Even that ridiculous volleyball character he'd spent an entire evening talking about.

But Kazuya remembered the feeling he'd had when he first realized he wanted Eijun's attention for himself. That desperate little wish to be the person Eijun trusted most.

He'd thought he was the only one carrying that sort of wanting. Now, staring at the proof tucked away inside Eijun's drawer, a far more frightening possibility began to take shape.

What if the thing Kazuya had been too afraid to ask for was something Eijun had always been willing to give?

Kazuya let out a quiet chuckle.

This was ridiculous. Everything about it was ridiculous. To think all of this had managed to take root and bloom so slowly, only for him to stumble upon the answer because of a fucking blond fictional character.

He felt stupid. Stupid enough that he wanted to laugh.

So he did.

The laugh started low, then threatened to turn into something louder as he crouched beside the desk, shoulders shaking. One of the plushies tumbled to the floor beside him, forgotten.

“This damn idiot…”

He wiped at his face, still grinning to himself, before his eyes fell back to the photographs spread across the desk. He hadn't even realized he'd arranged them there. Kazuya stared at them for a long moment. He was dense, he could admit that much, but he wasn't stupid.

“Fuck waiting.”

His gaze flicked toward the side where a small box of push pins sat among the scattered stationery. A grin slowly returned to his face.

He reached for the first photograph.

Then another.

One by one, he arranged them across the corkboard, carefully spacing them between the notes and clippings already pinned there. A picture of Eijun. A picture of himself. One of the two of them standing shoulder to shoulder after a game. Another caught in the middle of some conversation neither of them could remember.

The arrangement quickly took over the board. Even the picture of the blond character was almost completely covered, peeking out from beneath the growing collection of photographs.

Kazuya stepped back.

There were so many.

Enough that most of the corkboard had disappeared beneath the two of them, their smiles frozen in little pieces of paper.

He stared at the finished display. Then smiled to himself. Maybe he really was an idiot. But for once, he didn't particularly mind.

Kazuya heard the door open behind him. He could hear Eijun before he even saw him, the pitcher already fuming about being left alone with the boxes, his complaints spilling into the room one after another. “Miyuki Kazuya! You can't just disappear like that! I told you I needed help, and then you—” The words trailed off. He didn't have to turn around to know why. The silence behind him was answer enough.

Still, he waited another second before finally looking over his shoulder.

The sight that greeted him was better than anything he imagined. Eijun stood frozen in the doorway, cheeks flushed all the way from the tips of his ears down to his neck. His lips were parted in open surprise, eyes flicking between Kazuya and the corkboard. 

There was something almost unbearably endearing about the way he stared, as though his mind had simply stopped working. Kazuya had to bite back a laugh. “Oh,” he said, leaning casually against the desk. “I was just giving it a little makeover.”

Eijun's eyes widened.

“It was starting to get a little crowded with the Tsuki guy.” He gestured to the board.

Eijun stared at it and Kazuya's grin widened. He hadn't expected to feel this ridiculously pleased by the sight of Eijun turning red in front of him. It was almost painful, how good it felt.

“M-Miyuki…”

Eijun finally managed to speak, though his voice came out so strained that Kazuya nearly guffawed.

“Yes?”

“You…” Eijun pointed helplessly at the corkboard, then at the drawer, as if either one might explain what was happening better than he could.

Kazuya followed his gesture, feigning thought. “Ah.” He reached over and tapped one of the photos with his finger. “So this is where your baseball idol was hiding.”

Eijun's face went scarlet.

He could have let him off there. He could have taken pity on him, softened the teasing, and let Eijun recover from the shock. But Kazuya had been pining over the man for months. He'd spent far too long swallowing his feelings and enduring Eijun's close proximity with half of their team. So, for once, he wanted to have his fun. He wanted an outlet for all that pent-up frustration, and teasing Eijun until he was practically pudding on the floor was the perfect way to get it.

Kazuya's grin turned downright wicked.

“Is it Miyuki Kazuya, Sawamura~? There sure are a lot of pictures of me in your drawer.”

“M-Miyuki!”

“What? I'm asking a perfectly reasonable question.” He picked up another stack, the ones he'd been unable to pin. “You have enough of these to wallpaper the room.”

“They're not—! That's not—”

“Oh?” Kazuya raised an eyebrow. “Then who were you keeping them for?”

“I wasn't keeping them for anyone!” Eijun sputtered. “I just… I like keeping things from important games, okay?”

“Important games?” Kazuya paused.

“Yeah!” Eijun gestured helplessly toward his desk. “They're things I wanted to remember. And some of them are from games where we—” He stopped himself, cheeks reddening again. “You know. Battery stuff.”

“Battery stuff,” Kazuya repeated, amused.

“You know what I mean!”

“Now I'm curious.” His eyes drifted upon the sliver of Tsukishima still visible beneath the photographs. “Who's better?” He smirked. 

“What?” Eijun swallowed.

“Your volleyball crush or me?”

“Miyuki Kazuya!” Eijun's face somehow went even redder. He could only whine helplessly, looking like he wanted to throw one of the plushies at him.

Kazuya laughed, but the sound gradually faded. He pushed himself away from the desk and folded his arms, studying the pitcher in front of him. For all the teasing, there was a question he'd been carrying for far too long.

Too long wondering. Too long wanting.

And now he was standing in front of proof that perhaps he hadn't been the only one.

“I know you admire me because of baseball. I know you trust me because I'm your catcher.” His eyes flicked briefly toward the photographs scattered across the board. “But this…”

He looked back at Eijun.

“What am I supposed to make of it? I'm not imagining things, am I?” Kazuya smiled faintly.

Eijun's breath hitched and Kazuya held his gaze.

“Because I like you.”

For a moment, the pitcher looked completely incapable of producing a response. Then his lips pursed, reaching blindly to the side and somehow finding a large plush pillow. He hugged it tightly against his chest.

“Shut up!”

Kazuya blinked. That was not the response he expected.

“You're the reason I came to Seido in the first place, you know?”

Kazuya's smile faltered. “…I am?”

Eijun stared at him as though the answer should have been painfully obvious. “I mean, obviously!”

“That's news to me.”

“You're an idiot.” Eijun squeezed the plushie harder, burying half his face into it as if that would somehow make the embarrassment disappear. “I wanted to play with you. I wanted to continue—become a battery with you.” 

“So,” Kazuya said slowly, “you followed me here?”

Eijun's face flushed furiously. “Y-Yes god! How many times do I have to repeat it, you damn tanuki!” He groaned into the plushie when he heard Kazuya laugh. “You're impossible.” Then Eijun peeked over the top of the pillow, his expression becoming a little more sheepish.

“Kuramochi-senpai told me you're dense. But I didn't know you'd be this dense.”

Kazuya's grin turned sour. “…He said what?” 

Eijun immediately looked away. “He said you probably wouldn't notice even if someone was waving a giant sign in front of your face.” 

“Well.” He gestured at the board. “In my defense, you hid all of these in a drawer.”

“You weren't supposed to see it!” Eijun puffed his cheeks. Kazuya couldn't help laughing. But beneath the teasing, something sat quietly between them. The knowledge that the feeling he'd been so afraid of wasn't his alone.

“Hey.” He reached over and gently tugged the plushie away from his face. “Hey, look at me, and tell me.” Kazuya grinned, holding the plushie out of reach.

Eijun reluctantly raised his eyes, cheeks still a tinge of pink. “You really want me to say it?”

The corner of Kazuya's mouth remained lifted, but his eyes had lost their usual mischief. “I'd like you to.”

Eijun swallowed. “I like you.” The words came out so quietly that he almost wondered if he'd heard them correctly. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if forcing the rest out before he could lose his nerve. “I like you, okay? Not just because you're an amazing catcher, and not just because you're the captain, and not because you were the reason I wanted to come to Seido.” His voice shook with embarrassment.

“I just… like you.” Eijun opened one eye. “And I've liked you for a long time.”

Something in Kazuya's chest gave a little pull. “How long?”

Eijun's face scrunched up. “That's embarrassing, ugh…”

“I'm curious.”

“You're so annoying.”

“Still waiting.” Kazuya sniggered.

“Since before I came here, I guess. But it got worse.” Eijun huffed and looked away.

Kazuya's lips twitched. “Got worse?”

“Yes!” Eijun finally looked back at him, indignant despite his red face. “Because you're always there, and you're annoying, and you tease me, and then you do nice things when I don't expect it and—and…”

There was something painfully familiar about that description: Annoying. Always teasing him, yet somehow always there when it mattered. The sort of person who would pretend not to care while quietly doing something kind when no one was looking. Kazuya couldn't help the small huff of amusement that escaped him. 

“I've got quite the fan, huh?”

Eijun groaned. “Don't make me regret confessing.”

“I wouldn't dream of it.” Kazuya stepped a little closer. “Though I have to admit, I'm a little flattered.”

Eijun stared at him. Then he grabbed the nearest plushie and smacked him with it.

“Kazuya! You're the worst!”

Kazuya laughed, catching the plushie before it could hit him again.

“Yeah, yeah.” He tossed it back onto the bed. “Come on, Ace. You've apparently got years of making up to do.”

Eijun blinked. “Making up for what?”

Kazuya's grin widened. “All those years you spent being my secret fan. I think I'm entitled to a little special treatment.” His laughter followed Eijun's petulant protests through the room.