Work Text:
Oh no, oh no, oh no...
Sawamura finished his shower at the fastest speed of his life, held his breath as he plunged into the bath, then sprang right back out, leaving an enormous splash and his senpais’ curses behind as he charged barefoot out of the room.
Shouting “Sorry!” at the top of his lungs, he squeezed through the crowd, yanked open his locker, tossed a dry towel straight over his head, threw on his clothes any which way, and, without even getting his shoes on properly, hugged his basket of toiletries to his chest and thundered out of the changing room.
His slippers let out a piercing squeal against the floor when he slammed on the brakes. Sawamura fought to keep his balance and successfully came to a stop in front of Room 11.
Didn’t fall over. Awesome! Sawamura secretly flashed himself a victory sign.
The mad dash had already worked up another thin sheen of sweat across his back. Droplets fell from the damp ends of his hair and rolled along the curve of his nape, and between the two, the cotton of his shirt clung tightly to his back, hot and stuffy.
Sawamura set the basket down beside the door to Room 11, swallowed, then raised a hand and knocked.
“Come in—”
Miyuki was the only one inside Room 11. His back was to the door as he bent over a drawer, sorting through various little bottles and containers.
“I’m later than we agreed! Yours truly sincerely apologizes!”
When he bowed, the towel on his head nearly slipped off. Sawamura caught it on reflex, scrubbed roughly at his hair once, then folded it and draped it over his shoulder.
“I know you’re excited because you managed to pitch inside today, but you don’t have to get that worked up,” Miyuki said at last, having finally selected his tools. His voice sounded considerably lazier than usual. “That screeching stop you pulled outside just now probably woke up the entire dorm.”
“It wasn’t that bad! And you! At a time like this, shouldn’t you be praising the great Sawamura for successfully overcoming his yips?!”
Sawamura familiarly picked up a chair, carried it over beside Miyuki, and sat down.
“Well then, let me check how your fingers are doing. Any discomfort after pitch—what happened to your hair?” Miyuki’s relaxed expression sharpened instantly, his voice turning unmistakably accusatory.
Sawamura’s eyes went catlike. He hurriedly shook open the towel and scrubbed at his hair again, laughing awkwardly. “Uh... I was worried you’d get impatient waiting... Don’t worry, this little bit of water dries really fast!”
“I don’t do hand care for pitchers who can’t even take care of themselves properly.”
“But yours truly has been looking forward to this forever...”
Miyuki’s hand paused as he reached for the tools. He set them back down on the desk and said, “You’re going to catch a cold like that. What a pain. Come on.”
“?”
“Go dry your hair. Come back when it’s dry, idiot pitcher.”
“Miyuki Kazuya, you are forbidden from calling me an idiot! Also, come with me!”
“...”
“Is that any way for a catcher to treat a pitcher who’s successfully conquered his obstacle?! Hmph!”
“When did you pick up Narumiya’s bad habits? Get rid of them.” Miyuki laughed despite himself, stood up, and shoved Sawamura straight out of Room 11. “And seriously, don’t catch a cold.”
Five minutes later.
Sawamura was sitting on a bench, with Miyuki standing behind him after snatching away the hair dryer.
“When I said dry your hair, I didn’t mean wave this thing left and right twice and call it done. Look. Your roots are still wet. One gust of wind and you’ll get chilled.”
A fingertip still gleaming faintly with moisture appeared in front of Sawamura’s eyes, only for him to turn his head away and ignore it completely.
“...I’m only showing you once. From now on, when you dry your own hair, you do it to this standard. Got it?”
“Mmmmmm...”
A large hand came down over the top of his head and held him in place. Sawamura stiffened all over like a cat that had just been splashed with water.
“Stop moving around.”
Vrrrrr— The hair dryer let out a low roar, loud and clear even outside the noisy bathhouse.
A pair of hands slipped into his hair, followed by the warmth of the air.
Were Miyuki-senpai’s fingers always this hard? Mom’s hands were way softer. Was it because he was a guy?
His hair was gently parted. The warm air lingered a little too long against the back of his neck, until the skin there started to sting with heat.
“Why’d you suddenly go quiet?”
“...It’s loud. Yours truly is concentrating on the experience.”
Miyuki roughly ruffled the top of his head. “Lower.”
“Ow, ow, ow! Miyuki Kazuya, are you weeding a field?!”
“I’m drying your roots. Not my fault your hair’s such a pain.”
Miyuki’s hand slid downward, lifting up the strands that had clumped together with water.
Weird. Were the hands inside a catcher’s mitt normally this big...? It felt like one hand could support the entire back of his head...
Sawamura’s shoulders gradually relaxed, his head rocking gently back and forth with the movement of Miyuki’s fingers through his hair.
This was... kind of nice...
His eyes slowly drifted shut. His head grew heavier and heavier until, without even realizing it, he had let its full weight rest in the hand supporting the back of his skull.
Miyuki’s hand stopped, then soon shifted toward the area behind his ear.
Ticklish. Sawamura barely managed to crack his eyes open and shrank away in the opposite direction.
“Don’t dodge.”
On the other side of the wall, the sounds from the bathhouse gradually faded. The hair dryer hummed steadily in his ears, warm air mingling with the soft rustle of fingers combing through his hair.
“...Wake up.”
“...Your head’s heavy when I have to hold it up the whole time.”
“...Do you still want your hand care or not?”
“I do, I do!” Sawamura jolted awake, scrambling clumsily to his feet. He watched awkwardly as Miyuki carefully wound the hair dryer cord back up and returned it to its place.
“I know you’re tired today, so go to bed early after we’re done,” Miyuki said, dusting off his hands as he turned back toward the dorm room. Then something seemed to occur to him. “You remember how I dried your hair just now, right? From now on, it needs to be this dry every time. Don’t tell me you enjoyed it so much you fell asleep and forgot everything—”
Sawamura nodded like a pecking chicken, only belatedly realizing Miyuki couldn’t see him. “I remember, I remember!”
————
“Didn’t someone say last time that he remembered?” Miyuki leaned against the doorframe, visibly annoyed. “So why is your hair still wet this time?”
“I didn’t have time today either!”
“Do you ever listen to a word I say? Next time, I’m not drying it for you anymore! Do you have any idea that if you catch a cold, you won’t be able to play in games—”
————
Sawamura picked up the hair dryer, remembering Miyuki’s “threat” from last time, and slowly pressed the switch.
Warm air whooshed out. He slid his right hand into his damp hair and hesitantly raked his fingers up and down through it.
...Miyuki-senpai said that, but last time he still dried yours truly’s hair anyway.
He had barely been at it for long before he abruptly stopped. By the time he came back to himself, his fingers had already expertly wound the hair dryer cord back into place.
He took the towel back out of his basket, draped it over his head again, lowered his gaze, and strode outside.
If I get yelled at today, then from now on yours truly will dry his own hair.
Sawamura sucked in a deep breath and bellowed at full volume, “Miyuki-senpai! Open the door! I’m here!”
There was a click, and Miyuki lifted his eyes to Sawamura’s still-dripping hair before sighing. “What’s the excuse today?”
“Hair dries really fast on its own!”
————
“Yo, Sawamura, you’re early today.”
“Heheh. There aren’t many people in the bathhouse right now, so you senpais should hurry in!”
Sawamura finished getting dressed and shuffled out in his slippers, scrubbing his hair with a towel in one hand while carrying his basket in the other.
When he reached the deserted hair dryer station, he lit up his phone screen to check the time, then set down the basket.
At first, his movements as he unwound the hair dryer cord were smooth. Slowly, though, they stopped.
Miyuki-senpai didn’t refuse last time either. So what about this time?
Sawamura gritted his teeth, hurriedly put the dryer back exactly as it had been, pulled the towel from his shoulder over his head, and thundered toward Room 11.
————
That day, when Sawamura knocked on the door of Room 11, there was, as usual, a towel draped over his head. “Today it’s because—”
“Let’s go.” Miyuki glanced at him, shut the door, and headed for the stairs first.
“Where?”
Miyuki was already several steps ahead. He looked back at him with an expression that plainly said, What kind of stupid question is that? “To dry your hair. Or were you planning to sit there doing hand care with it soaking wet?”
Sawamura stared blankly for two seconds before putting down the basket in his hands and hurrying after him.
Along the way, Miyuki mercilessly picked apart everything wrong with Sawamura’s pitching that day, leaving him so thoroughly shut down he couldn’t even argue back.
The criticism finally came to an end once they reached the bathhouse. Miyuki familiarly unwound the hair dryer cord, then nudged the nearby bench with his toe. “Sit.”
Sawamura planted both hands on his knees and sat ramrod straight.
“Turn around.”
He slowly turned his back.
The hair dryer had not even switched on yet before Miyuki’s hand settled against the back of his head. “Why are you so quiet today?”
“...You’re the one who’s always telling me not to talk.”
With a vrrr, warm air poured down over the top of his head, then swept across his bangs, temples, and the ends of his hair.
Sawamura lowered his eyes.
Miyuki-senpai hadn’t asked for a reason today.
————
Wash his hair, climb the stairs to the second floor, knock on the door of Room 11, let Miyuki-senpai lead him downstairs to dry his hair, go back upstairs once it was dry, return to Room 11.
Little by little, it seemed to become an unspoken part of their routine.
No matter how late it was, as long as the light in Room 11 was still on, Sawamura could go upstairs “without any burden at all” and stand outside the door.
“Miyuki-senpai—”
And Miyuki-senpai, on the other side of that door, would always open it.
They might run into someone on the way downstairs, or they might not. The two of them might bicker noisily the whole way, or they might walk there in silence.
Then came the warm hum of the hair dryer, and his hair gradually turning soft and dry.
But for some reason, the more often it happened, the more uneasy Sawamura grew whenever he watched the back walking ahead of him down the stairs and felt cold droplets slide from his hair onto his neck.
He began to dream about it. In the dream, his hair was wet as he awkwardly knocked on the door to Room 11. Then Miyuki-senpai opened the door, glanced at him, and shut it again, leaving behind one sentence: “Go downstairs and dry it yourself before you come back up.”
They weren’t harsh words. Miyuki-senpai really was the kind of person who might say something like that. There should have been nothing strange about it.
And yet every time, Sawamura would wake with a start, breathing hard as he shoved a hand into his hair and touched his scalp:
Not wet.
He didn’t dare think any deeper about it.
More and more time passed, and in the blink of an eye, it was almost time for the new students to arrive.
After finishing his shower, Sawamura draped a towel over his head and slowly made his way toward Room 11.
A strange new name had already appeared in the previously vacant slot on the doorplate: Okumura Koushuu.
His hand paused before knocking, but after a moment, he still tapped softly on the door. “Miyuki-senpai...”
“What’s wrong? Heard the coach praise Furuya and got upset?”
“Why is that the kind of person I am in your mind?!”
“Ahahahahahaha—” Miyuki, walking ahead of him, burst into delighted laughter as he expertly unwound the hair dryer cord. “That’s more like it, idiot.”
“You—!”
Before he could finish, the hair dryer roared to life, warm air blowing over his roots as Miyuki carefully parted his hair.
If Sawamura wanted, his voice could easily overpower the hum of the dryer.
But he didn’t say anything. He simply closed his eyes and followed the guidance of Miyuki’s fingers through his hair, lifting and lowering his head when needed.
Miyuki-senpai’s fingertips were so warm.
————
On the first night of the new semester, Sawamura walked out of the bathhouse with his basket hugged against his chest and stopped in front of the empty hair dryer station.
A new underclassman had moved into Room 11.
Miyuki-senpai was the team captain, the starting catcher, and the immovable cleanup hitter.
If Sawamura went upstairs with wet hair and knocked on his door now, Miyuki-senpai would not only have to spend five minutes drying his hair, but also walk all the way down from Room 11 with him and then go back upstairs again.
He was already busy enough lately.
Something he was perfectly capable of doing himself wasn’t worth making Miyuki go through all that trouble.
Sawamura put down his basket, unwound the hair dryer cord, flipped it on, and slid his right hand into the damp hair at the back of his head, lifting it to let the warm air dry the roots.
The bench beside his feet sat there all alone.
Sawamura shifted his angle, closed his eyes, and moved the hair dryer over the top of his head, then his bangs, temples, and finally the ends.
Five minutes later, copying the way he remembered Miyuki winding the cord, Sawamura looped it around and around, put the dryer neatly back in place, and headed upstairs.
When he knocked on the door of Room 11, Miyuki opened it, his eyes widening slightly before he teased, “So you finally learned.”
“That’s the great Sawamura’s secret technique! Every strand from root to tip comes out perfectly dry and fresh!”
“Yeah, yeah. Hurry up and get in here so we can do your hand care.”
“Actually... yours truly tried doing it myself! Cap, check whether this passes!”
Turning Sawamura’s hand toward the ceiling light, Miyuki pushed his glasses up and lifted it, carefully examining the surface and edges of each nail.
“This one needs a little more filing.” He pointed to the edge of Sawamura’s right middle fingernail. “The rest is barely acceptable. Keep working on it.”
“Heheh~ I’ll take that as a compliment—”
After that, Sawamura never went to Room 11 with wet hair again, and he stopped having Miyuki do his hand care for him too.
Every time he finished bathing, he dried his hair until it was completely soft and dry, went back to his own room to apply nail protectant, then headed upstairs to knock on Kawakami-senpai’s door so they could go to “Miyuki Cram School” together.
Day after day passed. Preparations for Summer Koshien were always hectic, as though he had barely gotten into the swing of batting practice before it was already time for lights-out in the dorm.
Sawamura stepped into Seishin Dorm with his bat in hand. As he passed the bathhouse, he casually glanced inside—
Was that Miyuki Kazuya holding the hair dryer?
He quieted his footsteps and crept closer, until he finally spotted the familiar black-rimmed glasses beneath the damp brown hair.
It really was Miyuki Kazuya.
But what was he doing here?
Sawamura quietly set his bat on the floor and moved closer.
Water was still dripping steadily from the ends of Miyuki’s hair, already forming a little puddle on the floor. Behind the lenses, his eyes were peacefully shut, his breathing slow and even, as though he had fallen asleep. But he was still holding the hair dryer in one hand, one finger hovering over the switch without pressing it.
He was going to catch a cold like this.
Sawamura glanced around, tiptoed over to fetch the bench, then carefully eased the hair dryer out of Miyuki’s hand.
Fortunately, he wasn’t gripping it very tightly.
Sawamura barely dared breathe as he listened carefully to Miyuki’s breathing.
No change.
As expected of the great Sawamura!
His gaze moved from the bench on the floor to Miyuki’s stance. Tentatively, he reached out and gripped Miyuki’s solid shoulders, slowly pressing him downward.
“Phew—”
Miyuki’s arms hung loosely at his sides, his long legs folding awkwardly together, yet somehow even in that position he still didn’t wake up.
As expected of Miyuki Kazuya...?
Sawamura moved a little farther away, cupped his hand over the hair dryer’s switches to muffle the sound, and clicked it to low airflow and high heat.
Click, click.
Step by step, he slowly approached Miyuki with the hair dryer held up. Then he reached out and laid a hand over the top of Miyuki’s head.
A sensation he had never felt before spread across his palm.
Miyuki-senpai’s hair was really stiff.
He lifted the hair away from the crown, exposing the roots, and gently worked his fingers through it.
Next were his bangs... So long.
Then his temples—uh, he’d hit the frames of his glasses...
Sawamura’s fingers froze.
He stayed stiff like that for a long moment, not even pulling his hand away when the faithfully working dryer heated his fingers until they burned.
Over the hum of the hair dryer, Sawamura Eijun could no longer hear Miyuki Kazuya breathing.
Better move somewhere else.
He sucked in a breath and shifted his fingers behind Miyuki’s ear.
Ow—forgot there was an arm of the glasses here too...
Wait.
Sawamura cautiously felt downward, then forward, upward, and back.
Nothing.
Unwilling to give up, he returned his fingers to Miyuki’s temple.
Nothing there either.
Strange.
Sawamura was just about to bend down and inspect Miyuki’s face directly when, halfway through the motion, he saw the black-rimmed glasses clutched in Miyuki’s hand, droplets from his bangs still clinging to the lenses.
Vrrrrr— The hair dryer clicked up to a higher speed.
Sawamura expertly worked his fingers through the stiffer strands, taking care of everything from root to tip. By the time he switched off the dryer, there was no clammy dampness left—only warm, fluffy hair.
“Haaah—” Miyuki yawned and slowly stood up. “Looks like you really did learn how to dry hair. Your technique’s still a little rough, though. You could work on that.”
“Someone who was enjoying it doesn’t get to criticize!”
After shouting that, Sawamura watched Miyuki wipe his lenses on the hem of his shirt, put his glasses back on, and turn to leave. He immediately added, “...If Cap ever can’t manage drying his own hair again, you can come find yours truly in Room 5.”
Miyuki’s movement paused.
Still, he continued toward the stairs, merely lifting a hand to wave behind him as he said, “I’ll remember that—”
The bench sat alone on the floor, and the hair dryer cord was still unwound.
In the night breeze, Sawamura rubbed his fingertips together.
They’d been so warm just a moment ago.
They’d already gone cold.