Archive of Our Own ^beta

The second he claws his way up to the first-string, literally leaving behind his fellow players in the dust, Kuramochi gets granted VIP access to Seido baseball team’s infamous Blackouts. He’s heard plenty of rumors about them from the student body, both good and bad. Kuramochi is certain of one thing--the baseball club’s first-string members sure know how to throw a mean party.

And why wouldn’t they? After all, they're the ones experiencing the worst kind of hell on the training field day in and day out, working themselves to near-death. Some relaxation is in order, Isashiki yells, whenever he and Sakai sneak in a variety of bottles into the dorms, none of them containing juice, water, or anything of the sort. Whenever the perfect opportunity presents itself, one must seize it to get absolutely shitfaced. Thus, the highly-fitting name: Blackout.

For the first half of his first year at Seido, Kuramochi could hardly sleep whenever the end of the new month rolled by and his senpais let loose. He’d groan muffled curses into the pillow and plug his ears with saliva-slicked rolls of torn up toilet paper. Yells and encouragements would resound in the hallways, followed by the slapping of feet against parquet flooring, loud as thunder on the other side of the paper-thin doors. Dares, Masuko told Kuramochi the first time he dragged himself back into their shared room, staggering and burping loudly, blindly searching for the bed. They were the main causes of the annoying noise disturbing the otherwise peaceful night.

Kuramochi hadn’t appreciated the puddle of vomit on the floor. Nor did he want to take care of his senpai in this kind of state, but he wasn’t an unfeeling asshole.

Their evening starts out normally enough, with all of them crashing in Miyuki’s room and talking. The chill mood shifts once Jun comes back and whips out the eight-packs of beer. No one questions where he got it from--they probably know the answer already and Kuramochi doesn’t want to step out of line. Tetsu wordlessly passes him a beer, some sort of weird determination shining in his clear eyes, but Kuramochi politely refuses. He’s not one for alcohol, always choosing to stay on the sidelines, inevitably becoming the voice of reason whenever things got out of hand.

“Never pegged you as the responsible type,” Ryousuke says from his spot on the bed, legs crossed. He then downs half of the can in one go as though it’s spring water. Kuramochi looks on in horror and awe. “Huh. You live and learn.”

It’s not just Ryousuke. The rest drink their shares as though they’ve been extremely thirsty for at least a day now. Kuramochi has a bad feeling about this, but chooses to say nothing, only joining in on the chatter. He observes a bored Miyuki pretending to think over his next move while Tetsu intently stares at the shogi board placed between them, lovingly bullies Tanba along with Ryousuke, shit-talks with some of the senpais, and then retires to kick Masuko’s ass at video games. Masuko no longer drinks during these meetings, and Kuramochi completely understands why. His upper lip curls back when he remembers that night, remembers rubbing Masuko’s wide back and passing him a bottle of water. Ugh, that morning practice was hell for both of them.

Kuramochi barely has the time to finish the first match of their fighter game when the senpais decide to let the party games begin. Some of them are already inebriated--Chris is actually smiling again, reaching out to pet Tanba’s head--and they start out with some drinking app downloaded on Miyuki’s phone to make the rest catch up. Kawakami nearly cries when Jun yells at him to down his vodka shots in one go, then ends up in the aforementioned man's headlock once the liquid courage kicks in and he tries to assert dominance.

So the party goes great.

Kuramochi turns his head in their direction to laugh at some of the bigger fails while still managing to kick Masuko’s ass--hey, he was practically born with a controller in hand. One of the senpais takes pity on the green-looking juniors and announces that they’ll be playing the long-awaited game of Dare and Dare--because let’s face it, most of them hate giving out details regarding their personal lives, mainly romance and sex-related. Besides, taking up a good challenge is always way more fun than asking each other about non-existent girlfriends and crushes. Especially in an environment like Seido’s dorm where passion and fighting spirits run wild, and yeah. No one needs to know these things because everyone already knows.

They use a nearly-empty vodka bottle to decide the turns. It’s amusing how cruel some of the dares are. Chris sits with a thick layer of flour in his curly hair and eyebrows, making him look all that much older than he actually is, Shirasu’s sitting cross-legged in a girl’s school uniform, Jun’s angry yells are loud outside as he continues doing pushups while getting sprayed with a hose from the small group of people standing on the second floor. Ryousuke draws the finishing touches of what seems to be a Lenny face on Tanba’s flushed forehead with a black permanent marker--he is not to wash it off and show up with it to practice--and Sakai gets egged for every bad chicken impression. While no one is looking, Kawakami takes the vodka bottle and sucks out the rest of its contents. It’s not enough to make him get over the lingering shame he feels after having walked down the hallway in black stilettos. Kuramochi has no idea where they even came from and he isn’t sure that he wants to know.

Everything is cool, exciting, and really damn funny--Kuramochi’s best hyena laugh isn’t enough to express his glee at others’ embarrassing tasks--right until he finds himself sitting on Tetsu’s lap. Now don’t get him wrong, on any other occasion, he’d be more than happy to sit on a handsome man’s lap, especially if he’s built like a brick wall-- damn, Tetsu is shredded, he can feel it even through the layers of clothes--but the woozy atmosphere and the fact that all of his most-respected senpais are seated behind them, make it hard for Kuramochi to concentrate. Literally and figuratively.

He forcefully wills away his piqued libido into the deepest, darkest corners of his soul, thankful that Tetsu isn’t even looking his way, neck craned in the direction of the game. Two more rounds of this. Painfully long rounds.

Kuramochi squirms, red-eared, in the other’s lap. Tetsu readjusts the pose, thick thighs moving under Kuramochi’s butt, making his poor bisexual soul scream internally.

“There, this should be more comfortable. You’re wiggling a lot,” Tetsu says in a deadpan, completely oblivious to his junior’s raging, internal boner. Or maybe he isn't, but simply chooses to ignore it. You can never know with him.

Kuramochi makes a high-pitched sound in the back of his throat, nodding stiffly.

From his spot on the bed, Miyuki catches Kuramochi’s wild gaze and smirks into the orange juice-vodka concoction that he’s drinking. Kuramochi wants to get up and punch him in his perfect face. Smug asshole knows what’s up.

Miyuki never participates in their little games from start to finish, especially if he’s at high risk of doing embarrassing shit. The poor man has the shittiest luck imaginable and no one ever passes up the chance to humiliate the ever-conceited asshole Miyuki Kazuya; therefore, they never go easy on him. He already had to go outside and yell some shit that Kuramochi didn’t care about and then prank some of the second-string members. To be honest, it seems that this night in particular Miyuki’s in luck.

Jun begrudgingly trudges outside to do another dare, glowering at Azuma. His off-key singing gets high-pitched whenever he forgets a line and Ryousuke happily takes over when it comes to spraying him with the hose.

Kuramochi makes out muffled shouts of "sing louder, Spitz, I barely hear you" and "it’s ‘flower meadows’, not ‘flower beds’, get it right or get fucked." He wonders why the dorm security hasn’t shown up yet, with all that screeching and whatnot. Jun isn’t known for his indoor voice, even more so when he’s shitfaced.

Miyuki tuts from the doorway, looking into the hallways. “Ah, the other players are showing up to our concert. Poor Jun,” he says with zero compassion in his nasally voice. Terrible.

Tetsu politely excuses himself and puts Kuramochi away, going outside to keep the others in check. Kuramochi lets out a sigh, unsure whether he’s relieved or very disappointed.

Miyuki slithers back inside--the way he moves when he has booze flowing in his system reminds Kuramochi of Jack Sparrow from those old Western movies that he used to adore--and looks over their small crowd. Everyone has left to make fun of Jun’s awful folk singing. At least they’ve given him a minute to memorize the lyrics.

Miyuki stretches. “I wouldn’t mind if the guards showed. I’m reaaaally tired,” he drawls out, swaying--the only indication that he isn’t sober. His face lights up a moment later, the way it usually does when he comes up with some torturous fielding play and asks the coach to put it to good use, or simply whenever he gets bad ideas in general. Which is most of the time.

Miyuki is all up in his space in a heartbeat. “Kuramochi-kyun, give me the keys to your room.”

Kuramochi bristles at the mere suggestion. “Why would I do that?”

“So that I can go there and take a nap, of course! I’m tired, and this is my room. Not to mention that there’s no end in sight for this Blackout,“ he sounds a little annoyed by it. Miyuki shoves his phone under Kuramochi’s nose, the cracked screen displaying 00:20 A.M. “It’s late, I’m usually asleep by now.”

“So?” Kuramochi throws over his shoulder and refocuses on the video game, making sure that he sounds extremely disinterested. “You live in a dorm, ‘bout time you get used to having others in your room.”

“Makai-san is already snoring in my bed, I can’t force him out.”

“I still don’t see how that’s my problem.”

“Don’t be so heartless!”

“Sounds rich coming from you.”

“Fine, be that way,” Miyuki huffs, but reluctantly relents. “I’ll just ask Masuko.”

“Uh-huh, good luck with that,” Kuramochi waves him off, as Miyuki crawls closer to bother his gaming buddy. He already knows Masuko’s answer and he isn’t wrong--the bigger teen has left his keys on the bedside table as always. The amount of times Kuramochi had to force himself to get up and let the other into the room after his late-evening batting practices is insane.

Masuko’s explanation brings Miyuki Kazuya sprawled out next to Kuramochi’s legs, whining loudly. Kuramochi tries to tune him out completely, but the tanuki bastard makes it impossible with his cat-like, obnoxious yowling. He even has the guts to start poking Kuramochi’s cheek to make him pay attention.

“Poke me one more time and your finger will get detached from your body,” Kuramochi growls, snapping his jaws in the direction of the thin limb. Miyuki actually guffaws at that.

“You’re going to bite it off? What a wild animal you are.”

“Maybe I will. Or maybe I’ll just take that pocket knife lying over there and slice it off.” Kuramochi still doesn’t look down.

A moment of silence.

“Mochi-kyun, give me the keys. Be a good boy now.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“If it gets you to surrender sooner, I will call you however I seem fit.”

“My room isn’t some fucking motel at your disposal.”

Miyuki lifts himself up on his elbows. His eyes are too sharp despite everything. “And my room isn’t exactly an entertainment lounge either, but it’s not like anyone ever asks me what I think of it. Senpais just roll with the extra faces because as you can see," He waves a hand in the direction of the opened door, “They’re shitfaced to hell and back, too.”

He sounds a little desperate, so Kuramochi feels himself relenting, if only a little. “I’ll think about it.”

Miyuki’s cheerful "yay!" is either directed at the senpais pouring back into the room with even more beer packs held in their hands, or their very vague promise--either way, he leaves Kuramochi alone for the time being.

It’s no secret that Kuramochi isn’t a particularly patient person, nor does he handle obnoxious people all that well. So when the senpais get particularly loud behind him, howling with never-ending laughter, and Miyuki gets bored again, deciding to pull that needy cat act on Kuramochi’s poor head, he yells at the catcher to fuck off to his room, shoving the key into his grinning face.

“Don’t bash your skull into the ground if you fall down the ladder,” Kuramochi threatens with a harsh glare. He isn’t ready to scrape brain matter off the parqueted floor.

“Aww, you really do care, Mochi! Somewhere deep, deep down in your unfeeling delinquent heart, and past the layers of asshole... ness. “

“I’m gonna change my mind real soon if you don’t shut your trap this instant, bastard.”

“Okay, okay, shutting up,“ Miyuki throws his hands up, the small key held tightly in one of his claws like it’s a baseball for which he will fight to death. The wide, mocking smile stretches his face into a mean, sassy look. He’d be so much prettier if only he bothered to lay off that shit-eating grin. “For someone who’s supposed to be a douche, you sure can’t fight back.”

“I can still kick your ass with one arm tied behind my back.” Kuramochi cracks his knuckles.

“Verbally.”

“The dick’s shoved up my personality, not my mouth – wait, that came out wrong,” Kuramochi says in sudden realization as Miyuki cracks up laughing, curling up and nearly in tears. He attempts to speak up a few times, but the words keep failing him miserably.

“Mochi, your desperation is truly a spectacle to behold,” the menace wipes a straying teardrop and cleans his glasses. “If you don’t do anything about it, running will become a bothersome task soon enough. Whatever shall we do without our Iron Wall?” Miyuki sends a quick, shrewd look Ryousuke’s way and then winks. Kuramochi feels his face flush at the implication. Miyuki is probably, quite possibly, secretly bragging. There’s a good reason as to why they call him the playboy of Seido. For him, getting into someone’s pants is easier than catching Kawakami’s pitches, still unpolished.

“I hate you,” Kuramochi hisses and truly means it. Somewhat. He can’t deny the fact that Miyuki is the closest thing to a friend he’s ever had. That knowledge enough spurs him on. “Really, I hate you. Don’t think I’ve ever met a more bothersome guy.”

“Why thank you kindly. I try.”

“That wasn’t a compliment!”

“Well, whatever it was… I’m retiring for the night.” Miyuki rasps with an ugly yawn and gets up. He sways even more now. “I hope your bed is nice.”

“I hope you fall off the ladder. Maybe you’ll become less annoying when you lose some of your pigeon brain.”

“Tough love, huh.”

“You wish.” Kuramochi huffs, crossing his arms. The TV screen has been flashing ‘game over’ for a minute now. Masuko has wandered off to the senpai circle, not bothering to challenge Kuramochi now that he had his hands full of Miyuki. “And don’t you dare eat anything in there. If I find a single crumb, you’re as good as dead, assface.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you better not throw up!”

“What are you, Mochi, my parent?” Miyuki’s nose scrunches up as he steps over Tanba’s sleeping form curled up on the floor, using a beer pack as a pillow. “I’ll be fine. I’m a big boy now; I can tie my own shoelaces.”

“I wasn’t worried.”

Miyuki only looks over a shoulder, the smug smirk back in place. He waves him off in a dismissing manner and shrugs in a non-committal way. “Alright. Goodnight, mom.”

The senpais attempt to get a rise out of Miyuki by calling him a chicken and a lightweight, but he merely smiles and replies in biting, sarcasm-filled remarks – the only time he can get away with those. He wishes good luck to a bleary-eyed Chris – washing out flour from his hair is going to be a pain in the ass – fistbumps some senpais, and pats Jun, who only growls in response like a true angry Spitz.

It takes a while for one of the senpais to finally realize that Miyuki’s disappearance is rather odd. “Wait, where’d he go? This is his room.”

“Bah! Who cares!?” Jun waves him off, dressed down and only clad in pinstriped boxers. His clothes are leaking rivulets outside. “He gets around, that cocky brat. I’m sure he has plenty of places to crash at.”

“Now, now, don’t be jealous,” Ryousuke huffs a laugh, cheeks roughly the same color as his bubblegum-pink hair. His sharp eyes don’t miss the fleeting gaze that Tetsu shoots the angry teen’s way, easily mistaken for a trick of light. “Not everyone can be talented in every area imaginable.”

Kuramochi coughs in embarrassment. Ryou turns his way, alarmed by the sudden sound, eyebrows disappearing under the disheveled strands of his messy fringe. The shorter teen observes him for a long moment, cool and calculating, making Kuramochi feel like a pinned butterfly. The room is his display case and Ryou’s slit eyes hammer more and more nails into his body. It’s a strange, prickly sensation.

The tension skyrockets. Jun drones on about the stupid fiends that are his sexually-active kouhais, and by some miracle, Chris speaks up. Bless his soul.

“I think we’re out of juice for the cocktails,” he concludes after checking every pack out there. “Can someone g-“

“I’ll go get it!” Kuramochi volunteers, already shooting up from his spot, neck blazing bright red. Ryousuke’s eyes follow his every movement, no matter how small. No one notices him freaking out, and if they do, they don’t say anything. “Take it easy and tell me what to get.” Kuramochi frowns at the fake politeness in his voice, not used to being such an ass kisser when it comes to those one year above him. He’s still a delinquent, for fucks’ sake.

He makes a mental check of the stuff he should get – at least three grape-flavored Fantas per Jun’s request – collects the cash and fucks off through the front door, exhaling a breath he didn’t know he was holding the moment he steps over the threshold. Weird.

The trip takes him only five minutes in total. He abandons the bag next to the senpais, certain that he doesn’t want to go back in there and face Ryou’s scrutinizing gaze. He’s had enough for one night, plus the idea of sleep didn’t sound too bad.

Only then he remembers that Miyuki’s snoring away inside his room. He can only hope that the asshole hadn't decided to lock him out and the rest of the room’s inhabitants for shits and giggles.

Apparently drunk Miyuki isn’t as evil as sober Miyuki, soundly sleeping on Kuramochi’s bunk, sheets kicked off. His glasses are crammed into a corner – the asshole doesn’t care for his belongings at all, Kuramochi huffs, taking the spectacles away to put them on the desk. He is also drooling - spit pools around his open mouth. Disgusting. Kuramochi will have to change the pillowcase.

All in all, he makes a messy, ugly picture, not to mention the fact that he snores like a true champ, and on any other occasion, Kuramochi would’ve taken a pic or two for blackmail purposes, but he’s tired and Miyuki really needs to go.

He climbs up the ladder and harshly grabs Miyuki’s calf, shaking it to the sides. “Get up, asshole!” Miyuki only groans in protest and attempts to move his legs away, but Kuramochi’s grip is iron-like. “I said get up, damn it. You can’t sleep here.”

Miyuki lets out a low whine as he nuzzles into the pillow even more. He mumbles something that sounds suspiciously close to ‘five more minutes’.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Kuramochi says, and attempts to drag the other teen’s body lower, but Miyuki starts kicking and trashing about, holding onto the pillow as though it’s a lifeline. “Stop faking and bail before I get up there and throw you off.”

The other’s petulant whines rise in volume as Kuramochi gets progressively more and more pissed. “I can’t get up, had too much to drink,” Miyuki slurs into the night. Kuramochi squints in confusion, trying to decipher the drunken mumbling. “Might fall off and die.”

“Die then.”

Miyuki peels one eye open. Even in the dark, Kuramochi can see him force a smirk. “Who will take over as Seido’s genius catcher then?”

“Aren’t you full of yourself?”

The menace yawns. His stomach produces a low, gurgling sound. Kuramochi worries for the safety of his bed. “You see, I could be even fuller, if you catch my drift, haha – OW!” he squeaks when Kuramochi’s fist connects with his thigh. The bastard still has his sexual innuendo filter turned on even though he’s this hammered. Seems like he’s fine. Kuramochi hopes that the other is going to bruise like a peach.

But even he isn’t stupid enough to actually send Mr. Comatose flying from the top floor of the ancient bunk bed. It’s already amazing that the asshole’s managed to climb up there all by himself. In the end, Kuramochi only groans, knowing perfectly well that he’s going to regret this in the morning, pushes Miyuki’s legs aside, and crawls over him. The wall feels like a block of ice against his back. The bed creaks from their combined weight, along with the shitty mattress that he’ll have to sleep on every night for the next three years.

Miyuki stirs, but gives up on moving, laying down more comfortably on his stomach, face pressed into the sticky pillow. He doesn’t notice it. Kuramochi kinda wants him to choke, kinda doesn’t. The thought of having someone die on his bed doesn’t sound too appealing.

He puts his head against the wall, staring at the ceiling. “How many beers did you have?” he questions, frowning. How can people enjoy that crap? It was enough for him to see Masuko projectile vomit all over the room once to realize that booze is nothing short of god-awful.

Miyuki groans into the pillow. “Eleventeen.”

Kuramochi wants to smack him again. “That’s not a real word!”

“Whatever,” he mumbles. “I didn’t count.”

Another gurgling sound reaches Kuramochi’s ears and Miyuki hiccups. This is probably really, really bad. He remembers Masuko doing the same thing before the reenactment of the great genesis flood, baseball club edition. Much to his own chagrin, Kuramochi was the reluctant Noah, saving Masuko’s stuff from getting buried. “I still think you should fuck off before you throw up,” Kuramochi offers, hope dwindling with every second.

Miyuki, of course, diminishes it completely. “No, I won’t. I can handle my booze as long as no one jostles me too much.”

Well fuck.

“The risk factor grows if I mix my drinks.”

Double fuck.

Kuramochi sees red at the shitty warning. “You planned on stealing my bed right from the start, didn’t you, you fucking four-eyes!?” he yells, kicking Miyuki’s feet with some force.

“Careful now. I’m a ticking time bomb, Mochi-kyun.”

“’Careful’ my ass! How the hell we are even supposed to fit in here!? Did you think about that, huh, genius!?” The mattress seems really damn small now that he’s lying down with someone else. Especially when that someone is sprawled out with no regards towards the other person's personal space. Kuramochi nearly chokes on his bubbling frustration.

Miyuki raises his head to glower at him. The nerve! “As flattering as it is that you finally admit to the fact that I’m truly a genius, I gotta tell you that I have bile rising up my throat as we speak, and it’s going to launch itself straight into your face if you don’t stop shouting and lay down with me this instant.”

Convinced by the threat, Kuramochi makes The Ultimate Sacrifice and lays down by Miyuki’s side, legs pressed into the freezing wall. It’s cramped and uncomfortable – his front is cold while his back feels too warm where it’s making contact with Miyuki’s lean body. All in all, it feels like he’s got one leg in Antarctica and the other in the pits of hell wherein Miyuki Kazuya reigns as the supreme overlord. The pillow is too small for them to share as well.

“Bitch steals my bed and won’t even bring his own pillow,” Kuramochi keeps on cursing the other out under his breath, trying to fold an arm under his head. “At least bring extras, why don’t you!?”

He can practically hear the grin in Miyuki’s voice. “For cuddling?”

“No, it’s so that I can use one for sleeping and the other to smother you with.”

There’s a beat of silence, followed by a cheerful “’Kay, will do it next time.”

Kuramochi’s eyes snap open. “There won’t be a next time! You’re in my debt for the rest of your miserable school life. You’re gonna be my errand boy and foot stool, don’t you even think that any of this is free of charge!”

Miyuki whistles. “Kinky.”

“What.” Kuramochi glares, a little amazed by the other’s way with words and his train of lewd thoughts. “What part of it was… Nevermind! Does everything that people say to you just instantly translate into a sexual innuendo?”

Miyuki sagely nods. “It is both a blessing and a curse.”

“Shut up, slave,” Kuramochi growls, feeling a headache coming in. He closes his eyes again, intent on getting at least some shuteye and ignores his bed partner’s ‘you’re the one who asked’.

It soon becomes clear that sleeping is out of the question. If anything, it’d make sense if Miyuki slept on top of him, but Kuramochi isn’t willing to risk beer-flavored stomach content right in his face. In the end, he pokes Miyuki awake and tells him that he’ll help him down, just please, for the love of god, leave.

To which Miyuki replies with a rough ‘shut up and lay down on your side properly’. Tired, Kuramochi does just that, neck cramping painfully, and when he settles down, Miyuki throws a warm arm over his waist, casual.

It makes Kuramochi jerk up in surprise.

“What are you doing!?” he squeaks, voice cracking. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

In reply, Miyuki snuggles up to him even closer. Suddenly, there’s a whole lot more space to stretch out his legs comfortably, but all of that is overshadowed by the mental breakdown that shakes Youichi to the bone. It’s one thing to gay it up on Tetsu’s lap, but this is on a whole new level. He’s never had a cuddling session with another person before, and he sure as hell never expected his cuddling virginity to be taken away by this fiend. Miyuki tightens his arm around Kuramochi’s torso when he feels the shorter teen straining, and while the touch is nice and warm, it also fuels Kuramochi’s sexually-unfulfilled side like no other.

Miyuki takes his time replying. “I’m trying to sleep but you’re making it hard for me with your yelling.”

Kuramochi really hopes this isn’t a double entendre. He laughs, nervous. “You’re not even slurring anymore. I bet you’re sober and you’re just pretending for the sake of being a lazy asshole.”

“Yes, Kuramochi, my sober ass wouldn’t be anywhere else in the world right now but behind your twitchy, perspired back, inhaling the cheap soap wafting off your hair. Why would you ever assume otherwise?” Miyuki deadpans.

Kuramochi self-consciously pats at his clean hair. “If you don’t like my scent, then you can get bent, dickhead. Get your face away from my neck and your dick off my ass,” he bristles like an enraged feline, elbowing Miyuki in the ribs. He doesn’t move.

“Way to make it awkward, Mochi,” the asshole lets out a condescending snort. “Now seriously, shut your trap and enjoy the ride because no one else is going to cuddle you for the next three years.”

After that, Miyuki snores; loud and exaggerated, clearly fake. Kuramochi knows that he’s lost this battle and listens to Miyuki’s breathing pattern evening out a little. There’s no way that he can sleep when he’s this riled up because what the fuck, he’s cuddling with Miyuki Kazuya, the body pillow of Seido’s baseball club. Yikes. His mother would be so disappointed right now.

Miyuki breathes hot and wet against the back of his neck, quiet breaths ruffling the long strands there, and then he nudges the shorter teen’s thighs apart with a knee. Kuramochi short-circuits.

“Fucker. Fucker, you are doing this on purpose,” Kuramochi murmurs through clenched teeth, seething. His dick has chosen to betray him at the worst moment possible. The embarrassment is too much.

He shifts until Miyuki startles into semi-awareness, mumbling something along the lines of ‘ok, that was an accident, I’ll just take it away’. He attempts to do just that, but never gets the chance to. Kuramochi's thighs mindlessly trap Miyuki's leg, as he cranes his neck to regard the catcher, glowering. The latter teen's eyes are still heavy-lidded with sleep, but he seems to be more alert now.

“Who told you to take it away, bastard?” Kuramochi growls in warning, face beet-red. Thank god it’s dark. He couldn’t do this in broad daylight. This feels way too surreal, even for him.

The bold statement of “Kuramochi Youichi, are you hot for me?” is enough for the aforementioned teen to confirm that Kazuya is nowhere near sober.

Kuramochi wiggles around, mumbling a slurred “I’m not, but my dick kinda is, so take responsibility, you drunken asshole,” and Miyuki immediately shuts him up with a wet kiss.

So much hype over this guy, yet he can’t kiss for shit.

It’s still kinda nice, especially when Miyuki bends over him to get better access, his hands like fire,  kneading at Kuramochi’s sides. It’s hot and smothering all around – hey, at least he’s no longer cold! Miyuki is undeniably good at holding him down, mouthing along the exposed neck and grinding into his ass just right. Right as Kuramochi thinks that this isn’t too bad, he hears Jun’s unmistakable “Scatter! The guards are here!” and the moment disappears. They spring apart, startled, listening to the thunderous padding of the feet outside.

Kuramochi mentally curses out the brats who ratted them out. Fucking weaklings.

Miyuki pulls the sheets over his head. Kuramochi lifts one corner to look at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Miyuki covers himself again, grumbling lowly. “Covering up, what else? Do you want the senpais to find me here?”

“You can always bail.”

“With everyone outside? I don’t think so.”

The door opens with a loud bang. Masuko nearly does a barrel roll for his bed, quickly peeling off his clothes and diving beneath the covers, pretending to be fast asleep. The sound of the guards doing checkups is clear outside.

Kuramochi steals half of the blanket, making sure that Kazuya is well-hidden just in case. “What a letdown.”

“You would’ve fucked me? Aww, so sweet.”

Kuramochi coughs. “Not worth the hype.”

Two tanned arms snake around his middle, tightly wrapping around Kuramochi’s muscular frame in reply.

Miyuki is still asleep when Kuramochi wakes up and sneaks out of the room to shower. There are a few familiar faces around, groaning and complaining about the Blackout. Kuramochi can see that they clearly haven’t managed to get any sleep if the humongous eye bags are anything to judge by. He remembers the days when he too used to belong to that poor bunch. He can sympathize.

There are some senpais holed up in the bathroom, throwing up last night’s poison. The showers are empty. Kuramochi makes sure that the water is ice cold against his skin. Waking up to another body pressed against you while you were pretty much blueballed four hours ago sure takes a toll on you.

He comes back to his room moments before Coach Kataoka rams his knuckles against their door with the intention of breaking it in two and pushes past Youichi, a whistle in his lips, shrill. There’s a lot of banging of doors outside, followed by tired groans.

“I heard all about your little gathering! If you can find the time to drink yourselves into a coma and bother the rest of the players, then the newly-scheduled time window for morning practice shouldn’t be a bother!” It takes a moment for Youichi to remember that today is their day off. For fucks’ sake, it’s barely 6 in the morning. Whoever told on them is going to pay dearly, he’ll make sure. His head pounds with a fresh headache. Thank God, Miyuki remains hidden. “You had the lungs to yell last night, you have the lungs to yell during the drills! Get up, move!”

They lose a lot of brave warriors to running, half of them simply lying down on the ground, unable to keep going, some running further away to soil the grass.

Kuramochi barely keeps up with a worn-down Ryousuke while Miyuki sprints ahead of the group, looking refreshed.

Kuramochi hates him.

No one finds out about their little sleepover. No one sees anything out of normal. Kuramochi and Miyuki act like they always do, bantering and getting on each other’s nerves during baseball practice and classes, but when the night falls, Miyuki stealthily sneaks into Kuramochi’s dorm room, climbing the unsteady ladder. He does bring a pillow along and he always leaves before any of them rise.

It’s a ritual for Kuramochi to leave the door unlocked for the night.

They’re comfortable with sleeping together – except for the nights when Miyuki starts kicking him in the shins and tosses around too much - probably because both of them are starved for human contact and what could be considered basic affection, not that they’d admit to it. They do lay off the kissing and anything that might stray into that territory, writing off that first night as a one-time thing influenced by alcohol consumption and desperation – their mutual magnetic attraction is purely platonic. Bros before hoes and all that jazz.

If anything, these sleepovers strengthen their bond and mutual understanding. Kuramochi begins finding new ways to get under the other’s skin and his observation skills get him far – he now knows what Miyuki is actually thinking under those strained smiles and long, pandering pauses. He knows that under biting sarcasm lies the truth, a perfectly mastered self-defense mechanism. Despite being an annoying asshole on the outside, Miyuki always means well and deeply cares for the others, much like Kuramochi does.

They’re too similar, but different at the same time. Nasty, but nice. Assholes, but not. The perfect team, duo, or whatever it is you want to call them.

Masuko finds out eventually, awoken by the creaking of the ladder and the silent footsteps. It takes Kuramochi fifteen puddings and a week of laundry duty to make the other forget that he ever saw Miyuki Kazuya in their room at 5:05 A.M., topless and disheveled. Thank God, Masuko is a man of his word.

Ryousuke’s keen eyes still follow Kuramochi’s jittery form whenever Miyuki gets too close, but if he’s figured anything out, he wisely stays quiet, only sidles up to him the moment Miyuki leaves to the bullpen and whacks Kuramochi across the head with a glove.

Tough love, as Miyuki calls it. Tough love, indeed.

“Is Kominato a thing for you?” Miyuki asks with all the pretend innocence he can muster during one of their sleepovers.

Kuramochi chokes on nothing. “Excuse me?”

“You’re excused. So is he?”

He feels hot beneath the collar of his shirt as nervous laughter escapes him. He can’t look Kazuya in the eye. “Wh-What? Where’d you even get that from? Fuck no, we… we’re partners on the field. That’s all?” Wow, even he can hear how unsure he sounds. Miyuki’s lips curl into a teasing smile.

“Oh, that’s strange. I guess I only imagined you waxing poetic about his beautiful hair and awesome double plays for more than a week now. Probably a late-night illusion.”

It’s only because Ryousuke gets under his skin (and nerves) easily! Nothing more, of course. They’re good friends now, and if Ryou-san wants it, it’ll stay that way. Huh. “You should really get your head checked, man, this can’t go on.”

Miyuki shrugs, turning over. “Point taken. It’s not like I’ll ever understand you. Kids these days with their crushes and goo-goo eyes.”

“I’m older than you.” Is that Miyuki’s way of salting around, complaining that he’s lonely and will most likely never find true love? Maybe. Likely. Who’d actually like this guy, anyway? Besides the horde of blind, deaf, and dumb fangirls who follow Kazuya around and ask him out after games. And the rumored exes. And a lot of people, actually. Tasteless people, falling for the walking pretty boy standard.

Miyuki reaches out with one hand to pat him on the thigh. He’s the little spoon that night. Or should Youichi call him a knife? “Good for you. Now don’t pop any stiffies or pretend that I’m your crush. I’ll get insulted and never come back.”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

“How mean, Mochi-kyun.”

Ten minutes later, Kuramochi whispers to no one in particular “I don’t have a crush on Kominato Ryousuke,” and nearly bites his tongue when he feels the heavy sensation of an undeniable lie weighing him down. Fuck. Way to jinx it.

On their second year of high school, Sawamura Eijun sweeps over their baseball team like a particularly obnoxious hurricane, leaving screaming people in his wake and commotion all around. Many are in awe of this idiot, many despise the rude little shit. Personally? Kuramochi is just glad that he has a new slave. Even if that slave is so bendy that he barely reacts to any of his nastiest wrestling moves. The guy’s made of rubber.

Miyuki looks at Sawamura as though he’s hung the moon and the stars in the sky, and frankly speaking, Kuramochi is just as entertained as he’s disgusted. The poor dude blatantly moons over the countryside boy as though he’s morphed into one of his fangirls, face propped against one hand and chopsticks missing his mouth entirely.

Kuramochi shakes a napkin in front of Miyuki’s flushed face. “Do you need me to tie this around your neck like a bib, you oversized toddler? You’re dropping rice all over yourself,” he points out while Kazuya continues looking ahead, bleary-eyed. God, he can pretty much see hearts in his eyes. Well whatever, it’s none of Kuramochi’s business if the dude decides to walk around with stains on the front of his sweatshirt instead of making the sacrifice of peeling his eyes away from Sawamura’s back for at least a second. He’s already warned him once.

Sawamura Eijun wrecks Miyuki completely. He’s a refreshing splash of gold and chocolate-brown, energetic and wild. Not only is he a stark contrast to all of the ass-lickers idolising Miyuki for the sheer amount of talent that he possesses, Sawamura yells and complains, unafraid to call Kazuya out on his bullshit before anyone else even has the chance to react. He has no qualms grabbing Miyuki by the collar and hoisting him up as though the other weighs no more than a bowl of rice, shakes him to however he pleases, and Miyuki allows himself to get manhandled like nobody’s business, muttering half-assed shit about respecting senpai. Sawamura never fails to bring out Miyuki’s douchebag cackling, but at the same time, he makes Kazuya’s eyes turn soft. The catcher loves to tease Sawamura, grin shit-eating and face flushed, with the pitcher practically throwing himself at Kazuya’s feet, asking for practice.

After Sawamura forcefully drags Chris, Miyuki’s old flame, out of his mental slump, it gets especially gross.

Miyuki has fallen hard and Kuramochi can see that Sawamura isn’t exactly shying away either.

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” he whistles, stacking the dirty dishes on the tray as Miyuki snaps back to reality.

He immediately picks up on what Kuramochi actually means by it. “That kid’s a riot. That’s all there is to it. It’s amusing and I’m entertained.”

Kuramochi fakes his friend’s nasally tone. “’It’s amusing’, he says. Bleh! If there were no other people in the cafeteria right now, you’d be all over him like a little kid over chocolate.”

“Good thing I don’t like chocolate then.”

“Oh please! He’s like an eager Shiba puppy and you’re fine with constantly dangling the leash in front of him, but you never take him outside. Pretty cruel, don’t you think?”

Miyuki’s sharp eyebrows disappear into his messy fringe. “I thought that you didn’t care for Sawamura’s feelings.”

Kuramochi opens his mouth a few times, flushing with anger. “I don’t,” he says, only to reassure himself. Fuck, is he turning soft?

“Then don’t boss me around.” Miyuki sticks out his tongue and collects the tray. Kuramochi remains seated as he observes Miyuki swimming across the crowd of students to insert himself between Kominato Jr. and Sawamura. He goes through all of those theatrics just to ask a sleepy Furuya if he wants to go outside for some practice. The beanpole kid instantly brightens up.

Sawamura’s indignant cries regarding liars and broken promises are louder than the background noise. Some senpai glare his way. Kanemaru yells at him to shut up. It doesn’t take long before Sawamura launches himself at a cackling Miyuki, going for the collar.

“Masochist,” Kuramochi scoffs and gets up.

Or should he say sadist, Kuramochi muses, once he passes the first-years’ table and notices the tears of frustration shining in Sawamura’s golden eyes. He kicks the back of the disheartened boy’s chair.

Joke’s on Miyuki, he concludes. He can definitely see some of the appeal that the kid possesses. Fierce and unyielding eyes are always a turn on, and now he has to mentally slap himself for thinking of Sawamura’s eyes as such.

Miyuki doesn’t show for many nights after they get Sawamura assigned to their room. Kuramochi begins thinking that perhaps Kazuya is scared of the thought of them getting caught in the same bed by his new crush.

He isn’t wrong.

Except that he doesn’t know it for sure.

He’s never pegged Miyuki as the shy and modest type, especially when it comes to the people he likes. Then again, Kazuya’s not much for actual feelings, mostly driven by curiosity and the promise of a good time. He tells Kuramochi (in a roundabout way, of course) that Chris was the closest thing to the real deal, something that wasn’t driven by the crazy interest in talented people challenging his limits, though their catcher dynamic was solely based on that since the very beginning. It’s confided like a secret that Kuramochi has no urge to disclose. He has his own demons to battle. Pink-haired ones.

Sawamura’s baseball bonks against the bottom of his bunk. Kuramochi threatens him with castration while the flushed boy apologizes. Too tame. Something’s up, Kuramochi can tell. The boy’s an open book for him to read. Compared to Kazuya’s deceptive smiles, this is nothing.

“You feelin’ sick, Sawamura?” Kuramochi asks in what he hopes to be a casual tone. God forbid he catches brotherly feelings for this dingus. He’s already come close to it, watching out for the younger teen like a clucking mother hen. It’s his personal task to gently bully Sawamura with Ryou-san. If that isn’t affection, Youichi doesn’t know what is. “You’re looking a lil flushed there.”

“I’m fine,” he replies, voice and gaze far away. The boy exhales and turns on his side. “I’ll just… go to sleep. Yeah. Tomorrow’s gonna be a better day! I’m ready to take it on with everything I got, nothing can bring me do–“

“For the love of god, shut up!”

Sawamura has had it pretty bad ever since their first encounter. Meeting the type of person he’s never seen before, someone so… so good and obnoxious, comes as a huge shock. To his poor heart and to his baseball-loving, fierce soul.

Miyuki Kazuya is a shithead, the likes of which Sawamura has never seen. Sure, he’s had some unfortunate encounters at his away games back at Akagi – namely the last one, wherein he ended up slapped the living shit out of that team, but they had it coming for insulting them, those douchebags – but nothing could ever come close to the levels of douchebaggery emitted by his senpai catcher.

His ridiculously talented and handsome senpai catcher.

Sawamura would frequently find his thoughts wandering back to their first encounter, which served as the main driving force that has led him to where he is today – Seido’s baseball team. A first-string player, no less. Perhaps not a regular yet, but the first step is always small!

But now Furuya is in the way of that Sawamura-Miyuki battery, and while he’s bitter and salty, he cannot deny the fact that Chris catching his pitches is extremely satisfying as well. Still, whenever he sets his leg down and straightens his form, catches a glimpse of Furuya’s pitches hitting Miyuki’s mitt, Sawamura feels jealousy prickle at his skin. Long since having taken notice of his pupil's unease, Chris always makes sure to compliment him afterwards. Such a nice guy. Bless his soul, honestly!

The image of Miyuki Kazuya on the field with grass and mud stains on his pants, dark hair matted with sweat and grin shit-eating yet blinding, was seared into Sawamura Eijun's mind, haunting him in his sleep. Seeing Miyuki at school for the very first time, all prim and proper, uniform worn neatly, fluffy hair brushing against the thick-rimmed glasses, was a complete shock for poor Eijun’s head. He couldn't connect these two separate images no matter how hard he tried, but both left him feeling warm on the inside in their own special ways.

There was nothing beautiful about Kazuya on the field – only his raw talent would shine through – but the moment Sawamura saw the older boy in a different setting, he could finally pinpoint where the weird rumors must’ve originated from.

And if, later that night, he had happened to wake up in cold sweat after a particularly vivid dream involving the catcher proposing to him on the field right after an intense battle at the Koushien, in his school uniform, no less, well... that was Miyuki’s fault entirely.

Sawamura quickly pulls on his sweats, laces the sneakers and goes outside for a morning jog at exactly 5 in the morning, yelling on top of his lungs from the twisted sense of shame.

His stupid subconscious thoughts! Traitors, is what they are!

After his yell and run, Sawamura feels refreshed enough to face Miyuki Kazuya without stuttering like a damn fool humbled by the latter man's divine presence. He jogs to the dorm in order to fetch a towel and take a quick shower before class. Everything goes pretty smoothly right until  Sawamura accidentally tips over a stack of books and they all tumble down, producing a loud banging noise.

Kuramochi rises immediately. Sawamura mentally crosses himself and weighs the possibility of bailing before the other can react. Masuko snores away, unperturbed.

Kuramochi’s hair is a rat’s nest and his eyes are bloodshot as he looks around, squinty-eyed. His deadly gaze settles on the culprit, meekly standing in a pile of books – the scene of the crime. Kuramochi connects the dots.

“Sawamura,” is all he says, and it’s enough to make the aforementioned boy's hair stand on end. The chilly tone sends a shiver down Eijun’s spine. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing at the asscrack of dawn?”

Eijun takes a cautious step back in case Youichi decides to leap at him like an enraged feline. He only keeps glowering, murder in his eyes. “I was running.”

“Around the fucking room? With a stack of books? Or do you secretly have hooves!?” Kuramochi snarls in anger like a particularly mean neighborhood dog.

Before Sawamura can properly explain himself, he hears a muffled groan that most certainly doesn’t come from Kuramochi. They both freeze in place, for different reasons. Kuramochi looks like he’s ready to wrestle his weirdly lumpy sheets.

Eijun squints, frowning.

The sheets move again, and unless Kuramochi has secret extra limbs, there’s no way that he can possibly do that.

It sounds and looks like–

“Sawamura, what the fuck’s your problem? Go back to bed.”

Eijun gapes, eyes nearly popping out of their sockets. Kuramochi rubs at the bridge of his sharp nose as though praying for strength to not choke his... his bed partner.

Who is, undeniably, Miyuki Kazuya. The voice alone is a dead giveaway. He then pokes his tousled head from the cocoon of Kuramochi’s sheets like some bizarre turtle, eyes barely open.

Kuramochi mutters an exasperated, “You fucking blew it, you idiot,” and rubs a tired hand over his face.

Sawamura’s ribcage expands with a sudden intake of breath and it all comes out in a flustered, stuttering shout of “Miyuki Kazuya, what are you doing here!?”

Masuko lets out a startled snort. With a tortured moan, he folds his pillow in half, pressing one side of it to his ear, facing away. Nope, not today.

Sawamura breathes as though he’s just ran a marathon – well, technically he has, but still – yet he feels no air rushing to his short-circuiting brain and heavy lungs. His vision swims and his hands quake awkwardly, right until he folds them into white-knuckled fists.

Only now Miyuki realizes the full extent of their situation, eyes turning wide, a pink hue painting the bridge of his freckled nose. Sawamura takes in the other's tousled appearance and squeals “Naked!?”

If Miyuki was wearing his glasses, right now, they’d be fogging up. The blush that spreads down his body is nothing short of intense as the catcher gapes, lifting the corner of the blanket burrito to flash Eijun his loose basketball shorts. “What, no!”

Kuramochi puts his face in his hands, looking close to bashing it against the wall. He’s pretty red as well. Suspicious.

Sawamura points a shaky, accusatory finger their way. “Are you two-“

Kuramochi really does leap off the bunk, roughly grabbing Sawamura to press a palm to his mouth before the other can yell out their secret to anyone who might be awake. Why the hell didn’t stupid Kazuya just leave? He was supposed to be gone half an hour ago! Has yesterday’s practice taken a toll on his body? He did look pretty tired during dinner. Kuramochi shoots a hard glare the other’s way, as if trying to convey that this is his fault entirely. Ashamed, Miyuki pulls the sheets over his head right until only his nose and eyes poke out. He glowers like a startled animal, expecting Kuramochi to do all the talking and explaining.

Of course.

“Even if we were banging, there’s no need to yodel about it to the entire dorm!” Kuramochi hisses angrily. “Just how much of a kid are you?”

Sawamura’s disbelieving “You’re not!?” is muffled by Youichi’s rough palm.

“Yes, we’re not! Now, if I let go of you, will you keep it down?” Sawamura is too still, looking at Miyuki with bulging gold eyes. “I said will you keep it down, brat?” Kuramochi asks again, making sure to lower his voice into a spiteful threat. The brunet nods energetically, sweat gathering on his brow. He smells like dust and everything related to morning runs. Why was he running around at this hour in the first place!?

“Good, now stay true to your word.”

“Sawamura Eijun never goes back on his word!” the younger teen rubs at his lips and flexes his sore jaw.

“Sawamura Eijun shouldn’t have witnessed any of this, so please pretend that you never experienced this encounter,” Miyuki mumbles from his spot on the bed.

“Only if you tell me what’s going on! As things stand, I don’t believe either one of you.” Sawamura huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, hip jutting out and nose curled up in the air. He needs answers to soothe his breaking heart.

“Three can’t keep a secret,” Miyuki frowns. “Technically four, but Masuko’s alright.”

“What do you propose? Do we kill him and get rid of the body?” Kuramochi throws a hand in his roommate’s direction, face emotionless.

Sawamura steps away from his senpai's reach, horrified. “You wouldn’t!”

“As much as I’d agree in any other situation,” Miyuki ignores the pissy ‘Hey!’, “He’s still a valuable addition to the team. Getting rid of him would hurt our performance.”

Kuramochi looks him up and down. A predatory stare, really. “Meh.”

“I see how it is. Just bash his head in with something and we’re good to go,” Miyuki nods with a non-committal shrug.

Sawamura presses his back into the door, sweating. “You can’t plan my murder while I’m still here!”

“Says who?”

“Says me and every other detective novel out there!”

Miyuki whistles, mock-impressed. “I wasn’t entirely sure you could read, not with those grades of yours.”

“Kanemaru beat the knowledge required into my head and these books aren’t just for show.”

Kuramochi prays for strength. Of course these two would turn this situation into some one-upmanship/flirting session. “Can we get back to the topic at hand? Please? I’d rather not let this fool go around and tell other students that we’re in cahoots.” Especially first-years. Specifically the Kominatos. Kuramochi would rather strip naked and run in the school’s hallways than let Ryousuke find out about this arrangement.

“You’re not!?”

“We’re not! Didn’t we already confirm this?”

Sawamura huffs, eyes never leaving Miyuki’s curled up form. “I still don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to believe me. Just face the facts.”

“The facts are that I found you two in the same bed at 5 in the morning, looking… indecent.”

Miyuki folds his arms, smirking. Like this, he looks just like the Cheshire cat. “Aww, baby is too shy to say ‘fucked out’. How innocent and ado-wa-ble,” the menace sings.

“Don’t call me a baby!”

“But that’s what you are. A baby.” Miyuki sticks out his tongue with a flirty wink. “Or do you prefer me calling you a babe?”

Sawamura flushes a maroon-red. Kuramochi can nearly see his hair poofing up in indignation. “Don’t you dare, Miyuki Kazuya! You’re cheating on your boyfriend!” It’s his turn to throw a hand in Kuramochi’s direction, as the older teen groans, frustrated.

“Again, we’re not-“

Miyuki is already midway through a new teasing comment, so Kuramochi completely gives up, arms raised, rolling his eyes. Might as well gather his shit and go wash up. It’s not like any of them will get anymore sleep.

Masuko continues snoring away.

Despite acting chill, Miyuki was actually pretty damn mortified to be discovered like this. Admittedly, all of this was his fault, but he had been half asleep at the time.

Sawamura is decidedly hot, so getting discovered in such compromising situations by the other kind of sucks. Especially if he plans on wooing the pitcher in the future. Which he totally does.

It takes a whole lot of painstaking explaining for Sawamura to finally understand, that no, he and Kuramochi aren’t like that, and no, one doesn't have to be married to sleep around. Where did the kid even get these archaic ideas from? So innocent.

Miyuki will have a nice time pulling him apart, seeing what makes him tick.

Sawamura avoids him like the plague, so naturally, practice becomes strained and awkward. Kataoka yells at Sawamura to get his head out of his ass and to continue pitching the way he usually does.

Speaking of ass, Sawamura has a cute one.

Catching for the other boy with these dirty thoughts plaguing his mind turns out to be quite a pain, especially after Miyuki nearly receives a fastball to the face. He gets yelled at for that as well.

Even Chris asks him if he’s feeling alright, if he needs someone to talk to. Whether his worries involve a hidden injury, to which Miyuki laughs. The only injury on his peach-like heart is a bruise in the shape of Sawamura.

Ew, gross, he’s getting too deep. Talking about serious stuff with Kuramochi during nighttime has put a number on him.

He observes his aforementioned friend practicing with Kominato. A wide grin stretches his face when the shorter teen compliments his speed and reaction time. Kuramochi looks at Kominato as though he hung the sun in the sky. Double ew.

Admittedly, it's strangely sweet. Even if Miyuki doesn’t have much of a taste for sweet things.

Sawamura approaches Chris, starry-eyed and red-faced. Chris smiles at him, gentle and warm.

Yeah. Sweet.

In ‘bittersweet’, maybe.

As if to annoy Sawamura specifically, Miyuki now shows up in his shared room more frequently, no longer during nighttime alone, seeking solace from the senpais plaguing his room like a bunch of cockroaches. They would simply refuse to  leave, no matter how subtly Miyuki would plead them to.

It’s a challenge to Sawamura’s sanity. Nowadays, whenever he gets back, he gets greeted by his roomies plus Miyuki, casually chilling on Kuramochi’s bunk and catching up on homework, a leg swinging over the ledge.

Sometimes, Sawamura wants to pull on it. Watch the guy crash down into the parqueted floor.

He doesn’t accept any pitching practice, so what’s the use of him, Sawamura thinks, as he opens the door, a towel hanging around his neck. No one pays any attention, as per usual. It’s the video game tournament night, after all.

“Hello, my valued fellow roommates, and person who does not live here.”

“S’up.” Miyuki waves from his spot, scrolling his phone and picking at a pack of chips. Kuramochi has long since given up on reprimanding the other about eating in the bed. Miyuki is like a particularly annoying housecat stealing food and living space. Sawamura is surprised that Miyuki doesn’t sharpen his claws on the bedpost.

“Shhh, Sawamura, you’re going to ruin my winning streak!” Kuramochi barks as Masuko lets out a soft ‘ugah!’ and they duke it out in some racing game.

Sawamura throws his shower supplies on the bed and towels at his hair, checking his phone. An email from Wakana sits in his inbox among a bunch of junk mail. He’ll reply to her later.

Like a ragdoll, Miyuki drapes himself over the ledge, staring at Sawamura upside down, hair fawned out and glasses slipping off. “Ohh, your girlfriend?”

"Wakana!?" Kuramochi yelps in the background and drives his car into an obstacle. Masuko does a victory fistpump at the fail.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Sawamura bristles in defense.

“Like Kuramochi isn’t actually my boyfriend?”

Sawamura stares. Miyuki’s face is slowly flushing from the awkward pose and angle. “Oh, you’re good.”

“Thank you!” A moment later, the latter teen's hand goes back down, holding the bag of chips. “Want some?”

Sawamura sniffs at it, squinty-eyed. Cheese–flavored. Cautiously, he fishes out a handful, all while staring Miyuki down. “You’re acting way too nice today. What’s the catch?”

Miyuki makes a movement that could be considered a shrug if he were standing upright. “What’s wrong with me being nice every now and then?”

“Uh. Out of character…ness? Weirdness? Everything in between? You name it.”

“Damn, you got me,” Miyuki grins, cheeky. “These are poisoned.”

Sawamura does a spit take. Kuramochi is on his ass a second later, wrestling him for the phone.

Miyuki observes, cackling at his junior’s misfortune. So gullible.

Despite knowing that they aren’t a thing, Eijun wonders how much truth there is to it. Miyuki is free to come over whenever he pleases, especially now that all of the room’s occupants know that he likes to cuddle up to Youichi on colder nights. Sometimes, the two of them groan suspiciously, and talk in whispered tones that Eijun cannot decipher no matter how much he strains his ears. It also seems like Kuramochi has a sixth sense when it comes to telling whether Sawamura is actually awake, chiding him for trying to eavesdrop on private conversations.

Occasionally, the bed creaks way too much and one of them breathes far too deeply.

Sawamura can’t sleep on those nights; the jealousy singes his heart too fiercely for him to relax.

Sometimes he finds them in the mornings, foreheads pressed together, sharing breathing space. Sometimes Miyuki snoozes away on Kuramochi’s chest as the shorter teen holds a PSP above Miyuki’s fluffy mane, killing off some aliens.

Scratch that - nowadays, Miyuki is constantly napping on Kuramochi’s chest, living up to the cat nickname.

Sawamura thinks that perhaps they know and they’ve been lying to him to spare his feelings, but he doesn’t think that Kuramochi would be that cruel, whereas he wouldn’t put something like this past Kazuya.

Miyuki develops a habit of spidermaning down to chat with Sawamura and spoil him the ending of whatever book the latter happened to be reading at the time. Sawamura actually managed to hit him with a manga once, resulting in an angry red welt on the side of Miyuki’s dumb forehead. It was alright because his dumb fringe neatly covered it up.

Miyuki also nearly gets thrown overboard whenever he teases Kuramochi too much.

“Ugh. What did you eat today, dude? Your breath smells like Sakai’s socks after a bad game,” Miyuki complains the moment it’s lights out.

“I ate the same thing you did, asshole, so in case you happened to chew on some moldy socks, let me know. I’ll go to the hospital to get my stomach washed.”

“Maybe they were in today’s menu?”

“You just made me lose my appetite.”

“Good, because you’re getting a little thick in the belly area,” Miyuki grins, patting Kuramochi’s waist a few times.

The other tenses up with a sharp inhale. “Are you callin’ me fat?”

Miyuki pats his stomach some more, humming thoughtfully. A moment later, his eyes light up as he says a cheerful “Yep!” and finds himself dangling overboard, Kuramochi’s fists tight in the collar of his shirt.

“Sawamuraaaa, help,” Miyuki whines.

Eijun simply rolls away, huffing angrily. "If he’s doing this, you must’ve deserved it somehow. You’re on your own.”

Kuramochi doesn’t throw him overboard.

“Sawamura.”

“Ack!” the aforementioned teen wakes up with a startled gasp once he feels something small and hard connect with the side of his face. He nearly screams when he sees something weird dangling over his head. It takes him a second to realize that it’s just Miyuki.

“Don’t scream. Do you have earplugs?”

“Ear- what?” Sawamura tries to adjust his sight to the darkness, eyes feeling as though they’re full of sand. Or maybe he’s just developing allergies. Miyuki allergies.

“Earplugs, idiot. Small, foamy things that-"

“I know what those are!” Eijun sits up straight in the bed, rubbing at his sore jaw. “What the hell did you just throw at me?”

“Doesn’t matter. So do you have them or not? This guy’s snoring is killing my ears, he’s got a runny nose.”

Now that Sawamura listens to it, he can hear some peculiar snoring that isn’t coming from Masuko’s direction. Masuko-senpai’s snores are soft and blend into the background pretty well, so they never mind it. Kuramochi, on the other hand…

As if reading his mind, Miyuki shifts a little, and a loud snort resounds. It’s obvious that he has pinched the shorter teen’s nose shut. Kuramochi smacks the fingers away, rolls over on his side and continues producing horrendous motorboat noises.

Sawamura angrily rubs at his eyes, far too tired to deal with Miyuki’s picky personality. Today's practice was grueling, not to mention the fact that he’s stuck with cleaning duty this week. Proper rest is vital. “Then here’s a suggestion - go back to your own room and you won’t have to deal with this.”

“Are you sassing your senpai?” Miyuki gasps, mock-offended.

“I’m asking you to leave. Politely.” The grumbling ‘for now’ doesn’t reach Miyuki’s ears. The blood rush is too loud.

“Well, I don’t want to. It’s cold and this idiot is pretty warm.”

Is he serious? Wait, it’s Miyuki, of course he is. “Then I guess you’ll have to suffer through this one. Be strong, Miyuki Kazuya.” Sawamura weakly fistpumps and considers accidentally punching this spider-like creature in the face. He’d blame it on the dark.

“Not helping.”

Sawamura throws a pack of tissues his way. Being a catcher, Miyuki doesn’t fumble, even if the pose is uncomfortable, it's dark, and he's nearly blind. “Rip these up and roll them. Stick them into your ears, I don’t know.”

Sawamura’s eyes are adjusted enough to see the other’s incredulous stare. “Are you stupid? Sleeping with these in my ears is dangerous. Didn’t you know that they can get stuck?”

“I didn’t. So that means you’ll have to leave.” Finally. “Especially if Kuramochi’s sick. If you get sick as well, who’s going to catch my pitches, huh?”

Kazuya actually laughs at that, quiet. “You’re worried,” he states, as though it wasn’t obvious enough.

Sawamura chokes on spit in his haste to prove the other wrong. “Uh, no? You’re going to bring the entire team down!” Miyuki keeps cackling like an evil witch, not listening. “The team!”

“Uh-huh, sure,” he drawls out with a smug grin. “Don’t worry, Sawamura. It takes a whole lot more for me to actually get sick.”

When Sawamura shows up for morning practice and asks Kawakami where Miyuki is, the older pitcher tells him that their catcher has caught a cold.

He stubbornly refuses to visit. Even if it gives him a shot at making fun of Miyuki for once and not the other way around.

A few weeks later, Sawamura begins feeling uneasy.

“I’m telling you, Harucchi, this is strange!” he convinces the pink-haired teen as he peels off his white baseball shirt. “I’m being hexed! I feel eyes on me at all times. I remember gramps saying something about evil eyes. If this keeps up, I’ll be unable to pitch the way I always do and live up to Boss’ expectations.”

He can’t see Haruichi’s face, but the stretch of awkward silence says it all. “That’s not a thing, Eijun-kun,” the other boy says as he takes off the gloves.

Tanba-san overhears the first-years’ conversation and closes his locker, already dressed in casual clothes. “Oh yeah, I had the same thing happen to me in my first year. It was a really weird feeling.”

“Like someone’s scrutinizing gaze was following your every move?” Eijun yells, eyes widening. Brother in arms and pitching. Nice.

Tanba seems to be considering it and then nods. “Something like that. It got seriously awkward on the mound, I couldn’t focus. So I went to the local markets and bought myself protective charms.” He then reopens the locker and digs out at least three amulets strung up on leather straps. Haruichi peers inside to find even more.

Eijun nearly vibrates. “Did it work, though?”

Tanba shrugs. “Not really, no. Well, not at first, anyways. It went away after a while. Maybe it’s going to be different for you. You can have this.” With that, he separates the pretty blue amulet resembling an eye from the other two and hands it to the younger pitcher. “If it doesn’t work, you can always return it.”

Sawamura wastes no time in slipping his head through the leather strap. “I humbly accept your gracious offering, Tanba-san. I’ll make sure to treasure it!” he shouts, bowing for good measure.

Miyuki stops mid-walk, eyebrow raised. “What’s going on here? Pitchers plotting against me?”

Haruichi sounds as though he’s rolling his eyes under that thick fringe. “Eijun-kun thinks that he’s being hexed.”

“Not anymore!” Sawamura yells with a huge, victorious grin, placing his hands on his hips. “With the good luck charm bestowed upon me by the ever-gracious Tanba-san, no evil eyes will be able to reach me.”

Miyuki cackles as though it’s the best joke he’s heard all day. Tanba colors a bright pink. “Fools! If this helps, then I’m bringing a goddamn horse shoe to the Koushien under my helmet.”

“It’s the evil eye, or something,” Haruichi elaborates.

“It happened to Tanba-san as well! Watch out who you’re calling a fool, Miyuki Kazuya!” Sawamura seethes, fists curling.

Miyuki stops mid-laugh and then whips around at the speed of light, scanning the crowd of players leaving the stuffy locker room. “Oh, I’m sure it has happened before, right, Chris!?” he calls out to the older man, who only raises his thick eyebrows in mild confusion and leaves with the older Kominato.

“So that’s how it is,” Haruichi mumbles to himself, looking slightly embarrassed by this new revelation. He did not need to know that. He already knows too much.

Sawamura is left in complete dark. “Did I miss something? Explain yourself, Bakazuya!”

But the troublesome catcher is already lost in the crowd.

Alright, so even Sawamura can figure out that this isn’t some curse or black magic at works – it’s simply Miyuki’s prolonged staring.

After a while, it gets easier to pinpoint. Miyuki watches him whenever he gets the chance. Sawamura can’t shake him off even in the sanctuary of his own dorm room. The asshole observes him from Kuramochi’s bed, and the moment Sawamura thinks that he’s going to meet the other’s gaze, he sees Miyuki looking everywhere but his direction.

To be honest, it makes him a little self-conscious, especially when it comes to changing clothes. He develops a habit of doing this outside and gets noogied by the senpais passing by – "What are you trying to prove here, Sawamura, go beef up some more!"

Anything’s better than Miyuki’s ogling.

Sawamura returns to his room after his tire run, Kuramochi and Masuko nowhere in sight. He saw Masuko in one of the training rooms, practicing his batting with the rest. Sawamura quickly peels off his drenched shirt, steps inside, and nearly gets a faint heart once he hears a wolf whistle coming from their unofficial third occupant’s nest.

“Must be real hot outside if you’re walking around like this.”

“Miyuki Kazuya, I am indecent!” Sawamura hops back, covering his front. His face radiates heat.

Miyuki casually pops a leg and turns over a page of the baseball team’s score book. “Uh-huh.”

“Do you mind!?”

Miyuki’s smirk is unsettling. Wolfish and hungry, his eyes roam Sawamura’s sturdy frame. The latter teen looks nothing like the awkward, lithe country boy from a few months ago. Sawamura’s shoulders and arms look capable enough to bench press Kominato Jr. with no problems whatsoever. Perhaps even Furuya, for while that guy is taller than most of the team’s members, he’s also thin as a rail. “Oh no, not at all,” he laughs at the offended/embarrassed gasp. “Besides, there’s nothing to grate any cheese on, so don’t hide yourself too much.”

It’s the perfect taunt to make Sawamura assume his battle stance, which results in him revealing it all. He huffs. “It may not be visible, but I have it!” He smacks a palm over his abdomen.

Miyuki makes a grand show of squinting and observing, humming for a moment. “Can’t see anything. Would have to touch to make sure you’re not lying,” he jokes, and then nearly chokes when Sawamura barks a flustered “Fine! Be the judge!”

He wasn’t ready for this.

Kuramochi comes back into the room a moment later, only to be greeted by the sight of Miyuki’s paws on Sawamura’s abs. They stare at him, Kuramochi stares back, inhales, and leaves without saying a word.

Sawamura’s first Blackout is the tamest shit ever.

The first-year trio spends most of their time outside, talking with others and observing the dares, laughing at the most embarrassing ones. Eijun is near tears while Haruichi lets out the softest, purest sounds, and then gasps in horror at the sudden realization that he’s laughing at something so cruel.

Ryousuke observes him from a few meters away, a proud smile stretching his pink-tinted face.

Furuya, of course, manages to keep the usual pokerface, but Sawamura can definitely see a smile there.

Sawamura wants to join in, but there’s no fun in doing these sorts of dares while being completely sober. Besides, he has chosen to keep his two friends and fellow players company in their sobriety. It’s enough for Furuya to take a single sip of beer for him to scrunch up his nose and decide that it isn’t for him. Nor are any of the other beverages, yet he still manages to convince the senpai that there’s vodka in his grape juice. Haruichi is forbidden from drinking by his older brother. Needless to say, he obeys the order, staying away from the beer. Or perhaps he just wants to be sober for his friends’ sake, much like Eijun does.

They sometimes help out when it comes to setting up the dares or cheering for the ones suffering.

While he observes Shirasu soaking in a barrel of instant-made ramen and Miyuki approaches the first-year trio, leaving ice-cold water in his wake – Miyuki had to stand in the hallway in his underwear for at least three minutes while the senpai poured ice cube-filled water buckets on top of him whenever they pleased – Sawamura decides that perhaps these wild dares aren’t worth it. Chris even shows him his notes, the final pages dedicated to the Blackout dare scoreboard. Isashiki-senpai reigns supreme when it comes to the most intense ones, closely followed by Shirasu, and surprisingly, Tanba.

Sawamura can’t imagine himself skipping class and doing barrel rolls outside in his school uniform, from one end of the football field to the other, no matter how much better it sounds than sitting through math class.

Once they go back inside, they’re greeted by the sight of Kuramochi and Ryousuke nearly butting heads, intensely gazing into each other’s eyes. The others cheer loudly – most of them for Ryou’s success. A game of gay chicken.

Kuramochi progressively gets redder in the face whenever the tips of their noses brush, but he still manages to force a shaky grin. “Feel like giving up yet, Ryou-san?”

“Not a chance,” the third-year smirks, tilting his head a little and presenting the other with what seems to be his best bedroom-eyed stare.

The crowd lets out a prolonged ‘oooh!’. Miyuki hides a grin as he watches his friend getting more and more flustered. “He’s done for,” he sings when Kuramochi’s eyes follow the smooth dart of Ryousuke’s tongue and he falls back with a deep exhale. The older Kominato bows to the crowd as deafening cheers fill the room. The taller teen looks like he’s having a hard time gathering his breath. Haruichi is too mortified to react. “This guy is the absolute champion. Even I lost against him,” Miyuki admits, placing a hand on his chest for that dramatic effect. “Staring at him after a while gets you a little queasy. He looks like a predator ready to devour-“

In the blink of an eye, Sawamura has his palms over Haruichi’s maroon-red ears. “What do you think you’re saying in front of Harucchi, you sex offender!?” he chides, a deep frown etched between his eyebrows. Sawamura looks a little pink in the face, too.

“Didn’t mean it, Kominato,” Miyuki somewhat apologizes once Eijun lets go of the shorter first-year.

He only raises a hand up, looking a little frustrated. “That’s quite alright. Just… TMI.”

“Noted.”

Drunk Miyuki’s existence becomes at least three hundred percent less evil and at least a thousand percent more cuddly and whiny. An overkill.

Sawamura has to bat away the catcher’s clingy paws for the remainder of the Blackout, yet he still allows him cuddle up closer. Miyuki nuzzles against the column of his neck like a big, affectionate cat, nearly purring in satisfaction. Sawamura tries very hard to ignore this, nearly choking on his juice, whenever Miyuki whines against the shell of his ear, “Sawamura, pay attention to me.”

He smacks the grabby hands away. “No, bad Kazuya. Bad. You’re drunk.”

Miyuki simpers, incoherent nonsense spilling out of his mouth. He then proceeds to down another shot.

He tries to move on to Haruichi next, who sits on the other side, stiff and uncomfortably close to a dozing-off Furuya.

“Kominato!" Miyuki brightens up, attempting to slither closer to the cowering boy.

Ryousuke is immediately on his ass, pressing the catcher into the floor using one hand only as he threatens him with an empty vodka bottle. "If your hands wander where they aren’t supposed to, Miyuki, you can forget all about playing baseball ever again. Am I clear?”

The younger Kominato squeaks in embarrassment and fright, trying to calm his ferocious older sibling. "Brother, this is really unnecessary! He doesn’t know what he’s doing."

The dispute is enough to rouse Furuya, who belatedly puts a protective arm around the shorter boy’s shoulders, huffing.

Ryousuke threatens the genius pitcher for a good measure, too.

Exasperated, Sawamura hands Miyuki his keys, dangling the mitt-shaped keycharm in front of him. “Just go you know where and sleep it off.”

Haruichi stares their way, but pretends that he’s looking at the action unfolding behind them.

With a garbled “Sawamura, you’re the best!", Miyuki leans in for a drunken smooch, but gets denied.

They walk a hibernating Furuya to his room. Haruichi collects the heavy bags easily enough, taking off in the direction of the party. Once he’s out of sight, Eijun opens the door to his room, greeted by darkness.

Miyuki Kazuya is stretched out on his bed instead of Kuramochi’s, tangled in the sheets as though he’s been fighting them before crashing. At least he had the decency to leave the wet sweatpants on the floor.

Either way, this isn’t good. Sawamura stomps to him, making sure to cause as much racket as possible. Miyuki stirs.

“Why are you on my bed!?” Eijun yells right into his ear.

Wincing, Kazuya childishly stuffs his index fingers into his ears, letting out a long-suffering groan. “Fuck the ladder. I’m too drunk for that.”

Sawamura nearly blows a fuse at that. “No. No, no, no! You don’t get to sleep on my bed! Get up there!” He smacks Miyuki’s thighs, mindful not to hit his behind. That’d be embarrassing.

“Noooo,” Miyuki yowls, clinging to the bedpost the moment he feels Eijun taking matters into his own hands. Long, sturdy fingers tightly wrap around his slim ankles and attempt to tug him down in forceful, sharp pulls. Miyuki has to give the other some credit - Sawamura really is as strong as a mule. Just as stubborn as well.

“Leave!”

“No!”

“Miyuki Kazuya, this instant!”

Miyuki attempts to kick him off, but Sawamura simply lifts his legs in the air, nearly over his shoulders. It looks like some bizarre wheelbarrow stretch. Miyuki is forced to let go of the wooden column to keep balance. Immediately, he claws onto the mattress, sending a fierce glare over one shoulder. He assumes that the pitcher is glaring back.

“Do I weigh anything to you?” Miyuki hisses, suddenly exhausted. He doesn’t sound as teasing as he usually would. He’s already halfway out, sheets spread out on the floor. “You brute!”

“Back in Nagano, I had to carry apple bags heavier than you,” Sawamura huffs, seemingly not one bit tired.

Miyuki’s arms tremble. “Stupid country bumpkin!”

“Self-absorbed city boy!”

It’s clearly a lost battle, especially once Sawamura begins gaining the advantage, so in a last ditch attempt to win, Miyuki twists his body around, locking his legs around Sawamura’s middle just like he’d seen Youichi do time and time again. It catches the boy off guard long enough for Miyuki to drag the stupid pitcher into the bed with him.

They wrestle for dominance, leaving shallow bruises and playing dirty. Sawamura nearly succeeds in throwing him off, but when Miyuki scratches over his ribcage, the younger teen stiffens up, curling into himself as though the breath has been punched straight out of his lungs.

It takes a second at most for Miyuki to put two and two together. With a sharp grin, he launches himself at the horrified teen.

“No, no, don’t you even dare! Gah!” Sawamura screeches when Miyuki tackles him and holds him down with his strong legs, tickling the boy.

“Stop, no! Stoooop!” Sawamura rasps out between full-body spasms and muffled laughter. Miyuki is merciless. The pitcher attempts to tickle back, but Miyuki seems to be immune to it.

Sawamura’s messy head ends up locked tight between Miyuki’s legs. The pitcher trashes about and claws at the catcher’s thighs, but the moment he attempts to do serious damage, Miyuki runs his fingers over Sawamura’s sides again, making the other pliant, helplessly kicking out his legs.

“Do you yield?” he coos, satisfied.

“No!”

Sawamura screams. Miyuki’s legs squeeze tighter.

“Let me stay here or face a certain death, your choice,” Miyuki says as he leaves the other no choice.

Sawamura smacks a palm against the side of his sturdy flesh binds. “Fine, okay! Only until the end of the party. After that, you either leave or go to Kuramochi’s bed!”

“See? That wasn’t so bad, now was it?” Miyuki cackles, but instead of unlocking his legs completely, he merely slides down Sawamura’s back, clinging to his toned torso like a baby koala to an eucalyptus tree. “Goodnight!”

Sawamura barely has the space to move around. The moment he attempts to wiggle out of Kazuya’s hold, it gets stronger, tightening.

Don’t underestimate a batter’s and a catcher’s arm strength, huh?

Sawamura squeaks, red-faced. With a deep sigh, Miyuki peels his heavy eyes open. “What now?”

“The sheets… are on the floor.” Sawamura attempts to bullshit his way out of the other’s grasp, but Miyuki sees right through it. 

“So?" he snorts. "You’re my heat source now. Just relax and sleep.”

“What.”

“Sleep, dumbass.”

Somehow, even with his predicament, Eijun actually manages to relax. He can totally see why Kuramochi lets Miyuki into his bed. He’s warm and cuddly, and the way the senpai catcher holds onto you makes you feel safe. Drowsy, Sawamura drifts off to the sound of Miyuki’s uneven breathing.

The muffled chatter and the opening and closing of the door, make Eijun stir. He opens his bloodshot eyes, shivering once he belatedly realizes that he’s lying on the bed alone. The sheets are still bunched up on the ground.

Kuramochi’s frame is illuminated by the small light coming from Masuko’s phone. “Where’s the menace?” he asks once he sees the empty beds. His voice lacks the usual bite to it, and if Sawamura looks closely enough, he notices that Kuramochi is in a good mood. His neck is peppered with red splotches, reaching all the way down to his collarbones.

Masuko is the one who responds. The sound of some people conversing in the hallway disturbs the otherwise peaceful night. Somehow they’ve managed to pull this one off without any interference from the guards stationed outside the campus. “Miyuki’s holed up in the bathroom. Sounded like he was retching.”

Kuramochi’s eyes flit to Sawamura’s quivering frame. “Did you have a fight or some shit?”

“Something like that,” Eijun says, rubbing at the goosebumps forming on his upper arms, and bends down to collect the sheets. His ears feel hot.

Kuramochi glowers while they settle for the night.

Kazuya still shows up for practice, as pale-faced as he is. He still catches pitches like he’s supposed to and never asks Sawamura about last night.

It somehow feels like a one-time thing, never to be discussed or even considered again.

To be honest? Eijun is disappointed, but not too surprised.

Neither is Kuramochi when Ryousuke fails to mention their ‘Seven minutes in heaven’ challenge. He’s totally fine with living in constant pain due to this one-sided attraction. It’s all for the sake of teamwork and the power of friendship.

During the pre-Koushien games, Miyuki stays away from the room. In fact, all of them only go back to their dorms way past midnight, holed up in training facilities to polish their skills.

The third-years begin packing up and clearing out. The rooms feel oddly quiet.

Kuramochi looks as though he blames himself for everything that’s happened to them so far - then again, all of them do. They were so close, but in the end, it just wasn’t enough.

Miyuki soundlessly enters the room at 2 in the morning, wordlessly curling up by his best friend’s side. Kuramochi cries tears of frustration at night, bites down on his lower lip hard enough to make it bleed. After all, night time is the only time they can allow themselves to be honest with their feelings, think over their regrets.

Miyuki doesn’t take it well. None of them do, but he thinks that no amount of frustration can ever compare to what Kuramochi must be feeling.

“He’s actually gone, Kazuya,” Kuramochi sighs, an arm thrown over his eyes. His breaths are shaky. “Just when we were getting better at cooperating, pulling off new moves. We’ll – no, I’ll be back at square one. It sucks.”

Miyuki puts a hand on his friend's chest. “I know.”

“This was my final chance to bring him to that stage. Us.”

“I know.”

Kuramochi’s laugh would be bitter if it wasn’t so sad. “You don’t know, Miyuki. You still have a full year ahead with Sawamura. On the other hand, I have… What do I have? Nothing. His legacy to take care of. Have you seen us on the field together!? Only by some sort of divine miracle we’ll be able to perform well during the Fall tournament.”

Miyuki frowns, lifting himself up to his elbows. “Are you saying that you’re a quitter, Kuramochi?” he asks, serious.

“Fuck no.” The aforementioned teen lifts the arm to glare at his bed partner, fierce. A new fire has been lit in his soul after that final match. However, it dwindles the moment he remembers Ryou’s broken form, foot swollen and giving out under him. He can only wish to achieve that level of cool. He wishes they could’ve played at their one-hundred percent.

He has his regrets.

The team, the loses and the victories. His comrades.

Ryousuke.

“You still don’t know shit,” Kuramochi whimpers and feels like crying all over again.

Sawamura’s bed is empty for many nights afterwards. The sunshine kid, their main mood maker, has been broken down mentally. It hurts to watch.

Miyuki leaves the room to find Sawamura curled up in one of the hallways, watching the sunrise with unseeing eyes. The black bags make them look even more dull, his face pasty. Miyuki silently observes the pitcher mindlessly playing with his black shoelaces.

He knows that Sawamura is very much aware of his presence, but he will not call out. Will not acknowledge him.

It’s undeniably weird when the one who constantly yells at you, sweeps over your life like a blurry hurricane, falls… silent.

“Go back to the room. You need to rest.” It doesn’t sound like an order from their team's main catcher and the superior player - it comes out soft, and so unlike Miyuki. A plea. “It’s cold outside.”

Sawamura turns those dead eyes in Miyuki’s direction, holding steady eye contact for a heartbeat at most before getting up and wordlessly brushing past him, rounding a corner and disappearing from Miyuki’s sight.

Sawamura is so far away and there’s nothing he can do to close the distance.

Miyuki gets appointed as the new captain. Sawamura begins picking himself back together. There’s still a certain darkness to him, but it’s rapidly dwindling away.

They’ll make it.

“Louder, cap, I can’t hear you!” Sawamura’s bright laughter reaches from somewhere behind as Miyuki runs ahead of their brand new, not-quite team, red-faced and yelling on top of his lungs. Leading them.

Masuko’s absence equals an empty bed until the influx of fresh-meat, but the catcher still stubbornly refuses to leave the joint Kuramochi-Miyuki love nest. Or so he calls it.

Eventually, everything goes back to normal. Miyuki still mooches off chips, gets crumbs all over the sheets and naps on top of Kuramochi’s chest, sometimes whining to his best friend to be petted.

“Oh my god, did you just fart?”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure that was you. You fart in your sleep all the time. My gasmask should come in the next five business days.”

Kuramochi whacks him with a thick Chem book. “Ew, dude, you dropped one stanky bomb here. Get out right now, have you no decency!?” The sounds of struggling follow. Kuramochi yells. “Don’t fan your farts in my direction!”

Miyuki cackles evilly, sounding pleased. “Excuse you, as your new captain I will fart wherever I please.”

“You fucking ferret!”

Yep, back to normal. Sawamura covers his face with an extra pillow. “Can you two shut up? Please? I have intense training tomorrow.”

The top of Kuramochi’s head appears at his side, glowering. He lowers one fist and shakes it in Eijun’s direction. “Did you just tell me to shut up!? Did you just-“

“Technically, I told the two of you to shut up, senpai,” Sawamura growls, unhappy. What’s crawled up his ass and died?

“Sawamura, one more word from you and you’re going to catch these hands!”

There’s a reluctant rap of knuckles hitting against the door. They all shut up immediately. Eijun forces himself to get up, scratching at the skin peeking through his bunched-up night shirt. He stifles a yawn and unlocks the door.

To his surprise, he finds Haruichi there, a phone in one hand and a bat in other.

“Harucchi, what are you doing here?” Sawamura brightens up, a little confused by the sudden visit. Sure, it isn’t that late yet, but the coach has instructed them to hit the hay early. New training regime and morning practice was in order. “Came to visit?” he asks, giddy. He and the other teen barely hang out these days, with most of Haruichi’s attention monopolized by batting practice with Zono-senpai.

“Actually, Eijun-kun, I’m looking for Kuramochi-senpai,” Haruichi says, peering inside the dark room over Sawamura’s shoulder. A muffled ‘Fuck!’ resounds from their lair. “He’s inside, right? I think I heard his voice.”

Sawamura considers lying, but it’s obvious that he won’t be able to pull this one off. He tries to casually block Haruichi’s view. “Uh, you know, he, uh, to be honest, he just left-“

While he focuses on his short friend, he doesn’t notice the boy’s older brother sneaking up from the other side and forcing the door open, making Sawamura stumble inside. Ryousuke’s dressed in casual clothes, a duffel bag hanging off one shoulder. “Kuramochi, how much longer do I have to wait? Did you forget that we were supposed to meet up?”

“Not at all, Ryou-san,” Kuramochi stutters in the darkness of the room, in a voice that says that he has clearly forgotten. “I’ll- uh, I’ll be out in a minute, just let me get dressed.”

“I can wait inside,” Ryou lets out a condescending snort, brushing past Sawamura to flicks the lights on.

Haruichi covers his mouth, holding back a gasp. Sawamura feels the room grow cold.

Miyuki guiltily averts his gaze and pulls the sheets over his head, pretending that he isn’t there. In Kuramochi’s bed. While Kuramochi’s crush stands in the middle of the room, an indecipherable look flashing in those narrow eyes.

Kuramochi looks downright ready to cry, his entire face flushed a deep red, the blush spreading all the way down to his wide shoulders and chest.

The silence stretches too long and uncomfortable – even Sawamura is aware of it, keeping his mouth shut for once, looking mildly terrified. He can’t see Ryousuke’s face, but he can certainly feel the freezing aura that screams bloody murder.

With a tut, the older Kominato purses his lips, face impassive. He isn’t smiling. “Well. I see you have more important business to attend to. I’ll be on my way now. At least you could’ve sent me a text and told me not to bother coming here.”

Kuramochi throws the sheets off his body. Thank god, he’s still in his sweatpants. “R-Ryou-san, it’s not what it looks like. I’ll explain in a moment, just-"

Ryousuke turns on one heel and stalks out without even bothering to look back, a meek Haruichi following in tow, shoulders hunched.

Kuramochi’s hand uselessly hangs in the air, in the general direction of the entrance. "Don’t… walk out.”

Miyuki’s arm shoots out from under the covers to smack the back of Kuramochi’s head, sharp. It brings his friend back to reality. He looks lost and confused, like some chicken with its head cut off.

“Go after him, idiot!” Miyuki hisses, frowning. “You were bitching about him for far too long to let it end like this. Fix it and don’t you dare to come back until everything’s fine between you!”

“But-“ Kuramochi balks, swallowing. He’s already climbing down the ladder though as though his body has been set on auto-pilot.

“Now! Go and get your man. Quick, before he leaves!” Miyuki makes a shooing motion with his hands, a toothy grin tugging at his thin lips. “Fight-o!”

In a rush, Kuramochi pulls on his beat-up sneakers, nearly tripping. Sawamura smiles too, still a little lost, but feeling it to be his duty to cheer on his flustered senpai. “Osu, osu, osu, fight, cheetah!” Sawamura hollers, jumping around and pumping one fist into the air.

Kuramochi pauses before the threshold, sending a soft look their way. It’s gross and mushy, but his bark is still cruel, biting. “Shut up, you dumbasses, it’s night time.”

They still manage to catch a glimpse of his wild grin before Kuramochi slams the door shut behind him. The sound of his dash lasts for about a few seconds, followed by a certain thud of the teen jumping down the staircase.

Miyuki’s by Sawamura’s side in an instant, rubbing at the back of his head. His smile is almost well-meaning. “Finally. I was getting damn fed up with his woes. Especially when it’s clear that they aren’t one-sided. Perhaps now he’ll shut up,” Miyuki stretches, a soft sigh escaping him.

Sawamura side-eyes the catcher, suddenly feeling oddly inspired. "You cheered him on.”

“Of course I did. I know that it’s going to end well -  otherwise, I would’ve stayed quiet.” Miyuki shrugs, fixing his glasses. His hair is mussed with sleep.

“Older brother and Kuramochi-senpai, huh? Who would’ve thought?” Sawamura crosses his arms, looking at the door. Mentally, he wishes good luck to his Cheetah-senpai. If Ryousuke makes him happy, then he needs to pursue that happiness.

Miyuki settles on Sawamura’s bed, feeling along the side of his face. “Have you seen them on the field? One being in two separate bodies. Completely in sync. I can’t imagine them parting ways.”

Sawamura stiffens at that, head lowered. “I think I understand.”

Miyuki’s eyebrows raise. “Do you now?”

The pitcher makes a soft noise of affirmation and sits down next to the captain, elbows on knees, fingers laced. He doesn’t look up, gaze far away and glossed over. Reminiscing. Thinking. “When I first came here, I thought I’d never understand. All I wanted was to pitch and be the ace. Play baseball with the people who mattered. Never thought I’d find something like that in this preppy school.“ Kazuya laughs. “And then you caught my pitch. The sound that your mitt made… I couldn’t get it out of my head for weeks. Months. I thought; this is where I want to be. I want this person to be my other half. I want to be in sync with him, have fun together and trick our opponents. I want us to be a battery. And so I made up my mind and came to Seido.”

Miyuki knows that his eyes are rapidly widening and his face feels a little too warm. He laughs nervously, fixing his thick-rimmed glasses. This is treading into a dangerous territory and he isn’t sure how to react. All he manages is a choked up “Oh.”

Sawamura continues, determined. Determined to do what, exactly? Steal away Miyuki’s breath and heart? He nearly cracks up at the thought – the big oaf has done it a long time ago. Apparently, he’s owned Sawamura’s feelings for far longer than he had initially thought, too. “So what I’m getting at is that I understand our senpais! I understand their bond and their need to stay together. Completely and one-hundred percent. Because I also can’t imagine you graduating and just… disappearing.“ Sawamura awkwardly gesticulates, shrugging in uncertainty. “Just like that. Just as suddenly as when you first appeared. Making a mess in my head and never taking any responsibility. It’s a little hard and incomprehensible, and I had a tough time figuring it out, but-“

“Sawamura,” Miyuki cuts the other off, breathing shallow. “Stop talking.”

The pitcher’s head snaps up at the command. The dark blush mirrors Kazuya’s own. “What?”

“Just. Just stop talking. Or overthinking. You might hurt yourself.”

The hands that grab Miyuki’s wrists are damp. Eijun glowers, frowning, searching. His eyes are brimming with life, looking like two golden stars. Miyuki is close to turning into jelly from the tension, Eijun’s intensity. “I’m spilling out my feelings for you, and you tell me to shut up?”

Miyuki pulls his arms away, strangely flustered. It's a foreign sensation. “You already know how you feel!” he squeaks lamely. “So stop analyzing yourself and just do what you want. Say what you want to!”

Eijun looks like a lost puppy. Blinks once. Twice. “You already knew.”

Miyuki rubs at the side of his bicep. “You’re not exactly the epitome of subtle.”

It takes some time for Sawamura to mince those words inside his overworked brain. Miyuki observes his nails as though they’re the most interesting thing out there.

He feels an uncertain touch on his lower back and wills himself to relax. It’s nearly impossible.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Sawamura mutters, bashful.

Miyuki flinches at the bold proposal, voice rough and low when he says “Okay”.

Kuramochi has the guts to slam Ryousuke against the side of the dorm, winded and flushed from running around. “Now listen here! You’ve been dancing around this issue for years now, so-" Kuramochi grits his teeth, grip shaky. The night air is chilly against his exposed, cooling back and the stars are too damn bright.

Ryousuke is oddly calm, seemingly non-affected even though he’s the one who’s cornered here. “Go on.”

Kuramochi strengthens his resolve and looks into the other’s glimmering eyes, determined. “I like you,” he growls, short and simple. This isn’t exactly how he’d imagined his first confession, but he also hadn't expected his first kiss to take place in Miyuki’s cramped closet. “I fucking like you. A lot.”

Ryousuke’s fingers tangle in Kuramochi's hair in response, dragging his head lower to smash their lips together, wild and rough. He makes sure to bite on Youichi’s lower lip before they part for breath, smoothing a hand over the back of the taller one's neck.

“That’s more like it,” Kominato says, winded. “You should’ve done this sooner.”

“Why?” Kuramochi rasps. He wants to be mad, but he can’t. Not when he has Ryou-san so close. He kisses the side of his face. Ryousuke lets him, curling his fingers. “You could’ve done this yourself, you know.”

“Partnership above everything else,” the shorter teen mutters. “I’m sure you remember what the coach said.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Kuramochi scoffs and goes in for another kiss. Fuck partnership, honestly. It’s not like they’ll be the Iron Wall ever again.

“I like you,” Sawamura says as they lay on his bed.

Miyuki holds one of his hands while the other reaches out to pet the side of Eijun’s flushed face. “I know.”