Chapter Text
When Sawamura appears in Kazuya's life again, it's in his usual manner — loud and brazen. They're all lining up for morning practice and the brat can be heard all the way from the end of the first-years line. Something about being the future ace of the team. A year apart, and Sawamura hasn't changed one bit.
It's fucking infuriating.
Still, if there's one thing Kazuya can be proud of, it's his ability to ignore anything and everything. He doesn't turn his head like the others do, just stares straight ahead, seeing a vein about to pop on the head coach’s forehead. Sawamura will do that to a person.
"Isn't that your high school partner?" Mei has always been too observant, as well as unable to keep his mouth shut.
"Might be."
" Might be? You are so cold, Kazuya! You've played together for what, two years? You even went to Koshien together."
"I've played with a lot of people, Mei," he says, choosing the kind of tone that'll end the discussion.
"Be that way."
It's a bother when Mei's sulking but Kazuya is really not in the mood. Luckily, the first-years will practice separately for the time being, so he might not even have to see Sawamura. It's bad enough he has to hear his voice.
There's a part of Kazuya that really wants to stroll right to the loud-mouthed moron and shake him and demand explanations and maybe even punch him in the face real hard but he feels pathetic enough as it is, thank you very much. He is also just tired.
What do you do when you let yourself imagine a future with someone, tell them you want this future, you'll wait for it, only for that person to throw it all in your fucking face two months later? What do you say to them when they barge into your life again?
Nothing. You just pretend they do not matter. Even as something in your chest is convulsing in pain and in anger, repeatedly asking one single why.
Practice that day is particularly tiring, in a way that makes Kazuya pleased. Sometimes there's a comfort in mindless physical exercise, with sweat stinging your eyes and exhaustion filling your whole body. He doesn't have the energy to act aloof and uncaring about him and his ex-partner being on the same team again. He doesn't even have the energy to think beyond the usual routine of following commands. At least he's not the captain now, that's like half the weight off his shoulders.
Thinking about Seido makes him feel sick suddenly. So Kazuya doubles down, knowing full well he’s being an idiot, until one of the seniors puts a steady hand on his shoulder in a silent “ that's enough”. Maybe he should've gone pro. It would've given him more independence from the team. It would probably never fucking bring Sawamura back into his life for more than a couple of games a year.
He swings his bat one last time and goes to change, making sure Mei is occupied elsewhere and won't ask more of his unnecessary questions. His body is about to give up on him, he can feel it. But that's louder than whatever is going on in his chest, so Kazuya decides it's for the best.
He gets into his apartment late that night, exhausted and cursing himself for not applying for student housing again this year. His apartment is not that far from the university and the baseball field, but it’s still annoying to walk back after you’ve already practiced yourself close to a coma. He reminds his aching limbs that he values privacy and tries not to think about the fact that the apartment was first rented with Sawamura in mind.
Sometimes Kazuya misses the noise of Seido dormitories and his old room constantly stuffed with overexcited teammates. He isn’t sure if it’s the loneliness or the friendships that unraveled as they all moved on with their futures. He’s still in contact with some of them — Kuramochi, for instance — but it’s not quite the same. And he has his new team now, although he mostly just hangs out with Mei.
He sticks to his usual routine today: throws his uniform into the laundry hamper, folds the fresh set into his bag, drinks a soda and then plops down behind the desk to go through his study notes before tomorrow’s classes. He has to stop after catching himself rereading the same sentence four times and not getting any of it. There’s a picture pinned to the corkboard among countless baseball scribbles, Sawamura put it there the one time he visited back when Kazuya had just moved in. It’s of the two of them, back from their first summer at Koshien: Kazuya’s arm slung over Sawamura’s shoulders, matching grins barely hidden by their mitts.
“This is so you don’t forget your greatest partner!”
“Would be hard to forget, what with you constantly blowing up my phone.”
At the moment, Kazuya couldn’t help but tease. Now that he remembers this, it makes him want to laugh at the irony. That, and to punch something really hard.
He doesn’t really know why he hasn’t taken the picture down yet. Maybe it’s hope, still breathing somewhere in his empty chest. Or maybe he just likes to torture himself, revisiting memories as if pressing fingers into bruises that won’t heal.
Kazuya knows you don’t always get closure. He just wishes he could’ve nursed this heartbreak a little longer, without the reason for it haunting his days. The best thing to do now would be to move on, to focus on his game, to ignore the lion eyes following his every move around the field. But there’s a pounding in his head, a question ripping nerves to shreds, a single thought he tried to get rid of this whole day: why is he here?
“So why is he there?” Kuramochi asks him the next day as they talk on the phone during Kazuya’s lunch break. Well, it’s not like he’s actually able to eat anyway. There’s a slight feeling of nausea growing larger in his stomach every time he sees or thinks about Sawamura.
“How should I know?” He sighs dismissively. “You’d think there are enough universities in Japan to choose from, apart from the one your ex is attending.”
“Maybe he chose this one exactly because it’s yours.”
“That’s just stupid.”
“Not that the moron has ever claimed to be smart.” There’s a shade of fondness in Kuramochi’s voice. “I can give him a call if you want.”
“Don’t bother.” As soon as he says that, he realizes he spoke too fast to sound casual. “I just wondered if he talked to you before applying.”
“We haven’t seen each other since Haruichi’s birthday last year. I think he’s avoiding me because of… well, you.”
Some small part of Kazuya wants to stomp his feet, wants to rage and throw things. The rest of him knows this isn’t something he should be worried about because everything, all of it, was Sawamura’s decision. His choice entirely. Not Kazuya’s.
“It doesn’t matter. We probably won’t see each other that much anyway.”
“You’re saying this, but we both know if Sawamura is nearby it means he is everywhere.”
“Oh god, he is so loud! It’s like his throat is a fucking megaphone or something.” He kind of missed whining to Kuramochi, as rare as it was. “I think senpais are going to murder him in his sleep.”
“Serves him right!” The hyena laugh on the other side of the line is comforting, like an old catcher’s glove he couldn’t make himself throw away. It makes Kazuya want to go back to the good old days. Except that Sawamura was there as well, and that’s the one track of thought he has been avoiding all this time.
The cackling stops as if Kuramochi can sense the shift in his mood. Kazuya doesn’t want his pity though, not again. So he says his goodbyes and hangs up, somehow feeling worse than before.
It’s the first time in a while that he absolutely hates the thought of going to practice.
It takes Sawamura a week to approach him. By that time, Kazuya has been asked by half the team, including the captain, about why the loud first-year keeps staring at him whenever he gets a breather from the relentless running drills. The guy hasn't got a single subtle bone in his body. It used to be something amusing at first, endearing when the crush just began to settle in. Now it's annoying, like an itch that you can't ignore, even though you should.
He's going through his gear, checking for signs of wear, when Sawamura takes his chance to talk to him alone. Kazuya suddenly loathes the sight of him: all lean and tan, with a new haircut and an unfamiliar gravity to each step. He tries not to wonder at every slight change.
"Miyuki Kazuya!" It's the same manner, the same brazen casualness. Sawamura doesn't even have the decency to act like something's wrong. Or rather, he has the fucking nerve to address him as if there's isn't.
"That's Miyuki-senpai for you, brat." This one almost sounds as casual as it used to all the times before.
"You aren't even going to say hi?"
Kazuya wonders whether Sawamura's being deliberately obtuse which would be a first, since usually he's obtuse because it's in his nature. His thoughts reek of bitterness but Kazuya can allow himself at least this.
"What do you want?"
"We haven't... um. We haven't talked in a while." He looks at the ground as he rubs his neck. Something in Kazuya snaps.
You seemed to prefer it that way, no?
"We don't need to talk anymore, Sawamura." He methodically packs everything into his bag, trying not to seem as if he's running away. "Go bother someone else to catch your pitches."
"Kazuya—"
He flinches at that but still manages to keep his eyes far away from Sawamura's face. That's when there's a "Miyuki!" thrown in their direction from the other side of the field. It's one of the junior coaches, probably, about tomorrow's pitching practice again. Kazuya thanks the skies for the timing and promptly gets up to follow the call, leaving Sawamura behind without a second look. He's done enough looking back at that person for the past year. There will be no more.
***
Sawamura Eijun knew his limits better than anyone. Had learned them through sweat and tears, stretched them until it almost broke him. Out loud, in front of whoever cared enough to pay attention. That was his entire life at Seido: heart on his sleeve, full of hurt and self-doubt, growing pains and an untamable desire to win.
He knew his limits better than anyone, and when a new one appeared on the horizon, he saw it for the battle he wouldn’t be able to fight.
Eijun should’ve seen this coming, really. Should’ve known it would all come to this when he first heard his pitch hit Miyuki Kazuya’s mitt. Back then, the desire to stand on the mound in front of that guy had been the only thing he thought he wanted. It wasn’t anymore.
It was Furuya who first noticed something was wrong. Not enough to see the part of Eijun that wallowed in hopelessness, but enough to confront him. They were running, as usual, but not bickering - lately Eijun wasn’t in the mood, although he tried. It was important to keep up appearances.
"You've been working well with Okumura," Furuya ventured, tentatively.
"Eh? Of course, I have! It's not like I can get Miyuki to catch for me, with you in the picture and all that!"
That's when Furuya stopped in his place, almost tripping Eijun with his tire. The other had to halt as well, wary of the sudden change in the air.
"It's not that you can't." Furuya tilted his head to the side, looking at his face with uncharacteristic focus. "I think you're avoiding him."
"I do NOT— WHY WOULD I EVER— HE'S—"
"Yeah, that sounds convincing."
"SHUT UP, FURUYA! WHY DO YOU CARE?"
"I don't!” He clearly did, judging by the stubbornness in his voice. “But Miyuki-senpai keeps getting distracted between pitches, which is annoying and very unlike him.”
Something squeezed in Eijun's chest at the implication. Has he really? Does Miyuki actually pay attention to whether Eijun's bothering him?
Of course he does, he's the captain. And the main catcher. Don't be ridiculous.
“Then don't bother on my account! I’m doing just fine with young Okumura catching my pitches!”
He ran faster after that, face flushed and thoughts muddled. The only person Eijun expected to notice was Kanemaru, and that’s only if the guy wasn’t busy with his own problems. Still, Furuya can be awfully observant sometimes and he really has become a friend to Eijun. Though not enough of a friend to share his fledgling feelings for Miyuki with. At that point, no one was.
The moment Eijun knew he liked Miyuki, panic made its home in every bone of his body. He tried to deal with it. Shamefully, pitifully ht tried to push it all down, to maintain distance, to win by getting rid of the feelings. It was the only thing he felt he could do, and it hurt. More than he expected it to.
That train of thought made him run until his legs gave out. He lay slumped in his tire, breathing hard, watching the moon unsuccessfully try to hide behind the clouds. It was getting cold already, the air cool on his skin, sweat-soaked jersey sticking to his skin uncomfortably. The panic gave way to fantasies: Miyuki’s eyes, bright with the fighting spirit, his showy confidence, now made shinier by the captaincy, the intoxication of his faith in Eijun’s pitching, heady and overwhelming. It wasn’t distracting, the opposite actually, it put everything in stark focus, made Sawamura Eijun into someone worthy of such expectations. It made him invincible.
As his thoughts were beginning to slip into a territory of winning hugs and kisses in the shade of a dugout, Miyuki suddenly appeared, leaning over him, as if conjured up by Eijun’s mind.
“Don’t fall asleep outside, idiot.” There was a towel still wrapped over his shoulders - he must’ve been just out of the baths. Eijun watched a water drop roll off his hair and fall onto his own cheek. He shivered.
“I’m not sleeping!” He jumped up immediately, ending up too close to Miyuki and losing all air from his lungs. “I’m— I’m fine.”
“Uh-huh. I can see that.” There was the usual mocking smirk on the handsome face, which was not helping at all with the breathing. Eijun couldn’t move away, watching yet another droplet fall down from the dark hair — has no one taught him how to towel properly? — and slide down the exposed collarbone.
“Are you okay?” Miyuki asked, voice suddenly quiet and serious. He raised his palm to Eijun’s chest, pushing slightly, grounding . The heat of it was unexpected, like a punch to the heart. “You seem… weird.”
“I am one-hundred percent normal, thank you very much!”
“Don't you think I know your normal by now, moron?” There was something too real in his gaze, which made Eijun swallow. “Come on, you have to rest before tomorrow's scrimmage game if you want to show your best.”
“I'll show my best no matter what!”
He still followed Miyuki though, would always follow him, no matter what. Maybe one day, it will be the other way around. When Eijun is finally the ace of the team and able to lead the whole team with his pitching. Maybe then, it all would be different.
“Talk to me, Sawamura. Brains like yours weren’t meant to overwork.”
They were walking side by side, Miyuki's hand almost brushing his. The same hand he had on Eijun’s chest just now, the same one he used to catch all his pitches. The overwhelming desire to touch it was all Eujin could think about. He knew better than that though.
“My brains are fine!! You’re being a worrywart, Captain!” The best thing to do was to laugh it off. “Are you getting sentimental in your old age?”
“Brat.”
Miyuki was never one to insist, and so he would let this one slide. And maybe the next one, too. As long as Eijun’s pitching was fine, Miyuki wouldn’t care about this. Sawamura Eijun was important to the team, he was not the person a pretty all-star catcher would lose his beauty sleep over just because Eijun hasn’t been pestering him enough.
As they said their goodbyes, he couldn’t help but remember every shoujo manga he’d ever read. That was the worst part: Miyuki seemed to be exactly like all those main love interests in Eijun’s favorite stories. When he wasn’t acting like an asshole, that is (and sometimes, even then). Eijun knew all the possible scenarios in a situation like this — late at night, just the two of them. He knew all of them, but he also lived in the real world. Worse than that, the world where nothing was more important than baseball.
So, Eijun said goodnight and he turned his back to Miyuki, and he tried to not squirm under the thoughtful gaze sent his way.