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2006
Nothing lasts forever.
Sawamura Eijun was nine years old when he was told this simple proverb. In context, he had just fallen off his bike, landing head first, resulting in a shallow cut on his forehead. It was nothing a band-aid couldn’t fix. But with the amount of blood and the sharp pain he felt, naturally, as a child, Eijun thought he was dying.
As he cried, his mother lovingly took a warm, damp face cloth and gently cleaned the blood from his forehead before placing a small bandage on the wound, kissing it for good measure and telling him that mothers’ kisses have special healing magic. At the time, she may have said that to calm him down, but mothers have that kind of power anyway, Eijun supposes.
“It still hurts,” he said, pouting as he pokes the bandage on his forehead, both curious and fascinated at it.
“Nothing lasts forever,” she told him. She affectionately stroked his hair, occasionally swatting away his hand whenever he tried to tamper with the bandage. “All bad things come to an end eventually. Pain will pass, sadness will subside, and fear will fade.”
“But won’t I get a scar?” Eijun asked, earnestly looking up at his mother. “Wakana tripped once and she got this scar on her knee!”
“Scars are simply reminders that we’ve survived our worst days and our worst pains.”
On that day, Eijun committed his mother’s words to heart, living his life by them like a personal creed.
Fourteen years later on a rainy spring evening, he and Okumura Koushuu returned each other’s hearts.
Eijun learned then that pain and sadness are not the only things which live by an expiration date, but all the good things in life too. Love. Happiness. Companionship. Peace. Time does not discriminate—in fact, Eijun thinks that love and hate, happiness and sadness, they’re all the same to Time and they must all come to an end.
2021
At what point does a lover become a stranger?
It's a question that Eijun never thought he’d be asking until, as fate or gods would cruelly have it, he finds himself on Koushuu’s doorstep, looking at the man whom he exchanged hearts with. A year and a half has passed since then. It’s sad, he thinks, how two people can go from strangers to friends, friends to lovers, and then lovers to strangers, like it’s some kind of inevitable cycle.
The top half of his vanilla blond hair is tied up in a messy bun while the other half skirts around his neck— it’s longer, Eijun registers. His blue eyes (now shielded by a pair of round, thin-framed glasses, he notes) had always been one of his most striking features, but the colour is paler than Eijun remembers. Not quite blue like the sky, but a softer, gentler blue like the rurikarakusa flowers that bloom on his parents’ farm every spring.
He is, in a word, beautiful. In a feeling, heartbreaking.
Eijun scratches the back of his head awkwardly. He dares not to meet Koushuu’s eyes with his own, preferring to look at his shoes instead—hey, are these the boots Koushuu got him for his birthday two years ago? “What are you doing here?”
Ouch. Not even greeted with a ‘hello.’ But Eijun supposes that he should’ve expected that. After all, Koushuu was always straightforward, even in situations when tact would have been better. Eijun forces himself to look at Koushuu, smiling at him. “How’s your shoulder?”
Koushuu’s hand instinctively grips onto his right shoulder, casting a sideways glance to it. “It’s fine.” He turns back to Eijun, dropping his hand back to his side. “Congratulations on the Tigers’ win in the championships, by the way. Their first win since 1985, right?”
“Yeah it is.”
“I’m not surprised, you’re their ace after all.” A foreign warmth swells in Eijun’s chest at Koushuu’s words. He didn’t realise how much he had missed hearing praises from Koushuu, for he seldom gave them freely and thus they’re all the more sought after and treasured. “But you didn’t come here for small talk.”
Ah, perceptive as always. “I… I just needed to talk to you… Please,” Eijun answers, soft and earnest.
Koushuu holds his gaze for a moment, analysing him, visually dissecting him before moving to the side of the door, allowing him in. Eijun offers a quiet ojamashimasu as he enters and removes his shoes.
The apartment hasn’t changed much since their separation a year and a half ago, which surprises Eijun. It almost feels like coming home.
And if things haven’t changed then—oh! There it is, a photo frame that hangs just a little unevenly on the wall. Eijun smiles to himself, remembering how frustrated Koushuu had been at how unbalanced it was and no matter what he did, it would never be even. It once held a photograph of the two of them on a date at an amusement park, but that’s been replaced with one of Koushuu and Seto.
Eijun wonders if they… No, it’s not his place to wonder.
“Take a seat, I’ll make us some tea while we talk.”
“Oh no, that’s not necessary—” The words die in Eijun’s mouth as Koushuu walks away. Ah, well, he can’t be blamed. Perhaps he’s stalling for time to figure out what his purpose is for coming here. Maybe wondering why he even allowed Eijun inside in the first place. Was it curiosity or pity?
As Eijun patiently waits, he takes in his surroundings. Koushuu’s taste in interior design was always sleek and elegant, looking like something out of a magazine but it lacked what Eijun would call ‘flavour.’ His style was more eclectic and sentimental. It may not have been fashionable, but it was undoubtedly Eijun.
Nevertheless, Koushuu’s personality can be found in his living space, if one knows how to look.
Beneath the mounted television, in the cube bookcase, there’s a miscellany of DVD recordings of his baseball games since middle school—and at the time Eijun was dating him, Koushuu watched them to critique his own form and skills or to watch his former opponents. In another section of the bookcase, there’s a complete collection of Attack on Titan volumes as well as four nendoroids—two of which Eijun bought for him. He’s surprised to see them still there.
Koushuu eventually returns, holding a small tray with a teapot and two cups. After pouring a cup each, he sits in the armchair opposite to Eijun, choosing the furthest possible seat from him. Eijun pretends that it doesn’t sting (it does) as he tries to form the sentence in his mouth. But one look at Koushuu and he finds himself being upset that he doesn’t know who he is anymore.
It has only been a year and a half, give or take.
But caterpillars take two weeks to transform into butterflies, so who has Koushuu become in the time they’ve been apart? Who are his friends now, what does he like to do in his spare time, what is he currently watching on television. Does he still do that thing where his tongue peeks out of the corner of his lips when he’s concentrating?
Eijun doesn’t know what he fears more: finding out how much Koushuu has changed or finding out he hasn’t changed at all, so he won’t pry.
Still, it’s strange how you can know both everything and nothing about someone, to share their past but not their present or future. But Eijun didn’t come here to reminisce nor did he come to be reminded of the heartbreak that they dealt to each other so gently last spring, so he tells Koushuu his reasons for disturbing his day.
“So because you didn’t tell your friends and family that we broke up last year, I have to go to Nagano with you for a week to visit your family and pretend to be your boyfriend?” Koushuu asks, after Eijun’s explanation.
He winces at his flat tone. “It sounds bad when you say it like that!”
“Because that’s exactly what you said, Sawamura-san.”
Sawamura-san , Eijun repeats regretfully to himself, not Eijun. Those words hurt more than he thought they would.
“They asked for you, saying that they haven’t seen you in a long time and I could never tell them why. You know how much they adored you.” Eijun bows his head apologetically, keeping his gaze on the half-full cup of tea in his hands. “You don’t have to do it. I understand if you already have plans for next week and besides, you don’t owe me anything and—”
“I’ll do it.”
Eijun flinches a little, causing little ripples to appear on the surface of his tea. He looks up, finally meeting Koushuu’s pale blue eyes. “Really? I don’t want to cause you any more trouble than I already have.”
Koushuu’s expression softens when he says that and he starts to open his mouth as if to refute that last statement. Eijun doesn’t know if he wants him to or not.
But in the end, Koushuu says, “Fortunately for you, my parents are going abroad on holiday next week and my friends are all occupied at work. I’m in between job interviews at the moment and have nothing planned for next week, so I’m all yours.”
Once upon a time, those words were true. Now Koushuu is the farthest person from being his.
“A-Are you sure?” Eijun asks, not wanting Koushuu to agree out of pity.
“Do you want me to change my mind, Sawamura-san?”
“N-No…! I just thought that there’d be more resistance or questions before you just agree to it!” Okumura Koushuu is many things. He’s unafraid of confrontation, honest to a fault, and concerningly, hilariously weak against heat, but ‘going with the flow’ is not his forté. He’s never known him to take such ridiculous situations and favours so easily.
Then again, it has been eighteen months. Eijun reminds himself that he doesn’t know Koushuu as intimately as he used to.
“You know me,” Koushuu says, and Eijun finds himself respectfully disagreeing, “if I had any questions, I would’ve asked them already and I don’t do anything that I don’t want to do. I’m committed to helping you, I’ll see this through to the end.”
Eijun wonders if Koushuu thought the same thing when they were together, wonders if Koushuu saw an ‘end’ for them too.
“Right… Well, I’ll pick you up at five o’clock in the afternoon on Sunday and then I’ll drop you home around about the same time next Sunday.”
“I look forward to it.”
Eijun, oddly enough, finds himself silently agreeing.
2013
In shoujo mangas, of which Eijun considers himself very well versed in, a ‘meet-cute’ is often used to indicate a possible romantic development between two characters.
He and Koushuu did not have a meet-cute. In fact, they had the furthest thing possible from a meet-cute: an argument in the dining hall during his second year of high school.
Completely and utterly unromantic, and yet, the blond left a lasting impression on Eijun. In the days that followed, he found his every word, move, and mood to be affected by the wolfish first-year. If he had been feeling happy and joyful, one look at Koushuu would’ve soured his mood. If he entered a room that Koushuu was in, he would immediately leave. He always made sure that his complaints about the first-year were heard—much to everyone else’s displeasure.
“You know,” Kanemaru said, not looking up from his book, “they say opposites attract and that love and hate are just two sides of the same coin.” He licked his finger and turned a page. It was another evening spent in Kanemaru’s room, complaining to him about the most recent offence Koushuu has committed against Eijun. “Maybe you like each other more than you think you do, just saying.”
“Ehh?! How could he like me? He said that he was ‘tired of looking at me’ that’s not something you say to someone you like!”
“I don’t blame Okumura for saying that, I get tired of looking at you too,” he said with a casual shrug of his shoulders, earning a devastated wail from Eijun. “Besides, it sounds like you were asking for it. I don’t believe Okumura would’ve said anything like that unprovoked, especially as you’re the reason he came to Seidou.”
Silence took hold of the room and it’s only when Eijun said a quiet eh? that Kanemaru elaborated.
“His best friend Seto is my roommate, right? I asked him why he came to Seidou instead of Kurebayashi or Tsuruta like most people from Daikyo Senior and he said how he and Okumura watched our match against Teito during the fall tournament. Okumura would’ve gone to whichever team won, but he praised you a lot during the game,” he explained. “So it’s not surprising that he’s disappointed to find out that behind that amazing pitcher is just another loud-mouthed idiot.”
“He… He came to Seidou because of me? I… I didn’t know.” Eijun’s voice was quieter, gentler, almost repentant.
Kanemaru snorted softly, half amused and half fond. “And here you thought that he had some kind of personal grudge against you. Maybe you should cut the kid some slack.”
The following day, Eijun asked Koushuu to catch for him but was respectfully rejected.
“I’ll catch for you when I earn my place on the first string, not before.” Koushuu said it like an oath and for the first time since meeting him, Eijun felt as if he finally understood him.
2021
There was a time when Eijun found comfort in Koushuu’s quietness. Then, he knew what he was thinking and how he thought things out. He understood him. But now, he doesn’t know what thoughts could possibly be coursing through that beautiful head of his. Is he already regretting his choice in joining Eijun? Is he looking for a way to get out of his car?
Eijun tries to keep his focus on the road ahead of him, rather than on his ex-boyfriend in the passenger seat who’s quietly reading some kind of sports science textbook—and possibly plotting a way to escape this dreadful situation. Thankfully the radio provides some white noise, something for Eijun to passively listen to but not fully process. It’s just what he needs for the next three hours.
When their journey resumes after a quick bathroom break at the nearest gas station, Koushuu breaks the silence between them.
“Is there anything I need to know before we arrive?”
“Like what?”
“Anything that I would know if we stayed together this past year? Like if you suddenly developed an intense love for natto? Or perhaps about your life in Hyogo?”
That’s a good idea actually. A debriefing. For all his theatrics, Eijun has never been great at acting. He wears his heart outside of his ribcage, making him too honest and too earnest to play a role that isn’t himself. Likewise, Koushuu is unapologetically himself, making no compromises for who he is. Though agreeing to help Eijun by pretending to be his boyfriend seems to contradict that.
“Well, I still don’t like natto so don’t worry about that.” Rain starts to fall and he turns on the wipers.
Then he starts telling Koushuu about Hyogo. How hard it was to move into a new place all on his own where he knew no one. The squeaky front door hinges that drive him insane. Getting lost whenever he went grocery shopping for the first week. His morning jogs where his circuit takes him along the sea and around the Hanshin Koshien Stadium.
Then Eijun tells him about baseball. The intense training regime. The smell of the freshly mowed grass that happens every two weeks. All of his teammates—”One of them being Hakuryu’s Mima Sōichirō, remember him, Okumura-kun?”—whom he’s quickly come to love. The stillness of victory he felt before being dogpiled by his team after winning the championship.
“I don’t know what else there is. I don’t think I’ve really changed much this past year,” Eijun says, finally. He feels that he’s been talking for far too long.
“Your hair’s shorter.” Eijun steals a glance to his left. Koushuu looks out of the window, watching the raindrops race each other against the glass, not looking in Eijun’s direction at all. “And your voice is a little deeper too.”
“Oh right, I guess I’ve changed a little bit this year…” he says quietly. Eijun forgets how perceptive Koushuu is, always paying attention to the details that others easily overlook. He was always the first to notice little changes Eijun made. Any changes in his routine, his habits or his preferences, Koushuu always noticed. “How about you? Anything I should know about you? Do you still…?”
Koushuu catches onto his meaning and says, “Ah, that… No, I don’t play baseball anymore.” Where Eijun expected to hear bitterness and dissatisfaction, there’s a sense of neutral acceptance instead.
He goes on to talk about returning to university after taking some time out for recovery. Late nights at the library fuelled by coffee and determination to catch up with everyone, only to almost be late for his finals. Almost. That had been a difficult week but like everything, he got through it and graduated with a degree in Sports Science.
Free time, which used to be occupied by baseball practice and games, was now dedicated to reading books and manga, noting how it’s refreshing to have time for himself which Eijun is glad to hear. Koushuu is too devoted for his own good, always putting others ahead of himself despite his claims that he only has a limited number of seats in his heart.
It’s nice. It’s nice pretending that this is a normal conversation, that they’re just old friends catching up, that he and Koushuu didn’t break each other’s hearts last year, as if the shattered pieces of his heart didn’t cry out for him, missing him, wanting him.
“Seto and I coach a little league team on the weekends. Some of them are already aiming to go to Seidou, believe it or not,” he adds.
Koushuu as a little league coach? It’s a little hard to envision given his experience with his middle school coach, but at the same time, it’s rather fitting. Who else can better teach children the joy of baseball than the one who learned it himself? Who else can better teach them to savour every moment in the field than the one who became permanently benched?
“I should drop by and say hello,” Eijun says, then immediately regrets his words. How presumptuous of him. Just because Koushuu is doing him this favour doesn’t mean that they’re now on good terms nor does it mean that they’ll continue to see each other after this. “I mean—”
“They’d like that,” Koushuu says, interrupting Eijun. He turns to him with a ghost of a smile on his face that makes Eijun’s heart leap through hoops. “Though you’d probably have to tell me in advance when you’re going to drop by. A lot of them are Sawamura Eijun fans. They’ll want you to sign their Tigers merchandise.”
Eijun feels his face warm and he hopes Koushuu isn’t looking too closely at him. “I like the sound of that, Kou—” He keeps the familiar name on his tongue. “—Okumura.”
“Koushuu.”
“Huh?”
“Call me Koushuu, like you used to.” Like you used to. Eijun ignores the piercing sting in his heart from those words. “Your family will notice that something’s off if we refer to each other by our family names.”
Ah, that’s true. Eijun didn’t think that far ahead.
“Only if you’re comfortable with it.”
“It’s fine with me. I told you that I’ll see this through to the end, didn’t I? I’ll play my role properly.” Of course, it’s just a role to him, Eijun reminds himself. He shouldn’t look for hope when there is none to be found or offered. “May I call you Eijun?”
Names are intimate affairs. The meaning can change depending on what name is used and how the name is spoken. Eijun has heard his fair share of ‘Bakamura’ over the years, the usual ‘Sawamura’ with various honorifics, and the occasional ‘Eijun-kun’ (from Harucchi). But to have your name spoken through the lips of your lover, well, that’s an entirely different kind of language.
If Koushuu starts calling him by his name like he once did before, he might start falling for him all over again and there’s nothing more dangerous than falling in love with someone who doesn’t love you in return.
But instead of voicing out his thoughts—thoughts that Koushuu was once privy to—Eijun lies. “Yeah… That’s fine with me too.”
The words taste bittersweet on his tongue.
It’s eight thirty by the time they arrive at Eijun’s family farm. They greet the family—all of them excited to see Koushuu after so long—but Eijun manages to peel the two of them away before they get carried away, citing tiredness from the long drive up which is only partially true. They relent and let them rest for the night, but not without threatening family bonding time come morning.
It’s only when the two of them enter Eijun’s childhood room that he comes across a problem: there’s only one bed.
Okay, Eijun really didn’t think this far ahead, but that’s only because he never expected Koushuu to say yes to helping him. Of course his parents didn’t add a spare bed to his room, why would they? They fully expect him and Koushuu to sleep in the same bed. But not just that, ever since he came out to them as pansexual all those years ago, they’ve been aggressively supportive of his sexuality, to the point where they’ve left a box of condoms and a bottle of lube on the bedside table in plain sight for him and Koushuu to see (and use, presumably).
He feels like his chest might physically cave in from the stress.
But Koushuu enters the room and unpacks his small suitcase as if there’s nothing wrong.
Did he not see the one bed yet? Or perhaps he expected that they’d be sharing? Is Eijun overreacting? Probably, but he’s always been good at that. He tries to reason with himself, listening to the imaginary Takigawa Chris Yuu-shaped angel on his shoulder who offers reassurances. Yes that’s right. It doesn’t matter what Koushuu has or hasn’t seen. Just because there’s only one bed doesn’t mean they should have to share it.
After shoving the condoms and lube into the drawer of the bedside table, Eijun walks over to the closet and pulls out a shikifuton and a kakebuton. He lays them out on the flooring, catching the attention of his temporary roommate.
“Oh, are we not sharing?” So Koushuu was expecting that they would share the bed! The Miyuki Kazuya-shaped devil on his shoulder cackles evilly and Eijun resists the urge to physically swat him away. He’s just a figment of your imagination, he reminds himself.
“No, I don’t want to make things more awkward than they already are. So you can take the bed for the week and I'll sleep on the futon.”
“Who said things are already awkward?”
Eijun swallows hard. He doesn’t have a good answer for that because he’s just realised that the only person who’s making things awkward is himself. He averts his gaze and scratches the back of his neck nervously. “N-No one…” is his lame answer. “I just didn’t want either of us to feel uncomfortable.”
“I’m not uncomfortable. Are you?”
“No.”
That’s a lie.
It’s been a year and a half now, but Eijun never got used to sleeping alone. How could he? Nothing could substitute the warmth and safety found in Koushuu’s arms. Sharing a bed means willingly and consciously putting himself at risk of falling into him again, only this time, there’s no promise that Koushuu will catch him like he did before. And even then, Koushuu let him go eventually.
Koushuu nods once and continues to unpack and ready himself for the night. “Good. If you wanted to sleep separately, I would insist that you take the bed. It’s your room, plus, it’s better for your back.”
After putting the futon back in the closet, they eventually settle under the shared duvet, facing away from each other, with only the thin stream of moonlight peeking through the poorly-furled window blinds providing the sole source of light in the room. It’s strange, Eijun thinks, how silence can be so loud with all the words one is too afraid to voice aloud, how everything that you want is within one’s reach and all that needs to be done is to turn around.
Eijun wraps his arms around his old onigiri plush, pulling it tight and close to his chest, recreating the feeling of being hugged as he falls asleep.
2014
Loving Okumura Koushuu is no easy affair. But like all things worth having in life, it requires effort.
To love Koushuu requires patience. To wait until he’s ready, until he views himself as worthy, even if you already think of him as such. To selflessly listen when all you want to do is shout and scream. And on a similar vein, to be slow to anger when he says maddening things, only to later recognise the quiet affection that doesn’t translate into his words.
To love Koushuu is to pay attention. To notice all the little things he does that form the shape of his love that would otherwise be overlooked—like the gentle touch of his hand on your shoulder when he offers a massage after practice; the kind, quiet reminders he often gives such as ‘be careful’ and ‘get some rest’; the simple gesture of being present and there when you need him.
Love is not a race to see who falls first or who falls the hardest. It comes gradually. Love is a continuous, constant, conscious growth, so subtle that the feeling doesn’t even register as love because it’s deeply embedded in all that one does and says.
It’s knowing Koushuu’s favourite players, ranked and categorised according to position (because despite what the blond says, he does have favourites). Knowing how irritated he is based on the sound of his growl. It’s bringing extra iced water bottles when he gets too hot during the summer despite him saying he’ll be fine. Sometimes it’s buying the latest Bessatsu Shōnen magazine so he can read the latest chapter of Attack on Titan.
Eijun picked up on all these little habits through loving Koushuu, though it didn’t register as love at the time. They start to date in a similar way, their patient, conscious efforts and demonstrations of affection building up to a singular moment.
It happens in his third year, after their second win at Koshien.
After all the interviews and the celebrations, Eijun wants somewhere quieter to gather his thoughts. From the hotel, he walks alone to Koshien Stadium. It’s quieter, now that it’s evening and the crowds have dissipated. Only a few stragglers remain, tourists and passing locals mainly.
Eijun finds a quiet spot. It’s a small playground close to the stadium, where children could play whilst waiting in line. He sits down on one of the swings and slowly starts to rock himself back by shifting from the balls of his feet to his heels as he looks up at the stadium.
He begins to ponder over his joy of winning alongside the grief he feels at leaving his team behind. It’s like that day on the train platform with his friends, the day that he had left for Seidou. He’s leaving behind a piece of his heart with them and this time is no different.
“Are you okay, Sawamura-senpai?”
Eijun jumps at the sudden sound of Koushuu’s voice. “Okumura-kun!” He has since stopped calling him ‘shonen’ after they became a battery during the fall tournament. “What are you doing here?”
“You left,” says Koushuu, as if it’s the obvious answer. He sits down on the swing next to him, copying Eijun’s movements, his hands loosely holding onto the chains for support. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
That puts an unexpected warmth in Eijun’s chest, though really, it shouldn’t be a surprise. Koushuu always sought him out, always thought of him, always cared for him in ways that go beyond that of a battery. Koushuu was always where he needed him to be, and in the past two years, Eijun grew fond of his company. Sometimes, he even found himself longing for it.
“I’m okay, just…” Eijun smiles with a wistful sigh. He redirects his gaze to the stadium in front of them. “Just wish I could keep playing with you.” Then his cheeks warm at realising the implications of what he just said. “W-With all of you, I mean. With Seidou. I wanted to take us further.”
“Is winning Koshien not enough?”
“It is. I’ll come back here one day, I’m sure of it.” Then courage grows bolder in Eijun’s heart, compelling him to forget his fear. “But I think I just wanted more time with you.”
“I’m yours, senpai. Always.” Koushuu says it so softly that it almost sounded like a prayer, like a whispered wish on a star.
“Ha, that almost sounds like a confession, Okumura-kun.” The grin on Eijun’s face drops when he sees how Koushuu says nothing in resistance to his statement. The tips of his ears become endearingly pink, much like the blush that develops on his cheeks. Oh. It is a confession.
“I have something for you,” he says and Eijun turns to him, “I was going to give it to you after the game but everything got so busy and I didn’t get a chance to properly talk to you until now…”
He cups his hands together and offers them to his catcher, who places a small button in his palms. It’s not a button from their school uniform, but rather a button from their baseball jerseys. A second button.
Eijun expects Koushuu to look away like most people do when the confess their feelings—then again, he had only ever witnessed two confessions in real life: the first was between Miyuki-senpai and Nabe-senpai (also done after their first win at Koshien, coincidentally). And the other he experienced for himself when Amahisa confessed to him after their match last year during the summer tournament. He turned him down, saying that he appreciated his honesty but could not return his feelings.
(Little did Amahisa know, Eijun had already started slowly falling for someone else, a certain blond catcher on his team.)
Of course, Eijun is wrong to underestimate Koushuu. Everything he did from baseball to his personal life was deliberate, he never left anything unfinished, nor did he ever compromise who he was. Nothing about Koushuu was moderate—not his style of catching, not his personality, and not the way he loves.
“I’m yours, Sawamura-senpai. I don’t know what the future holds for us, but wherever it leads, I will walk gladly into it at your side, for as long as you’ll have me. If you’ll have me.”
Eijun looks at the button in his hands and thinks how funny it is that the weight of a person’s affections can be held within something so small and seemingly inconsequential.
Then his gaze shifts from the button to Koushuu’s eyes and finds a rare kind of vulnerability, one that Eijun never expected to find in someone as self-assured as Koushuu. A vulnerability that told him that despite the fear throbbing in his chest, despite the reservations he held, and despite the chance of rejection, he’s there. Hoping. Wanting. Loving.
Eijun puts his hands, as well as the button, in his pockets. “You know, a button is something you give at graduation.” His tone’s teasing but affectionate.
“Considering your grades, senpai, I didn’t think you’d graduate.”
Eijun takes one hand out to flick him in the forehead. “Oi, I thought this was supposed to be a confession.”
“It is a confession.” Koushuu then scowls and turns away. “If you’re going to turn me down, please do it now, senpai. You don’t need to worry about sparing my feelings with your kindness.”
Oh… Koushuu thinks that Eijun doesn’t return his affections, as if rejection is unavoidable, inevitable. What a silly little wolf, Eijun thinks endearingly to himself.
He reaches out with both hands, taking Koushuu’s hands in his. Eijun has always admired Koushuu’s hands. In their own kind of way, they’re beautiful, and that’s not weird or anything (at least, Eijun hoped it isn’t) because they really are quite beautiful—especially when he catches his pitches with them. Hands soft to the touch but firm when holding them, his training reflected in the density of his muscles. Strong, sturdy, and stable. These are the hardworking, trustworthy hands of a catcher. His catcher. His Koushuu.
It dawns on Eijun that his words won’t work on Koushuu, not in the same way as his work on him. For Koushuu to understand, he must act. And so he does.
At first, Eijun simply looks at him, taking in every aspect of this moment. The afternoon sun has long since dipped beyond the horizon, leaving only the twilight afterglow in its wake. The night sky will soon take stewardship over the skies but this moment will be witnessed by the dusk. Ephemeral, fleeting, evanescent. But for them, this will be forever in their memories.
He brings one hand up to brush aside the fine, blond hair that covers his eyes, tucking the locks behind his ear. Koushuu is beautiful, heartbreakingly beautiful with his cheekbones and jawline that start to define with age. Pink lips that form an indifferent line, but will sometimes curve into a small, hidden smile. Long lashes that frame his rurikarakusa eyes. Eijun could spend a long time looking at Koushuu, and he will, but not now.
He leans forward, cupping his jaw with his hands, and kisses him gently and sweetly. It’s Eijun’s first kiss, so he doesn’t know if he’s doing it right but Koushuu doesn’t appear to care as he smiles into the kiss. Eijun thinks he should smile like that more often, but he does feel a sense of pride knowing that Koushuu wears a smile that he gave him.
Eijun wonders if it’s normal to feel like he’s coming apart and being put back together all at once. To be undone and unraveled in the most lovely way. When he pulls away, Koushuu follows after him with eyes still closed. His blush darkens when he comes to himself again but he doesn’t look away this time.
His eyes soften and hold something that Eijun can only describe as relief. He can only imagine how his own eyes look.
“Before I found you here, there was a moment when I almost didn’t…” Koushuu shakes his head dismissively, though he’s unable to shake the smile from his face. “Nevermind. I’m… I’m glad.”
Eijun leans up and presses a small, gentle kiss on Koushuu’s forehead. “Me too.”
They return to the hotel shortly after, hand in hand. The team looks at them briefly and then there’s a mixed reaction between groans and “I called it!” followed by the exchange of yen between them.
Their captain, Kanemaru, looks at the two of them in disappointment after he begrudgingly handed over a thousand yen to Toujou. “You two couldn’t have waited until graduation to confess, could you?”
Behind him, Furuya and Haruichi smugly count their money.
2021
Eijun wakes up when the sunlight rudely lands on his face.
He covers his eyes with his hand, groaning as he groggily pushes himself up to sit. He turns his back to the sun, expecting to see Koushuu still asleep on the other side of his bed, only to find his side empty.
The little Miyuki-shaped devil on his shoulder tells him that Koushuu escaped some time in the middle of night, unable to bear being around Eijun any longer. The Chris-shaped angel on his shoulder tells him that’s silly and it’s likely that he’s already downstairs so there’s no need to panic. When he slides his bedroom door open, he can hear faint voices coming from downstairs—at least three people in what sounds like pleasant conversation.
“Oh well done! That was great!” His mother says, applauding.
Eijun rounds the corner, walking into the kitchen where he sees his mother and father watching Koushuu closely as he flips pancakes. The Chris-angel tells him a smug, I told you so.
“Look who’s finally awake!” His father teasingly greets, ruffling the hair on Eijun’s head as if he were a fourteen year old boy rather than a twenty-four year old man. “Kou-kun woke up, made tea, and cooked breakfast for everyone. God, I’ve missed his pancakes, no one does it quite like Kou-kun.”
“Thank you, Sawamura-san,” Koushuu says modestly.
“Are my pancakes not good enough for you, my darling?” His mother asks, venom hidden behind her sweet words. Eijun stifles his laughter as his father sweats trying to get himself out of a hole he’s begun to dig for himself. “Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t like my pancakes? You could have said that to me twenty-six years ago, how many pancakes have I made for you?”
As his parents continue to playfully bicker, Eijun walks over to Koushuu, leaning against the kitchen counter. It’s criminal of Koushuu to look this good in the morning—with his blond hair tied up in a low ponytail, his vest showcasing his toned, lithe torso which clearly shows that he hasn’t stopped working out. “Good morning, Eijun, how was your sleep?” He asks, polite and thoughtful.
The entire domesticity of the scene—the pancakes, the tea, the getting along with his parents—is almost enough to make Eijun forget that he and Koushuu are not together anymore.
“It was good. I think I slept at a weird angle though, my neck feels tight.”
“Let me take a look after I finish this.”
“Oh you don’t—” He stops himself, remembering that his parents are present and will likely find it strange if he doesn’t allow his, uhh, boyfriend to help him. “Yeah, I appreciate it.”
Breakfast is by no means a quiet affair, but things never are when the Sawamura family are involved. When Eijun first brought Koushuu home to meet his family after the latter had graduated from high school, he was worried that they would be too loud for him. Too lively, too rambunctious, too much.
His biggest concern was Koushuu meeting his grandfather because, well, Eijun took after his grandfather a lot. And considering his and Koushuu’s rocky beginnings, he was worried that Koushuu’s wolf head might rear itself for round two: elder abuse.
It turned out that he was worried for nothing. Out of all his family members, Koushuu seemed to genuinely enjoy his grandfather’s company the most and likewise, his grandfather took a liking to Koushuu. When Eijun asked him about it, Koushuu shrugged and said, “I think it’s because he reminds me of you.”
And as Eijun considered his grandfather to be someone very cool—because an old person who confidently rocks a small mohawk and pulls off Hawaiian print shirts has to be cool—he took this as a compliment.
At least he did until Koushuu said, “He’s just as loud and annoying as you but because I’ve been around you for so long, I somehow like the noise.”
“What the—”
“But like you, he puts a lot of care into what he does,” Koushuu said, continuing, “plus, he loves you. A lot. So we have that in common.”
Everything that Eijun was about to say in defence deflates and he couldn’t help but giggle like a schoolgirl, wearing a pink blush on his sunkissed cheeks.
“What?”
“You love me.”
Koushuu looked at him as if he had just said the sky is blue and grass is green. One eyebrow raised above the other while his mouth is slightly agape. “Is this news to you, Eijun? Do I not tell you enough times a day?”
That was far from the truth. While Koushuu is quiet by nature, he never went a day without telling Eijun that he loves him, leaving no room for him to doubt him.
“No, it’s just I don’t get tired of hearing it.”
Koushuu smiled, small, almost too small to see if one wasn’t looking close enough, as he approached him. In the fall of Eijun’s second year, Koushuu grew exactly five and a half inches, making him stand at six and a half feet while Eijun only grew half an inch. He had not been pleased then but it all seemed to work out for his benefit. He took Eijun in his arms and pressed a kiss to his temple.
“I love you,” Koushuu said, putting sweet moonlight in the crevices of his ribcage.
That was then. Now, Eijun wishes he could hear him say those three little words one more time, wishes he could feel the moonlight in his chest once more.
“Put yer back into it, Eijun!”
“I’m trying, ojiisan! It’s a lot harder than I remember it being!”
“If a city boy like Kou-kun can do it, then you, who grew up on this farm, can definitely do it!”
Eijun scowls to himself as he carefully prunes a tree, discarding the loose branch on the floor. When he finally finishes, he carries the pile of branches over to where Koushuu and his grandfather were.
It was naive of Eijun to assume that his week would be spent relaxing. Of course his grandfather puts him and Koushuu to work as soon as he could. Spending his afternoons pruning back the trees, removing rotten fruit, and picking the last strawberries of the season is not how he intended on spending his post-championship vacation.
That said, warm, sunny afternoons watching Koushuu deftly handle a pruning knife or carry a stack of loose branches is not exactly a waste of time either. At least the view is nice. His eyes glance over Koushuu’s form—the toned biceps that indicate consistent workout, the wisps of blond hair that fall out of the ponytail and frame his face—oh yes, a very nice view that Eijun shouldn’t get too used to seeing.
Surprisingly, the past few days haven’t been as awkward or awful as Eijun imagined it to be. Koushuu is quiet, but never silent, always engaging in conversations and even initiating some of them himself. It’s hard to remember that this is all an act.
And he’s been a saint to his family. Accompanying his mother to the grocery store so she doesn’t have to carry the bags alone, helping his father fix the truck and other minor repairs around the farm, cooking dinner with his grandfather and exchanging recipes together like they used to do. It almost feels like Koushuu spent more time with his family than Eijun has—which is weird, right?
Why would Koushuu go to such lengths to keep up appearances? There’s nothing moderate about Koushuu, Eijun knows, but he’s never known him to dedicate this much heart into a performance. So Eijun can’t help but wonder how much of it is an act, if it’s even an act at all. Has the affection he once held for his family turned to resentment? No… He’s thinking too deeply into this. No matter what happened between them, Koushuu isn’t petty enough to let his feelings about Eijun affect the sentiments he has for his family.
“Right well, I gotta go into town for my annual doctor’s appointment, so I’ll just let ya get on with picking strawberries,” his grandfather says. “We’re selling at the festival this Friday so I need five full baskets of strawberries to make daifuku.”
“Five baskets?!” Eijun cries out. He looks at the basket on the floor. It’s not exactly large, but it’s by no means small either, able to carry about one hundred berries inside, maybe more depending on the size. “You’re asking for five hundred strawberries!”
“It’s the last time we can pick strawberries until next summer! Besides that’s just for today, tomorrow I’ll have you picking pumpkins so they can be cured in time for the farmer’s market next week. Good luck!” His grandfather waves, already walking away from Eijun and Koushuu, ignoring his grandson’s cries.
And then they’re alone.
“I think between us we can get them filled by the time we have dinner,” Koushuu says but Eijun is doubtful.
“Dinner is in two hours time. That’s two hundred and…” Eijun brings up his fingers and quietly counts to himself, “...fifty strawberries each.”
“I’m glad to see you can still do basic math, Eijun.”
“Oi,” he reaches over and flicks Koushuu in the temple, forgetting that they aren’t as intimate anymore, “I don’t wanna hear that from the person who failed their math final and had to redo it in their first year of high school.”
“Says the person who did the exact same thing,” Koushuu retorts teasingly as he crouches down, beginning to pick strawberries from the closest bush. Even though he could’ve taken the opportunity to have some space, Eijun follows his movements and takes the row next to him against his better judgement.
“I—oh… Yeah, that’s right.” Eijun chuckles to himself. Then in an attempt to prove that he wasn’t that bad, he tells Koushuu about his cousin’s high school teammates who were late to a weekend training camp because they had to take supplementary exams after failing their finals.
“Oh, is this the cousin from Miyagi?”
“Daichi, yeah.”
“Didn’t he just get engaged?”
“Y-Yeah… How did you know?”
“Instagram. We still follow each other.”
“Ah yeah, that makes sense.”
“I’m happy for him,” Koushuu says, walking over to the first basket and carefully discarding a handful of strawberries into them. “His fiancé seems nice.”
“Soooo nice,” Eijun confirms, then thoughtlessly adds, “and he’s got pretty silver hair too! Guess us Sawamuras have a thing for light-haired people.” He hears himself and starts stammering. “I-I mean—you see—uhh—”
“Sawamura-san,” he says, and something in Eijun wilts in disappointment at the sound of his surname, “it’s okay, you don’t have to walk on eggshells around me.” Well he could’ve said that sooner, Eijun thinks, but despite that, it does little to calm his nerves. Koushuu, as observant as he usually is, notices and changes the subject. He clears his throat. “At the rate you’re picking strawberries, you’ll be here until nightfall,” he points out, side-eying Eijun’s empty basket.
Eijun, unable to back down from a challenge, immediately discards the strawberries that he had been carrying in his arms into the basket. He puffs his chest out proudly and dramatically gestures to the basket. “You can’t call it strawberry picking if you’re not carrying at least ten at a time! It’s called efficiency!”
“Oh is that right?” Koushuu says flatly, humouring him. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”
“See? You have to do it like this!” Eijun says, brightly grinning as he boasts another armful of strawberries. He puts them in his basket and returns to the tree with a renewed vigor and enthusiasm for picking fruit. He doesn’t notice the way Koushuu looks at him with soft endearment and yearning.
(In the end, Eijun wins their little strawberry picking contest, managing to fill all five baskets. He laughs, bright and real and playfully smacks Koushuu’s back saying, “It’s okay, Okumura-kun! I’ve been working on this farm since I was able to walk! You’ll get the hang of it eventually. Maybe you can beat me tomorrow when we pick the pumpkins!”
“You say that, but somehow you still suck at pruning trees.”
“Oi! Picking fruits and pruning trees are completely different things!”
“Yes they are, pruning is more difficult.”
With nothing good to offer as a clever rebuttal, Eijun resorts to childishly sticking his tongue out at Koushuu.)
After carrying five baskets full of strawberries to the barn, they sink to the floor, leaning against the barn’s wooden panels for support as they catch their breath. The baskets weren’t as heavy as Eijun was expecting them to be, but to carry them across the orchard to the barn was tedious and draining, especially as they had been out in the sun all day.
“We could’ve used that cart,” Koushuu says, a little breathless as he lifts his finger, pointing to the wooden cart in the corner of the barn.
“Yeah? And who’s gonna pull it? You?”
“I was thinking that you could pull it, considering that you love dragging tyres around so much.”
“Well it’s too late anyway. We did it.” Eijun reaches over his head and grabs a handful of strawberries. He pushes himself to his feet and walks over to the sink on the other side of the barn where he rinses them and his hands clean from dirt, then returns to Koushuu, taking a seat next to him. He offers a strawberry, holding it by the green truss in front of his lips.
Koushuu, naturally, is hesitant, and even looks at Eijun as if to ask if this is okay. But all Eijun does is push the red berry closer to him and eventually takes a bite, lips brushing against the skin of Eijun’s hand so lightly that they could barely feel it. It’s juicy, sweet, and fresh, as can be expected of a handpicked strawberry.
“Vitamin C is good for you,” Eijun says, as if that’s a justifiable explanation for the intimate act of feeding someone from your own hands. Koushuu murmurs in agreement but says nothing else as Eijun continues to feed the both of them.
There’s a funny little thought in his head that strawberries look a little like hearts and in a way, he’s giving his heart to Koushuu all over again.
2019
Baseball does a lot to Eijun’s heart.
It skips a beat when a batter connects with a pitcher, whether they be from his own team or the opponent’s. It races at the sound of the crowd’s cheers, shouting his signature ‘Osh osh osh!’ after holding the other team scoreless in an inning. It pounds when his turn comes to face the pitcher, standing on the mound that belongs to him.
His heart has only ever stopped on a few occasions—most of them, thankfully, were good occasions. Such as the two wins at Koshien during high school or winning his debut collegiate game as Waseda’s ace.
But in his final year of university, his heart not only stopped, but was violently tackled to the ground.
Eijun remembers thinking that he just needed one more out. Just one more to end this inning. It’s easy, just one more pitch to Koushuu’s glove. He’s done it a thousand times.
Then the scene that plays is reminiscent of the match against Seiko in his first year, during the fall.
The batter connects with his pitch, sending it past third and shortstop, deep into the outfield, giving a chance to the runner on second to try and make it home. But Takatsu and Koushuu aren’t about to let that happen.
In one fluid motion, Takatsu grabs the ball and throws it back home. It almost feels like one of Furuya’s throws. Eijun can feel the intent and ferocity in his throw. And Koushuu, of course, catches it as the runner is in the middle of the last stretch home. Normally, runners will see that they’ve been caught out and slow their pace. But not this one.
While the runner increases his speed, everything else seems to slow down and all Eijun can do is helplessly watch as the opponent runs over Koushuu at full force and strength, knocking him back into the dirt. Koushuu’s name is stuck in his throat. Why? Why can’t he cry out for him? Why can’t he shout and scream?
His voice may betray him but his feet are cooperative. Eijun takes a step off the mound, then stops when he sees Koushuu move. As the dust settles, the catcher forces himself on his knees, locking eyes with the one who collided with him as he lifts his left hand in the air, showcasing the ball settled nicely in his mitt.
“Out!” The umpire calls, causing an eruption of cheers from the stands.
Eijun runs over to Koushuu’s side, acting not as a pitcher to his catcher, but as a boyfriend. As he approaches, he notices that the right shoulder pad on his protective gear seems to be higher than the left. How strange. Was the gear not fastened on correctly? Eijun dismisses these thoughts as he helps him up, putting his left arm over his shoulder, aiding him as they walk back to the dug-out to examine the extent of his injury.
“Where does it hurt, Okumura?” Coach Komiyama asks, thick eyebrows furrowing in concern.
“Everywhere,” replies Koushuu, wincing as the others help remove his gear. “But I’m okay, I can handle it. I just need an ice pack for my shoulder.”
It’s then that they see the results of the collision. Eijun hadn’t been seeing things. There was an unnatural, protruding lump on Koushuu’s right shoulder—the shoulder that the runner had aggressively ran into in his desperation to get to home. A collective, hushed gasp befalls the team as they look worryingly at their catcher’s shoulder.
Coach Komiyama stares at the lump and then closes his eyes for a moment. Looking back on it now, Eijun wonders if he was saying a prayer. The coach talks quietly with the assistant coaches who nod along to his words, then turns back to Koushuu. “You need to go to the hospital, Okumura.”
Koushuu looks at him incredulously. Eijun doesn’t blame him. He’s sure he would be pulling the same, horrified expression if he were told the same news. “I’m fine, Komiyama-san. I can sit this inning out, just send a pinch hitter in my place. I can—” He lifts his right shoulder, then cries out in pain. “—I can do this…” His voice is quieter, more desperate and almost tearful.
“Okumura, I cannot in good conscience send you out like this. Go to the hospital.”
“But Coach—”
“That wasn’t a suggestion,” Komiyama says, cutting across. Then his stern eyes soften and he adds, “We will finish the game for you. We’ll make your sacrifice worth it.”
Sacrifice. Is that what this is? A casualty in an ongoing war? For a moment, a very brief, fleeting moment, Eijun thinks baseball isn’t worth this sacrifice. Nothing could be worth breaking your body and soul for. Blood is a currency that Eijun will not pay for victory.
Koushuu relents, accepting that his continued presence in his current state will be fruitless. As he readies himself to leave, Eijun’s voice finally returns to him and he asks the Coach, “May I go with him?”
“Sawamura, you’re the ace of the team. We cannot lose you, not now.”
You can’t lose me, but I can’t lose him either, Eijun thinks to himself.
He’s prepared to fight back when he feels the comforting touch of Koushuu’s hand on top of his, holding him back and silently telling him to yield. “Coach is right,” he tells him, “now more than ever, they need you. Without the ace, the team falls apart. You have to hold us together, Eijun.”
“But…” But who’s going to hold me together if not you?
“I know.” Koushuu offers Eijun a small smile and that’s how he knows he’s really serious. Koushuu seldom smiles like that. “I’ll be back before you know it.” He presses a gentle kiss to his cheek and then leaves with one of the assistant coaches after casting one last look at Eijun.
In the end, despite their win, Koushuu didn’t come back. In fact, he didn’t come back for a whole week as he needed an immediate operation on his shoulder—a Type Five AC separation along his shoulder and a tear in his pronator quadratus, not that Eijun knows what it means—and when he did come back, Koushuu wasn’t quite the same.
He was still beautiful and honest to a fault, but on that day, he left a part of himself on the field.
2020
“They said what?”
“No more baseball,” Koushuu says darkly. “While playing baseball is still possible, they strongly advise against it in case it ruptures my shoulder again. And since I tore the muscle in my wrist, my throw is never going to be the same as it was before.”
“But it’s been six months,” says Eijun, confused. He had spent his free time reading up on shoulder related injuries as well as asking Chris for physiotherapy advice. In between classes, games, and training, Eijun spent his time with Koushuu to aid in his recovery. “You’re supposed to have full function of your shoulder by now…”
“Yes well, I don’t think my shoulder got that memo,” Koushuu says, bitter and frustrated.
“I thought the surgery was supposed to fix it.”
“I thought so too.”
“Okay, well, what about that experimental treatment in Korea? The one the doctors mentioned?”
“I can’t afford it. And even if I could, they looked at my case and said it was too risky.”
Eijun walks over to the window and sits on the sill next to his boyfriend. He looks out at the city below the dormitory complex, watching stray blossom petals blow in from the small park opposite, signalling the end of the hanami season. Clouds begin to gather and he frowns—he forgot to bring an umbrella.
“For normal, casual use, I’ll get full function back,” Koushuu explains, then he turns to his wrist and shoulder with a scowl, as if they betrayed him. “But prolonged, active use of my shoulder will risk further injury. Maybe even irreversible injury.”
Eijun is quiet, mainly because he doesn’t know what to say. Does he offer words of pity? Sympathy? Encouragement? Maybe this isn’t a place for words, maybe all Eijun can do is just be here.
“I’m still going to play,” Koushuu tells him, stubborn and determined. “There’s so much I still want to do with you, pitches we haven’t yet tried, teams we haven’t yet played.”
“Is that really the best idea, Koushuu?” Eijun asks softly. He reaches out and tucks a stray lock of blond hair behind his ear, then holds his cheek in his hand. Koushuu closes his eyes and leans into Eijun’s gentle touch. “There are some things that medicine just can’t fix. Let me look after you. I can take a small break from baseball and we’ll get you back on your feet and—”
Koushuu recoils from his touch as if he were a poisonous creature, pushing himself away from the windowsill. He shakes his head in disapproval and turns back to face Eijun. “No, I won’t allow you.”
“It’s not your choice.”
“You got the offer of a lifetime from the Hanshin Tigers, they’re not going to just sit by and wait for you,” Koushuu reminds him. His steeled expression reminds Eijun of the first time they met. Serious. Guarded. Calculating. “I’m not letting you throw it away for me.”
Eijun stands up, taking a step towards his boyfriend. “And I’m not letting you break yourself in half for me. This isn’t the end, there are other things that can give your life meaning.”
God, Eijun hated arguing with him. They’re both too stubborn and hardheaded for their own good, both believing they’re on the right side of things. “You showed me what it means to truly enjoy baseball, how can you expect me to throw all of that away? To give it up?”
“I’m not telling you to throw it all away and I’m not telling you to give it up. I’m saying that there’s a sensible way to do this!”
“Sensible?” He mocks, turning Eijun’s blood cold. Koushuu could be cruel when he wants to be and Eijun considered himself lucky for never being on the receiving end of those ice blue eyes. “That’s rich coming from you.”
“Don’t turn this back on me, Kou, this isn’t about me.”
“You’re the one making it about you!” He accuses venomously. “I’m not asking you to stay and look after me. I’m capable of looking after myself!”
“Clearly not if you’re prioritising baseball over your health!”
“It’s not baseball I’m prioritising!” Koushuu cries out, then he lets out a shuddered exhale, as if he’s about to cry. In their entire six years together, Eijun has only ever witnessed Koushuu cry three times. He falls onto the sofa, head in his hands. “It’s you… I want to get better for you.” He looks up, meeting Eijun’s eyes as he starts to fiddle with his fingers. “I don’t want to be the one holding you back from your dream so maybe… maybe we should just end things here.”
Eijun can’t help the way he flinches at Koushuu’s words, physically hurt at the mere suggestion of a separation. But Koushuu isn’t the type of person to say things without thought, meaning this isn’t the first time he’s considered ending things between them. So Eijun swallows hard and for once, tries to think rationally.
He walks over to Koushuu, kneeling down next to him and taking his hands in his. “Let’s calm down for a minute, alright? We’re getting too heated about this. Let’s talk about this another day.”
“You should leave.”
Eijun remains firmly rooted, unwilling to move. “I’m not leaving, but I’m not going to watch you do this to us either.”
“Us?” Koushuu scoffs. “What good is a battery when the catcher can no longer catch? Because that’s all I am to you, isn’t it?” He spits out venomously.
A long, pregnant pause holds in the air as they stare at each other, eyes hard and cold.
“This is the part where you apologise,” says Eijun, slowly, controlling the words he says because one of them needs to. “You’re not just my catcher, Koushuu, you’re the love of my life. I thought you knew that.”
“Our paths used to be the same, but not anymore,” he says, definitively, making him flinch. “Life is taking us in different directions.”
“Only if we allow it to,” Eijun insists with soft desperation. “We can make it work, we’ve done it before, remember? When I graduated from Seidou? And—”
“And if we can’t? What if you decide that you don’t want me anymore?”
Eijun freezes. Why… Why is Koushuu talking like this? He’s never known him to give up before something has begun.
“This isn’t the same as before,” Koushuu says, cruelly continuing on. “We’re not going to be 30 miles apart this time, we’re going to be 300 miles apart. It’s not as simple as just catching the train. I don’t want to have this conversation in six months when we decide that the distance is too much and that time is too demanding. I don’t want us to be a burden on each other.”
It’s Eijun’s turn to recoil from Koushuu, snatching his hands away and turning to take several steps away from him. Hurt is an understatement for what he feels now. His heart feels heavy and hollow at the same time, the weight of the conversation pressing hard against his ribcage making it difficult to breathe or even think.
“You can’t mean that… A burden? Is that what I am to you? Is that what you think you are to me?” Eijun snaps, all rationality blowing away like the cherry blossom petals outside.
“I’ve spent my life chasing after you,” Koushuu says, and Eijun can’t help but hope that this is some cruel trick, some late April Fools joke. “I chose Seidou because I was chasing you, I made it onto the first string in high school because of you, I went to the same university as you for you. I did all of it, for you.”
“Does that mean I’m the reason you’re hurt?” Eijun asks, voice thick and heavy as he feels his throat close up on him in the way that throats do when tears start to build up. “Because I-I didn’t pitch the numbers you asked for o-or because I couldn’t be a better ace and-and—”
Eijun doesn’t realise he’s crying until he feels Koushuu’s hands holding his face, gently wiping his tears away with his thumbs. Then they’re in each other’s arms. It’s a unique experience to be in the arms of someone who breaks you down as he holds you together, forcing all the broken pieces of his own making back together.
“No no, never think that,” Koushuu tells him, gentle and kind even as he hurts him. “I did all of it for you because I love you. And I would do it all again, I wouldn’t change a single thing about the years we’ve shared together. I love you but I don’t want to stand in the way of your dreams. I won’t let you sacrifice everything you’ve worked towards for me.”
He pulls away, turning his back on Koushuu while he collects his thoughts together. “Don’t you think I should be the one who gets to decide that?”
Eijun swallows hard. Maybe if he begs him to see reason once more… Maybe this nightmare could stop. They could fall into each other’s arms, apologise to each other, and forget about all about this. Maybe they could look back at this moment and laugh at how silly they’re being.
“Koushuu please,” he whispers, “don’t do this to us.”
“You should leave,” Koushuu repeats his earlier words and Eijun relents, all fight, all hope gone from him.
“Fine, I can’t watch you do this to yourself anymore.” Eijun picks up his backpack, one arm through the loop, holding the strap with one hand. His clenched jaw feels too heavy to carry all the words he wants to say.
“Too difficult for you, is it?”
Eijun whips around, anger and hurt evident on his face as tears travel south of his round cheeks. “Yes, it is. It breaks my heart to see you this way. To see you so destructive of everything and everyone around you, including yourself.”
“Don’t pity me. I’m not some charity case for you to work on.”
“I’m not pitying you.”
“You’re too selfless, Eijun. You care too much for your own good. You can’t give your heart to everyone.”
Eijun faces Koushuu one last time, eyes wide and watery and sore from the crying, and he says, “I didn’t give it to everyone, I gave it to you.”
Then he leaves, walking out into the rain which mixes with the tears on his face.
2021
Eijun’s hometown is a small community, but many people come from surrounding cities at least an hour’s drive away to experience their biweekly farmer’s market and their October festival. It’s vibrant and bustling and full of life.
The bright colours of fruits and vegetables from the last of the summer crops proudly displayed in the stall boxes; the scent of freshly baked bread and pastries and all sorts of festival foods, the sweetness of flowers; and the sound of laughter between friends meeting again and pleasant conversation exchanged between strangers. Colours and smells and sounds all mixing together to create a sensory overload in the best possible way.
Eijun barely has time to help his grandfather set up their stall because as soon as he sets foot into the festival, he’s greeted by many faces, faces whom he grew up with. All of them congratulated him on making baseball history by being the ace that led the Tigers to their first win in thirty-six years. Eijun thanks them for their support, not noticing the way that Koushuu watches him wearing a small, proud smile.
It’s another thirty minutes before Eijun manages to pull himself away from them all, retreating to the safety of his grandfather’s stall. His grandfather is currently absent—had to go back to the farm with his parents to collect the last of the daifuku—so it’s just the two of them until they get back.
“They missed you,” Koushuu comments, as he adjusts the price sign on the stall.
“Huh? Oh, them? Yeah well…” He trails off, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “I haven’t been able to visit as often as I want to. Plus I couldn’t afford a car until three months ago and even then, it’s almost a six hour drive from Nishinomiya.”
“Actually, that brings up a question I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
“Go for it.”
“I live in Tokyo.”
“That’s not a question, Okumura-kun.”
Koushuu scowls and Eijun grins. It’s nice knowing he still has that effect on Koushuu. Then again, he’s sure that Kuramochi-senpai would just tell him that he has a natural talent for annoying people. “Nevermind,” grumbles the blond.
“Hey, hey, hey, I’m just messing with you. Go on, what’s your question?”
Koushuu looks at him and waits for a moment, as if Eijun might interject once more, and then goes on to ask, “What were you doing in Tokyo last weekend? The drive to Tokyo from Nishinomiya is the same, if not longer than driving to your hometown.”
“Oh, I was visiting Satoru and Harucchi for the weekend.”
“Do they know about…?” Koushuu vaguely gestures between them and Eijun can’t tell whether he’s asking if they know that they broke up—they do—or if they know that they’re pretending to be in a relationship for the sake of his family—they don’t.
And it wasn’t as if Eijun never brought it up to them. He told them his insane plan to stage a fake relationship with his ex-boyfriend and Harucchi said that it’s an awful plan and that he should just tell the truth to his parents. Which he will (eventually, he hasn’t quite thought that far ahead) but not yet.
“Yeah they do!”
“You’re lying.”
“Eh?! That’s a rude accusation!”
Koushuu shakes his head, but there’s a faint, fond smile on his face. “You haven’t changed a bit, Eijun. The tips of your ears turn pink when you lie. It was harder to tell when we were younger since your hair was longer then.”
Something about the way Koushuu remembers such small details about him has his heart beating a little harder than usual. Eijun knows he’s quite a simple person, at the core of all things. He’s not complicated nor does he make any effort to conceal his intentions or affections. He’s nakedly honest and yet not many understand him despite knowing him.
Eijun relaxes his shoulders, relenting. “Yeah… I mean they know that I wanted to do it, but they don’t know that I’m actually doing it.” He turns, meeting Koushuu’s cool blue eyes. “You think I should’ve listened to them, don’t you?”
“Yes I do, it’s what I would have said if I were in their position.” And that really just puts the nail in the coffin, doesn’t it? Even his ex-boyfriend says it was an awful idea, but Eijun wonders who’s the bigger fool? The one who thought of the idea or the one who went along with it? Heh, clearly he’s not the fool here. “But,” says Koushuu, catching Eijun’s attention again, “for what it’s worth, I’m glad you didn’t.”
...Eh?
...Eh?!?!
“What do you mea—”
“We’re back!” Eijun’s father calls out, carrying a large container of fresh daifuku. Eijun tries not to frown at the interruption. He’ll have to ask Koushuu later. “Oi, Eijun, stop staring at Kou-kun and help me display the daifuku.”
After setting up the stall, his grandfather and his parents dismiss him and Koushuu for the evening, saying that they should enjoy the festival together.
“It’s a beautiful evening,” his mother says in a voice that’s a little too casual than her usual tone. “You know if you go towards the southside of the shrine, you can get a gorgeous view of the sunset? The valley is just drenched in the sunlight, it’s the perfect spot for... you know…” She pushes her eyebrows up suggestively at both of them.
“For what?" Koushuu asks, and Eijun wishes he didn’t.
“You know!” She says, then she pushes her elbow into his father’s ribs, as if telling him to back her up.
“Huh? What? Oh, Oh! Yeah uhh, it’s a great spot if you wanna… uhh…” Eijun’s mother looks at him, as if to say, Don’t be obvious! and he swallows hard. “Uhh.... if you want time alone… together… for whatever reason. Like if you wanna talk… alone… and exchange jewellery… or something… ”
“Okay! We’re leaving now! Have a great evening, see you at home!” Eijun hurriedly says, grabbing hold of Koushuu’s hand and dragging him away from his family before they can cause further embarrassment. Though, it’s hard to make a quick getaway when both he and Koushuu are wearing yukatas and getas.
Eijun had forgotten to tell Koushuu to pack a yukata, so the blond was left with no choice but to wear one of Eijun’s larger ones—it was a gift from his grandmother on his mother’s side, though she had gotten the sizing wrong so it didn’t fit well on Eijun. It was a beautiful shade of midnight blue with simple patterning. He didn’t have the heart to give it away so he had just kept it in his childhood bedroom for sentimental reasons. He never expected to be lending it to Koushuu.
He releases his hold on Koushuu’s hand when he judges that they’re out of both sight and earshot of his parents and he ignores the emptiness his hand feels.
“Sorry about that,” Eijun says, avoiding Koushuu’s gaze.
“It’s fine, Eijun, you don’t have to keep apologising for your parents thinking that we’re together,” Koushuu tells him. “Besides, that’s the whole reason I’m here, right? So stop feeling bad or sorry for everything that we do together.”
He’s right, Eijun realises, but he can’t help but apologise. He wonders if Koushuu feels the same as he does, the feeling of being constantly being put back together and being ripped apart. Back then, Koushuu had been the one to suggest breaking up, but he wasn’t the one who walked out of the door.
What if Eijun had stayed? What if he went back to see him the next day to talk things out instead of staying away? Maybe they could be in this exact moment, but real.
“Okay,” Eijun says, quietly. “We should enjoy the festival while we’re here. Are you hungry?”
“Famished.”
They spend the evening walking around the festival together, visiting various food stalls (avoiding his family’s daifuku stall) until their stomachs were primed to burst from so much food. They miraculously find a bench that wasn’t already occupied and sit down, ready to watch the firework display due to start soon. Around them, families are sitting on blankets or on the grass, children still munching on their festival food.
Then the night sky above explodes in light and colour. For once, the light-polluted sky has stars. Temporary and fleeting, but for a bright moment little stars flew up to the sky as if they wanted to join the hidden constellations. Eijun always liked fireworks, but he supposes that most people do.
He looks to his side and watches Koushuu watching the fireworks display. His face, normally tense with a guarded expression, relaxes, the corners of his lips lightly tugged up into a small, fond smile. The blue of his eyes are lost in the bright display, reflecting the gold and white of the fireworks making him look heavensent. Okumura Koushuu is beautiful and Eijun is devastated.
He’s still in love with him. He’s known that for a while but seeing him here, wearing his clothes, visiting his hometown with him, sitting by his side really cements the fact that one, nearly two years of being apart did jackshit for how he feels.
When the fireworks display inevitably end—because like he learned so long ago, nothing lasts forever, not the good nor the bad—they both remain seated on the bench, quietly watching as people begin to disperse and return home.
Next to him, Eijun notices Koushuu starting to fiddle with his fingers and if that means the same thing that it did nearly two years ago, then he’s about to talk about something serious and he’s nervous to bring it up. This is what happened when he accidentally lost Eijun’s signed baseball (he found it a few hours later) or when they talked about moving in together (they broke up before it could happen).
Koushuu doesn’t ask his question until they’re one of the few people left in the vicinity with only autumn fireflies as their witnesses.
“Why did you never tell them?”
Eijun expected this question, so for once, he was prepared with an answer. “They took so long believing that you and I were actually dating that it would’ve just been a mess if I told them that we broke up.”
“Your ears are turning pink. What’s the real reason?”
Koushuu is so perceptive about everyone but himself. It’s laughable, really. “Telling everyone would’ve made it real,” Eijun says, almost like a whisper. “And I wanted to hold on to us… to you, for as long as I could.”
A pause, and then, “We were better off for it, Eijun.”
“No we weren’t,” he says, still defiant in his doubt that Koushuu could believe that. “You can lie to yourself, you can lie to everyone else, but you can’t lie to me.”
“Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing to your family? To your friends? Lying?”
“Don’t turn this back on me, Koushuu, not again.” He stands up, but doesn’t walk away, not like last time.
“You’ve never needed me to achieve your dreams,” Koushuu says quietly. “You were better off without me and I was right. You made history without me by your side. I would’ve just held you back and you would’ve resented me for it.”
“Stop talking as if you are me, the only person who can say what I feel and what I think is me! I would never… could never resent you!” His voice cracks and Eijun realises that he’s crying. He furiously wipes his tears away with the sleeve of his yukata then turns to face Koushuu. “When will you realise that my dream wasn’t to become Japan’s number one ace on my own, but to become the ace with you! You, me, us, that’s my dream. That was always the dream.”
Koushuu looks up at him, shattered. Blue eyes full of regret and pain. “I… I didn’t know. I always thought…”
“Thought what? That I loved baseball more than you?”
“No… I always thought you would choose baseball over me, if it ever came down to it,” he confesses and it breaks Eijun’s heart to hear it. “I thought that telling you to go would hurt less than you choosing to leave, because it came from me. But it didn’t matter in the end. It hurt either way. It hurt more when I woke up the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that, and you never came back. Why…” His voice cracks. “Why did you leave?”
Eijun kneels in front of him, and if they had both been braver in the past, this could have been a proposal, but instead, he takes both of Koushuu’s trembling hands in his. “I’ve thought about that day a thousand times. It hurt to see you in so much pain, to see you giving up on us. I thought that no matter what happened to me, if I gave up on baseball, if I gave up on myself, you would be the one person who would never abandon me. And you did.”
“Eijun…”
“I won the Championship, I made history with the Tigers, but does any of it even matter if you weren’t there with me? Does it even matter if you weren’t there to come home to?”
He’s crying again but this time, Koushuu reaches out and brushes away his tears. Then he cradles Eijun’s jaw, gently as if he’s afraid he might break him. “Of course it matters. With or without me, it matters because you did it. All of your accomplishments matter because you made it happen. You never needed me.”
“But I wanted you,” Eijun whispers. “You said that I achieved all those things because you weren’t with me, but you didn’t even give us a chance to try.” Koushuu hangs his head in shame. “You gave up on us. And you were so cruel.”
“I was a coward,” says Koushuu, voice heavy with regret. “If I could go back, I’d ask you to stay, tell you how I felt.”
“What would you have said?”
“That I was afraid to watch you fall out of love with me. Eijun, I…” He sucks in a breath, as if trying to stop himself from crying. “I’m so sorry for what I did to us, for the things I said. I… I didn’t mean any of it. I was just… I was so afraid.”
“I know,” says Eijun. He swallows thickly. “I’m sorry too, I’m sorry for walking away when you needed me the most.”
“There’s nothing to forgive. I was the one who pushed you away.”
“And I was the one who stayed away.”
“We’re idiots,” Koushuu remarks, earning a short snort of laughter from Eijun. He pulls Eijun up and close to him, the both of them now standing with their foreheads resting against each other. “I’ve missed you so much,” he confesses, “nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you.”
From this close, Eijun can see the glossiness of Koushuu’s eyes. He makes a decision, and then acts on it.
It seems that Koushuu also made a choice, for they both meet in the middle when they kiss. Koushuu intimately weaves his delicate fingers through Eijun’s hair, making him melt. The soft touch of a former catcher and a former lover. Capable, dependable, reliable. Oh how Eijun loves his hands.
It’s honestly a little embarrassing how easily Eijun becomes so malleable, so pliant under Koushuu’s touch, but he’s too happy to care. The kiss started slow and chaste and gentle, as if they’re afraid to ruin the moment. Then the hunger of nearly two years catches up with them and it becomes desperate. Full of wanting, longing, yearning. They’re clumsy and out of practice, teeth and tongue mixed with soft giggles, but so wholeheartedly, ridiculously, endlessly in love.
“I love you,” they whisper to each other between kisses, “I love you.”
They hurry back to the farmhouse, to Eijun’s room where they can finally make use of the bottle of lube and the box of condoms hidden in the bedside table drawer. It’s been nearly two years. They have a lot to catch up on.
Eijun wakes up the next morning and turns over, finding himself face to face with a very pretty, very naked Okumura Koushuu.
He blushes deeply when he recalls what transpired the night before. The hushed whispers exchanged when they returned to the house, like they’re a couple of teenagers sneaking around again. The careful yet desperate way they undressed each other, not wanting to rip their yukatas. Tentative touches, soft kisses turned hungry, getting to know each other all over again in the most carnal, vulnerable sense.
He leans across and kisses his forehead lightly which rouses Koushuu from his sleep. Not surprising, he has always been a light sleeper. His long eyelashes flutter as he opens his eyes, cool blue looking into warm honey.
“Good morning, Koushuu,” Eijun greets softly, reaching out to brush the stray wisps of blond hair from his face. “Sleep well?”
“I’ve been sleeping a lot better since we’ve been sharing the same bed,” he confesses, voice deep with sleep, sending a hunger in Eijun’s stomach. A hunger that can’t be sated by food. God, he missed seeing this side of Koushuu in the morning. Vanilla blond hair tousled, eyes hazed and heavy with the desire to sleep more, sunlight outlining his form making him look like some kind of angel. God. He’s missed him so much.
“Me too,” Eijun admits. Then he clears his throat. “So… last night…”
When he doesn’t finish his sentence, Koushuu raises one (sleepy) eyebrow at him, questioning. “Did you not enjoy it?”
“Oh no, I did! Very much!” EIjun assures him. There’s no doubt that he enjoyed last night. The marks on Koushuu’s skin (and his own, he’s sure) are a testament to that. “I mean,” he pulls the cover up closer to his chin, “what are we?”
It’s so silly, he feels like a teenager all over again.
“What do you want us to be?”
“Together,” Eijun says, his response embarrassingly instant.
Koushuu smiles and leans in, kissing Eijun sweetly. “Then together is what we are.”
They have one last day together before they have to go back to their usual lives. They do the same things that they’ve been doing all week. They help his grandfather with the farm, accompany his mother to the grocery store, aid his father in fixing the truck. All and more but without pretending. Real, authentic, and whole. When night comes, they lay together, holding each other as if they’re afraid to let go and be apart for even a moment.
Then tomorrow comes and they say goodbye to his family, not without making Koushuu promise to come visit for Christmas—a promise that he intends to keep.
Eijun has one hand on the wheel and the other holding Koushuu, their intertwined hands resting on the gear shift. The windows are slightly rolled down and Eijun sings along to some k-pop song on the radio while Koushuu lightly taps his fingers on his lap, each tap matching the rhythm of the song.
The Chikuma River flows along their left side while the sun is slightly obscured by the mountainous Nagano terrain as they follow the meandering roads. As much as Eijun loves the city, he misses the expansive green offered by the countryside.
“Is it bad of me to say that I don’t want this week to end?” Koushuu asks.
“No, because I was thinking the same thing.”
“Must you return to Nishinomiya so soon?”
“I could be persuaded to stay in Tokyo for a few days.”
“Then stay.”
“Consider me persuaded.” Really, it doesn’t take much to convince Eijun.
In his peripherals, he can see a small smile make its way onto Koushuu’s face. “If you weren’t driving, I’d kiss you senseless.”
What.
Wait.
Shit, shoujo mangas and movies make moments like these look so easy. The road they’re on has crash barriers running alongside it, making it impossible for Eijun to just swerve to the side of the road and stop the car like he wants to. It’s another five minutes before he can safely pull over, to which he finally says, “Not driving anymore.”
Koushuu laughs like Eijun has never heard him laugh before, bright and real and beautiful, eyes crinkled with mirth. It’s a shame he has to shut him up with a kiss, but Koushuu doesn’t seem to mind at all.
2023
A year and a half later, the Hanshin Tigers welcome a new member of their team: Okumura Koushuu, twenty-five years old, athletic trainer.
Eijun stands in the lineup, a warm, bright smile on his face as their Head Coach introduces him. Then Koushuu bows, low and respectful, saying, “Yoroshiku onegaishimasu” and the team, in return, mirrors his actions and words.
“Pleased to meet you! I look forward to working with you, Okumura-san!” Eijun declares proudly with a salute, earning eye rolls from his teammates and coaches.
“You’re not fooling anyone, Sawamura-kun, we all know you’re engaged,” Mima tells him, but Eijun dismissively waves his hand at him.
“Okumura-san! Please help me with my warmup stretches before I go to the bullpen!”
“Of course, Sawamura-san,” Koushuu says, playing along with his fiancé’s act as he follows him towards a quiet spot on the field. Their teammates shake their heads and laugh fondly at them as they watch the couple walk away.
They pretend not to see the kiss poorly hidden by Eijun holding up his baseball cap.