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The Sawamuras move into the house across the street on a day that it’s snowing. The snow isn’t coming down very hard, but the roads are still icy, and moving in at the beginning of winter just seems more troublesome than it’s worth. Satoru’s own family had moved in the middle of summer, with clear roads and skies, a perfectly respectable time of year to do so.
(Satoru will soon learn that Sawamuras are the kind of people that barrel on even when things are hard, even if that makes things harder for themselves in the process.)
Satoru is outside, baseball in his hands, when the Sawamuras move in. He’s wrapped in two scarves, a hat and matching mittens, and a huge puffy coat that his mother had gotten from a shop that sold clothing for skiers. It’s their first winter in Hokkaido, and so she makes sure to bundle him up extra tight before he can even think of stepping outside. Despite all the extra clothes, Satoru still plays, throwing the ball up into the air and then running to go catch it.
The moving efforts draw Satoru’s attention away from baseball. He watches as they carry in all the big pieces of furniture in first, cursing loud enough that it carries to where Satoru is standing across the street. He’s so fixated on listening to the adults squabble about furniture that he almost doesn’t notice the kid sprinting toward him until it’s almost too late.
The kid is running so fast on the ice that he would have made them both fall over, but Satoru manages to move over just in time to have the kid faceplant on the snow instead. The kid isn’t even disturbed, just stands up and grins at Satoru. He doesn’t even bothering to wipe the snow from his face.
“Hey!” he yells, and Satoru swears that his eyes are sparkling. The snow that was on his face seems to have already melted away, probably from the force of that greeting. “You like baseball? Me too! My glove is in a box right now, otherwise I’d show you it. We can still play catch though. I’ve got mittens, it’ll be okay I think-”
Satoru doesn’t know how to react. This boy has been in front of him less than a minute, and already Satoru is left feeling like he needs a nap. He’s like a gust of summer wind, warm and effusive enough to blow Satoru over. Satoru takes a step back.
Before the boy can keep going, though his grandfather calls. “Eijun! Get back here! NOW!”
“I’m coming!” The boy--Eijun--yells back. “I’ve gotta get back but when I get my glove we’ve gotta play catch okay?”
“EIJUN,” comes from across the street, more of a warning now.
Without another word Eijun goes running again. This time he doesn’t slip on the ice, but he definitely wobbles. Satoru has a feeling that he’ll learn how to run on the ice soon enough. Eijun’s grandfather hits him on the back of the head as he returns, but Eijun still turns around to yell, “We’ll play soon!” anyway.
Later, Satoru will look back on that moment--which couldn’t have been more than five minutes long--and knows that it’s the start of everything.
Eijun does come over the next day. And the next day. And the next. Every time he sees Satoru standing in his front yard he runs over, and asks if Satoru wants to play catch. Satoru never answers him, which makes Eijun grab the front of his shirt and yelling “Don’t ignore me!” But Satoru doesn’t play in the backyard to avoid Eijun anyway.
Satoru doesn’t want to play catch with Eijun, because he knows what will happen. It’s happened to Satoru before, every time. Some kid will see Satoru with a baseball and ask him to play, and then gets scared when Satoru does. Then they’ll avoid him, giving him a wide berth and never asks him to play again.
Satoru has stopped carrying baseballs around with him at school.
Even though the constant pestering is bothersome, Satoru would rather have that than have Eijun not come over anymore, to go back inside when he saw Satoru playing in his front yard instead of running toward him.
After about two weeks of this, though, Satoru finally says “Okay.” Winter break is ending soon, and school will start up again, which means that Eijun will find out soon enough why people don’t want to play with him anyway.
“Really?!” Eijun asks. “Alright! Just so you know, though, it might be kind of hard for you to catch my throws, but that’s okay. We can practice!” His smile is so bright that for a second Satoru’s eyes burn, like he’s staring directly into the sun.
Satoru just stares at him, gripping the baseball in his hand. His fingers scream at him to let go, his grip is so tight, but he can’t. If he lets go of the ball he won’t be able to play. When Eijun finally stops, he holds his glove open wide and yells, “Okay! You can throw now. I’m ready! I’m so ready!”
Satoru tries to throw the ball gently, but for him that’s never been possible. Eijun is so surprised by how fast the ball comes that he doesn’t manage to catch it; the ball hits him directly in the mouth. Satoru’s heart freezes with horror when Eijun doesn’t move, just stands there staring in shock, his mouth closed.
Then he spits, and a tooth comes out and falls onto the snow, blood and spit trailing after it. “That was so cool!” Eijun grins. His front tooth is missing and the rest of his teeth are pink from all the blood. “My turn now!”
But before Eijun can throw, Satoru runs into the house and shuts the door, breathing heavily. His mother hears and comes over to where he’s taking off his shoes. “Satoru? Are you alright?” she asks.
He shakes his head and runs up the stairs, taking them two at a time before he jumps on his bed face first, his brain racing. There’s something strange in his chest, and he doesn’t want to deal with it. Instead he grabs his pillow and tries to go to sleep.
The next night Eijun is throwing pebbles to his window--and every window in the front of the house. He tries to whisper, “Saaaaatoru,” but his voice still carries.
Satoru knows that his parents must be awake and wondering what is going on, but he opens his window anyway. “What?” he asks. Eijun grins when he sees that it’s Satoru, and his front tooth is definitely missing.
“Come play with me!”
Instead of answering, Satoru just shuts his window and grabs his glove.
Satoru’s mother is waiting downstairs. She just stares, and Satoru’s heart pounds in his chest because what if she says no? Instead she just says, “Don’t leave the yard, and only fifteen minutes. Any longer than that and I’m going out to get you, got it?”
Satoru nods, and runs out the door, taking the knit hat she offers as he goes. Eijun is still waiting in the yard, and he brightens when he sees Satoru. “Let’s play!” he says, his smile somehow growing even brighter.
“You woke up my parents,” Satoru says, but Eijun just laughs. The streetlights make it so there’s still light to see with, even if the light is dim. It’s still enough.
When spring comes so does little league. Eijun’s mom drops them both off at the field, and tells them to have a good time. Eijun seems to notice Satoru hesitating, just a little, because he grabs Eijun’s wrist and says, “Let’s go, Satoru!” He the chatters on about pitching and balls, and Satoru just follows, knowing that he doesn’t want to be left behind.
The other boys on the team are all ones that have played catch with Satoru before, so they glance at him warily, Eijun beside him. But Eijun doesn’t seem to notice that, and just keeps chattering away until they eventually warm to him, Satoru or no Satoru.
The coach asks who wants to pitch, and Satoru lines up. So does Eijun, and he whispers, “Even if we’re rivals, we’ll still be friends. But I want to pitch,” into Satoru’s ear. Everyone else hears him though, and raises their eyebrows.
They all watch Satoru pitch with awe, and the coach claps him on the shoulder. “You’re...good, kid,” he says finally, after he takes off his hat and wipes the sweat off his forehead. When he watches Eijun, all he says is, “Your form is weird. But we’ll make it work, I guess. Everyone that wants to will get a chance to pitch.” Eijun beams, and gives Satoru a thumbs up.
After practice, Satoru lingers in the dugout, making sure all the balls go into their buckets. That’s when he hears the other kids, whispering. “That Furuya kid is a monster,” they all say, and the word sticks itself in him. Monster. He’s heard that one before, in a good way, but it always feels like something bad.
“I don’t want to play with him,” someone else whispers, and Satoru is about to walk out the dugout to alert them of his presence, when he hears Eijun.
“Well you should!” he yells. “Satoru is one of the best pitchers I’ve ever seen. His throw is scary, but that’s good. He’s as good a pitcher as me, but you’ll see. It’s fun playing with him. So you need to give him a chance.”
There’s stunned silence after Eijun’s proclamation, before someone mutters something affirmative and they walk away, cleats clicking on concrete.
“Satoru, what’s taking you so long?” Eijun asks, coming into the dugout.
“Race you home,” Satoru says instead of answering, pushing past Eijun, who yells something about what a cheater Satoru is and runs after him.
Everyone wants to be friends with Eijun. It’s understandable, of course, because Satoru wants to be friends with Eijun too, despite himself. Eijun is so popular that Satoru keeps expecting Eijun’s to let his other friends take him away, but Eijun never does, even if it means that he’s the only one that will warm up with Satoru before practice, or hang out with him at recess.
Once, Satoru lets himself ask why.
Eijun just looks at him, face puzzled. “Because you can’t play baseball by yourself. What do you think? Come on, let’s go throw some more. I think coach will finally let me start instead of you if I keep practicing. It’ll be about time, too.”
Satoru’s aura flares in response. He and Eijun might be friends, but they’re rivals too now. There are few things that are more satisfying than that.
Their coaches have a system. Satoru starts, as a way to intimidate the other team, but Eijun always ends. It rankles a little, because Satoru wants to play the entire game, but he knows he can’t argue with the coach. No matter how hard it is to take him off the mound.
Eijun plays in a way that Satoru can’t. He yells at the team and they respond to him more warmly than they do to Satoru. More than that, he encourages them, in ways that Satoru finds hard for him.
They’re so different, and neither of them want to give up on the mound, but it works, sometimes. They still play catch together, even though both of them eventually grow out of Satoru’s front yard.
Their teams always seem to do well, too. There’s one year where they aren’t on the same team, but rivals in the real sense, but it doesn’t go as well as people would think. Without Eijun there, the team is colder to Satoru.
Eijun seems to do just fine, but he still tells Satoru when the season is over, “I miss having you on my team...let’s play together next year. I’ll show you just how much I’ve improved.”
Satoru’s heart grows warm at the words, even when he’s saying that Eijun will have to see how much he’s improved too. It’s nice, Satoru thinks, to play with someone that actually wants to play with him. He doesn’t feel so alone, when Eijun is there, even when he’s just in the dugout yelling about how he’s ready to go out any time, coach.
He’s glad to have Eijun, after all.
Neither of them are very good at school, but eventually high school entrance exams loom on the horizon, so they have to study. Eijun’s mother makes them a snack and then sends them off to Eijun’s room. Satoru knows that she’s going to be watching both the front and back doors like a hawk, so there’s no way to escape.
They’re doing math when Eijun finally says, “I give up! What did you get on this question, Satoru?”
“Do your own work,” Satoru says, covering his own answer with his hand. He knows he got it wrong and he doesn’t want Eijun to see it.
“Let. Me. See,” Eijun huffs out, reaching out to move Satoru’s hand. Satoru tries to elbow him to get him away, and then they’re falling of Eijun’s bed. Satoru lands on his back, Eijun on top of him, and it’s like all the air that was in the room suddenly rushes out.
Now that they’re older there seems to be something..different between them. Something new. It makes it hard to breathe, sometimes, when they’re together. Satoru wants to run from Eijun, from that feeling, but more than that he wants to drown in it. So he stays and bears it and wonders if he’s the only one that feels something different.
Eijun’s eyes are moving, from Satoru’s face to his lips, back and forth, before finally he just goes for it.
Satoru hasn’t kissed anyone before, but he knows that this kiss is awful. There’s a lot of teeth, and pressure, even though their mouths are closed. But it’s wonderful too, and it makes Satoru’s stomach flutter, knowing that Eijun just kissed him.
It doesn’t last long enough though, because Eijun pulls away almost as soon as he does it. “Uh, um, sorry, I’m just gonna-” he says, starting to get up, but Satoru reaches out and grabs his arm before he can get to far.
“Stay,” Satoru says. “I want to. Again.”
The smile he gets in response is dazzling.
They don’t become boyfriends, or anything like that, but they become...something. Something more than friends. When they’re not practicing or studying, they’re kissing. Satoru likes kissing Eijun, likes it being slow and lingering, even though he likes it when it’s fast and burning just as much.
Satoru likes Eijun, even though he can’t find a way to tell him just yet.
They’ll figure it out, once baseball season is finally over.
The last game of of their junior high season goes terribly. They lose by a wide margin, because of one of Eijun’s pitches, and he stands crying on the mound afterwards. Satoru goes to him and places his hand on Eijun’s shoulder, but Eijun cries anyway.
The other players on their team seem as upset as Eijun, even if they aren’t crying. Satoru knows how it feels, because he’s upset too.
He had wanted this last game to be a good one, because it might be the last game he and Eijun ever pitch in together. Satoru is looking at prestigious baseball schools in Tokyo, because he wants to play here. He wants to keep playing baseball in a way he can’t up here in Hokkaido.
“Losing sucks,” Eijun says. “I just wanted...I wanted...” he trails off. There’s something in his eyes that Satoru can’t read and it’s troubling. Eijun’s never looked like this before, devastated in ways that might go beyond this baseball game. When he tries to reach out for Eijun again, Eijun is too fast for him this time, leaving Satoru empty handed.
He grabs his backpack instead, and Satoru follows suit. He doesn’t want to be left behind.
Most of the crowd has left by the time the team comes out of the dugout, but there’s a woman standing there waiting for them. She’s dressed more professionally than most people that come to these games are, in a prim suit, her hair neatly tied back. “Furuya-kun? Sawamura-kun? Can I talk to you both for a moment?”
Eijun and Satoru exchange a look before Eijun says, “Uhhhhhh. Sure.”
The sunlight glints off the woman’s glasses. “Have either of you boys heard of Seidou?”