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Miyuki watches the other players at Seidou. He lets his eyes follow one than the next evaluating, comparing, and memorizing. It’s his job as captain to have an idea of how all the players are doing, and it’s his job as catcher to keep an eye on the pitchers. So he does. He watches their fielding and the way the run on their own after practice. He watches them in the bullpen, too, of course. He watches Furuya more than Kawakami, and Sawamura more than him. He has to, even with Kuramochi’s keen eyes focused on the southpaw more often than not, Sawamura needs to be watched to be kept in line.
He takes note of their physical wellbeing, their exhaustion from recent practice or scrimmages. He tries to take note of their mental wellbeing, too. Pitchers have to have strong minds, or they’ll fall when they stand on the mound. He watches as Sawamura refines his skills and starts fighting for the ace title for real. He sees more of Narumiya Mei in the now-second-year pitcher than he would like.
Furuya changes, too. The Hokkaido native stands to the side of the group more often than not, but he’s not afraid to stand in the group. He meshes with the team better than he did in his first year, and he’s started to call out to the fielders–in a way annoyingly reminiscent of Sawamura. Miyuki notices that Furuya has his eyes on Sawamura more often than not. It’s not a sudden change but more a slow transition. Furuya stares into space less and at the southpaw more. Miyuki doesn’t think much of it at first, but thinks about it more as Furuya picks up some of Sawamura’s habits.
It’s not a bad thing for rivals to be close, and the two second-years are definitely getting closer. It hits him, one day, that maybe Furuya watches Sawamura too much. Sawamura draws attention–it’s one of his talents–but whenever he glances at the dark-haired pitcher, he sees those silver eyes resting on Sawamura. Miyuki wonders if it’s even conscious. Sawamura doesn’t seem to have noticed.
Furuya feels the weight of Miyuki’s gaze on him as he stands in left field for practice. His gaze shifts off Sawamura, the current pitcher, to look at the catcher and captain. He feels like it happens more often lately and wonders if he’s just imagining it. He concentrates on practice. He wants to pitch, but he doesn’t mind watching Sawamura stand on the mound.
They run together later. The lights shine brightly down on the practice field. They run faster than they would alone, trying not to let the other outpace them. Furuya feels the familiar pounding of his heart as it tries to supply his body with the oxygen to keep going. It’s beat is fast but steady. It’s a feeling he’s gotten accustomed to.
After they run, they collapse, panting at the side of the field. Sawamura sprawls over the ground his limbs spread wide.
“It’s a nice night,” he says, his words interrupted by panting breaths.
Furuya turns his head so he can see the other pitcher. Sawamura stares at the stars. The sky is clear, with no clouds in sight, and the constellations twinkle above them.
“Yeah, it is,” he replies turning his eyes back to the sky above them.
They lie in silence with their breathing slowing down to normal. Furuya’s heartbeat remains quick, but not erratic. It’s still steady. Fast but steady. Sawamura pokes Furuya’s shin with his left foot.
“We should shower.”
“Hm,” Furuya agrees.
Neither of them moves. Sawamura’s foot still rests against Furuya’s leg, but it’s not uncomfortable. Furuya’s mind hooks onto the point of contact, and he can feel his heartbeat increase just a little bit. He has thought about these things, but he doesn’t feel the need to voice those thoughts. Or rather, he’s afraid to. The routine they’ve fallen into is comforting. He’s no longer the lone baseball maniac, but someone who plays for a team he loves and competes for the ace title with the person his world has started to center around.
Sawamura sits up and crosses his legs breaking Furuya’s train of thought. He looks up at the stars, neck arching back and pressing his palms into the ground. Furuya looks at him outlined in silver starlight and shining in sweat. He raises himself on his elbows, and Sawamura turns towards him. Their eyes meet for a fleeting moment–gold and silver.
“Say, Furuya…” the southpaw starts, his face turned towards the stars once more. “Do you believe in–”
It’s then that Miyuki walks up to the fence that separates the field and the path that runs next to it. Sawamura stops at the sound of the catcher’s footsteps.
“Hey, you two, it’s getting late. I’d feel bad for your roommates if you don’t shower.”
Sawamura is up on his feet in an instant. “I’ll race you!” He shouts, and he’s off before Furuya has time to respond.
Miyuki watches the two pitchers run for the bath. He sees how, even though Sawamura runs ahead, he doesn’t go full speed until Furuya catches up to him. They run the rest of the way neck-to-neck, and collapse again at the door of the baths.
The question Sawamura didn’t finish lingers in both of their minds through the time they sit in submerged in the bath and all through the next day. They run after practice as always, and as they lie panting afterwards, Furuya has the urge to bring it up. He isn’t a talker like Sawamura, but he wants to know. This time, hopefully, without Miyuki’s interruption. Furuya stares up at the sky. Tonight, the stars are partially obscured by clouds.
“What were you going to ask me yesterday?” He keeps his eyes upward not daring to turn them towards the other pitcher.
Furuya hears the rhythm of Sawamura’s breathing stop and then resume.
“Oh that,” the other pitcher says, and he speaks at a lower volume than usual. “I was just curious if you,” Sawamura hesitates, which is unusual of by itself. “…if you believe in love.”
Sawamura lets the words hang in the warm summer air for just a moment, before he opens his mouth again.
“I’ve been reading too much manga. It’s a stupid question,” he adds.
“It’s not,” Furuya answers, readying himself for whatever other questions Sawamura has in store.
Sawamura surprises him with silence, and a quizzical look.
“I assume you’re not talking about love of baseball,” Furuya adds.
“No,” Sawamura confirms. “I’m not.”
Furuya looks back at the sky and watches the clouds drift above them. He can feel the buzz of Sawamura’s warmth only a few centimeters from his own body. They’re not touching, but it feels like there’s hardly any space between them.
“I think it exists–love, that is.”
He hears Sawamura shift next to him, and turns his head to see the other pitcher looking at him. His expression is strangely unreadable. Usually, Sawamura is obvious with his emotions and nearly every thought, but not now. His eyebrows are slightly furrowed and his lips pressed together.
“Do you just believe in it or do you have experience?” Sawamura asks.
Furuya looks away before he answers. “I think I’m in love now.” He wonders if Sawamura will ask who; he doesn’t. Instead, he asks a harder question.
“What does it feel like?”
The dark-haired pitcher lets his eyes fall shut. He’ll answer honestly, of course, but it’s not easy to put feelings into words. He rests his right hand on his chest where he can feel the steady beating of his heart.
“It’s weird,” Furuya says. “I can’t picture my life without them.”
“Weird, huh?” Sawamura echoes, voice more hushed than Furuya has ever heard it before. “Yeah, I guess it is weird.”
When he glances at the other pitcher, he sees that Sawamura’s left hand rests on his chest mirroring him. He stays that way for a minute, before he lifts himself onto one elbow and captures Furuya’s gaze with his own.
“What would happen if I kissed you?”
Sawamura’s gaze is intense, burning, and Furuya can feel his blood pounding through his veins in response. He reaches a hand up to Sawamura’s cheek. The other pitcher doesn’t pull away, doesn’t even flinch. His gaze is unwavering. If it’s a dare, Furuya won’t back down. Sawamura leans into Furuya’s palm. He places one hand on the outside of each of Furuya’s shoulders. Sawamura’s eyes flicker shut as he gets closer, and Furuya responds in kind.
Furuya tips his chin upward, his lips automatically parting. The distance between the two pitchers disappears in a moment. Their lips press together sloppily. Sawamura’s mouth finds the corner of Furuya’s first, but he adjusts so that they meet properly. Their kiss is untrained and wild. Sawamura is warm, and Furuya is determined, and somehow it sort of works. They break apart with racing heartbeats and gasping breaths.
“I love you.”
It’s impossible to tell who says it first. Sawamura bursts into a low kind of easy laugh, and Furuya responds with a smile.
“Eijun?”
The laughter stops. It’s replaced by a grin.
“Yeah?”
“Are we…dating now?”
“And you guys call me an idiot,” Eijun chuckles. “Yes, yes we are, Satoru.”
The name lingers on his lips as he brings them together for another kiss.
On the other side of the fence, Miyuki quickens his pace. He will tease them about it later–mercilessly, and with the help of everyone else–but for now, he cannot stand another second of the sickeningly sappy scene between the two pitchers. He’s watched them support each other and bring out the best in each other for an entire year. It’s kind of expected. He lets out a heavy sigh as he walks back to the dorms. He owes Kuramochi a thousand yen.