Chapter Text
Part 1: Battery
The crack of bat meeting ball rang out across the field, followed by a groan from Coach Kataoka and a strangled curse from Kuramochi at shortstop.
“Damn it, Sawamura! Stop throwing meatballs down the middle!”
Sawamura Eijun straightened on the mound, his brown eyes blazing with indignation. “It wasn’t a meatball! It was a fastball! Exactly where he called for it!”
Behind the plate, Miyuki Kazuya gave a lazy little smirk, flipping the ball back to him. “Fastball, sure. But velocity’s nothing if you can’t hit your spots. Try aiming for my glove next time, Ace.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.
Sawamura’s cheeks flushed red, part embarrassment, part anger. “Stop calling me that when you don’t mean it!”
“Then earn it,” Miyuki replied smoothly, crouching again, mask slipping back into place.
From the dugout, the upperclassmen chuckled and hollered encouragement in equal measure. That was how it always was with them — Sawamura and Miyuki. Constantly at each other’s throats, but somehow managing to hold the team together with their combined fire and steel.
Sawamura gritted his teeth and toed the rubber again, eyes narrowing as he focused on the glove. Fine. If Miyuki wanted precision, he’d damn well give him precision.
The next pitch whistled low and outside, just skimming the corner of the strike zone. The batter stood frozen.
“Strike!”
Miyuki’s eyes flickered up to meet Sawamura’s as he tossed the ball back. This time, the smirk was subtler. Approving.
It was all the reward Sawamura needed.
By the time practice ended that evening, dusk had painted the sky in streaks of orange and violet. The field had mostly cleared out, but Sawamura stayed behind, hurling pitch after pitch at the worn practice net.
He didn’t even notice the footsteps behind him until a voice drawled, “You know, the mound misses you when you’re not here, but you can’t sleep out here all night.”
Sawamura turned to find Miyuki leaning against the fence, glasses catching the last rays of sunlight.
“What are you still doing here?”
“Waiting for you, obviously,” Miyuki replied.
Sawamura blinked, caught off guard. “Huh?”
Miyuki pushed off the fence and strolled closer, hands buried in his pockets. “You’re the one who said you’d catch me tomorrow morning, right? If you blow out your arm now, you’ll be useless by then.”
Sawamura’s lips curved into a reluctant smile. “You sound like you care or something.”
“Maybe I do…” Miyuki said lightly, but his eyes didn’t quite match the casual tone.
Sawamura studied him for a moment, then picked up the ball and sent one last pitch thudding into the net. He turned back and slung his bag over his shoulder.
“Fine, fine, I’m done. You win.”
“That’s a first,” Miyuki teased, falling into step beside him as they left the field.
The dorm hallways were quiet when they got back. Most of the team was already showered and in bed, resting for tomorrow’s early practice. Sawamura ducked into his room to drop his gear, but something nagged at him — the way Miyuki had stayed behind, the unspoken something in his gaze.
Instead of heading to the showers, he found himself back outside Miyuki’s door minutes later, hand raised to knock before he could talk himself out of it.
There was a pause, then the door cracked open. Miyuki stood there, hair damp from his own shower, glasses slipping slightly down his nose.
“Sawamura? Didn’t expect you to—”
“Why do you push me so hard?” Sawamura blurted.
Miyuki’s eyebrows rose, but he didn’t answer immediately. He stepped aside and motioned for him to come in.
Sawamura hesitated, then stepped into the room. It smelled faintly of clean soap and leather mitts.
Miyuki shut the door behind them, leaning against it casually. “You’re not here to thank me, huh?”
“I just…” Sawamura shoved his hands into his pockets, staring at the floor. “I wanna know. Is it just because you think I’m worth the trouble? Or because you like making me look like an idiot out there?”
The silence stretched. Finally, Miyuki pushed off the door and crossed the room to stand in front of him.
“You really want to know?” His voice was lower now, something more serious beneath the usual teasing.
Sawamura swallowed hard. “Yeah.”
Miyuki tilted his head slightly, studying him the way he might study a batter. His hand came up, fingers brushing against Sawamura’s chest — just lightly enough to make him freeze.
“It’s because you make me want to win,” Miyuki murmured. “You make me… believe we can.”
Sawamura stared at him, stunned. He’d never heard Miyuki sound like that before — quiet, vulnerable, almost reverent.
Something tightened in his chest.
Before he could think better of it, his hand shot out, grabbing Miyuki’s wrist. Miyuki’s eyes widened just slightly, his breath catching.
“You should say stuff like that more often,” Sawamura muttered, his voice rougher than he intended.
Miyuki smirked faintly, but his cheeks were flushed now, his gaze darting to the floor. “…Maybe. If you can handle it.”
Sawamura let go, stepping back reluctantly. “You’re insufferable,” he grumbled.
But the corner of Miyuki’s mouth curved upward, soft and knowing.
“And you love it,” he replied.
Later that night, as Sawamura lay awake in his dorm bed staring at the ceiling, he couldn’t stop thinking about that little smile Miyuki had given him when he hit his spot. Or the strange softness in his voice when he told him to rest. And he replayed the feel of Miyuki’s wrist in his hand — warm, tense, yielding.
Miyuki was infuriating. Condescending. Impossible.
And yet, something about him made Sawamura want to pitch his heart out.
And Miyuki lay in his own room, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore how his pulse still hadn’t slowed down.
Tomorrow, they’d bicker again. On the field, they’d still snap and smirk and glare.
But tonight, something had shifted. And neither of them knew quite what to do about it.
The next afternoon, practice ended with another scrimmage. Sawamura was pitching, Miyuki catching.
By the fifth inning, Sawamura was dripping with sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead, but his eyes were shining. He’d thrown three shutout innings already, and Miyuki hadn’t called a single pitch he didn’t feel ready for.
When the inning ended, Miyuki clapped him on the shoulder as they walked back to the dugout.
“Not bad, Rookie,” he murmured, his lips curling into that infuriating smirk.
Sawamura shoved him lightly. “You’ll see, Miyuki-senpai! Next time, I’ll be even better!”
“Oh?” Miyuki’s eyes glimmered behind his glasses, unreadable. “Looking forward to it.”
But when their eyes met, Sawamura thought he saw something different in them. Something softer. Something… inviting.
That evening, Miyuki lingered after everyone else filed out of the locker room. He sat on the bench, still in his practice clothes, lacing his shoes at a leisurely pace.
He heard the door creak open and glanced up to see Sawamura poking his head back in.
“You’re still here?”
“Yeah,” Miyuki replied, straightening and brushing his bangs out of his face. “You too, apparently.”
Sawamura stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Hey… thanks for earlier. Y’know, during the scrimmage. You trusted me with that inside pitch even though I almost botched it last time.”
Miyuki chuckled low in his throat. “That’s because you’re improving. Fast. It’d be a waste not to use you to your full potential.”
There was silence for a beat. Then:
“Is that how you see me? A… resource?”
Miyuki froze at the question, caught off guard. When he looked up, Sawamura was standing there watching him intently, his fists clenched at his sides.
Miyuki’s lips parted, then curved into something more vulnerable than a smirk. “You’re more than that. I just…” He trailed off, glancing away.
Sawamura stepped closer, closing the distance between them.
“Then stop looking at me like I’m not good enough and dont deserve you…”he murmured with a tear rolling down his face.
And before Miyuki could reply, Sawamura was already gone, the door swinging shut behind him.
That night, Miyuki lay in bed staring at the ceiling, his mind replaying the look in Sawamura’s eyes. Intense. Honest. Raw.
He touched his lips absently, as if trying to feel the ghost of something that hadn’t quite happened yet.
For the first time in a long time, Miyuki Kazuya felt like he was the one being cornered.
And he wasn’t sure if he hated it or not.