mysticflakes

An odd mix of unease and anticipation ripples through Kazuya. He lets the words slide back down his throat, unsure if they would do more harm than good. The rest of the team jogs back to their respective positions, and the atmosphere around them hangs heavy, tight around his throat, and if this isn’t an exciting bind to get out of Kazuya doesn’t know what is. 

Now, Sawamura, will you be able to deliver? 

As Sawamura tosses the rosin bag in his hands, Kazuya watches, keen-eyed, trying to study and predict Sawamura’s current condition. Despite himself, Kazuya can feel his sweat trickling under his catcher gear, his thighs burning with all the squatting he did the past few innings, and he has no idea what he can expect from this Sawamura right now. It’s a little unsettling how hard it is to read him. He can’t say he’s close to Sawamura in any way, but as the main catcher for Seidou, he’s at least attuned to the little quirks Sawamura does that would at least clue him in on Sawamura’s current mental state – but at present he can’t get anything off Sawamura at all.

Kazuya can’t help the rising shadow of a doubt that nags at him, because he has seen pitchers self-destruct on this very spot because of the self-imposed enormous pressure that eventually caves and buries them under. As bold as Sawamura is, he has no idea if he is ready for this. 

The circumstances can’t be described with a mere unfavorable, Ichidai poised to score the moment any weak pitches are thrown. In a more optimistic scenario, he would ask for a ball to check for Sawamura’s condition but he knows that that’s not Sawamura’s style – and that’s not his style, either. He doesn’t want to call for a ball that might set Sawamura off the wrong way, and ramping up on counts here isn’t going to do them any favors.

As much as he has control over the field, he’s well aware that a pitcher’s condition hinges very much on their mental fortitude. Kazuya prides himself on his widely-acclaimed nasty personality that extends beyond his daily life and seeps into the very essence of his playing: he lives to provoke the shit out of batters, to make them swing at pitches they usually don’t – to warp their sense of judgement and bend it to his. Underneath Sawamura’s loud-mouthed and stupidly brash facade, Kazuya knows that a similar perverseness resides underneath his skin. That, was what attracted him to catch for Sawamura even when he was just a fifteen-year-old brat who knew nothing at all. 

He just has to believe that’s enough. 

What they need to do most now is stop Ichidai’s momentum and he’s sure that Sawamura knows that too. They need to do a head-on battle with the fourth batter, and he hopes that Sawamura’s up for the task. Their gazes lock; Kazuya has settled on their strategy, and Sawamura seems to sense it as well. Sawamura takes in deep, measured breaths, waits for Kazuya’s sign with his eyes bright and fiery, determination rolling off him in caged, silent waves. It’s unlike any Sawamura he has seen before, and Kazuya is willing to throw in all his chips on that look on Sawamura’s face.

Sawamura nods and tugs down the rim of his baseball cap, exhaling behind his glove. Then he winds up his leg and his arm whips out from behind him, startling sharp, before his feet slams down on the mound in front of him. The ball spins, blazes a white furious path towards Kazuya, and even though it hasn’t yet reached him, Kazuya’s round wide in surprise and can tell the trajectory is perfect. 

A chill zaps down the spine of his back, the burn from exhaustion long forgotten, as the powerful pitch slams right where he wanted it to. The fourth batter doesn’t – couldn’t – even swing, and Kazuya absently notes the stuttering surprise by his opponent hunched over the batter’s box. The ball rests snugly in his mitt as Kazuya’s heart thumps furiously against his ribs, shell-shocked stare on Sawamura who defied his expectations, who exceeded his expectations, above and beyond. The stadium is the quietest it has ever been, the audience and the dug-out holding their breaths simultaneously before the umpire announces the result Kazuya already knows:

“STRIKE!” 

Right now, Sawamura is golden fire and sharp edges, mouth set in a firm determined line. He does not seem to be fazed by how he has practically just threw a perfect pitch, as he winds up for his next pitch that Kazuya signals for. His next pitch is as perfect as the first, breaking right into his mitt. 

As the third pitch – obviously right in the zone – slams squarely in his catcher mitt, cracking loud and clear, the stadium doesn’t even wait for the umpire’s announcement, drowned by the entire stadium erupting to an uproar of amazed shouts and hysterical cheers, the audience overwhelmed by the unexpected turnover of momentum that was regained by the second-year pitcher that is Sawamura Eijun. 

Kazuya’s skin keeps fucking rising, goosebumps prickling all over, muted by how every single one of Sawamura’s throws are right where he wants them to be. Kazuya can’t stop looking at him, Sawamura’s leg still half in his release position as a loud “Osu!” comes spilling from between his lips, eyes dark and ravenous, like he’s not satisfied, a predator hungry for more. An unwitting smirk unfurls across the length of Kazuya’s mouth, showing teeth. 

Always so… Kazuya doesn’t complete his train of thought as he flings the ball back to Sawamura. 

Sawamura is still surprisingly calm, now, like he’s aware getting one out here doesn’t mean that he has completely turned the tides, and he slides his eyes close to inhale deeply, fingers gripping onto the seams of the ball behind his glove. 

Right now, the seed for an eye-catching flower has flourished, way before Kazuya has expected him to. Sawamura has sprouted fiercely, determined and gold-eyed, and it sends shivers down Kazuya’s calves as he thinks about how he hasn’t even grown to his full potential yet. 

Before Sawamura, Kazuya has never thought of not having to mold his game-calling to suit the personality of the pitcher. It’s hard to find a pitcher who has the ability and guts to deliver Kazuya’s brand of baseball, and catchers shoulder the responsibility of accommodating to their pitchers anyway.

Mei comes to mind, but he wasn’t a diamond in the rough; he grew into baseball like it was second skin, nestling into the position of a pitcher like a baby sapling planted in fertile soil. It was fun, catching for him – but not exhilarating. Sawamura didn’t come close to that image at all last year, lacking ball control and the arsenal of pitches that Kazuya would love exploiting to fuck up the batters the best he could. Realistically, Kazuya has expected Sawamura to reach that stage when Kazuya’s probably graduated; now, though…

Kazuya is born a challenger, not raised a king.

Sawamura’s rapid improvement lights a fire in Kazuya’s chest, making it go tight. Sawamura has grown from a bumbling, bratty, loud-mouthed first-year to this, all blazing bright and fiery on the mound, jaw clenched tight and mouth set in a determined line as he draws into position for the next batter. 

The corner of his mouth curves. So this is the Ace I’ve been waiting for.

a/n: (dna act ii manga has spoiled SO MANY of my headcanons lol but IT’S OK BABY EIJUN’S TIME TO SHINE!!) hi guys it’s been a while but im here to revive my dead blog and if you have stuck with me all this while, i just wanna holler a SAWAMURA EIJUN THANK YOU!!!!!

Hajime clenches his jaw and slides his eyes shut to compose himself. He’s not going to cry. 

“Iwa-chan.” Tooru presses up to his shoulders, cocking his head to the side. Hajime sees the wariness in Tooru’s soft brown eyes, and his heart aches. “Are you okay?”

“No.” Hajime blinks twice. Manages to hold his tears back. “I mean, yes.”

Tooru frowns, teeth worrying his bottom lip as he studies Hajime’s expression carefully. “Are you sure? You don’t look fine.”

“We are not fine.” The words stumble from his mouth unthinkingly, and he feels like he’s crushed under the weight of the truth embedded in them. 

Silence descends between of them. 

 He takes in a deep breath, frames a side of Tooru’s face with one hand.

Tooru doesn’t move. His gaze lowers, and when he speaks, his voice is shaking. Hajime feels tears burning at the back of his eyes. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Hajime brushes the pad of his thumb over Tooru’s cheek gently. This might be the last time I get to do this, he thinks, and a sob nearly tears from his throat. He swallows hard, tries to force the lump in his throat down and gathers his courage again. 

“I know you do,” Hajime whispers. “We need to talk about it.”

Tooru’s hand reaches up for Hajime’s, fingers curling around his wrist, his touch warm and soft and familiar. He raises his head now, and his eyes are red and shimmering with unshed tears. “I don’t want to talk about it, Hajime. Please.”

Hajime finds it suddenly hard to breathe and wonders if he’s making the right decision. 

“You know I love you, Tooru,” Hajime says as evenly as he can, but all that comes out is a tremulous whisper, and Tooru’s fingers tighten around his wrist so hard it hurts. 

“…but you’re not in love with me anymore.” Tooru’s voice sounds strangled as he lowers his head again. “We’re not…” 

“It’s not you, Tooru.” Hajime’s vision blurs, and abruptly gripped by a surge of impulse, he wraps both his arms around Tooru and pulls him flush against his body. Tooru doesn’t fight him, merely buries his face in the front of Hajime’s shirt, fingers curling into the soft material with a broken sob. “It’s not you.”

“I tried so hard,” Tooru sobs, “I really did.”

Hajime tightens his hold around Tooru, and when he closes his eyes, he feels hot tears trailing down his cheeks. “I know you did. I did too.”

“I’m tired, Iwa-chan.” Tooru looks up, face wet with tears and eyes swollen and red-rimmed. Hajime hurts, and a sob wrecks through his body as he pulls Tooru to him again, pressing his nose against the side of his neck and breathing in his scent. He smells like home and volleyball and first love and everything he has ever known, and Hajime doesn’t know if he’ll ever move on from Tooru completely. 

xxx

Hajime sees the sky lightening to a light blue, and the first ray of sunlight slanting into the living room. 

“It’s morning,” Hajime murmurs, voice raspy from all the crying and talking he did last night. His chest tightens when he angles his head to his side to see Tooru staring back at him, eyes dark and gaze heavy. 

“It’s morning,” Tooru repeats quietly. 

Their gazes hold. Hajime slowly reaches both hands to cradle Tooru’s face gently. They remain like this, unmoving, for a good minute and perhaps more – Hajime doesn’t count. It doesn’t matter.

Then they both close the distance, Tooru’s arms circling around Hajime’s neck in a familiar motion as their lips press together. When they pull away, Hajime’s hands are wet and his vision is blurry once more.

Thank you for everything. I love you. 

Kazuya snickers right by Eijun’s ear, and then cleanly dodges a half-hearted swing at his face. “Would have thought you are by now.” 

The corners of his mouth twitch as he attempts to smother his rising amusement at Eijun’s expression of disbelief. “You don’t even like cheesecake!” 

“Fancy you noticing that,” Kazuya remarks, and he doesn’t bother to veil the surprise in his voice. Eijun has never pointed that out before, and Kazuya has never mentioned it. He’s mildly impressed -- Eijun might have some hope after all. He draws Eijun closer to him and reaches to flick Eijun’s forehead mischievously with his free hand. “There really might be something in there.” 

He squeaks, springing away from Kazuya almost immediately, face flushed with indignant anger and one hand clapped over his forehead protectively. Rather absentmindedly, Kazuya thinks Eijun looks rather cute. Like a provoked kitten, maybe, with big round eyes and brown fur standing up on its ends, soft and completely non-threatening. 

“Miyuki Kazuya!” Eijun practically hollers, and Kazuya would’ve been embarrassed if it had been any other time probably, with students still streaming in and out of the gates, but he can’t bring himself to care right now. He ignores the giggles and whispers that he can’t make anything of in the background and lets his amusement slant across his mouth. “Wipe that damned smirk off your face!”

Kazuya tries.

And fails. 

Not that he really tried that hard, anyway. He feels his lips curving into a grin again, and Eijun closes the distance between them with one big stride to prod Kazuya’s chest with his finger rudely. Kazuya hardly feels anything, and he raises both his brows to drive his point. Eijun bristles, definitely annoyed now. “Treat your underclassman with respect!”

“I can’t if he doesn’t extend the same courtesy to me first,” Kazuya drawls, unperturbed by Eijun’s antics.

“Ugh.” Eijun grabs Kazuya by his elbow and pulls him roughly forward to the direction of the clubroom. “Let’s go.” 

Kazuya complies, deciding to take a break from riling Eijun up. He doesn’t want to take it too far, and contrary to popular belief, he does have his limits. 

As they approach the door of the clubroom, Kazuya thinks it’s better to let Eijun know what to expect from today instead of hearing him get all excited about the pitches he’s been dying to try in the equipment room later on. He ends up all disappointed and pout-y for the entire afternoon (and night, if Kazuya’s unlucky) if Kazuya shoots his suggestions flat-down and asks for another pitch instead. 

It isn’t that Kazuya doesn’t appreciate Eijun’s tendency to explore new possibilities, but they can always do those later and prioritize the things they should work on first. 

More importantly, a petulant Sawamura Eijun is a little difficult to deal with. Not that Eijun purposefully shoves it in Kazuya’s face that he feels let-down and all that shit, but because he usually sits near Kazuya (Eijun always accuses him of the same thing, however, and Kazuya oddly can’t tell who’s being truthful here), he can’t help but notice all the little things do when Eijun’s sullen and downtrodden. Like him eating his meal at half his speed and making ugly and hilarious faces when he thinks Kazuya isn’t looking. 

“I think we should do number eleven today. It needs a bit more work before we can put it to test in an actual game.”

“That’s what I have in mind too!” Eijun beams at Kazuya, and that abrupt transition in mood takes Kazuya off-guard and his heart seems to beat a little faster. He clears his throat and digs into his bag for the keys while Eijun waits off the side, humming his favorite band tune under his breath. 

Kazuya feels oddly at peace. 

He finds his keys, maybe just one second slower than he should. Then he feels Eijun tugging on his arm, and when he looks up Eijun is angling his head to the back of the clubroom. Kazuya’s brows knit together in confusion.

“I heard something behind just now,” Eijun explains. “Maybe someone’s waiting for the room to be unlocked too.” 

Kazuya shrugs his shoulders as he unlocks the door. “It’s not unusual. Go call whoever’s out there in and I will go unlock the equipment shed.” Eijun agrees readily and is about to turn when Kazuya grabs Eijun’s bag by its straps, causing Eijun to stumble back in surprise. Kazuya snickers and steadies Eijun by his shoulders. 

“What?!”

“Pass me your bag, brat,” Kazuya says, rolling his eyes. 

"Oh.” Eijun flashes him a bright toothy grin and hands his bag over. “Thanks, Miyuki-senpai!”

Kazuya doesn’t deign him with a response and heads into the room first to place their bags. When he finishes changing, he realizes with a start that it’s far too quiet outside. Frowning, he decides to head for the equipment later and check on Eijun first. 

He leaves the room and turns around the corner, expecting to find Eijun there and is mildly perplexed when he doesn’t. Where did that brat go? He walks further back and hears someone talking -- then laughing -- and cocks his head to the side, curiosity piqued. That sounds like Chris. 

He nearly bumps into Eijun, who’s standing right at the next turn. “What are you doing?” Kazuya asks, unable to keep his exasperation out of his voice. 

“They look good together,” Eijun comments lightly, not looking at Kazuya but at something else straight ahead. There’s something about the way he says it that makes Kazuya stare at Eijun instead. 

Kazuya has always been pretty adept at reading people and it’s an ability he prides himself for. Eijun is one of the easiest people to read for Kazuya, and it makes him easy to be around with because he’s so bluntly honest that it’s refreshing. Perhaps even endearing. But this expression now is something Kazuya has never seen on Eijun’s face. It’s carefully shuttered close, completely void of emotion, and it is at this moment that Kazuya realizes that Eijun chooses to wear his heart on his sleeve.

There’s a swell of quiet admiration and something else, something warm and suffocating, and Kazuya chucks it aside. He follows Eijun’s gaze and everything falls into place. 

Ah. The first thought that crosses Kazuya’s mind is that Eijun’s probably disappointed that Chris won’t have that much time to mentor him any longer. The second thought is annoying, eats away at Kazuya in all the wrong ways and squeezes around his gut unpleasantly. 

“I heard that they are dating.” The information tumbles from his mouth before he even thinks about it, delivered so flatly and coldly that it surprises even Kazuya himself. 

Eijun turns to him now, blinks at Kazuya like he has just realized that he’s here. “Oh. I see.”

Kazuya hates the odd queasiness at his stomach and how sick he feels all of a sudden. He holds Eijun’s gaze nonetheless and feigns nonchalance with a shrug of his shoulder. 

“It’s just a rumor.” Kazuya manages to push the words out of his throat, feels like he has ruined things somehow and he has to make it right. There, that’s right. “You know how speculations regarding Chris-senpai go out of hand.”

“They often don’t go too off the mark.” Eijun’s gaze strays back to Chris and the girl he’s laughing with, seemingly without thinking. Kazuya’s jaw clenches as he attempts to keep his sudden rising temper in check. 

They are both quiet for a moment.

“He looks happy.” Eijun’s voice sounds slightly strangled now when he speaks up this time. “That’s good.” 

But you are not. 

There’s a stiff smile plastered across Eijun’s lips when he looks at Kazuya like he’s waiting for him to agree with him. Kazuya lets his mouth curve upwards, edges soft and sharp at the same time, and it’s definitely more convincing than Eijun’s. 

“You deserve it too,” Kazuya says. Eijun blinks at him owlishly, obviously not expecting that response. Then, realizing that sounds way too weird and disgustingly sappy, Kazuya hastily adds: “Idiot.” 

Eijun stares at Kazuya like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle. 

Kazuya turns away and searches his pocket for the keys as he leaves. They have wasted enough time. He’s not here to spread rumors or witness someone getting their heart broken. He hears Eijun’s footsteps follow after his. “Hurry and change. I will be at the equipment shed.”

“Okay.” Eijun quickens his pace into a light jog ahead of Kazuya. When Kazuya passes the door of the clubroom, he sees Eijun’s hunched back facing the door, shoulders shaking and arm raised to his face.

His chest tightens unbearably and he wrenches his gaze away. This is a private moment and he’s not anyone to intrude. He hurries over to the equipment shed and there’s a distinct urge to laugh.