Chapter Text
Nightmare
Mihashi remembers, sometimes, when he least wants to, a feeling from long ago. The stands surround them, and the faces- distorted now- watch him from every angle. He can feel his skin, pulled tight with nerves, bead with sweat, and the catcher seems far away, unreachable. He gulps, shakes, does not know what to do. The eyes watch him, waiting. He knows during this feeling, that the world is waiting for him to fail, and that he will. Every time, he does. He hears the crack, like a bone breaking, and that's when he wakes up, panting, gasping, sometimes shouting. But it is only a feeling, being drug away from him. Old now, a scar.
It happens again one night, the pain fresh and terrifying because this time, this time, there are differences. Colors have changed, faces have taken on clarity; the familiar scene is warped, more terrifying now because it is not the past he is reliving, it is a potential, ugly future.
He sits up in bed, shaking, shaking. He knows, deeply somewhere in his heart, that his would never come to pass, this dream. But it is difficult to convince his wild, racing brain that his Nishiura team-mates- his friends- would never turn on him, never like the boys at Mihoshi. He pulls and twists the blankets until they're around his shoulders, and the shaking begins to level off. He can never get back to sleep after these dreams, not immediately.
Oh, he remembers, easing his hands into his lap. The meditation.
Five minutes pass, and he breathes. Breathes in, out, in, out, and he can feel his nerves and muscles releasing their tension. Until a vicious remark repeats itself in Mihashi's brain, Thank god he's leaving, but in Tajima's light-hearted snigger, and a shiver catapults its way up his spine, leaving him shaking as hard as he was when he'd bolted awake.
He knows he has to do something, anything, to relax. Abe would get mad at him if he doesn't get enough sleep. Abe. Abe might know what to do. He reaches out in the partial dark for his phone, and has scrolled through his meager contact list to Abe Takaya before he realizes what he is planning to do. No way, he blunders in his mind, I wouldn't just… call Abe in the middle of the night. Why did I…?
It is impossible to say what possessed him, what manic impulse made him think to bother Abe with his ridiculous problem. He already knows what Abe would say. The phone is still in his hands as he flops onto his side, blankets a warm cocoon around him, still open and glowing with Abe's name highlighted. Abe would say, "What are you calling me for? It's three in the morning. You should be asleep. And don't think about eating a snack while you're awake because your metabolism won't process it correctly while you're sleeping."
Then Mihashi would try to explain the awful dream, but even as he imagines this, the dream seems stupid and far-away, ridiculous and impossible. He yawns. Abe would interrupt him and say, "Don't be absurd, we're a team. You don't have anything to worry about."
And then Mihashi would try to say thank you, but Abe would already be saying "Now go back to sleep," and he would hang up. The constructed conversation makes Mihashi flail; what if Abe is mad at him? He shouldn't have called! But, re-focusing on his phone, he realizes that he had begun to doze off, begun to dream, and he… laughs. Just a little bit.
Abe's name is still high-lighted, and it is the last thing Mihashi sees before falling again, deeply, to sleep.
It Changes
The field. A warm sun, no breeze.
Abe can't quite pin the time down- that moment between using Mihashi and being used by Mihashi. Except, Mihashi isn't really using him, is he? No. Mihashi follows him, worships him, adores him, blindly accepts him, but he's not using Abe. So what is it?
At some point, Mihashi ceased to be simply a tool, a means to a win. But then, what was he? They still needed him to pitch; Hanai and Oki… they weren't going to be able to replace the blonde. Not even a little bit. So he really was still a tool.
The idea made bile rise in the back of Abe's throat. No, he thought, I don't like to think of him that way.
He watched Mihashi pull of his cap and shake out his hair. The pitcher was laughing at something Suyama was saying; Mihashi's hat went back on, and they resumed tossing a ball between each other and Sakaeguchi. Abe went back to maintaining his catcher's glove, carefully working with a rag and leather conditioner. It brought him a kind of peace, and let his mind be at ease. He didn't notice it, staring into the grooves of the warm, black mitt, but his next thought was, Mihashi has a nice laugh.