Work Text:
It’s visible clear from the stands, in the autumn of Koushuu’s third year in middle school.
He and Takuma take the train down to the stadium, with tickets to the match between Seido High School and Yakushi Academy. The sky is clear, the sun is blazing, and Seido sends first-year pitcher Sawamura Eijun up to the mound.
The catcher is Seido’s second-year captain— Miyuki Kazuya is the name on all the info pamphlets being handed out on at the ticket stations. The same pamphlets that predicted Inashiro’s victory in the autumn prefecturals, so Koushuu hasn’t bothered to read them. They couldn’t have told him anything he can’t see for himself.
They couldn’t have told him, for instance, that Sawamura would be the most interesting player on the field.
Eight innings in, Koushuu knows better.
“And Todoroki Raichi takes the plate for Yakushi Academy—” is the distant decree from the commentator’s booth. “Todoroki is a first year, but he has an excellent batting record so far in high school—this may be a tough match-up for Seido, with the ace Sanada up next—”
There’s a shrill cackle from home plate. Todoroki himself, scar-faced and wild-eyed. An opponent that would make any pitcher put up his hackles.
Sawamura wipes sweat from his face with a sleeve, face set.
And see, that’s probably the most interesting thing Koushuu’s figured out over the course of the match. Not about Sawamura and his perplexing momentum, his magnetism; or at least, not that alone. No, it becomes clear when you realize where Sawamura’s eyes are fixed—not on the batter, not on Todoroki Raichi’s predatory grin, but on the mitt behind home plate.
“Foul!” hollers the umpire, as the ball veers far right.
“Foul!” again, and the crowd murmurs.
“What, was that another change-up?” says Takuma in an undertone. “Is that catcher crazy?”
Koushuu doesn’t think much of Miyuki Kazuya—he’s seen enough of the way he condescends, the way he slides half into insincerity every time he opens his mouth. Koushuu knows with conviction that people who lie don’t have integrity or respect for anyone.
The baseball Miyuki plays says otherwise.
Miyuki doesn’t have a delicate catching style—it’s not soft. It’s brutal, and unforgiving. He calls for fastballs in the farthest corners, deliberately challenging the pitcher, pricking him like a prize bull in the arena until Sawamura’s spitting mad and ready to fight with every ounce of his will. Maybe it doesn’t show in his face, or in his words—Koushuu wouldn’t know, and he doesn’t really need to.
He doesn’t have a shred of honesty, but he wouldn’t take those risks unless he had absolute faith Sawamura could pull through.
“Strike! Batter out!”
--
Asada Hirofumi’s new roommates are... enthusiastic, to say the least.
He’s really not sure if it’s astoundingly good luck to be assigned to a room with two first-string players—actually, he’s increasingly worried it might be the reverse. They’re not cruel upperclassmen by any means, but if Kuramochi-senpai and Sawamura-senpai keep screaming ‘Sneak Attack’ every time someone enters the room, he’s going to die of nervous shock.
Not to mention he’s still reeling, a little, at being in such close proximity to people who’ve actually played baseball at nationals. On television. They’re blindingly bright, deafeningly loud, frighteningly vibrant, and as much as he wants to believe he could keep up with talent and drive like that, there’s a cold resignation heavy in his stomach as he tries to sleep at night.
Even in the same room, it feels like they exist worlds apart.
Sawamura-senpai doesn’t seem to know what it means to be nervous, or feel insignificant.
“Oi, Miyuki Kazuya!” he hollers, so loud half the team can probably hear him. Some of the first-years look up, but the upperclassmen barely bat an eyelash at the interruption. “Come catch for me after practice!”
Like he doesn’t understand the word seniority, or captain.
“Eh... some other day.”
“Don’t be lazy!”
“If you have that much energy, go practice your batting,” retorts the captain, with a crooked smile that stings like an insult. “I’ve got my hands full dealing with the ace. Ask Ono or one of the first years.”
“Ugh, you— I told you I wanted to practice the numbers! Quit jerking me around!”
The captain only cackles, hands in his pockets. Sawamura-senpai’s gone cat-eyed again, hissing and spluttering and bouncing on the balls of his feet. They make a ridiculous picture, and Hirofumi feels like it might even make sense somehow. Like those illustrations that are a jumble of nothing until you focus your eyes the right way, and—oh.
Hirofumi thinks, Maybe Sawamura-senpai really doesn’t understand the distance between them. Maybe to him, the captain is just another teenager playing baseball.
Maybe, he thinks, watching the way the captain laughs—gleeful, amused, obnoxiously immature, a thousand paces removed from the cool, competent leader he becomes during practice. Maybe the captain likes it that way.
“Quit bickering, you idiots,” says Kuramochi-senpai, flicking Sawamura on the back of the neck. He doesn’t poke Miyuki. Nobody hits Miyuki—even if he weren’t the captain, he’s untouchable like that. “You’re making us look bad. Grow up a little.”
“I’ll grow up when this guy does,” grumbles Sawamura-senpai.
Naturally, Kuramochi-senpai kicks him.
The captain laughs.
--
Envy, Kaoru knows, is largely useless.
He tries to avoid it, when he can—more sensible to focus on improving, practicing, learning more. No one ever played better by watching and wishing. Besides, he has reason enough to be pleased with his position. Playing third catcher on Seido’s starting line as a first year is no small feat, especially when there’s already a star catcher taking the field.
Miyuki did that too, didn’t he?
That’s exactly the kind of unhelpful thought he’s been pushing away the last few weeks. He admires Miyuki for his skill, really. But with the way the pitchers clamor after him—frustration tips into bitterness all too easily.
Furuya’s pitch slams past his mitt and rattles the chainlink of the bullpen, and Kaoru scrambles to fetch it.
“Wild ball, watch out!” he calls, and it stings that the other pitchers barely even look up. That’s how much they’ve gotten used to him missing Furuya’s pitches, day after day. Like clockwork where the gears don’t click.
Furuya only blinks sleepily.
Kaoru wonders if he’s even trying.
Considering the way his eyes keep drifting, drifting over to where Miyuki is crouched across from Sawamura Eijun in the neighboring bullpen, the odds aren’t promising. And if Kaoru can’t even catch a halfhearted pitch from an ace who’d rather be somewhere else entirely—
He firms his chin and punches his glove. “Let’s try that again.”
“Actually, hold off,” calls Miyuki, straightening with a sigh. “Let’s switch out. Yui, catch for Sawamura for a bit. I’ll take over Furuya.”
His ears are burning red, but Kaoru nods curtly.
“Oh, sure, run away!” calls Sawamura irately, hands on hips.
He’d never really figured out how to gauge Sawamura, Kaoru notes, as he settles himself across from the second-year pitcher in the bullpen. Then again, Sawamura isn’t really his favorite style of pitcher. The older boy runs on emotion and sneaky calls from the catcher—which is to say, he’s Miyuki Kazuya’s favorite style of pitcher.
It’s almost enough to make Kaoru pity Furuya a little. The two match up so neatly, bouncing off each other, energizing each other, the way a chord resounds when you hit it just right. Hard not to be a little distracted, a little wistful, when you’ve got that right in front of you.
When Sawamura’s eyes fix on his glove, Kaoru wonders if it’s really his glove that the pitcher is seeing.
--
Koushuu’s running late, is the thing.
He’s not outside waiting by the time Takuma shows up in the morning, dressed and ready to go grab breakfast before practice. Usually he’s careful to show up on time, because he knows if he doesn’t, Takuma will wait for him.
And yeah, sure, he’s told Takuma a thousand times to just go ahead without him.
Like he would. No, Koushuu’s stuck with him for the long haul. If that guy wants to be pointlessly stubborn, nothing’s stopping him. But Takuma’s walked with Koushuu to school for the last nine years and counting, and he’ll keep on doing it until the sun damn well implodes.
He knows where Koushuu’s dorm is, of course. He’s just generally avoided going there in case of an accidental run-in with the captain. (Granted, Miyuki-senpai doesn’t seem like the kind of captain who expects formality all the time. But he’s not exactly approachable, either.)
So he knocks, and waits.
And Sawamura-senpai opens the door.
“I—uh, hey?” stutters Takuma, drawing back his hand. “I—sorry, is Koushuu here?”
The upperclassman scrutinizes him, and Takuma realizes abruptly that Sawamura looks like he just rolled out of bed—tousled hair, threadbare T-shirt, old pair of sweatpants and bare feet. There’s a faint indent on his cheek where it looks like he fell asleep on his wristwatch.
...which is perplexing on its own, because Sawamura doesn’t wear a wristwatch.
More to the point, Sawamura doesn’t share a dorm with Koushuu.
“Oh, he’s here,” says the second-year hastily, opening the door further. “He came by to pick up some of his stuff this morning—Okumura! Your friend’s here!”
Sure enough, that’s Koushuu shouldering his bag as he glanced up at the open door. “Takuma. You should have gone ahead.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he says reflexively.
If it’s not a very eloquent response, he’s gonna blame that on the fact that he’s kind of preoccupied by the sudden change in dorm arrangments. Which, okay, he’s not a suspicious person by nature. But literally what else is he supposed to think, when apparently the captain and the relief pitcher were. Sleeping. Together?
Or sleeping together, his mind contributes unhelpfully.
“Let’s go,” says Koushuu calmly, stepping out and shutting the door behind him without so much as a backwards glance.
Takuma makes it about five steps down the corridor before he can’t hold it in any longer:
“Wait, so they’re—they’re actually—”
Koushuu blinks at him, unimpressed. “Yes.”
“I—huh. Wait, since when?”
“Breakfast, Takuma.”
“Wait—wait, seriously--!“
--
No one’s surprised when Sawamura gets the ace number.
And when their captain and their new ace are standing side-by-side in the lineup before the summer tournament, no one’s really surprised at how well they seem to fit together.