Archive of Our Own

It really had been a beautiful wedding. 

Eijun sat—lounged, really—in a folding chair at one of the many round tables that had been set aside for the Seido contingent. He’d placed himself so that he’d be facing the center of the room, knowing that he didn’t want to miss any of the action, even if he was too comfortable to get up and dance himself. 

He watched with a soft smile as the music changed to something with a fast beat and the newly wedded couple didn’t even react, continuing to slow dance, lost in their own world. It was a good look on the two, who tended to show their defensive sides to the world. Kuramochi leaned in and whispered something in Ryou’s ear that earned him a gentle bop on the head and a smirk before Ryou pulled him back in to continue their dance. His smile morphed into one of amusement, though, when he looked elsewhere, watching his other former, and current, teammates. 

He felt the beer bottle whack him gently in the head before he heard the voice, “Didn’t your mother ever tell you to sit up straight?” 

The noise of the chair beside him sliding was almost drowned out by the music, but not quite, and Eijun shot a lazy grin at the man who sat down, feeling too mellow to rise to his bait. “Hush, you,” he said, ignoring the commentary on his posture. 

Miyuki laughed and Eijun...well, Eijun, in his relaxed state, acknowledged to himself how much he’d missed that sound. “How’s it going, Sawamura?” 

“It’s good,” Eijun said. “Lovely wedding.” 

“Yeah,” Miyuki agreed, and Eijun eyed him, taking in the changes the last years had wrought. It wasn’t that they never saw each other, they’d both attended Big6 universities, Eijun at Hosei and Miyuki at Todai, but apart from games and the occasional get-together organized by an overly sentimental Zono, their communication had been limited to the occasional text or email.

Miyuki hadn’t gained much in height—Eijun had grown several centimeters and now he was probably the taller—but had gained muscle, filling out the places he was a little lacking at Seido, face thinning and becoming even more appealing, which Eijun hadn’t thought possible. And kind of resented.

“How are the Swallows treating you?” Eijun asked, curious about the differences between college and professional baseball.

“So far so good,” Miyuki answered, sprawling out in his chair as well, clearly settling in. “It’s just my first season, though, so it’s a lot of trying to catch up to the others. You know how starting out is.” 

Eijun thought back to his first, disastrous days at Seido and chuckled. “You’re right, I do. Hosei wasn’t as bad as Seido, but still.” 

“Right,” Miyuki said. “Like that.” He sipped at his beer, smiling at the memory. 

“God, you were an asshole.” 

“Hey, now,” Miyuki said, before grinning. “I can’t really argue with that, can I? I was. But it was hilarious.” 

Eijun glared at him. “I’m not sure anything’s changed.” 

“That’s fair.” Miyuki shrugged. “You have, though. You’re not the overly loud kid you used to be, ‘Lion of Hosei’.”

“Please don’t start with that,” Eijun groaned, before thinking about what Miyuki said. “But to your point, yes, I’m not. Being both co-captain and ace in my third year started it, and my first year at Hosei cemented it. I’m still the same person; I’ve just learned that sometimes being calmer gets the point across better.” He smirked at Miyuki before continuing. “You have to have noticed that I’m still loud on the field. That hasn’t changed.” 

“Yeah,” Miyuki agreed, picking at the label of his beer. “Do you know where you’re going after graduation?” 

Eijun sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure, honestly.” 

“You’ve gotten offers, right?” 

“Some,” Eijun admitted. 

“I’m sure,” Miyuki said. “I mean, the Lion of Hos—”

“Don’t, please,” Eijun cut him off sharply. “I’m just another player. I don’t even know why they call me that.” 

Miyuki looked surprised for a second before his face gentled. “You don’t, do you?” He shook his head, grinning slightly. “You really have changed, haven’t you? At Seido you’d have been rubbing something like that in everyone’s faces.” 

Eijun thought about it for a few minutes before answering, “I would have, but it would have been more a cry for affirmation than anything else. I didn’t have a lot of self-confidence, even though I yelled a lot. I had so many shortcomings when I started.” 

“You did,” Miyuki agreed. “But you also worked as hard as you could to overcome them and became a better player than any of us expected. Heaven knows you kicked our asses enough times.” 

“We did,” Eijun corrected. “It was a team effort, Hosei kicked your asses.” 

“Fair enough,” Miyuki said. “So, offers? Where are you considering?” 

Eijun sighed. “I don’t know what I want, honestly,” he stopped, then restarted. “No, that’s a lie. I’m interested in a few places, but I don’t know which I’m going to choose.” 

“That’s not a bad position to be in,” Miyuki noted. 

Eijun nodded. “You’re right, and I’m not complaining, not really.” He sighed again, shifting slightly in the chair and also shifting the conversation. “I’m glad they got married, finally. I know Mochi was worried that Ryou would find someone else.” 

“Ryou’s been gone for him since he was a first year,” Miyuki scoffed. “I don’t know why he’d think that, but Mochi’s always been less than confident about his appeal.” 

“You’re not wrong. And being apart for the last year was hard on him,” Eijun noted. “Even though they’re not on the same team, they’re both on the same level, and that’s helped a lot.” 

Miyuki nodded. “I think that’s why Ryou asked him to marry him right before he went professional, so Mochi would understand he was committed. Waiting until they were both out of school was a smart move. They’re getting married because they both want to, on equal footing.” 

“Even at Seido it was obvious they were meant to be,” Eijun said. “They were so gone for each other.” 

“I know, right? They thought they were subtle, but yeah, no.” 

Eijun laughed, and as it died off to a chuckle, he decided to admit to something and see what happened. “You know, I had such a crush on you at Seido.” 

“I kn—wait, what?” Miyuki asked, sitting up a little. “You did not.” 

“You never knew?” Eijun chuckled again. “I was so obvious, I thought for sure you knew and were just being nice about it.”

“No, I had no idea. I thought you were into Chris,” Miyuki said.

“Chris-senpai? No way, he’s more like a teacher than anything, plus CJT has been together forever. I’d never do that to them,” Eijun said. “But honestly, I never thought of him that way, ever. You, though, I was over the moon for. I’m shocked that you never caught on, Mochi knew and made so many not-so-subtle comments.” 

Miyuki chuckled and drank the last of his beer. “I think we should talk some more about this,” he said, standing. “But I need another beer. You want?”

“Yes, please,” Eijun said, handing him his empty bottle.

“I’ll be right back.” 

Eijun watched him walk over to the bar, admiring the spread of his shoulders in his suit jacket and the undercut he’d adopted in his second year at Todai. He sighed a little at himself, he was hopeless. One smirk, one gleam of those amber eyes and he felt like he was back at Seido, helplessly smitten. 

“Here you go,” Miyuki said, handing him the bottle before taking his seat. 

“Thanks.” 

“So, this crush…” 

“What, need the ego feed?” Eijun said with a grin. 

“No, not really,” Miyuki said. “It’s not like you’re the first person to admit to liking me.” 

“I know, you got so many confessions at Seido, and I’m sure it was the same at Todai.” 

“You did, too,” Miyuki argued. “I walked in on several of them.” 

“You did, but they were all from people who knew nothing about me except that I was a starting pitcher, and it was worse after I became the ace.” 

“The same for me, they all just knew me as the captain and wanted the clout,” Miyuki said. “Besides which, I actually already liked someone, so I wasn’t interested.” 

“You did?” Eijun said, thinking back on their days at Seido. “Chris?” 

“No, idiot,” Miyuki said without heat. “The reason I never caught on that you had a crush on me was because I liked you.” 

“Wait.” Eijun put up a hand, sitting upright. “You had a crush on me?”

“I did. And I was pretty sure you wouldn’t catch on, I tried hard to hide it. Mochi knew, he’s stupidly observant and my best friend, so all those things you thought were about you? Were about me, too. I think he was hoping one of us would catch on.” 

“It was never even something I considered,” Eijun said, think back over that time. “I never thought you would ever feel like that about me, you were so much better than I was.” 

“Funny you’d said that,” Miyuki said, taking a drink of his beer. “I felt the same way, you were so bright, so full of potential and willing to work for what you wanted, willing to learn, and I was...well, me.” 

Eijun huffed out a breath, shaking his head. “Well, we were a couple of idiots.” 

Miyuki shrugged. “We were just kids. We didn’t know anything, and there are so many other things to consider. The world’s gotten a little kinder about things, but the baseball world hasn’t. Not as much as it could.” 

“True, true. But most front offices are all right about it if it’s not shoved in the public’s face. Look at those two; they’re not even on the same team and yet, they’re getting married with the blessing of both of their management teams.” Eijun gestured at the newlyweds. “They’re over the moon, too.” 

“They are,” Miyuki grinned at the sight, the corners of his mouth a little softer than usual. It was a good look for him. 

“So now what, Miyuki Kazuya?” Eijun asked. “Anything else to discuss?” 

“Lots of things, most of which are not important right now,” Miyuki answered. “Right now, there is only one, really. Are the Swallows one of the teams you’re considering? Because if they are, I’d like to put some weight on the ‘yes’ end of the decision. Even if you no longer have feelings for me, I’d like to play with you again, I miss your pitching.” 

Eijun looked at him, eyebrows knitting. “First of all, even if?” Eijun asked. “Why do you think I would tell you that if I didn’t?” 

“I don’t know,” Miyuki fluttered his hands around. “I don’t know how you think; it’s been five years since we’ve really spoken. I don’t even know what bad habits you’ve picked up from Hosei,” he snarked. 

“You could have caught for me at any time over those years, Miyuki,” Eijun said levelly. “All you had to do was ask.” 

“It’s not like you asked, either,” Miyuki responded. “You didn’t seem to miss my mitt, Mr. Lion of Hosei.” 

“You don’t remember?” Eijun’s eyes sharpened. 

“Remember what?” 

“I caught for you for two years, now I’m in college and have better pitchers to catch for and more important things to do than answer your whining. Don’t ever ask me to catch for you again. Ever.” Eijun recited, eyes tearing up at the memory. 

Miyuki blinked. “I don’t...when did I...ugh…,” he stopped, wiping his hands over his face. “Fuck.” 

“You remember now?” 

“God, yes,” Miyuki said, turning to Eijun and reaching out to take his hands. “I thought it was a bad dream. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean that. I was drunk and sad and a first-year who was very much learning their place. I missed you so badly, and I took all of that out on you, none of which you deserved. I must have deleted the texts because when I woke up the next morning and remembered them I went to look and I didn’t see anything. I really thought I’d dreamed it.”

“You know, it really hurt, at first. I thought that we had a connection, that you and I would somehow keep on playing together,” Eijun sighed, remembering. “I actually turned down Todai because of it.” 

“You didn’t,” Miyuki said. 

“I did. Full ride scholarship and everything.” 

“You mean we could have been on the same team this whole time?” Miyuki hung his head. “I don’t know what to say, I’m sorry.” 

“I’m not,” Eijun said simply, and Miyuki’s head shot up. 

“Why? Don’t you want to be in a battery anymore?” 

Smiling, Eijun squeezed his hands before letting go. “Of course I do, you know I came to Seido because of you.” 

“At the risk of becoming repetitive, what? Why?” Miyuki asked, eyes wide and confused. 

“Let me tell you that story first and then I’ll explain,” Eijun said, and Miyuki nodded. “Okay, yes. I had no intention of going to Seido, I only went on that visit because my family insisted. It wasn’t until I pitched to you that I even considered changing my mind. And it was the sound of my pitch hitting your mitt that stayed with me and your words about works of art that haunted me. That’s why I went to Seido. No other reason. And that’s one of the reasons that text hurt so much, it made me feel like I was the only one who felt that our battery was special.”

Miyuki shook his head. “I’m so sorry, that was never my intention. I had no idea that I’d had that big of an influence on your decision. I think I’m probably glad that sixteen-year-old me never knew, that kid was an asshole,” he said with a smirk. 

“You’re not wrong about that,” Eijun agreed. “Thinking back, thank god for small favors, right?” 

“True enough. But Sawamura, I want to make sure you understand something,” Miyuki said, meeting his gaze full on. Eijun was struck by the sincerity he saw swimming in the depths of the amber. “I’ve dreamed about your pitches, about catching for you again. I never wanted to not catch for you; it never even occurred to me that you thought otherwise.” 

Eijun had no choice but to trust him, he knew he was telling the truth. “I believe you, honestly.” 

“Then why are you glad we haven’t been on the same team?” 

“I’ve learned so much, playing for Hosei. I’m sure I would have grown with you as my catcher, but there I’ve learned things I may not have with you because I’ve learned how to work with other catchers, see other perspectives. And it’s been the same for you, right? You’ve been with new pitchers, people that you can learn from and grow. It’s not that I haven’t missed you, I’ve missed you every day, but I think it’s been good for our baseball. Now, if we do play together, we’ll both bring new weapons we may not have ever acquired if we’d stayed together.” 

“You’re right,” Miyuki conceded. “You’ve gotten smarter, Sawamura. Where did the idiot go?” 

Eijun laughed. “You know I was never stupid, right? I mean, I was an idiot for baseball, but not stupid. I bet I got better grades then you did.” 

“I doubt that,” Miyuki snarked. “Unless it was ancient idioms, those you’d beat me on any day.”

“You know I’m graduating with honors?” Eijun asked. “And have been offered a place in the graduate program?” 

“Wait, what?” Miyuki shook his head. “In what? I don’t—”

Eijun laughed, amused that he was able to shake Miyuki’s worldview, just a little. “In literature. I told you, I’m not an idiot. I was just stupidly focused on baseball at Seido, but at Hosei, baseball wasn’t as intense as it is in high school, so there’s a little more time to focus on schoolwork.” 

“I don’t know if I can picture you in grad school, Sawamura.” 

“I don’t think insulting the person you claim to like is the best strategy, Miyuki-senpai,” Eijun said doubtfully. “You never pictured me as the ace, either. Did you?” 

“Not until after the fall tournament,” Miyuki said. “I honestly didn’t, not really. But after that? I had a hard time picturing anything else for you.” 

“Really?” Eijun slanted his eyes at him. 

“Really.” 

“Wow, I had no idea,” Eijun said. “So, to reverse the question. Why didn’t you ever ask me to practice with you?” 

“I wanted to. I was going to, but I was waiting for you to say something,” Miyuki shook his head, chagrined. “Which, you did, but I didn’t remember. And then you didn’t, so I thought you didn’t want to. By the time I got my head out of my ass, so much time had passed it felt awkward, and I just…” 

“Chickened out?” 

“Yeah, that,” Miyuki admitted.

This time, Eijun reached over and laced their fingers together. “Thank you for telling me this, it helps a lot.”

“So, where do we go from here?”

“I guess wherever we want, right?” 

“After hearing all that, you’d still consider being with me?” 

Eijun snorted. “Miyuki Kazuya, you do realize you’ve done much worse to me?” 

“I made you think for five years that you weren’t good enough, how is that anything you can forgive?” 

“You were always too hard on yourself,” Eijun said. “I told you it was for the better, and I meant it. You saying that motivated me to work harder and prove you wrong.” 

“Which you did in spades,” Miyuki said. “I want to see some of those new pitches from behind the plate.” 

“Play your cards right, and you just might.” 

Miyuki tugged on his hand. “That aside, I really do think we could have something special.” 

“Me too, Miyuki,” Eijun agreed. 

“Kazuya. Call me Kazuya,” Miyuki said. “Even if things between us don’t work out, we’ve been friends for a long time. I think we would still be friends after.” 

“Alright, Kazuya,” Eijun said, feeling a little tongue-tied after saying the name aloud that he’d only whispered in the night. “Then Eijun, okay?” 

“That works, Eijun,” Kazuya agreed.

 Eijun couldn’t repress the smile at the sound of his name from Miyuki—Kazuya, actually. “So, about that contract with the Swallows.” He looked at Kazuya, smile softening to something more like affection at the trepidation on his face. “It’s the offseason; I have a few months to decide. I’d love to talk through them with you, even though I know which one you’d prefer me to take, as well as discuss the ones I’m leaning towards.” 

Eijun felt a twinge as he watched Kazuya hide the disappointment that he clearly felt. “Of course,” he said with a twitch of the corner of his mouth, “But I can’t guarantee I’ll be unbiased.” 

“I know that,” Eijun said. “I’m just...I don’t have anyone else I trust to talk me through these.” 

“You know that I want you on the Swallows, and you still trust me to talk to you about them?” Kazuya asked, eyes regaining some of their shine. 

“You’ve never lied to me,” Eijun said simply. “At least not about baseball.” 

“But what about the others? You have to know someone who’ll be less biased. Your coach or someone at Hosei.”

“I don’t want unbiased. I want someone who actually knows me, not whatever the perception of me has become. You were my best friend at Seido, we spent a lot of time together, remember?”

“Of course,” Kazuya said. “We were a battery.” 

“And more. You remember you taught me game calling strategy? That’s not normally part of a battery.” 

“You wanted to learn, I wasn’t about to turn that down.” 

“Most people would,” Eijun said. “What you taught me got me further than I could have gone on my arm alone.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“About what? Most people would or going further?” 

“Either? Both?” Kazuya shrugged. 

Eijun chuckled. “Okay, I can do that. Most people wouldn’t help someone else like that, even a teammate—they tend to think about things being their territory and get very protective.” He looked at Kazuya and smiled, bright and cheerful. “You weren’t like that, you were willing to teach me and I’ve always been so grateful that you had that mindset. If I hadn’t already been gone for you, that would have sent me over the edge.” 

“Why wouldn’t someone strengthen their own team, though?” Kazuya asked. 

“Insecurities, I’d think,” Eijun said. “People who don’t trust their own position.” 

“I guess.” 

Eijun took a drink of his beer before continuing. “I got further because I understood strategy better than most of the team members that weren’t catchers. When I started, our ace was a senior who’d already signed with a team before the year began, so his whole goal was to stay uninjured the whole season. Which he did by playing as little as he could get away with and pushing the majority of the load onto the rest of us. Since I actually understood strategy and game calling, the lead catcher took an interest in me and pulled me along. You know me, I was never the quietest person on the field, but by that time it’d turned a little more focused on supporting the team and players.” 

“I remember,” Kazuya said with a smirk. “I still don’t think my hearing’s recovered.” 

“Hush, you,” Eijun said, poking him in the arm. “You know I’m good at keeping the morale up.” 

“As I recall—” Kazuya started before Eijun cut him off. 

“Moving along,” Eijun said with a huff. “I wasn’t the ace until my third year, but I was the Lion of Hosei for longer than that, had a reputation as a game saver from my first year because of things that you taught me. So, yes. I trust you. You know me. You know the foundations of my baseball better than anyone.” 

“Chris,” Kazuya said. “What about Chris? He’s the one who helped you the most.” 

“Are you that determined to be difficult?” Eijun asked evenly. “If you’re not interested, please just say so.” 

“No, no,” Kazuya said hurriedly. “I’d love to. I just want you to make sure you get the best advice.” 

“See? There you go again, trying to take care of me.” 

“You were my pitcher. I still consider you my pitcher. It’s my job to take care of my pitchers.” 

“Would you be doing this for the Ace of Todai?” 

“Well, no,” Kazuya reddened and grinned, chagrined. “I wouldn’t. Because I don’t consider him my pitcher.” 

“How many pitchers do you have, then?” 

“As far as I can tell, just one,” Kazuya said. 

Eijun felt himself blush and melted a little. “Well, then. You’re willing to have me ask someone else, someone who wouldn’t necessarily be biased towards the Swallows. You’re willing to sacrifice that advantage to make sure I’m making the best choice. That just proves to me that I do need your help, you’re the only one who I can trust to help me with this, help me to make the right decision.”  

“Then, yes,” Kazuya said. “I’d be honored to help you look at your choices and explain to you exactly why none of them are as good as the Swallows.” 

“Looking forward to that, then,” Eijun said. “The season just ended, I’m sure not all the offers are in. Until then, we should maybe start with something small.”

“How small?” 

“A few dates, maybe?” 

“That sounds good,” Kazuya agreed. “When do you want to start?” 

“Tonight? Eijun suggested. “You can be my plus one.” 

The corner of Miyuki’s mouth lifted in a smirk. “And what would that entail?” 

“We could sit here and talk, drink some more beer, eat more of the crappy buffet food, maybe dance a little. Do you dance, Kazuya?” 

“Depends. Do you mean Fred Astaire or the barely shuffling slow dance of every middle school dance ever? Because that? I’m an expert at. Fred, not so much.” 

“That’s fine, I’m not much better at the Fred stuff either, even though I have had lessons. It can be fun, we should maybe look into a class or two. If we want to.” Eijun ground to a halt, slightly embarrassed that he may have overstepped, planning a future when they hadn’t even settled the present. 

Miyuki smiled at him. “We should,” he said. “If we decide we want to,” he added, knowing what Eijun was thinking and wanting to make sure he didn’t get too much in his head. “For now, though.” He stood, offering Eijun his hand. “Would you care to dance, Eijun?” 

“I’d love to,” Eijun said, putting his hand in Kazuya’s and allowing him to lead him to the dance floor. 

Following his lead, as was his usual. 

Only this time, it felt like Kazuya was following him as well.