Archive of Our Own ^beta

Miyuki is eating dinner when Kuramochi shoves his phone in his face.

He lifts an eyebrow at the screen. On it, there's a picture of him from the last time they went out, months ago. It's oddly-cropped and his glasses are falling off, but he looks decent. “Not sure what I’m s’posed to be looking at.” It’s public knowledge that he’s terrible with technology, and smartphones in particular. He hasn’t the faintest clue how to navigate the multitude of flashy apps available to him with the click of a button.

“Your dating profile,” Kuramochi flatly replies. Miyuki hisses, eyes darting over to the living room where his daughter is obliviously watching television. “Relax. She’s six, not stupid. I’m sure she can smell how bad you need to get laid too.”

“Kuramochi.” The way Miyuki says his name like it's poisonous does nothing to deter the shorter man from sticking his tongue out of his mouth, unrepentant. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, taking care of Manami is my priority. I don’t have time to date.”

Kuramochi grunts, folding his arms behind his head. “Dude. I’m not telling you to drop everything and look for the love of your life, I just think you look kinda—” He hesitates for a minute before remembering that the only reason their friendship is intact is because he’s too observant and Miyuki doesn’t know how to sugarcoat things. “Miserable as fuck.”

Miyuki frowns. “And you think looking at single twenty-somethings is going to help me?”

“It certainly couldn’t hurt,” Kuramochi replies, setting his chopsticks down neatly. He’s always been something of a worrywart, constantly hovering and making sure Miyuki is okay. If he’s honest with himself, Kuramochi's fussy nature has saved him more than a few times, especially when he'd been depressed about his ability to be a good parent. “Look. All I did was set up your account. You have to fill in the rest of the details yourself. You’re too young to wallow in your own filth. At least give it a try? Please?”

The taller man sighs, running a hand through his bangs, briefly glancing at his daughter in the living room before he takes his phone back. “Alright.”

After everything’s been tidied up, Kuramochi's gone home, and Miyuki has kissed Manami good night, he takes a long bath, pausing on his way out to take a look at himself in the mirror. His face is haggard from lack of sleep, scraggly facial hair sprouting from going three days without shaving, but he hadn’t thought he looked terrible enough for Kuramochi to do something like this.

After Manami had been born, he'd considered romance off the table until she turned eighteen, and being on the market at forty sounded damn near impossible. Kuramochi had hit the nail on the head when he’d mentioned Miyuki’s unspoken goal of wasting away as a single parent.

Miyuki towels his hair dry before flopping down on his mattress, a thin partition away from his daughter snoring away on her side of the room. He makes sure his phone is on the lowest light setting before he pulls up the dating app, biting his lip to keep from cursing in frustration.

The facts are correct—his birthday, his height, his location. Even the pictures Kuramochi picked aren’t half-bad. That guy pays way too much attention to detail. The only problem with the selection is that Miyuki never takes selfies, preferring for people to take candids of him instead posing, so they’re all cropped awkwardly, to cut out whoever it is he’s standing next to in them.

The other thing he notices is that Kuramochi’s checked the box for a partner who’s okay with children. There are a dozen other questions, but Miyuki doesn’t have the energy to answer them right now. The important stuff is on his profile. That's enough.

He wakes up in the morning to the feeling of small hands tugging at his comforter, grumbling something half-intelligible to Manami before he pulls up his eye mask. Yawning, he clicks a button on the side of his phone to turn on the display, startled to see a notification on the lock screen.

He has a message on the dating app—several of them, actually, he notes with a self-satisfied grin. Still got it.

He cooks breakfast, packing Manami’s lunch with a smile. His daughter picks up on his uncharacteristically good mood. “Papa, you’re real happy today. I like it.”

Miyuki kisses the top of Manami’s head, where he’s pulled her hair into a neat little bun. “I’ll do my best to stay that way, sweetheart. Have a good day at school.”

Manami trots off with her backpack after waving him goodbye. Miyuki starts up the coffee maker after he lets out another long yawn, sitting down to eat his own food at last.

Feeling giddy that his profile has garnered attention despite being so barren, Miyuki is startled to note that among a dozen messages from interested women, there’s one from a man mixed in. Rare, but not unheard of.

Miyuki rolls his eyes. Kuramochi must have listed him as a bisexual when he created the account. It’s not a problem. He can go in and fix that in a matter of seconds, assuming he can figure out how to find the settings.

After a second thought, he decides against it. The label isn't completely false, anyways—he's just never admitted his casual attraction to some men aloud, scared of the repercussions.

The idea of a guy being brazen enough to chat him up despite knowing next to nothing about him piques Miyuki’s interest, so he finds himself clicking on the man’s picture. 

Eijun, it says just below his icon, a snapshot of a man with a bright smile standing in a field full of obnoxiously-green trees. Twenty-seven, gay. Looking for friends, a long-term relationship, or a life-partner. Good with kids.

Much like Miyuki, all of his pictures have been taken by somebody else, mid-action shots where this Eijun character seems awfully busy, always running around or tending to plants.

In your hobbies, it said you like baseball. Me too. Who’s your favorite player?

Unlike the bombardment of previous questions about whether he’d be down for a date or a quick fuck, this inquiry is casual and easy to answer.

As far as catchers go, it’s a toss-up between the Carps’ Harada and the Hawks’ Takigawa. If we’re talking about pitchers, nobody blew me away in the NPB last season, and I haven’t had time to follow the majors in years.

He deletes the other messages without a second thought. Dating might still be off the table, especially if the prospects are all as restless and eager to have sex as those that had messaged him last night, but making a new friend doesn’t sound too bad.

Three days later, Miyuki finally gets a response. His phone is on silent, thankfully, but the buzz still makes him jump as he mills about the restaurant tables. It’s rare for anyone to text him, but because the vibration stops, he doesn’t panic. He’s trained Manami and Kuramochi to call him twice if they need something urgent.

When he goes on break, he steps outside to get some fresh air, lounging against the wall with Nori, his favorite chef on staff. They’re not close enough to be friends, but they’re not distant enough to be strangers either, stuck somewhere in the odd limbo of being acquaintances.

He nods at the shorter man before unlocking his phone, scrolling through the tirade of drivel on the dating app until he gets to the message he wants, making a mental note to like Eijun’s account to keep his profile at the top of the list.

Sorry it took so long for me to get back to you. I just moved and I’m trying to get a bunch of stuff sorted out. Tokyo is complicated! Miyuki smiles at the guy’s flustered honesty. Takigawa is amazing, isn’t he? I think he’s one of my favorite players on the circuit. But hey, don’t knock the NPB’s pitchers. Narumiya and Amahisa are pretty impressive.

Miyuki groans. If I never have to hear about Narumiya Mei again, it will be too soon.

Eijun texts him back immediately. Miyuki looks at the time—22:35. It’s not that late, but it’s certainly late enough for some people to be curled up in bed, getting ready to sleep. He’s annoying as hell, but he’s good. Wouldn’t mind running my fist up his ass to shut him up, but that’s neither here nor there. What’s your beef with him? 

He snorts, typing back a dry response. He still hasn’t forgiven me for stealing his girlfriend in fourth grade.

Aren’t you both twenty-eight? How long is that guy gonna hold a grudge?

Forever, probably, Miyuki says, and he means it. He’s petty like that.

Hahaha!! He can practically see Eijun laughing obnoxiously at his words, with his deep dimples and his dark tan, brown eyes glowing with mirth in his photograph. Sounds about right.

When Kataoka comes looking for them, Nori offers Miyuki a shy little smile. “You seemed happy just then. Did your daughter send you a picture?”

It’s not a bad guess, considering that Manami is about the only person in the world who could draw a sincere, unconscious smile out of him. “Something like that,” Miyuki blithely replies, tightening his apron and rolling up his sleeves to power through the rest of the night.

Three weeks after Miyuki has eased into an easy repertoire with Eijun, he has an all-day date planned with his daughter. They visit the aquarium first. He kneels every time she has a question, patiently explaining what each display entails. By the time they exit the building, she’s obsessed with pyjama sharks, likely because of their name. All the same, he buys her a stuffed figure of one on the way out, and she babbles half-recalled facts about them as they walk to a nearby ice cream stand.

After they eat, they take a leisurely stroll through the park. Manami stops to ask every person who has a dog if she can pet them, rolling around in the grass and getting her clothes dirty, but Miyuki doesn’t care as long as she’s having a good time.

He ends the day by heading to the public baths, entrusting Manami to his neighbor, a kindly old woman who always asks what she can do to help them out. When he gets out, he sees that there’s a new message from Eijun, who’s rambling about some fluffy manga he’s reading, happy to prattle on about nonsense with him in his texts. That’s what my day’s been like. How was yours? 

Miyuki bites his lip, hesitating for a long moment, deciding whether he should answer Eijun seriously or not. They get along surprisingly well, and on the very slim off-chance that Eijun might be romantically interested in him, he needs to tell him the truth about Manami.

I spent the day with my daughter, Miyuki says, hoping that he hasn’t ended their burgeoning friendship with the admittance, at least. Took her to the aquarium, the park, and now we're at a bathhouse.

Because Eijun’s hours are odd and his texting patterns could be erratic, Miyuki doesn’t expect a response, but he gets one as he’s pulling on his sweatpants. You take her to the men’s side? Poor thing!

Miyuki belts out a laugh, bowing his head in apology for the sudden noise as he hurries to cover his mouth. Eijun could be astoundingly blunt—refreshingly so. No, she’s with a neighbor of mine. Before you ask, her mother’s not dead, and I’m not having an affair. We never got married. She didn’t want to raise a kid. I didn’t want to give her up. Her name’s Manami, and she’s amazing. 

Why would I assume you were having an affair? It says right in your bio that you’re single. Miyuki snorts at Eijun’s simplicity as he pulls on his shirt. How old is she? Does she like sports?

Six. Kind of. I think she mostly enjoys beating other kids in races.  

Good for her, Eijun responds, and Miyuki decides that he adores the man from that point on.

Kuramochi has his fingers tangled in his girlfriend’s hair when the phone rings. Akemi, wonderful angel that she is, pulls back from their kiss to let him lean over and grab it, lying down on the pillows as she catches her breath. “This better be good, Miyuki.”

“What, were you busy? You should’ve let it ring through. I didn’t need anything important.”

“Like hell you didn’t,” Kuramochi mumbles, tossing his legs over the side of the bed. “You never call.” He can tell, just from a few words, that Miyuki is frazzled. He mentally runs through the previous problems Miyuki has called him about, worked up in to a frothing panic. Manami is long past the age of teething, bottles, and potty training. This couldn’t be about anything too bad, or so Kuramochi assumes.

“I really didn’t,” Miyuki insists, his voice far too somber for a prick who has an ego the size of a small country. “We can talk later.”

“Spit it out, asshole.” Kuramochi fishes through the pile of clothes on the ground for his boxers. “Do I need to come over?”

“No.” Miyuki’s tone is stern now, some of his usual spark returning. “I was going to ask you if Manami could stay with you next weekend. It’s not a big deal.”

“What?” Kuramochi panics. “Did your dad ask you to go home or something?” There’s an awkward pause before Miyuki coughs, whispering something so softly that he can’t hear. “Huh?”

“I said, I was thinking about asking someone on a date.”

The words make Kuramochi go stock-still. When he finally processes them, he lets out his trademark nasty laugh. He’s a reformed delinquent on the outside, but at heart, he’s still as reckless and ridiculous as they come. “Whoever this girl is, I wanna meet her. It’s been, what, a month since you got that app? You hit it off awfully fast.”

“A guy,” Miyuki softly corrects him. To fend off the looming sense of doom at his previously-secret attraction to the same sex, he plays it safe, opting for humor in times of doubt. It’s been his crutch for years now, after all. “You should’ve guessed that, though, since you’re the one who registered me as bisexual when you made my profile.”

Kuramochi rolls his eyes. Is it weird that his best friend isn’t as straight as he’s always imagined him to be? Sure. But, more than anything, he’s glad that Miyuki has found a way to break out of his funk. “Whatever, man. Of course we’ll watch Manami. And please, for the love of all that is holy, go get laid.”

“Fuck you,” Miyuki jeers, letting out a long sigh of relief that Kuramochi hasn’t shunned him for coming out, no matter how flippantly he’d done so.

“You wish,” Kuramochi retorts, and then he hangs up, leaving Miyuki alone with his thoughts.

All day on Monday, he contemplates asking Eijun out, waffling over the issue even while he watches children’s programming with Manami. Sensing his odd mood, she presses a tiny palm against his forehead, a learned habit for checking his temperature. “Papa, are you sick?”

Internally, Miyuki groans at himself, offering his daughter a smile. “No, love. I’m just being silly.” He scoops her up in his arms, tickling Manami to distract her. As laughter bubbles out of her throat, he puts her back down, watching her huffily straighten her clothes back out with color high on her cheeks.

With a burst of determination, he sends Eijun a message. Here’s my email address and my number, so I can finally delete this awful app. Also, how do you feel about getting dinner sometime soon?

He moves through the motions of his everyday life to distract himself from anxiously checking for a reply, spending more time preparing side dishes for Manami than he usually would. He stops cooking when it gets too quiet in the living room, a sure sign of his little girl falling asleep in front of the television, coaxing her to take a shower and brush her teeth before going to bed.

Miyuki about jumps out of his skin when his phone buzzes, a notification for an SMS message from an unknown email address. Given that his name is spelled out right in the text before the at-symbol, seijun01, it stands to reason that it’s from the only person he’s given his contact information today.

I’m usually busy on the weekends, but I’m free most Monday afternoons. Did you have someplace in mind?  

Miyuki laughs as he types out a response, shaking his head at himself for getting worked up over nothing. It stands to reason that Eijun would continue to be easy-going about the matter, given that he’d been frank about what he wanted right from the start.

Kuramochi leers at Miyuki as he buttons up his shirt, making sure Manami’s overnight bag is packed with all the necessities. She’s stayed with him and Akemi before, and she’s bossy, reminding Kuramochi to put her favorite stuffed animal next to her clothes.

“Well, well. Guess you still clean up nice.” Miyuki hears Kuramochi’s unspoken lucky bastard, omitted only for the sake of impressionable little ears.

“Papa’s all dressed up,” Manami remarks in awe, noting the way Miyuki’s hair is groomed for once, carefully brushed out of his face. “Are you goin’ to a party without Manami?”

“Never, sunshine,” Miyuki assures her, bending down to kiss the top of her head. “I’m going to have dinner with a new friend.”

She purses her lips. With her eyes narrowed, she looks stunningly like Miyuki’s tiny twin, with the same natural shades of honey-brown and chocolate to her hair. “You don’t dress nice for dinner at Uncle Mochi’s house.”

The older she becomes, the sharper she gets, which she also has in common with her father. Miyuki laughs dryly to break the tension, ruffling Manami’s hair. “First impressions are important, kiddo.”

“Funny you should say that. I don’t think you’ve left a single good first impression in your entire life.” As Kuramochi drawls, Manami snickers—she doesn’t get the nuance of Kuramochi’s sarcasm, but she understands he’s trying to say something funny, and she’s always been fond of him. “Good luck. You’re gonna need it.”

Miyuki rolls his eyes as they all head outside, locking the door behind him.

The restaurant he heads to is fairly relaxed, a western-style place with low lighting and a light crowd because it’s a week night. He fusses with his cuffs three times before he sees Eijun. He looks just as tan and fit as he had in all of his pictures, though his smile is twice as bright in person. “Miyuki Kazuya, right?”

Miyuki briefly fumbles, feeling shy after years of being more comfortable braiding hair than teasing people, his tone caught halfway between taunting and confused. “You never told me your last name, so Eijun-kun is what you’ll get.”

Eijun wrinkles his nose as they head for the door, brow furrowed. “Ugh. Is the kun really necessary? It’s Sawamura, by the way, but Eijun, without the honorifics, is fine.”

Just to be a contrarian, Miyuki decides to call him Sawamura, delighting in the way it makes the other man bristle.

They have a good time together—much better than Miyuki expected, honestly. He’d pegged Sawamura as a lightweight from the chipper tone of all of his texts, but he holds his own, only a little flush to his cheeks to show that he’s affected at all. They nibble on appetizers until Sawamura sheepishly admits that he’s starving. Then, they order a proper meal, and Miyuki wonders how he packs it all away.

“I know you said you were an athlete,” Miyuki mumbles, downing a mouthful of wine, “but this is absurd.”

“A professional athlete,” Sawamura reminds him sternly, jabbing a forkful of food into his mouth. “I ate three times as much as a teenager. You should be glad my metabolism finally slowed down.”

“Right,” Miyuki hums. “I googled your name, y’know. Only a few results turned up. You a bench warmer on the third string or something? And what sport do you play, anyways?”

“Baseball, obviously,” Sawamura informs him, a broad smile decorating his face, and, considering that’s what they talk about most often, it does seem obvious. “I’m not surprised. I haven’t lived in Japan since I was in middle school, and I wasn’t that famous in the States. You’ll see! My career isn’t over yet. I got signed on with the Swallows, and I’ll probably be a regular next year. Initially, it was a dicey call. Management had to figure out if I’d be counted as one of the precious few foreign players or if I could gain citizenship, but everything’s worked out now.”

All of that is impressive information, but Miyuki latches onto the negative portion with an evil grin. “Probably?”

Sawamura pouts at his quip. “You’re a lot meaner in person.”

“Thanks,” Miyuki says, merrily finishing his drink.

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

They argue over who’s going to pay before Sawamura whips out a wad of cash, slapping it down on the table and refusing to take no for an answer. As they exit the building, Miyuki elbows him in the side, chastising him for leaving too much change, but the taller man stubbornly ignores him, going so far as to childishly plug his ears with his fingers.

Eventually, the two of them let their stupid griping come to a halt, laughing at each other in the middle of the street, two grown men acting like they’re twelve. As he wipes mirthful tears from his eyes, Sawamura holds out his arms, seemingly oblivious to the fact that they’re in public and what he’s doing could be seen as suggestive.

Regardless, Miyuki steps forward into his embrace because he’s stupid and lonely, or maybe just drunk, marveling at the strong shape of Sawamura’s shoulders as he places his palms against the other man’s back.

“We should do this again sometime,” Sawamura says, his lips warm against the top of Miyuki’s head.

“Mmhmm,” Miyuki agrees, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply before he pulls away, staring longingly into Sawamura’s eyes before he turns to leave.

Though Sawamura had said that he wasn’t that popular, when Miyuki tunes his phone's search engine to comb for articles in English, spelling out Eijun Sawamura using the alphabet, he gets a lot more hits than before.

There are lots of pictures of him pitching. Miyuki’s first thought when he sees the stills is, huh, so he’s a lefty, and his second, after he watches a video, is, shit, his form is crazy.

He filters several articles through a translation app, discovering that Sawamura had gone through a brief period of stardom fresh out of high school, but he’d hit a slump after making it to the majors. When the NPB had come looking for new talent, he’d been happy to take them up on the offer last year, especially since he’d been considering retiring from the league.

Every once in a while, at the bottom of those articles, he sees pictures of Sawamura hugging children at hospitals, with the captions that he’d be missed by his fans when he left, and Miyuki wonders how all of this equates to not that popular.

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, though, because he has to make dinner before Manami returns from school, not to mention getting everything ready for her lunch. Luckily, because she’s only in first grade, he doesn’t have to worry about helping her with her homework just yet. He’s stretching himself thin as it is.

A couple months later, he’s half-asleep on the couch when his phone rings unexpectedly. Manami presses it up to his face, and he answers it blearily, more than halfway expecting it to be Kuramochi. “H’llo?”

“Hey, uh. Sorry to bother you.” Sawamura’s voice is muffled. He’s clearly out and about, given how much noise there is in the background. “Do you know anything about Shibuya station?”

“I’m familiar with it,” Miyuki says, rubbing his eyes.

“I came to this side of town to visit one of my teammates, but I got lost on the way back, and I don't want to bother him. I tried following my GPS, but I kept going in circles.”

“Bothering me isn’t a problem?” When the other man grumbles under his breath, Miyuki snorts, trying and failing to keep a smile off of his face. “You followed all the exit signs and you still couldn’t get out? Why don’t you ask an attendant for directions?”

Sawamura growls on the other side of the line. “I got lost outside of the station, asshole, and my phone’s dying. I’m at a café nearby, but they're cleaning up. Look, can you help me out or not?”

Miyuki pulls his phone away from his ear to glance at the time, 20:15, considering how long it’ll take him to get to Shibuya—about twenty minutes, give or take, if he hurries. “If you promise to watch your language,” he says, “I’ll walk you back to your house like a good little boy.”

“I despise you,” Sawamura replies, though Miyuki can tell he doesn’t mean it. His voice is too soft and elated. “Thanks.”

“Manami,” Miyuki calls for his daughter in the doorway, sitting down to pull on his shoes. “We’ve got a little errand to run, so put on your shoes, please.”

Sawamura lights up when he sees Manami. His voice doesn’t go into a falsetto, unlike many other adults, as he kneels down to her level and introduces himself. “I’m Sawamura Eijun.”

Manami isn’t shy, but she takes a while to warm up to strangers. It doesn’t surprise Miyuki that she hides behind his legs for a moment before holding out her hand. “Miyuki Manami,” she whispers, staring up at Sawamura in awe as he beams in response. “Written with the characters for calm and ocean.”

“That’s a pretty name.” He straightens himself out to poke Miyuki in the ribs. “Why didn’t you tell me you were bringing your daughter along? I would’ve bought her something before they closed.”

“Somebody’s phone was dying, or so I thought,” Miyuki dryly retorts, holding Manami’s hand as they amble down the busy city streets. “Where do you live?”

They don’t talk about anything in particular as they ride the train, exchanging mundane details about their days. As they get closer to Sawamura’s stop, Manami starts to open up to the pitcher, pulled into a heated debate about which types of bears are the best, koalas or red pandas, before Miyuki steps in to tell them that neither species is classified as a bear.

When they reach the front of Sawamura’s complex, which is amazingly simple and old-fashioned for a guy who recently got signed on with the Swallows, Manami is hesitant to leave. Noticing her reluctance, Sawamura tells her to wait for a minute as he dashes up the stairs, running into his room and back out in a flash, gasping for air as he stops in front of her.

“It’s getting late, Manami-chan,” Sawamura tells her, placing a delicate ring on a silver necklace in her hands. “But as long as you have that, we’ll see each other again. It’s a good luck charm.”

Judging by the size of the emerald set in the middle of the band, the thing is worth a fortune. “She’s six, Sawamura, good grief. We can’t accept that.”

Huffing, the taller man pushes out his chest, a determined glint in his eyes. “Sure you can. She’s going to take good care of it, right?”

Catching some of Sawamura’s fervor, Manami nods eagerly, fingers tightly clasped around the ring so she doesn’t drop it.

Miyuki sighs, throwing up a hand in defeat. “Alright, alright. We’re headed back home. Have a good night.”

Sawamura waves, his voice carrying down the block. “Safe travels!”

On their fifth date, or maybe it’s the sixth, Miyuki is starting to lose track, Sawamura shoves a handful of tickets in Miyuki’s face. “As promised, I made the first string, which means you have to come and watch me play. I know you’d have to work around Manami-chan’s schedule and your shifts at the restaurant, so these don’t have a date on ‘em. Just give them to the folks at the box office and they’ll get you seats.”

Miyuki raises an eyebrow. “There are only two of us, you know, just in case you forgot how to count.”

“Baseball is always better with friends,” Sawamura exclaims, eyes glittering. After a pause, he cackles to himself, putting a hand in front of his mouth. “Unless, as I suspected, you don’t have any?”

The older man scowls. “What gave you that idea?”

“You’re handsome and your personality is nasty,” Sawamura deadpans, looking entirely too amused with himself. “So? Do you?”

Miyuki hums. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“You’re dodging the question, which means I’m right.” Sawamura’s proud smile grows even wider, seeing through Miyuki’s bluff. He’s getting better at that, much to Miyuki’s equal frustration and pleasure.

“For your information, I have one friend. He’s garbage, but he’s loyal. Wouldn’t trade him for the world. Also, if you ever tell him I said that, I’ll kick your ass.”

Sawamura laughs. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

The rest of the evening goes well, as always, and Miyuki half-expects to part with a chaste hug at the end, Sawamura’s preferred method of parting ways. However, he’s thrilled when the taller man reaches for his wrist, cheeks stained red as they lurk in a shadowy spot just outside of the station.

“Did you—are you.” The fact that Miyuki finds Sawamura’s stammering cute is probably damning evidence of his growing affection for him, but his heart is racing too fast to think about that right now. “You wanna come to my place for a drink?”

Miyuki looks around furtively before he leans up on his toes, oh-so-gently pressing their lips together for a moment after he makes sure the coast is clear. “Finally. I thought you’d never ask.”

Neither of them are in a particular rush as they make their way into Sawamura’s apartment, languidly unfurling their ties and growing relaxed. They don’t bother with the alcohol—they just gradually gravitate closer and closer on the couch, until Sawamura pulls Miyuki into his lap, breath hot against his nape. “You’re so sexy,” he mumbles, fingers running up the older man’s sides. “It’s not fair.”

“You’re not half-bad yourself,” Miyuki murmurs, adjusting his position until his ass is grinding against Sawamura’s groin. It draws a moan out of him, and Miyuki drinks the sound in like it’s the finest thing he’s ever tasted.

The clothed rutting doesn’t last long, because they’re both burning for more. Sawamura leads the way to his bedroom quietly, flicking on the lights to brighten a space that looks tidier than Miyuki expected. “I can practically hear you thinking, Miyuki Kazuya. For your information, it’s always this clean.”

Miyuki laughs. “I’m sure.”

They get undressed slowly, Sawamura patiently lounging on the bed as Miyuki neatly folds up his clothes and takes off his glasses, mouthing the words neat freak to him affectionately. Miyuki crawls forward, not entirely confident about how this sort of thing would work with both parties being men, but he’s never been afraid to experiment.

Resting on Sawamura’s thighs seems like a safe bet, so he lowers himself, lips creeping up into a smirk, his chest flush against Sawamura’s. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Sawamura hums, his left hand coming up to cradle the back of Miyuki’s head as they kiss, their tongues sliding together. When Miyuki pulls back for air, Sawamura laps at his neck, making to nibble and suck on it before he thinks twice. “Do you mind?”

Miyuki forces his eyes open, overwhelmed with lust coursing through his body as his hips involuntary shift forward, yearning for more friction. “Huh?”

“If I marked you up, would it bother you?” He looks right at Miyuki as he speaks, a cautious frown on his face.

It’s sweet that he would bother asking—he’s observant, and painfully honest. Miyuki admires that about him. “I don’t mind,” Miyuki replies, his voice canted in a low murmur as his lips gloss over Sawamura’s skin. “I’m the one that should be asking you that question. You’re the public property of Yakult.”

Sawamura clicks his tongue. “I wear a compression shirt year-round. I don’t think management is going to strip me and check for love-bites in the middle of the season, and even if they did, I’d just show them off.”

Miyuki snickers. “Naughty, naughty.”

“Says the one rubbing his dick against mine.”

Miyuki’s grin grows sharper, more feral. “Never said I wasn’t.”

Sawamura tells Miyuki where to grab the lube, slathering his calloused palm with gel before pushing their cocks together. Miyuki hisses at the sensation, his breath stolen from him at the motion, eyes wide as he stares down at his bed partner.

“You ever done this before?” Sawamura’s breath is hot against Miyuki’s ear, a blush steadily creeping over Sawamura's upper body from the exertion of keeping another person balanced on his chest.

“With another guy? Never.” Miyuki tries to roll back on his knees to give Sawamura more room, but the baseball player pulls him down again, an insistent glint in his eyes challenging Miyuki to keep his distance.

Miyuki is a sore loser, so he fights back, going for Sawamura’s balls, reveling in the sick, pained howl he lets out in response. Luckily, Sawamura has a competitive streak a mile wide, picking up the pace to watch Miyuki come undone under his touch, increasing the pressure as he carefully brings Miyuki closer to climax.

The orgasm is wrung out of him in a flash. He collapses into Sawamura’s arms with a long moan, whining his given name, Eijun, in a downright pitiful voice, eyes slammed shut in rapture. Sawamura follows him quickly, spurred on by Miyuki’s soft sighs in the aftermath.

Later, after they’ve cleaned up, Miyuki hums, lazily tugging on his clothes. “We could’ve gone further, y’know.”

Sawamura stares at him with his big, golden-brown eyes, a dreamy look about his face. “It’s okay. I’m not in a hurry or anything. Are you?”

Miyuki hasn’t dated in anyone in over six years, and his relationship with his ex had been strained the last two that they’d been together. Furthermore, he hadn’t planned on dating anyone for another eleven-and-a-half, so no, he’s not. “It’s not that important to me, but I wanted to make sure I’m not, I dunno. Depriving you or anything.”

The other man wrinkles his nose in distaste. “You’re making me seem like a sex addict.”

Flustered, Miyuki huffs. “You know what I meant, Sawamura.”

Slyly, Sawamura smiles up at him. “Yeah. I did. But it’s not like that, at least for me. I’ve always wanted to fall in love properly. Meet someone, go on dates. Hold hands and have picnics. Sex is nice and all, but it’s just as fun having dinner with you when you feel like venting and being a little shit.”

“I resent that remark,” Miyuki says. “There’s nothing about me that’s little, Sawamura. I’m a hundred and eighty centimeters tall, which is well over the national average. It’s not my fault that you’re enormous.”

“If that’s your way of complimenting the size of my dick, your game is weak as hell.” The two of them share a look before bursting out in laughter, warm giddiness fizzling in Miyuki’s chest all the way home.

“Dude.” Kuramochi marvels at the tickets in his hands, slack-jawed with awe. “I think I love you.”

“Good for you,” Miyuki remarks, knocking back a beer on his precious day off.

Kuramochi glances over at Akemi, who’s teaching Manami how to wrestle in the living room, sparing a moment to pine for the love of his life. “How the hell did you get your grimy mitts on front row seats? Did you kill someone? Do you even know how well they’re doing this season? It’s nuts. Total turnaround from last year, that’s what everyone’s saying.”

Miyuki rarely had time to follow the games before he was dating Sawamura, and he has even less time now. He contemplates lying for a moment just to see what sort of sarcastic remark Kuramochi will throw at him before deciding that the truth is more outlandish than anything could make up. “My boyfriend plays for the Swallows.”

Idly, he wonders if going on one date a week for four months constitutes calling Sawamura something so concrete, but he gets the impression that the pitcher would like the label. He’s a romantic, after all.

Predictably, Kuramochi offers him a flat, unimpressed stare. “Pull the other one.”

Wryly, Miyuki tests out another answer. “I won them at a supermarket raffle.”

It’s only thanks to their ten years of shared history that the fib doesn’t pass. Miyuki’s always been terrible at drawing straws and winning rock-paper-scissors. Kuramochi’s eyes narrow, studying him seriously. “You meant it the first time. The guy you’re seeing is on the team?” Miyuki nods, unable to keep the glow off of his face. “As a reserve member?”

“As a regular,” Miyuki replies, “or so he says.”

Kuramochi hums. “No wonder your luck’s been so bad before now. You might as well have won the lottery.” His playful ribbing makes Miyuki laugh. “Well, what’s his name? I gotta know who we’re supposed to be cheering for.”

“Eijun,” Miyuki says. “Sawamura Eijun.”

On the day of the match, it’s a sunny afternoon in mid-October, with low winds rolling through the packed stands. It’s great weather for a game, if a bit too chilly for the audience, but the four of them have come prepared with blankets and heat packs, ready to brave the outdoors for the sake of seeing Sawamura in action.

Kuramochi and Akemi are decked-out in Giants gear, much to Miyuki’s surprise. He’d always figured them for Marines fans, but then again, Kuramochi had mentioned that the Swallows have been on the up-and-up. He could be a convert.

Similarly, Manami has a sign made for Sawamura, her cheers written in neat rows of hiragana, the kanji of his last name spelled out in bold marker and outlined with glitter.

Miyuki watches the game like an analyst instead of a fan, discerning eyes watching the finer points of the opening innings. They’re going against the Tigers, meaning that it could be anybody’s game, given their standings from last year. When Miyuki had glanced at the pre-game predictions, many experts had been leaning in favor of Hanshin, but a handful of them had been rooting for the underdogs, likely to bring a fierce fight to the Tigers with their new starting lineup.

Hanshin defends the top of the second inning, where the Swallows don’t make any worthwhile hits. Likewise, the Swallows have their lackluster ace throwing to Hanshin’s brawny batters, and it’s only thanks to their insanely capable defense that they pull through the first two innings alive.

At the bottom of the third, just as Miyuki is returning from a refreshment stand with cups of hot tea for everyone, his ears perk up at the overhead announcement. “Player change. Substituting Takeuchi Minoru for Sawamura Eijun. Batting eighth, pitcher.”

Manami, Kuramochi, and Akemi roar at the sound of his name, baffling Miyuki. He supposes it’s only fair that Kuramochi’s girlfriend, who’s almost as much a friend to him as the man himself, knows the real reason why they’re here. They slap their inflatable clappers together while Sawamura warms up, throwing a few test pitches into the catcher’s mitt.

When the noise has settled down, Sawamura slips into the zone, striking out the tail end of the Tigers’ lineup in quick succession. Miyuki is genuinely spellbound by the display of skill. Sawamura had bested them with a mix of well-timed fastballs excellently placed at the corners, along with a series of eccentric breaking balls that moved at the plate, all of them going to places that few people could react to in time, let alone hit without being jammed.

From that point on, it’s obvious to those on the field and in the stands that the odds of winning the match are in the Swallows’ favor.

Sawamura dominates the rest of the game, from the third inning to the ninth, holding the Tigers down to a measly six hits and no runs, while his team rises up to the expectation he’s placed on them, the players coming home steadily through the sixth and seventh innings, exploding in the eighth with a neatly-earned home run for a grand total of five points to zero.

The media swarms around Sawamura after the match, taking him from a veritable unknown to the talk of the town in a matter of hours, leaving Miyuki staring down at the field in shock long after the stands have cleared.

“C’mon, loverboy,” Kuramochi grouses. “It’s getting late.”

That night, Miyuki sends Sawamura a picture of the four of them at the game, Kuramochi and Akemi forming cat ears with their fingers above Manami’s head. Guess you weren’t kidding about becoming a regular, huh? They should’ve had you pitching from the start. That was a great game.

He doesn’t expect a response, let alone an immediate one, so he jumps when his phone buzzes next to him. It’s okay. I did my best when they put me in, which is all that matters. They don’t know me that well yet, so I can’t blame them for playing things safe. You should’ve come down to see me! I wanted to take a picture with Manami-chan on the diamond.

Miyuki laughs, blood running cold when he hears Manami shift in her sleep. He makes a mental note to keep quiet as he continues to text. Pretty sure they don’t let outsiders do that at official games. If you invite her to come watch you practice, that would be a different story.

That sounds boring, Sawamura says. If you really think she’d like it, I’ll ask my coach for permission. Miyuki smiles, shaking his head a little at Sawamura’s frankly obnoxious sense of optimism. I’m really happy you two got to see me pitch. Thanks for coming. 

Thanks for inviting me. He pauses for a moment, thinking about what he wants to say, biting his lip. Would you like to come to our place after the season’s over? It wouldn’t be a very romantic date or anything since Manami would be around, but. Offer’s on the table.

Because Miyuki’s luck is terrible, or, more likely, because Sawamura has gone to sleep, he doesn’t receive a response until the next day, when Manami is tugging on his covers, encouraging him to get up and make breakfast.

Really? That sounds great! What should I bring over? Does Manami-chan like sweets?

One of these days, he’s going to learn to stop underestimating Sawamura; to trust him.

Seeing how excited Manami is to have company, Miyuki wonders if he should’ve invited Sawamura over sooner, but the pitcher has more free time now anyways, so it’s all worked out for the best.

He goes all out on the side-dishes, aiming for a spread that’s rustic but colorful. Sawamura spent his teenage years in America, meaning that Miyuki doesn’t know if he prefers traditional food or modern fusions, but in their five months together, he’s never seen the other man turn anything specific down. He hopes that’s because Sawamura isn’t picky.

Manami helps set the table when he’s finished, bowls neatly placed next to saucers, and the minute she’s finished, Sawamura knocks on the door, right on time.

She hollers that she’s coming, tiny feet hurrying down the hallway to let Sawamura in, clasping his legs the second the door opens. “Why’d it take you so long to visit?”

“Your dad was being a pain,” Sawamura explains, pulling Manami up into his arms, letting her rest there comfortably as he steps out of his shoes in the entryway. “And work got busy. I’ll probably be able to come over more often now though, at least until the spring.”

“I saw you on TV, Eijun,” Manami explains, her eyes full of hero-worship. Miyuki can’t say it’s out of place, either, because Sawamura has become a rising star, all of the news media talking about how he’d been born in Nagano, how he’s a hometown hero. “You were so cool.”

“Right? Right?” Sawamura puts her down with a bright grin, ducking over for a quick peck against his boyfriend’s cheek before he takes a seat at the table. “I’ll make a baseball fan out of you yet.” The hand he’s kept free, his left, has a bag with a famous bakery’s logo on it, presumably holding dessert inside of the large box resting at the bottom.

Clearing his throat so he doesn’t feel so fluffy and flustered, Miyuki pushes up his glasses. “If you want her to call you something else, you should probably let her know.”

Sawamura shrugs. “I’m used to it. Everybody called me that overseas, and I like my name.” He huffily puffs out his cheeks, pouting at Miyuki. “If anything, I should be training you to say it, Miyuki Kazuya.”

Miyuki grins, feeling sly as he shoves a chunk of rice into his mouth. “But your reactions when I don’t are priceless.”

“You’re so evil.”

Dinner is a rowdy affair, louder than it’s ever been in their apartment with Sawamura’s voice booming off of the walls. For Christmas, Kuramochi had given Manami an old game console of his, and she challenges Sawamura to a race, which he takes her up on easily. Miyuki cleans up, occasionally watching them from the corner of his eyes, his heart lurching at the warm sight of them having fun together.

Later, when Miyuki asks what Sawamura wants to do, Sawamura says he wouldn’t mind playing a game of shōgi, so the older man digs through a closet filled with board games and jigsaw puzzles. “Manami was addicted to them last year, but I think she’s over the craze.”

Manami remains focused on the television until she hears soft grunts of frustration from her father, amazed that someone has managed to put a frown of concentration on his face. When Sawamura notices her, he pats his lap, encouraging her to sit there. Tentatively, she approaches. “He made the fatal mistake of assuming that because I’m a sports junkie, I’d be bad at this sort of thing. Unfortunately, this Sawamura Eijun has been trained by the best of the best—that is to say, by a bunch of cranky old farts who hate losing.”

“Aren’t you a little too good at this?” Miyuki tosses up his hands in surrender after Sawamura explains his finishing move to Manami aloud, unable to do anything to block his assault. “I concede.”

“Good game,” Sawamura says, high-fiving Manami as if she’d been the key to his victory. Manami wiggles off of his thighs so he can get up and stretch, glancing down at his watch. “We never did have dessert, huh? It’s late, so you can take your time and enjoy the cake tomorrow, Manami-chan.”

Miyuki cups a hand around Sawamura’s ear, whispering to him hotly under his breath. “If you keep giving her so much expensive stuff, she’s going to wind up spoiled.”

“What’s your point?” Sawamura is brazen and noisy, rolling his eyes in disdain. “Children are supposed to be spoiled. Besides, I have more money than I know what to do with. Lemme buy her stuff. She deserves it!”

Miyuki doesn’t disagree, but he still feels like a mooch, having to rely on Sawamura for things he should be able to afford for his daughter by himself. If he had a different job—if life had turned out differently.

“Hey now,” Sawamura chides him, gently bringing their foreheads together. “Don’t make that complicated face. I didn’t mean anything by it. Manami-chan obviously loves you, and you take good care of her. This is just something I wanna do, that's all. If you don’t like it, I’ll stop.”

Miyuki balls a fist in the collar of Sawamura’s shirt, leaning into his embrace with glossy eyes. “You don’t have to. I’m glad that you don’t mind taking care of her.”

“Of course not. She’s your daughter, and, more importantly, she’s a really good kid. I’m glad you invited me over.” He kisses Miyuki chastely, his round eyes glowing amber-gold in the light. “It really feels like the next step, y’know?”

He barks out a sharp laugh. “Yeah, I’d say so.” Miyuki leans up to press his lips to Sawamura’s cheek before seeing him off, wishing him a good night.

As they’re getting ready for bed, Manami looks up at him with a toothy grin, wiggling one of her loose teeth with her tongue. “Eijun’s nice. Are you gonna marry him?”

Miyuki exhales heavily, brushing Manami’s hair out of her face with a fond smile. “It’s not that easy, sunshine. The fact that we’re dating has to be a secret for now, but don’t worry. I want him to stick around too.”

“It’s a secret even though you kiss like everybody else’s parents?”

“It is,” Miyuki hums, squeezing Manami’s hand for strength before he pulls up the covers. “Do you think you can keep it, love?”

“I will,” Manami swears, “because Eijun makes you smile, really smile, Papa, and I like that a lot.”

It takes everything in him not to break down crying after that, wondering how he’s been fortunate enough to be granted a kind daughter and a courageous boyfriend.

Miyuki laments his woes to Kuramochi one Saturday evening, knee-deep in brandy shots, drunk out of his mind.

“You, Miyuki Kazuya, renowned fuck-‘em-once-and-ghost-them-afterwards heartbreaker in university, the same Miyuki who’s only had one real girlfriend because you’re an unpalatable asshole, haven’t had sex with the guy you’ve been seeing for six months?”

He hisses to get Kuramochi to pipe down, hoping that the other bar visitors aren’t paying attention to what he’s saying. “I don’t think you needed to put it exactly like that, Mochi.” Miyuki grumbles, flagging the barkeep down for another round of snacks. “We’ve messed around a few times, and he did this amazing thing with his thighs—”

“Too much information, bro,” Kuramochi interjects, sticking out his tongue, disgusted at the look of pure adoration on Miyuki’s face as he recalls said thing Sawamura did with his thighs. “Maybe the timing just hasn’t been right.”

“At this rate, the timing won’t be right until I'm crusty and old,” Miyuki whines, cheeks flushed from all the alcohol in his system. “Am I not good enough? Am I too bony?”

“Could you stand to put on a few pounds? Sure. But from everything you’ve told me about the guy, he’s all roses and flowers. Maybe he’s waiting for you to make a move. Doesn’t wanna rush you into anything, especially considering you’ve never been with another man before.”

Miyuki does remember Sawamura saying something like that, the first time they felt each other up, and he frowns at the implication that he hasn’t been aggressive or obvious enough about his intentions. Before he can talk himself out of it, he stumbles outside, enjoying the fresh air as he struggles to pull his phone out of his pocket.

It rings a few times before Sawamura picks up. “Kazuya? Is everything okay?”

“Fantastic,” Miyuki slurs, attempting to assuage Sawamura’s concerns.

“Are you drunk?” He can practically hear the other man frowning through the phone.

“L’il bit,” Miyuki replies, catching himself on the railing so he doesn’t fall down. “But, that’s not important. I wanna have sex. Like, yesterday. Do you love me?”

“Yes, of course I love you,” Sawamura scoffs, stating the fact like it’s obvious. “What, were you worried that I didn’t? Because we haven’t had sex?”

Suddenly, Miyuki feels stupid, chagrined by his earlier assumptions. “I didn’t know what to think. We’ve touched each other so many times, and I’ve always enjoyed it, but you keep backing off. I’m out of my depth, and I’m the one without experience, even though I’m older. I get nervous.”

There’s a long pause where Miyuki wonders if he’s fucked everything up to hell when Sawamura finally speaks again, his voice softer than Miyuki’s ever heard it drop before. “I was under the impression that you were the type who liked to call all the shots, so I guess I was being too cautious.” He sighs.  “We should talk it about this when you’re sober. I want to have sex with you, Miyuki. Believe me, I really do. You’ve got a filthy mouth, and you’re hot.”

Miyuki shivers, chuckling lightly at the praise. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Call me tomorrow? I’ve got practice in the morning, but I’ll be free after three o’clock.”

“Okay. Bye.”

When Miyuki makes his way back inside of the stuffy, crowded bar, he plops back down in his seat next to Kuramochi, a dopey, brilliant smile stretched across his face.

“Did you know? Apparently, Eijun loves me.”

Kuramochi kicks his best friend in the shin because that’s how he shows that he cares. “Good for you. Guess you were worried about nothing.”

“Guess so.”

In the morning, Miyuki has a splitting headache. Because Akemi is an angel, she brings him and Kuramochi extra-strength aspirin and tall glasses of water, encouraging them to stay hydrated.

Manami wakes up when they’re all chatting at the table, the men cradling mugs of coffee with bags under their eyes. It’s been a long time since Miyuki got so wasted, and thankfully, his daughter hadn’t been old enough to remember how depressed he’d been before. Akemi and Kuramochi, on the other hand, are proud to see him in high spirits, and mercifully, this hangover should be easier to deal with than having him cry all over them for two days.

With a groan, Miyuki pushes his face into the wood. “No whining before lunchtime,” Kuramochi reminds him, looking just as terrible as his friend.

“You don’t know how stupid I sounded last night,” Miyuki mumbles, humiliation making his skin go hot.

“I’ve known you for eleven years. Pretty sure there’s nothing you could do that could surprise me at this point.”

With his cheeks puffed out, his hair sticking out in a hundred curly angles, and his glasses skewed on his nose, Miyuki seems like a little boy instead of a cutthroat, snarky man, young and endearingly awkward. “I asked him if he loved me.”

Coming from anyone else, it wouldn’t be alarming news, but his admission makes Akemi and Kuramochi stare at him with wide eyes, stunned silent.

“Before you go all mother hen on me, he said yes, Mochi.” Groaning again, Miyuki slinks back to put his cheek on the table, thanking Manami for graciously patting him in solidarity despite not understanding what it is he’s struggling with.

Kuramochi leans back in his chair, lips forming an O before he breathes out heavily. “You two are pretty serious, then.” That had practically been a confession, coming from Miyuki. It occurs to Kuramochi to ask a more damning question. “Did you ever say anything like that to Nomura?”

Miyuki shakes his head. “We always had a sense of distance between us, like we knew we’d be better off as friends but we never found the time to break things off neatly. This is different. Eijun is—” He’s not usually this verbose, considering life easier to navigate if he keeps to himself and doesn’t mince his words. “I don’t know how to explain it. I know it hasn’t been that long, but I want him around forever. I want to do stupidly mundane things with him, like cooking dinner together and falling asleep in front of the TV.”

“I’ve got news for you, buddy,” Kuramochi says, slapping his hand down on Miyuki’s shoulder. “That, my friend, is what the rest of us call love.”

Because Miyuki feels like this conversation is better had in person, he asks Sawamura to meet him at the restaurant. Three days out of the week, he works a split shift, working through both the lunch and dinner rushes with a two hour break in between. The other three days, he comes in whenever the owner needs him, though he prefers to work earlier, helping the chefs cut vegetables for the busy day ahead and wiping down the tables for customers coming in.

It’s a day with a long break this time, and he can feel Kataoka and Nori’s eyes on him as he takes a seat across from Sawamura. The pitcher is wearing a beanie and thick fake glasses, which should make him look ridiculous and instead soften his features. Miyuki supposes it’s his way of being discreet, not that many people would work up the courage to bother him in public.

“Nice place,” Sawamura says, taking the water that Miyuki’s hands him with gratitude. “What do you recommend?”

After they put in their orders, they trade meandering pleasantries, not so much avoiding the topic they came here to discuss as catching up. Eventually, Sawamura loses his patience, slapping his palms down on the table.

“First things first—have you looked this sort of thing up before?” With blazing cheeks and a heated glare, Miyuki shushes him, because the baseball player’s voice is too damn loud. He’s lucky Sawamura doesn’t outright say that they’re having sex, given how keyed up he is.

“A couple times, sure. I don’t live under a rock.”

Sawamura snorts. “You don’t own a computer and you barely use your phone. You’re not that far off.”

Miyuki rolls his eyes instead of arguing. He has a point. “You’re not exactly the champion of responding to your emails either.”

“It’s better when you get to see someone and spend time together, right?” His grin is bright enough to make Miyuki laugh, unable to keep from smiling back in response. “Anyways. You understand the basics?”

Because it’s a Wednesday, the place is blissfully empty, giving them some semblance of privacy. “Sure. But there’s a lot of prep work that goes into it, right? Isn’t one of us supposed to choose who’s…” He fidgets for a moment, trying to find a delicate way to put it. “Y’know. Catching or pitching?”

Sawamura slaps a hand over his mouth to stifle his obnoxious cackling, enjoying the innuendo that Miyuki’s made. “I forgot some people called it that. Oh my god.”

Miyuki makes to get up, embarrassed beyond belief. “I’m going back to work.”

The taller man grabs his wrist, wiping tears out of his eyes with his other hand. “I’m sorry, I’ll shut up. I can tell you’re really worried about this.”

Miyuki sits back down, disgruntled, scrubbing a hand through his hair in distress. Pouting, he flicks his eyes up at the amused Sawamura. “I just want you to enjoy it. I don’t know what you like.”

Leaning forward on his hands, earnestly smiling, Sawamura says, “I like you. The rest doesn’t matter all that much.” Miyuki’s blush grows deeper at the words, staring at the other man like he can’t quite believe he’s real. “On the other hand, if you’re asking which position I have more experience with, I’m usually a pitcher. Best one in Kanto these days, or so they say.”

Miyuki glares at his boyfriend for the shallow double-entendre. “I’m starting to think you’ve spent too much time around me. You used to be so nice.”

“What can I say?” Sawamura’s tone is cloyingly sweet as he teases Miyuki. “You stick around a sadist long enough and you pick up a few things.”

When he leaves, Miyuki heads to the back. Nori whistles at him, and Kataoka, who’s usually stone-faced, manages a wry grin as Miyuki ties on his apron, silently approving of Sawamura’s ability to ruffle his feathers.

“Tell him he should stop by for lunch more often,” Nori says.

Miyuki sulks, putting his hair up in a loose bun. “Not on your life.”

Kuramochi has that stupid look on his face when he opens the door to let Manami in, the one that he says he knows exactly why Miyuki is here. “Shut up.”

“Have fun, loverboy,” Kuramochi retorts, whistling hyuu, hyuu at him while wiggling his fingers. Parroting his actions, Manami does the same. Miyuki shakes his head, because of course she would pick up Kuramochi’s bad habits.

Manami puts her hands on her hips as she shouts out her reminder. “Papa, don’t forget to tell Eijun that I said the cake was delicious. Don’t get distracted kissing him.” Miyuki ruffles her hair as he gives her his word that he will, wondering where in the world she got such a big attitude from before remembering that he was probably three times brattier at that age.

It’s warm inside of Sawamura’s apartment when he arrives, the man himself leading the way to his table, which has a candle burning on it and flowers in a vase for a centerpiece.

They briefly get wrapped up in each other before Miyuki foggily recalls his promise, lenses smudged from sliding against Sawamura’s cheek. “Manami said thank you for the cake, by the way.”

Sawamura raises an eyebrow at the comment. “That’s what you wanna talk about right now?”

Miyuki licks his lips, swallowing as he shakes his head. “No, not really. But she made me promise.”

The taller man chuckles. “Smart girl.”

With that out of the way, Sawamura reaches for Miyuki’s hand, loosely intertwining the fingers of his left with Miyuki’s right. The bedroom is no less decorated than the entrance, rose petals thrown everywhere, mood lighting from fairy lights taped to the ceiling casting everything in a heady glow. Miyuki hums, tightening his grasp on Sawamura as he looks up at the other man. “You really went all out, huh?”

“I wanted to impress you,” Sawamura says, turning his golden-brown eyes to Miyuki with a slanted smile. “Did it work?”

Miyuki pokes him gently in the forehead. “Making me tell you that outright would be cheating.”

Logically, he knows there’s no reason to feel nervous—he already likes Sawamura, maybe even loves him, and they’ve skirted around penetration a handful of times, but butterflies are swarmed in his stomach regardless, words lodged in his throat.

Sawamura runs a hand down Miyuki’s arm for comfort. “Relax. I’ll show you what to do.” He steps out of his clothes slowly, unintentionally making a show of it, muscles flexing as he lifts up his shirt. He waits for Miyuki to get undressed before he kneels on the bed, passing the older man the lube with a smile.

He holds his breath as he pushes a finger inside of Sawamura. The sensation is different than he’d expected, much tighter, but Sawamura is accepting, and patient, as Miyuki explores. “You have nice legs,” Miyuki whispers absently, finding it difficult to put together coherent thoughts with the promise of sex on the horizon.

“I’ve been told they’re my third-nicest feature,” Sawamura quips back, sliding his heel down Miyuki’s calf. “After my eyes and my ass.”

Miyuki scoffs. “Whoever told you that clearly didn’t know how good it feels to be between your thighs.”

Sawamura moans as Miyuki carefully adds a second finger, a breathless laugh spilling out of his throat as he clings to his partner, sweat beading across his skin. “Apparently not.”

They both stop speaking as the third finger breaches Sawamura’s hole, though the noise the pitcher makes in response to his fumbling motions is depraved, a raw, lewd sound that makes Miyuki’s cock twitch. Yearning to hear it again, he squeezes more lube out on his fingers, tugging at Sawamura’s length until precome pearls at the slit, entranced.

He goes down for a kiss, panting into Sawamura’s mouth helplessly. “Does it feel good?”

Sawamura tilts his head, his eyes narrowing like a sly cat’s, fingertips dancing down Miyuki’s spine until he reaches the cleft of his rear. Miyuki shudders, aroused by the simple touch. “Do you want to find out?”

Before, he would’ve said I don’t know, because he really doesn’t know the first thing about any of this. About falling in love, about stepping out of his comfort zone, about two hearts beating as one, the way Sawamura makes him feel.

Now, he nods his head, pulling his fingers free, cleaning them with wet wipes that his partner has courteously left on the bedside table.

Sawamura stands up to get a damp washcloth from the bathroom, wiping Miyuki down so diligently that he feels self-conscious. He asks Miyuki to kindly get up on his knees, because he thinks it’ll be easier for him to handle this way his first time, skimming his right hand down Miyuki’s side for reassurance.

“If you don’t like it, you can tell me to stop anytime,” Sawamura says, taking a moment to squeeze Miyuki’s hand as he looks into his eyes. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Miyuki breathes back, briefly kissing the other man before Sawamura moves, slowly sliding in his index finger, watching as Miyuki bows his back.

He hisses through his teeth as Sawamura crooks his finger, squirming at the sensation. With the addition of his second, Sawamura scissors Miyuki open, and he gutturally keens, squeezing his eyes shut as pleasure floods through his veins. “Eijun,” he moans, biting his lip to keep from drooling when the edge of Sawamura’s digit hits his prostate again, deliriously titillated by the motion.

Thankfully, Sawamura notices how quickly he’s falling apart, slicking up the less-calloused fingers of his right hand so he can help Miyuki release the tension in his tightly drawn-up balls. “Do you like it?”

Miyuki huffs, his fingers clenched in the sheets. “If you can’t figure that out by yourself, you’re a bigger idiot than I thought.”

Sawamura laughs. “Glad to see you’re as mean as ever. I was just checking.”

Just when Miyuki thinks he’s adjusted to the stimulation overload, Sawamura flicks his tongue into his ass. He howls, lowering himself down on his elbows, biting the pillow to keep from screaming. In a matter of seconds, he comes, the orgasm wrung out of him.

Sawamura pulls back to laugh. “That good, huh?” Flushed, Miyuki flops down on his side. “Hang on. Lemme clean this up and I’ll get you some water.” He ignores his own erection in favor of taking care of Miyuki. His thoughtfulness doesn’t go unnoticed. Miyuki intends to repay the favor.

For the next half-hour, Sawamura curls himself around Miyuki, the two of them flicking through pictures of cute animals, telling stories in private whispers, like the entire world has boiled down to this room, this moment in time.

There’s a lull in the conversation. When Sawamura brushes Miyuki’s bangs out of his eyes, his golden-brown eyes luminous in the low light, Miyuki blinks at him. Sawamura, with his fondness for sweeping gestures, the same loud Sawamura who shines on the mound, has ruined him for everyone else.

Miyuki turns around so that they’re facing each other. Sawamura hums, the sound rumbling through Miyuki’s chest. “What’s up?”

He lifts Sawamura’s left hand up to his mouth, his dominant hand, the hand that’s made him famous, and kisses his knuckles, his lips lingering on the myriad of nicks and faded old scars on his skin. “I love you,” Miyuki says, opening his eyes slowly as he smiles. “Well, after all this build-up, aren’t you going to fuck me?”

Sawamura sputters, a blush prettily spreading across his cheeks. “Wha—why’d you have to say it like that?” Outdone, he nearly slams their foreheads together as he glares at Miyuki. “I almost thought you learned how to be romantic for a second!”

Miyuki snickers, a wicked gleam dancing in his eyes. “Me? Never.” He cuts off whatever retort Sawamura is about to unleash with a kiss, climbing on his lap without a hint of remorse, rolling his hips so their dicks slide together roughly. When Sawamura growls, digging his nails into Miyuki’s ass, Miyuki knows he’s won.

It’s due to be a busy week, what with Manami’s birthday coming up and all.

Planning her party is easy enough. Manami has a few friends she wants to invite over, which he’s pleased about, and cooking for a crowd is fun.

Annoyingly, because it’s Manami’s birthday, that also means he has to deal with Yayoi.

They aren’t on bad terms, is the thing. If anything, their problem has always been that they're too much alike, too busy trying to out-scheme and out-snark each other. She’s sly, she sees too much, and she doesn’t sugar-coat anything, which means that, of course, if he invites Sawamura, she’s going to be a menace to deal with the whole day.

He decides that the only thing to do is prepare Sawamura for inevitable. By late March, he’s become a mainstay at the dinner table. Their apartment isn’t built for three people by any means, but Sawamura doesn’t mind the lack of space, slotting himself in their lives like a missing puzzle piece.

Once Manami goes to take a bath, Sawamura heads to his place on the right side of the sink, drying dishes off before he puts them away. Miyuki bought Sawamura his own set recently, and he always lingers over those pieces longer than everything else before he puts them away, happiness exuding from his very pores.

“Manami’s birthday is in three weeks,” Miyuki explains, scrubbing at the pot before he rinses it clean. “My best friend and his girlfriend will be here, as well as my ex.”

Sawamura hums, his smile dropping, replaced by a worried frown. “Oh. Are you on bad terms?”

“No,” Miyuki replies truthfully, pushing up his glasses absently. “She didn’t have any plans to be a part of Manami’s life, but I thought it would be cruel for Manami not to know her own mother. I told Manami about Yayoi when she was three, and she’s taken to coming around for her birthday the last few years.”

Sawamura reads between the lines, realizing that Miyuki’s hedging on the details. “What does Manami-chan think of her?”

“I don’t know. Manami tends to clam up around Yayoi, so maybe she’s just nervous.” Miyuki sighs, shaking his head clear of dark thoughts. Changing the subject, he airily says, “I was planning on telling her about us, if you don’t mind.”

That admission makes Sawamura perk up. “Sure. Only Yayoi-san, though? Won’t your parents be around?”

“My dad might stop by.” Miyuki shrugs. “Never know with him. My mom died when I was four.” He can see the heartbreak written all over Sawamura’s face, so he smiles, elbowing him gently in the side. “It’s okay, dork. It was a long time ago, and I wasn’t old enough to remember her.”

Sawamura puffs out his cheeks, pouting. “You have way too many secrets, Miyuki Kazuya.”

“Keeps me interesting,” Miyuki drawls. “By the way, Kuramochi already knows. Look out for a short guy with blonde tips and a foul mouth. His bark’s worse than his bite.”

The taller man wrinkles his nose. “As expected, any friend of yours is sure to be strange.”

Miyuki just rolls his eyes, passing Sawamura the last dish as Manami emerges from the bathroom, steam rolling out behind her as she towels off her hair.

On the morning of the big day, Sawamura picks Manami up for a surprise, which is, in actuality, the visit to the grounds at Meiji Jingu Stadium he talked about organizing months ago. The weather’s mild, so Miyuki wishes them well, getting down to the business of decorating the apartment, clearing space for everyone in the living room and the building’s small gathering area he reserved last month.

Manami is thoroughly impressed by the empty arena. Sawamura snaps dozens of pictures of her in a child-sized jersey—one with his number on it, presumably—the cap tilted sideways like Miyuki often wore his as a kid. Tears well up when he thinks about how big she’s getting, touched to see her smiling like this.

When they make their way back to the complex, Manami is covered in dirt, her ponytail loose and messy from rolling around. Similarly, Sawamura looks a right mess, and Miyuki instructs both of them to wipe off their faces, at least, before the other guests arrive.

Kuramochi and Akemi are the first people to show up, depositing their gifts on a foldable table. Manami rushes over to them to talk about what she did earlier, dragging Sawamura along by the wrist to show him off like a prize.

Sawamura is loud and his smiles are sunny, so even though he should seem ridiculous and out of place, he’s charming. Akemi’s pulled in by his antics immediately, hiding an amused giggle behind her hand, while Kuramochi, ever the doting big brother-type, sizes Sawamura up carefully, nodding to give Miyuki his silent approval.

The kids arrive next, three girls and two boys, chatting with Manami about the latest games and shows they’re into. The adults begin digging into the snacks while the kids race about the yard, exchanging pleasantries, chatting about what they do for work. By the time Manami is ready for cake, Kuramochi and Sawamura have become bosom buddies, bonding over their love of pro wrestling and manga.

Yayoi arrives just as Kuramochi and Sawamura are finished cleaning up the yard, wishing Manami a happy birthday while Akemi hands the kids plates. She looks gorgeous, as always, and after Miyuki has sliced the cake, he excuses himself from the table to greet her properly.

“You’re late.” Miyuki sticks his hands into his pockets as he watches Sawamura pull funny faces, Kuramochi howling with raucous laughter as the famous baseball player gets on his knees to let the children pretend to ride him like a horse.

The gold bangles in her ears swivel as she turns her head, long lashes fluttering up at him as she smirks. “Manami-chan doesn’t like me, after all, so I wanted to give her time to enjoy her party.” When Miyuki glares at her, Yayoi shrugs. “What? You know it’s true.”

Glancing at the commotion in his crowded living room, Miyuki scoffs. “You haven’t exactly given her a reason to like you.” She flinches at that. Miyuki feels bad. Yayoi is sensitive beneath her blustery exterior. He backtracks, rubbing the back of his head. “Look, I didn’t mean it like that. You don’t go out of your way to bond with her, so she only sees you once a year. She doesn’t know you, Yayoi. Give her time.”

Both of them are surprised when Manami elbows her way over to them, holding up a ballcap with the Swallows’ logo on it, showing the inside of the hat to Yayoi. “Mommy, look. I went to the baseball field today. Eijun signed this for me after he showed me all the fun hiding places.”

Yayoi holds the hem of her skirt as she kneels down so she’s at eye level with Manami, humming in appreciation. “That sounds amazing, Manami-chan. What else did you learn?”

Miyuki slips back into the kitchen, where the rest of the kids have started playing hide-and-seek, allowing Manami and Yayoi privacy. He bumps into Sawamura on his way to the table, whose face is still red from ferrying children around. “After I spent all that time getting the place ready, you stole the show with free horse rides. Was there any point in me agonizing over these decorations?”

Sawamura rolls his eyes, taking a seat beside him. “Can I be honest with you? No. They’re seven.”

He laughs. “Fair enough.”

Kuramochi and Akemi excuse themselves after chatting with the two of them for a while, telling Miyuki that they hope Manami enjoys their present. Miyuki keeps one eye on Yayoi and Manami as he sips at a glass of water, pleased to note that neither of them seem stiff and awkward.

Later, when Miyuki tells Manami that she only has time for a couple rounds of hide-and-seek before the other kids have to go home, his daughter runs off, waving to the three of them as she leaves, sliding various doors open to try and find her friends.

Yayoi takes a seat at the head of the table, uncaring of etiquette. She folds her hands on the table, gracing Sawamura with an enigmatic smile. “You’re Sawamura Eijun, right?” When Sawamura nods, baffled by the deduction, she laughs. “Don’t act so surprised that I recognized you. You’re pretty famous, you know.”

Sheepishly, Sawamura rubs his nose. “Right.”

“I’m Nomura Yayoi, Manami-chan’s mother. Pleasure to meet you.” She bows, and Sawamura follows suit, following her social cues. Yayoi pauses for a moment, leaning forward to knowingly grin at Miyuki. “You know, you’ve changed. You’ve gotten soft.”

Sawamura turns so Miyuki can’t see him desperately trying to hold back his laughter. Miyuki pouts, folding his arms over his chest. “Whatever.” Figuring that it’s better not to prolong the inevitable, sure that Yayoi has guessed at the source of his change because she’s sharp, Miyuki clears his throat, angling to regain the upper hand. “Guess it’s because I finally have a lover who satisfies me.”

The pitcher sputters, nearly falling out of his chair in shock, gaping up at Miyuki like he’s never seen him before. “Wha—why do you always have to put things in such a nasty way?”

Yayoi tries to keep her response to a snicker, but she can’t help breaking out in loud guffaws, mirthful tears gathering in her eyes. “That sounds about right.” Once she’s regained her breath, she puts a sympathetic hand on Sawamura’s arm, shaking her head in disdain. “He’s the worst, isn’t he?”

Sawamura snorts, an affectionate smile spreading across his face with warmth. “Definitely.”

Eventually, Manami sees all of her company off, excluding Sawamura, who’s decided to stay until she unwraps all of her gifts. Yayoi seems thrilled to see Miyuki in good spirits, moving on with his life properly. They had been good friends, before, just as he’d explained to Sawamura, and he wouldn’t mind getting to know her again now that his mind is in a better place.

Akemi and Kuramochi have gotten Manami an extendable wizard’s staff and a shimmering blue cape, something she’d mentioned wanting in passing after watching the commercial for some anime or another. Yayoi has bought a coloring book, a watercolor painting kit, and a card game that looks complicated, but Manami is interested in learning the rules, so Miyuki considers it a success.

The last present is a joint gift, half-hidden amongst a box of practical things like notebooks and pencils which Manami is exuberantly grateful for, what with school starting back. In one of the workbooks, three plane tickets stick out.

Manami turns to them in disbelief, her mouth hanging open. “Are these real?”

Sawamura holds his fingers up in a v for victory. “I asked for a few days off on Golden week so we could all go together. You dad said you’ve never been to the beach, so.”

She throws her arms around Sawamura’s neck, planting a wet kiss on his cheek before doing the same for Miyuki, pulling both of them into a hug for the finale, her face rosy with delight. “Eijun, you’re the best.”

“That’s right, sunshine,” Miyuki agrees, his eyes sliding over to Sawamura, so it’s unclear who he’s referring to, his daughter or his boyfriend, but it doesn’t matter, in the end, because the term could apply to either of them. “I think so too.”

A week before they’re due to go to the airport, Miyuki’s phone keeps buzzing, the sensation so incessant that he knows it must be an emergency. Bowing a few times in succession to Kataoka in apology, Miyuki dashes outside to take the call. “Hello?”

“Is this Miyuki Kazuya-san?”

“Yes.” Given the frigid tone of the person on the other line, it must be someone from Manami's elementary school.

“I’m one of the school’s guidance counselors, Tachibana. I’m sorry to tell you this, but your daughter got into a fight with two children in her class. She wouldn’t tell me the details, and the other kids are being fairly tight-lipped too. Manami is usually well-behaved, so she won’t be formally reprimanded, but we would recommend that you come and pick her up if you don’t want her to be at the house by herself. We plan to send her home early.”

Miyuki bites his lip, glancing down at the time. It’s only 13:25, and it’s the middle of the lunch rush. He’s pushing his luck just being on the phone this long. It dawns on him, suddenly, that he has someone he can call besides Kuramochi, who usually isn’t free until after six or seven. “If I give you verbal permission, can someone else come and pick her up?”

“Technically, we aren’t supposed to release the children to anyone without their guardians’ written consent and documentation,” Tachibana replies. “If they bring their ID and you write an email to the staff, that’ll do for now.”

He breathes out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.” He scribbles the address down on a blank sheet of paper, one he usually uses for scribbling down long orders, before his sweaty fingers dial a number that he’s called so often he remembers it by heart.

Sawamura picks up quickly because it’s his day off. “Hello?”

“Hey, Eijun,” Miyuki speaks in a rush, sick to his stomach with worry for his baby girl. “I hate to ask you this, but can you do me a big favor?”

Picking up on the concern in his voice, Sawamura grunts in affirmation. Miyuki can hear him stumbling around his apartment, likely putting on his shoes. “Sure. Anything.”

“I need you to pick Manami up from school. She could be hurt, so you might need to stop and get some first aid supplies on your way home. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Sawamura says, laughing a little to break the tension. “I don’t mind.”

After he hangs up, he taps out a rushed email to the school staff before he rushes back into the thrall of the restaurant, thanking the rest of the servers for covering him while he was gone.

Sawamura arrives to pick Manami up from the teacher’s office, the sight of a local baseball star drawing the attention of everyone in the room. Tachibana acknowledges the message she’d received from Miyuki earlier, checking Sawamura’s ID before letting Manami go.

They walk out of the building together, Manami gripping Sawamura’s hand tightly until they’re outside. She looks a right mess, hair spilling out of her pigtails at a dozen different angles, a bruise blooming around her left eye.

As they board the train, Manami’s fingers loosen up, making it seem less like she’s trying to break his fingers in order to have an anchor. When Sawamura stops at the convenience store, Manami briefly leaves his side to get a package of rice balls from the refrigerated section before returning to her post, glued to his leg.

Luckily, as he’d told Miyuki once before, he keeps his apartment tidy, so he only has to move his gym bag and a couple of old sports magazines out of the way to make room for Manami to eat at the table.

Manami is a polite houseguest, murmuring her greetings softly. Sawamura joins her after a few minutes with a cup of hot tea in his hands, content to enjoy the silence.

The seven-year-old stops eating, her swinging legs coming to a standstill as she looks down, distraught. “You’re not gonna ask me what happened?”

Sawamura shrugs, taking a long sip of his drink. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Manami fidgets before she finally tugs her hair loose. “My classmates kept making fun of my dad. They said he was cursed, and that’s the reason my mom isn’t around.” She scowls. “I couldn’t let them get away with it. If I did, they’d just say worse things later.”

Sawamura laughs. As a child, he’d gotten into fights for less legitimate reasons. “Right.”

Manami looks up at him with glossy eyes. “I know Papa’s busy. I feel bad for causing a fuss. Thank you for coming to get me.”

He holds up a hand, sniffling quietly. “I’m just glad I had the day off.” If she winds up crying, he will too, because he’s always been too empathetic for his own good.

Thankfully for both of them, she resists the urge, diligently pulling out her homework and studying. Sawamura asks if having the TV on will bother her and she says no, so he puts a recording of an old match up on the screen, carefully reviewing the footage and taking notes when his form seems sloppy.

Miyuki arrives after midnight. Sawamura groggily lets him in.

“Nacchan is asleep in my room.” He speaks through a long yawn. Miyuki lifts an eyebrow at the nickname, but he doesn’t question it. “Does she usually go to bed before ten?”

Miyuki shakes his head. “No, but I’m not surprised. She had a long day.” Sawamura hums in agreement, taking a seat on the couch. Miyuki joins him, dragging his hands down his face. “How’s she doing?”

“Physically? She took a few hard blows—she’ll probably have a black eye. She’s lucky they didn’t break her nose.” Miyuki winces at that. “Wound up with a nasty scrape on her arm, though. You’ll have change the bandages tomorrow.”

As Sawamura comes to a halt, Miyuki asks the more difficult question. “And mentally?”

Sawamura throws an arm over Miyuki’s shoulder. “She feels guilty. She did all of her homework even though she had to leave early.”

Miyuki laughs bitterly, turning to bury his face in the crook of Sawamura’s neck. “She’s always had a strong sense of responsibility. A little too much awareness that I was a single parent trying to make things work by force.” A tear slides down his face unbidden. “We’re way too much alike.”

The taller man frowns. “What do you mean by that?”

Miyuki pulls back to wipe his face, grateful for the press of Sawamura’s fingers against him for comfort. “My dad…when my mom died, he fell to pieces, couldn’t talk much. I never resented him for it or anything. He did his best to put food on the table even when he barely got any work at the steel mill his family had been running for generations. I knew I had to take care of myself.” He sighs. “I thought I was doing alright, all things considered. I try to be at home more often, to cook for her. To do the things he never had time to do for me. But maybe the men of my family are just doomed to be terrible fathers.”

“That’s not true,” Sawamura sternly responds, his voice on the edge of a shout as he grabs Miyuki’s chin, startling the older man. “You know that’s not true. You can’t beat yourself up for every little thing. Manami adores you. That’s the whole reason she got into a fight, y’know?” Miyuki blinks up at him as Sawamura’s scowl curls up into a proud grin. “She was defending your honor.”

He chuckles. “How unnecessary.”

Sawamura huffs. “Don’t you remember what being a kid was like? I do. If you don’t speak up for what’s right, nobody else will, and when you’re little, sometimes you gotta talk with your fists.”

Miyuki, who had always been useless in fights, had learned to sharpen his tongue and his wits instead, but the unfair bullying he’d been subjected to is still crystal clear in his mind. In a way, Miyuki’s stubborn determination not to report his peers to a teacher, walking in with plasters all over his face and unfazed sunny smiles, had been the equivalent of pounding the bigger, meaner kids into the pavement.

“You should’ve come back to Japan earlier,” Miyuki murmurs, curling their fingers together in Sawamura’s lap. “If we’d gone to school together, I might not have wound up so warped.”

Sawamura snorts. “Fat chance. You just would’ve wound me up in circles just to see what I would do, and I would’ve wanted to punch the stupid smirk off of your face instead of kissing it.”

Miyuki grins at that, laughing at how easy the scenario is to imagine. “You’re probably right.”

Later, after Miyuki has calmed down, he agrees to camp out on the bed with Manami until it’s a decent hour to ride the train, with Sawamura taking the couch despite Miyuki griping about him being a professional athlete.

It feels odd to meet with Sawamura at the airport after seeing him at the apartment two days ago. He’s been over more often since Manami got into a fight, marveling over the new haircut Miyuki has given her as a mark of her resolve for inner peace.

She’d written formal letters of apology to her classmates, receiving her own in kind. Apparently, it’s all water under the bridge now, and she’s become shockingly good friends with the boy who started the whole mess, bonding over their mutual love of baseball.

The flight to Osaka is a quick one, all of an hour and a half of jostling around. The weather is still too chilly to get in the water at this time of year, so the three of them go sightseeing instead, enjoying the opportunity to wear loose jackets and shorts.

Manami is excited to have her own bed when they stay at a western-style hotel, a double room that’s far too fancy for Miyuki’s frugal tastes. Sawamura pokes his cheek every time he starts to fuss, and Manami is excited to have a reason to tease her father. Miyuki's reduced to sighing in disbelief every time they gang up on them.

On their last day in town, Manami runs up and down the beach barefoot, her laughter loud and boisterous as it’s carried with the breeze. Camped out underneath an umbrella, Sawamura lifts up his sunglasses, his eyes gleaming their trademark honey-brown hue. “What do you think about moving in together?”

Miyuki glances at him from the corner of his eye, too lazy to sit up. “If this is an excuse to buy more trinkets for Manami, I’m going to strangle you.” In the last two days alone, Sawamura has spent a small fortune paying for their meals and her souvenirs.

“Well, I can’t deny that that’s part of the reason,” Sawamura replies, unashamed. Miyuki doesn’t think he has the genetics for being disheartened when he’s determined to have his way, anyhow. “I just thought it would be nice. My schedule’s pretty regular, and I’d like to see you every day. I know I’m asking kinda soon, so I understand if you’re not ready for all that.”

Honestly, that thought hadn’t even occurred to Miyuki as a concern. Now that Sawamura mentions it, they’ve only been together for a year, which, by most people’s standards, is likely a fair time to date before cohabitating, but most people didn’t have a seven-year-old daughter.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Miyuki mumbles, carefully turning his face so Sawamura can’t see his blush. He can hear the moron shouting for joy, though, and he’s so obnoxious that Miyuki’s forced to sit up and hiss at the pitcher to be quiet. “Manami’s going to be over the moon.”

Sawamura beams at that, hands proudly placed on his hips. “Good. I’m going to make sure she has her own room.”

“We’re going to pick a reasonable place,” Miyuki insists, jabbing his finger in Sawamura’s face. “A nice, normal apartment that’s close to her school.”

The pitcher scowls. “My apartment is normal.”

“Yes,” Miyuki agrees, “but you’d find some fancy loft to impress me, and I don’t want that. You do that just fine without all the grandstanding.”

The taller man gapes at him, and it’s only when his staring becomes prolonged does Miyuki realize what he’s said. Whatever, what’s done is done, he thinks, but Sawamura looks so happy that he feels embarrassed by the admission.

“I think that was supposed to be a genuine compliment.” Sawamura puts the back of his hand against Miyuki's forehead, making Miyuki scowl. “Who are you and what have you done with Miyuki Kazuya?”

“If you keep responding like that, I’m never gonna compliment you again.”

When he tells Kuramochi the news, his best friend hums. The look on his face is so absurdly fond that Miyuki can’t help teasing him. “You know, Mochi, at this rate, I’m gonna wind up having a partnership ceremony before you get married. Haven’t you been with your girlfriend for three or four years now?”

Kuramochi kicks him in the shin. “Every night I pray for your downfall.”

Miyuki innocently blinks his eyes down at the shorter man, playing coy. “You think about me every night? Akemi must be jealous.”

Refusing to play his game anymore, Kuramochi rolls his eyes. “It’s a big step to take. You’re such a control freak—can you even live with someone else?”

The truth of the matter is that Miyuki has no idea. He’s had roommates in the past, but he certainly wasn’t fucking any of them, and he didn’t have a daughter to watch over either. He’d kept to himself and everything had turned out fine, before; no such option will be available to him now. “Guess I’ll find out. Sawamura seems pretty low-maintenance. The only things he cares about are baseball and shōjo manga.”

“And you and Manami,” Kuramochi adds, which is true. He grins, elbowing Miyuki in the side. “Well, I wholeheartedly support this idea. Sawamura’s a loudmouth, but I can tell he’s good for you. If you trust him enough to move in with the guy, he’ll be around for a long time.”

Miyuki pouts at the snide remark. “The way you said that makes me sound awful.”

Kuramochi fixes him with a flat, unimpressed stare. “You are awful.”

“This friendship is over.”

“Are we friends? I couldn’t tell.” Kuramochi fails to keep a straight face as he jokes, and his sarcastic tone pulls a smile out of Miyuki, so they spend the rest of the evening chatting while Akemi and Manami play racing games.

They spend the next few weeks narrowing places down, browsing apartments in their precious free time. It’s hard to make viewing appointments around their schedules, but they make it work, and finally, after six-and-a-half weeks of searching, they compromise on two-bedroom, one-bath that they both like. It’s modern, but not overwhelmingly so, with a compact look to it and a fair number of included appliances.

They sign a lease that starts in September, offering the down-payment, putting their seals on the paperwork. Miyuki and Manami don’t have much to pack, really. The only things he wants to survive the trip are their personal dishes, all of which he’d bought from a specialty ceramics store. The three sets have a thick shellac finish on them, courtesy of the rare occurrences where he’d spent extra money on something for the house.

After two weeks, they’re set to go, living off of takeout and the few things they have left out. When he checks in with Sawamura, he’s prepared too, bubbly and excited about the move.

Kuramochi and Akemi come over to help them on the big day. Sawamura had offered to hire a moving service, but Miyuki shot the idea down. They don’t have that many things; it’d be an extraneous expense. Instead, Sawamura is coerced into footing the bill for groceries when they’ve settled in.

As a housewarming gift, Akemi returns from the convenience store with plenty of beer, the four adults toasting while Manami dozes in her room. Eventually, they get a little too rowdy, what with Sawamura and Kuramochi wrestling in the middle of the living room, so she wakes up, rolling her eyes at their antics. “Eijun, if you wanna beat Uncle Mochi, you gotta put him in a headlock.”

“Nacchan, do you think. I’m not. Trying?” His words are half-slurred and half-sputtered, Kuramochi easily pinning Sawamura to the ground, flashing a v for victory from the floor, his cheeks flushed red.

Miyuki pats the space next to him for Manami to come join their circle, babbling on about inconsequential things. Akemi, Sawamura, and Kuramochi all rag him mercilessly for being so chatty, telling him that he can snark all he wants about this move being no big deal, but his extended rants beg to differ. Manami falls asleep again after a while despite all the noise, resting her head on Miyuki’s thigh, her feet curled under Sawamura’s.

In the morning, when she wakes up, Miyuki is cooking breakfast and bickering with Sawamura, her father turning around at the sound of her footsteps on the floor. Similarly, Sawamura turns, too, wriggling his fingers at her with sleepy, half-lidded eyes.

The sight is so startlingly warm that tears suddenly roll down Manami’s face. Miyuki and Sawamura are on the verge of panicking before they hear her quiet laughter, watching the girl wipe her cheeks dry with a big, bright smile.

“Good morning,” Manami says, soft and shy, taking her place at the table.

Sawamura ruffles her hair before Miyuki leans down to kiss her forehead, and Manami’s heart feels fit to burst, it’s so full.

Miyuki’s birthday is a quiet affair, just like always. The previous year, he’d just been hitting things off well with Sawamura, who had sent him flowers and a card after being told a dozen times that his partner didn’t want anything. However, after the pleasant dinner with Kuramochi and Akemi comes to a close, Sawamura seems reticent, a little off.

Once they’re alone in bed, Miyuki curls himself around Sawamura, fingers toying with his dark curls. “I’m the one that’s supposed to be stressed about turning thirty, not you. What’s wrong?”

Sawamura tenses up, brow furrowed, mouth set in a moue. “I was just thinking about my parents. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen them, that’s all.”

Miyuki hums. “Which part of America do they live in?”

“What? They don’t. They live in Nagano.” Miyuki openly balks. It’s the first time he’s been told. “I lived with some relatives in California. After I got in some trouble in eighth grade, I guess my grandpa thought it would be a good idea for me to do something drastic. To go overseas and clear my head.”

“Geez. You’re all worked up over nothing, then. Why don’t you go visit?”

Sawamura sighs, threading their fingers together. “I know it sounds stupid, but I feel like if I go home, I’ll never wanna leave again. I got really scared when I left the first time—that all my friends would forget me, that I’d never get the chance to visit Japan again if I made it big in the majors.” He pauses for a moment, biting his lip. “I didn’t tell them when I came back. I felt like a failure. All that time I spent trying to prove myself, and I still wound up dragging my sorry ass back here with my tail between my legs. I know everyone would treat me the same way they always have, like their hero, and I’d get spoiled. I’m just starting to keep my feet planted on the ground in the NPB. I can’t let my guard down.”

Miyuki frowns. “I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit, Eijun.”

He shrugs, a somber look on his face. “Maybe not. I don’t know. It’s a hard call to make.”

Miyuki glares at him. “You’re no coward. Why are you running away from them?”

“I don’t know,” Sawamura insists, leaving it at that, the two of them bristling as they head to sleep, thoughts racing as the thick air of their first fight looms heavily in the darkness.

The next morning, Sawamura apologizes, but the situation is still tense. After several days, they ease back into casual, less-frigid conversations, and Manami seems relieved, at least, that the worst has passed.

Three weeks after their fight, Sawamura sits on the couch with a determined glint to his eye, catching Miyuki’s attention. Miyuki sends Manami off to her room so they can have some privacy, sitting beside him with his hands folded in his lap.

“You were right,” is the first thing Sawamura says, the words murmured with a wry smile.

“I often am,” Miyuki breezily replies. Though he knows exactly what Sawamura’s referring to, he doesn’t intend to let him off the hook for being a shithead about it last time. “About what, may I ask?”

Aware that Miyuki is within his rights to be an asshole, Sawamura grits his teeth. “About me going home, and talking to my parents.”

“Oh, was that what you meant? I couldn’t be sure. You’ve been awwwwwfully stubborn about keeping up a cold war with me on the topic this month.”

Sawamura scowls, his volume slipping up an octave into its normal register. “Do you want me to talk to you or not? You’re so irritating.”

“Thanks,” Miyuki says, lips quirking up in a satisfied smirk.

The other man swallows his knee-jerk response of it wasn’t a compliment to continue pouring out his thoughts. “It’s just. I love my family, I really do, and I guess I’ve been making it out to be a bigger deal than it needed to be—going home. Everybody keeps texting me that they miss me, that they hate only seeing me on TV when I’m only a couple hours away by train.” Sawamura tilts his head back, his hands balled into fists. “I had it all planned out, y’know? That I’d storm back with a bunch of autographed jerseys and a nice, accomplished husband that they could be proud of.”

Miyuki is stunned silent about that part of Sawamura’s ambitions. When Sawamura hears him inhale sharply, he opens his eyes, turning to the older man with a soft look on his face.

“Even when I was young, I knew I was different. In America, they’re a lot more open about stuff like that. A few years ago, I told them I was gay, and they were happy for me, so.” He shrugs. “I’m selfish. I wanted it all.” Slowly, Sawamura holds out his hand, silently asking for Miyuki’s with his palm upturned. Miyuki answers the call, feeling choked up all of the sudden. “But I’m happy with what I have now. Insanely happy. I stumbled a lot to wind up here. And I’m not going anywhere, as long as you want me to stay.”

“Idiot,” Miyuki rasps, lips wobbling. “I’m too used to how annoying you are for you to leave now.”

Sawamura affectionately rolls his eyes, rubbing Miyuki’s fingers gingerly. “How kind.”

In order to disguise how giddy he is, Miyuki pokes his boyfriend in the side, acting like a naughty, self-satisfied gremlin. “Sucks, doesn’t it? That you wound up being attracted to a jerk instead.”

“Mm,” Sawamura hums, nodding in agreement. “That it does.”

Sawamura squawking and making obnoxious noises on his side of the bench pulls Miyuki away from his book, the older man lifting an eyebrow at his partner. “What?”

“That Naoki boy…he has a crush on our Nacchan.”

Miyuki has always considered himself a fairly observant person, so it wounds him that Sawamura might have noticed something so crucial first. Furthermore, panic races through him at the idea of Manami going on a date, even if it were something as inconsequential and simplistic as a walk around the park holding hands with another seven-year-old. “O-oh?” He struggles to maintain his composure, carefully placing his bookmark down on the page.

“I don’t think she’s interested, honestly. Or that she’s even noticed. He’s acting shy. It’s cute!”

Miyuki groans. “He gave my daughter a black eye.”

Sawamura huffs, hands proudly placed on his hips. “She returned the favor, just in case you forgot, and they’ve been good friends since then. Do you not like him?”

Seeing as how Naoki’s been over to their apartment several times, running amok with Manami and the rest their merry bunch, and hasn’t caused a single problem, Miyuki doesn’t have an issue with him. If feelings are on the table, that’s a different matter, though. “He’s alright.”

The pitcher leers, poking Miyuki in the cheek with a big, goofy grin on his face. “Papa bear is worried.”

Tired of being the one to be teased, Miyuki folds his arms over his chest, pouting. “Aren’t you?”

“Manami is a smart girl. I trust her to handle herself and make her own decisions.”

When he says it like that, Miyuki can’t help but agree, the fight deflating out of his body in an instant. “Well, I do too, but she’s only seven. I want her to make an informed decision, after she knows about the birds and the bees.”

“Kazuya,” Sawamura says, his voice low and empathetic, full of pity. “She uses a computer every day. She probably already knows.”

That thought is one that gives Miyuki a headache, so he pushes his glasses up, pinches the bridge of his nose, and sharply changes the subject.

When it’s time for everyone to head home, Manami tells Naoki and the rest of her friends that she’ll be gone for most of winter break, the three of them heading to Nagano to spend time with Sawamura’s family. Sawamura warned them ahead of time that they’ll have company, apparently, asking them to behave themselves.

Miyuki watches Naoki closely as Manami says her goodbyes, noting the way he stares at her longingly, hands fidgeting behind his back, cheeks rosy as he waves. He can tell Sawamura’s got an infuriatingly smug expression on his face without turning around. Told you so.

As an act of revenge, Miyuki decides to mercilessly coach him through making dinner that night. Manami watches them go back and forth like children while shaking her head, accustomed to their antics.

The ride from Tokyo to Nagano is peaceful on the train, nature speeding by outside of the window. Manami stays put in her seat dutifully, asking Sawamura questions about his hometown as the scenery fades from the busy cityscape to the edge of the mountains.

They all stretch and yawn when they arrive, Sawamura explaining that it’ll be another thirty-minute bus ride out to his family’s house. Miyuki is tired, but Manami has energy to spare, bustling from the excitement of going somewhere she’s never been before.

Miyuki slaps Sawamura’s back when he hesitates at the front door. The pitcher draws himself up to his full height with the encouragement, his face pinched, brow deeply furrowed in concentration.

His mother opens the door, pinching her son’s cheek with a scowl. “Silly boy. What took you so long?”

And just like that, the tension eases out of Sawamura’s shoulders, the tall man leaning down to wrap his arms around the woman with a loud sob.

Nana and Eiichi, Eijun’s parents, are laidback and relaxed, not to mention chatty. It’s easy for Miyuki to sit back, letting them ramble on and on, especially since they have so much to talk about. Similarly, Manami is content to sit on the sidelines, watching their hands fly about, animated and boisterous, but the elder Sawamuras want to get to know her better, dragging her into the fray.

Late in the afternoon, Eitoku, Eijun’s grandfather, arrives, slapping the back of his grandson’s head so hard that it makes Eijun yelp. The two of them snarl at each other for a while before Eitoku grows glossy-eyed, shaking his fist. “Moron,” Eitoku murmurs, his voice cracking, thick with emotion. “We told you that you could come home anytime if things didn’t work out.”

Eijun lowers his arms too, pressing a hand over his mouth with a sniffle. “I know, Gramps. I’m sorry.”

Eitoku leans forward, rubbing comforting circles against Eijun’s back as he starts to cry, an exhausted smile on his face.

Dinner is a raucous affair. Apparently, all of the members of the Sawamura family are noisy. Miyuki had assumed, given how blunt and straightforward Eijun could be, that it was something unique to the man; an idiosyncrasy rather than a necessity to be heard in this house.

Manami is enthralled, more talkative than she’s been in weeks, following Nana into the bathroom after their meal, leaving the boys waiting for their turns.

Miyuki is startled when Eiichi and Eitoku throw their arms over his shoulders, dragging him from the dining room out to the veranda, the elder making up some flimsy excuse to keep Eijun busy for a few minutes.

They stare at him for so long that Miyuki begins to feel awkward, letting his eyes roam.

They have a beautiful garden, well-tended bushes creating a natural fence, with a little koi pond and a bamboo sōzu knocking against the rocks every few minutes. With the moon high in the sky, heat rolling off of the floors, and the snow dusting the ground, it’s easy to picture Eijun growing up here, surrounded with warmth even in the coldest months.

“Y’know, when he said he was bringin’ a man home, I didn’t expect him to bring such a handsome one,” Eitoku says at last, nodding his head in approval.

Miyuki’s never been bashful about his appearance or anything. People have complimented him for having a pretty face many times before. Even so, being told so straight-out, with no ulterior motives, by his boyfriend’s grandfather, is a little mortifying. “Err, thank you.”

“A little thin, though,” Eiichi remarks, pinching one of Miyuki’s arms. He flushes at the contact, willing Eijun to finish what he’s doing and come save him. “Eijun wouldn’t cough up any details, so what do you do? Where’d you go to school?”

Eitoku adds, “Do you play baseball?”

He feels woozy at the pace of the conversation, unused to talking so fast or so much. “I went to Kasuga Industrial for high school.” He’d gone the public route because it had been cheaper—less for his father to worry about, that way, and he didn’t have anything in particular he’d wanted to do. “College was a bust. I never graduated. I work at a restaurant now, a busy place on the west side. If you’re ever in town, you’re welcome to visit.”

Miyuki pauses for a moment, mulling over what-ifs before he continues.

“I’ve played baseball with classmates a few times. We didn’t take it seriously or anything. Ironically, when I was little, a neighbor of mine invited me to join his junior league, but I turned him down. I guess I thought it would be too much work, or that the equipment was too expensive.” He laughs. “Maybe, if I had agreed, Eijun and I would’ve been playing baseball together.”

Eitoku snorts. “Maybe ain’t worth a pot to piss in, young man. If we hadn’t shipped Eijun off at the first sign of trouble, maybe he could’a taken the Koshien stadium by storm. At the end of the day, we all make our choices, and we deal with whatever the outcome is. You found each other. Isn’t that all that matters?”

Miyuki stares up at the older man in awe, his breath floating around his head lazily. “Yes.”

Loud footsteps heading for the sliding doors tell the three of them that Eijun has tracked them down, his eyes narrowed like a cat’s. “There you are. Mom’s been calling you guys for ages. What’re you doing out here? It’s cold.” Amber irises flick from his father, to his grandfather, and finally to Miyuki, studying their posture with a frown. “Are you bothering Kazuya?”

“We’re getting to know Kazuya,” Eiichi corrects his son, pushing Miyuki back inside before Eijun starts screaming. “Tell your mother I’m on the way. I’ll take a quick bath so the water doesn’t get cold.”

Eijun growls, but obeys, stomping off to relay the message.

“My grandson can be a real handful,” Eitoku whispers, “but he means well. He’s a good man. Take care of him.”

Miyuki swallows, shaking his hand with trembling fingers. “I will.”

It’s late when they finally make it to the guest futon. Manami is upstairs, in what had once been Eijun’s room, leaving the two of them alone at last.

Sawamura flops down on his pillow bonelessly, damp curls fanning out behind him. Miyuki chuckles at the sight of him, casually draping himself over the pitcher’s chest. “I think your family likes me.”

He grunts in response. “Of course they like you. You’re very charming when you want to be.”

Miyuki laughs, leaning down to press their noses together. “Would you believe me if I said I wasn’t trying to win them over? I gave them the genuine Miyuki Kazuya experience and they wanted more. Guess bad taste runs in your genes.”

Sawamura doesn’t resist the ensuing kiss, simply closing eyes and moaning into it softly, hands rucking up the thick fabric of Miyuki’s sweater. “We’re really doing this in my parents house? With Manami-chan upstairs?”

“They’re asleep,” Miyuki assures him in a heated whisper, rolling his hips so that his briefs slide against Sawamura’s sweatpants. “It’s been a while since we’ve had time to ourselves. Do you not want to?”

He sees the glint in Miyuki’s eyes, the sharp spikes of desire written clearly in his irises. “You make too much noise when we have sex,” Sawamura hisses, feeling out all the divots in Miyuki’s spine.

Miyuki keens, sucking on Sawamura’s neck until the younger man bucks up, nails digging into Miyuki’s skin. “You make too much noise period. We’ll have to keep each other quiet.”

Though Sawamura hadn’t been expecting to have sex on this trip, he hadn’t counted out the possibility. He goes to his bag and pulls out the supplies, returning to find Miyuki waiting on the futon for him naked.

Miyuki isn’t posing or anything, just lying there, casually—he could be scrolling through his phone reading through his emails, for how effortless his posture is, but he’s alluringly gorgeous all the same, two-toned hair falling in his face.

Sawamura strips in record time, crawling forward until he’s close enough for Miyuki to wrap his arms around his waist. “How do you want to do this?”

Sawamura skims a palm down Miyuki’s chest, drinking in his responding shiver, the pitcher’s own voice coming out in a shudder. “Any way you want.”

They’ve experimented with a dozen different things by this point, including fingering each other open, and, on one notable occasion, having Sawamura practically bend himself into a pretzel to test the limits of his flexibility so that Miyuki could tease him, edging him while giving him an exceedingly torturous blowjob.

“Lay down, then,” Miyuki says, “and close your eyes.”

Sawamura does as he’s told, nostrils flaring out as he exhales heavily in anticipation. He hears the wet squelch of lube, deducing that Miyuki’s working his own hole open given by his muffled moans, likely biting his lip raw to keep his natural volume down. Remembering the last time Sawamura had the pleasure of doing it for him, thinking of the sweat rolling down Miyuki’s face, of his pupils blown wide with lust, makes his cock shift against Miyuki’s thigh, eager for attention.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels Miyuki’s mouth against his tip, stubbled chin nuzzling into his groin. “Be patient,” he murmurs, the heat in his tone driving Sawamura up a wall.

Miyuki’s breathing becomes erratic after he’s scissored himself open, and he finally gives Sawamura permission to look when he’s ready, rolling a condom down on his partner, slicking Sawamura’s shaft up with lube.

Though his fingers are tacky, he threads them through Sawamura’s, sinking down on the pitcher slowly. Sensing that Miyuki’s about to let a moan rip from his throat, Sawamura squeezes his hands, a reminder to remain composed.

“You’re tight,” Sawamura rasps, watching the rapid rise and fall of Miyuki’s chest like a hawk, his gaze full of adoration. “You should’ve let me do it. It doesn’t hurt?”

Miyuki ardently shakes his head no. “I like the way it feels, when it’s like this. Almost a little too full.” He groans suddenly as Sawamura shifts his hips, feeling a graze against his prostate. “It’s okay, Eijun. I want you to move. Please move.”

Sawamura kisses Miyuki to refrain from howling, tucking his fingers beneath Miyuki’s thighs to help lift him up, gradually increasing the pace of his thrusts. Miyuki starts babbling his name, garbled gibberish that’s half Eijun and half oh god, oh fuck, because he loses his grip on language when they’re having sex.

Miyuki’s arms give out and he falls forward, knocking the air out of Sawamura’s lungs, but it’s no matter. It’s easier for Sawamura to help Miyuki reach completion like this, roughly wrapping his fingers around Miyuki’s. The increased pressure makes him come quickly, and he’s practically in a trance as Sawamura drives home, sweaty balls slapping against Miyuki’s ass until he’s finished.

Peeling away from each other is difficult given the mess, but Sawamura manages to untangle their limbs to get a package of wet wipes. The damage to the futon is unmistakable, but they’ve slept through worse. After tidying up the room enough to make it presentable, just in case someone comes in unannounced in the morning, they throw on clean sets of underwear and fresh shirts, pulling up the covers and going to sleep.

The rest of their trip to Nagano is eventful, filled with plenty of sightseeing. Sawamura stops often, pulling the two of them off of the bikes they’ve borrowed from his family, to say hello to his old friends, who hug him and fawn over him, several of them asking for his autograph on posters they have framed.

Manami is particularly captivated by the farms, asking questions about the types of crops his neighbors grow and how the irrigation systems work in the winter. Sawamura explains everything to the best of his ability, pointing out his favorite hiding spots between his educational tour.

Miyuki laughs when Sawamura hauls Manami up on his shoulders to cross a stream, the little girl holding a large stick in her hands like a legendary sword. In the spirit of adventure, Sawamura calls her a brave warrior, and Manami eats up every word, pointing the stick up at Sawamura when he puts her back on the ground, challenging him to a duel.

Every night, Manami goes to bed more exhausted than the last. Miyuki relates to her fatigue. In the last three days, he's walked more than he has in his whole life. It doesn’t help matters that the terrain in Nagano is hilly, or that the ground is damp from the melted snow, either.

On their final night in town, Nana makes soup.

Much to everyone’s surprise, Manami stops eating midway. After Nana asks Manami what’s wrong, the seven-year-old has everyone’s attention, a sheepish smile on her face as she speaks. “I was just thinking, y’know, how nice it would be, if we could all be a family forever.”

Eijun starts crying, because of course he does, but Miyuki’s on the verge of tears, too. He understands, probably better than anyone else at the table, how much all of this means to Manami, having dinner together on New Year’s Eve in a spacious house, knowing that she’s loved.

He’s always loved her with everything he has, and hoped it would be enough, but this? This is a different kind of love than she’s ever experienced before. This is special.

“You’re right, Manami-chan,” Nana agrees, ladling more soup into Manami’s bowl. “It’s up to Eijun and your father to help us stay in touch. You’ll have to keep them in line.”

Manami nods, solemnly accepting her duty, and her expression is so expression is so serious that it makes all of the adults laugh.

Three months after their trip to Nagano, Manami has to write a short story for her literature class as part of her final exam. Miyuki reads over it before she turns in the document, taking the time to contact her teacher ahead of time to make sure that Manami doesn’t have to read it aloud.

It’s well-written, and the content is fine, but Miyuki doesn’t want her to be ostracized for telling the truth about her life, knowing that plenty of other children, let alone members of the PTA, would drag Manami through the mud for referring to their relationship in such a casual, unproblematic way.

My Household—Miyuki Manami  

I have two fathers.

For a long time, it was just Papa and me. Mama wasn’t around. I’m not sure why. I used to be scared of her, but I’m not anymore. I think she’s lonely.

Papa was lonely too. Really, really lonely. I always wanted to make it better, but it’s hard when you’re sad. It makes your heart hurt. I know, because that’s what Eijun told me.

Eijun isn’t my real dad, but he acts like it. He gets me fancy toys. He teaches me cool stuff. And he loves my Papa, just like everybody else’s parents love each other. So now Papa’s not lonely.

Them kissing is supposed to be a secret, so I can’t tell anybody. One day, when Eijun is less famous, I hope they can get married. In a big church, like I’ve seen in pictures. I’ll wear a tuxedo, just like Papa and Eijun, so we’ll all match.

And we can be a family forever.  

—The End.

When Sawamura gets home from practice, Miyuki pulls him into the bedroom, handing him a copy of Manami’s paper. “Have you read this?”

Sawamura shakes his head, taking a seat so that he can focus. His eyes get watery within seconds, throat raspy when he speaks. “Does Nacchan really think of me as her dad?”

Miyuki huffs, hands propped on his hips. “Why would she lie about that? You’re the one that’s always telling me how much she adores me—you couldn’t tell?”

Sawamura fervently swipes at his face, blinking away hot tears with an ecstatic smile. “I mean, I love her too, like she’s my own, but you never know. I didn’t want to assume.” He holds onto the paper delicately so he doesn’t crumple it. “Maybe we should have a ceremony. After I retire.”

The older man stares at him in awe, floored by the suggestion. He’d joked about it before with Kuramochi, a long time ago, but he’d never genuinely considered going through with it. “What, when you’re forty? You love baseball, and you’re good at it. I figured you wouldn’t retire until your rotator cuff gave out you.”

“Well, duh,” Sawamura replies, breezily agreeing with him. “But it doesn’t matter if we’re old men, does it? It’s the thought that counts. If anything, it’ll be a good way to celebrate our anniversary. We can have a summer wedding on the diamond.”

Miyuki laughs, a barking, wheezy thing he drags out for way too long. “Shouldn’t you propose first before you go making wedding plans?”

“Marry me, Miyuki Kazuya.” Sawamura says the words without pause or hesitation, dead serious, his mouth set in a straight line.

“Hmm, I dunno,” Miyuki teases, kneeling over Sawamura as he runs his tongue over his lips. “That didn’t feel very sincere. Try again?”

“I hate you,” Sawamura whines, opening his mouth for Miyuki all too easily, hands wrapping around Miyuki’s waist as they lazily kiss. “So much.”

seijun01: Watched a game from the stands with my little family ♥✨

Epilogue

“You’ll be safe, right?” Eijun keeps fussing over Manami endlessly, checking and rechecking to make sure that she has everything she needs packed in her bag. It’s far from the first time she’s spent the weekend at Yayoi’s apartment, but it’s the first time she’s gone because she’s visiting her boyfriend in college; the commute is shorter.

“Yes, Eijun,” Manami replies, long-suffering. When she looks like that, with her round glasses on her face and a pout on her lips, she looks so much like Kazuya that it hurts.

“Don’t do anything that I wouldn’t do,” Kazuya says. It’s a pointless reminder, because Manami is twice as considerate as he’d ever been, and three times more diligent. At nineteen years old, she’s a beautiful young woman, sharp-witted and quick to smile, a trait she picked up from Eijun. She'd started wearing the ring Eijun gave her around her neck when she turned thirteen, clasping it between her hands to pray for good fortune on her middle school exams, and it's an everyday mainstay now, glinting proudly on her chest, a symbol of her growth.

She still flushes, though, when she realizes what her father is getting at. “I’m not going there to do that, Papa. Naoki and I are just going to an amusement park.”

“Men are opportunists, Nacchan,” Eijun insists, wagging his finger at their daughter. “Take Kazuya, for example.”

Manami looks her father up and down, nodding at Eijun solemnly. “That’s true, but I trust Naoki. He’s nicer than Papa is, anyways.”

“Okay, fair,” Eijun replies, acknowledging her judgment. Both of them ignore Kazuya’s mumbled oy of dissent in the background. “Just…be careful. I love you.”

“I love you too, Ei.” She steps forward to hug Eijun, her head only coming up to the lower portion of Eijun’s chest. Unfortunately, she’d inherited Yayoi’s genes in the height department, but Manami makes the best of it, refusing to wear heels, to compromise on her rugged taste in clothing. Naoki likes her like this anyhow, a little rough around the edges. He always has.

Her hug with Kazuya is much shorter, a casual embrace before she trots off, leaving the two of them alone in the house.

They’d moved several years ago in preparation for Eijun’s retirement, receiving plenty of housewarming gifts from his teammates and the then-newlywed Kuramochi and Akemi, whose sons have just turned three and four.

Along with the house, there are matching rings on their fingers now, and the restaurant that Miyuki has spent four years saving up to establish will open in a few weeks. Kataoka wishes him well on his journey, and Nori, along with a few other regular servers from his old job, have agreed to come visit or help out if he needs assistance.

Eijun is clumsy with knives, but he’s surprisingly good at baking, so Kazuya leaves dessert up to him, supervising the other kitchen staff members as the head chef.

They’ll be busy in the evenings, but working together means they’ll have joint free time in the afternoons. Kazuya slings an arm over Eijun’s shoulder, offering him a sly, seductive grin. “We’ve got the house to ourselves. You know what that means.”

“I’m not letting you fuck me in the shower again,” Eijun grouses, rubbing the phantom sore-spot on his torso.

Miyuki wraps his lips around the shell of Eijun’s ear, delighted by the way it makes the taller man shiver. “Who says I’m fucking you today, Eijun?” He’s come full-circle on using his first name, because it’s so much more amusing to watch him writhe at the sound of it, laden with lustful promises. “Unless you ask me nicely, I won’t do it.”

Never one to back down from a challenge, Eijun races him to the bedroom, scrambling to pull Kazuya’s clothes off and shut him up. Eijun sinks down to his knees in a smooth motion, wringing a groan out of his partner, lips quirked in a smile as he prepares to suck Kazuya off. “It’s my ass. You gotta ask me nicely.”

It’s a fair retort, and Kazuya has a barb prepared to throw back at him, but he gets distracted by the feeling of Eijun’s mouth around his cock. He runs his fingers through Eijun’s hair as he bobs up and down, eyes fluttering closed, relishing in the moment.

The words I love you are easier to say now, always on the tip of Kazuya’s tongue. Did you know that, Eijun? I love you. 

Eijun plays him like a violin, the clever fingers of his left hand knowing exactly how to pull Kazuya apart at the seams, a resounding reply. Of course I do, Kazuya, because I love you with everything I have. Everything I am, forever.

The loneliness of Manami growing up is easier to deal with when they’re together, after all, and they’ve made their vows ‘til death do us part regardless of the lack of legality behind the partnership ceremony certificates.

Eijun isn’t going anywhere, and neither is Kazuya.

And that’s all family is, really—a promise. One that they both intend to keep.