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Before the dawn

Summary:

Miyuki’s grip on his duffel bag tightens.
He stands on the hill that overlooks the baseball field, his eyes roaming the expanse. There is no mistake, Miyuki already knows every patch of soil, every tuft of grass, every pattern in the wire fence. Tomorrow he will introduce himself to his new team on the same field he has been dreaming about for the past four years.
He does not know how, he does not know when, but this is where he will meet the person he is fated with.

Notes:

My apologies to the few people who subscribed to my account for EXO content... Your mail box will be filled with baseball guys for the next week ^^'

That being said, yay! I'm super excited for this Kuramiyu week :D
I can't wait to see all the amazing artworks everyone has prepared! (and quite nervous to share mine too)
 

Ironically enough, it was the last fic I wrote for this week. So I apologise, the end is a bit rushed. I hope you'll have a pleasant reading all the same!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

At first, Kazuya did not think much of it when he kept dreaming about a specific baseball field. After all, like his days, most of his nights were dedicated to baseball: reenactments of his practices with better teammates; witnessing a match at Tokyo Dome; him older as a professional player winning the Japan series etc.

So sure, it seemed weird to dream about the same unexceptional field, but not unheard of.

 

Until he heard his classmates talking about soulmates dreams.

 

“Mine’s in a library!” A loud guy in his class was boasting. “But very different from public ones or our school’s. From what I described, my mom said it might be a university library, so I won’t meet them until college.”

“Cause you think you’ll get into a university? You better start working harder man!” Another classmate cackled.

“Mine is in a beautiful park, with lots of red camellias.” A girl timidly shared.

Her friend curiously turned to her. “How d’you know it’s a dream of the place you’ll meet your soulmate? It could be a random one.”

Fortunately, they were sitting close enough to Kazuya for him to eavesdrop without seeming to.

“It’s a bit different from ordinary ones.” The first girl quietly explained. “For once, you dream about it several times. I don’t know how to describe it, it’s like the ground and objects are palpable. The place itself never changes and seems very real, even though some external elements in the dreams appear and transform.”

 

The discussion made him ponder about his own repeated dreams. It surprised him to observe he could keep enough lucidity in the dream to test his classmate’s claim. After that, it did not take him much time to admit it was the place he would meet his soulmate. A baseball field, how fitting.

 

Kazuya was twelve when the cheetah appeared for the first time. When the child opened his eyes, a slender feline was chasing its own tail in the middle of the field.

“Hey you!” Kazuya shouted. The animal stopped in its tracks and looked at him, alert. They cautiously walked towards each other. Up close, the brunette realised the feline was bigger than him. Eyes full of wonder, Kazuya crouched to appease the wild animal and held his hand for it to smell him. After a few curious sniffs, the feline lowered his head for Kazuya to pet him, which triggered very pleased purrs.

Kazuya marvelled at the texture under his fingertips and the feeling of the body throbbing under his palm. “So kitty, what are you doing here?” The cheetah hissed, apparently vexed at the nickname.

“Okay I get it, prideful much?” He grinned at the animal who apparently could understand him.

 

From then on, the cheetah never left. Sometimes they would just snuggle against one another, Kazuya diligently petting the wild animal. For whatever reason, Kazuya felt delighted to notice he was growing taller than the cheetah who had barely taken two inches since the first time he appeared years ago. His companion did not look too pleased when Kazuya would tease about it. Which led them to banter like he would with a pet, with the cheetah lightly chewing his ankles or jumping on Kazuya.

Most of the time though, they played baseball. Their teammates and opponents changed often. Sometimes they were faceless figures, sometimes they were other animals. Somehow the polar bear, the puppy and the squirrel pitchers became regular guests. A pink fox often played second baseman as well, even though for whatever reason Kazuya felt it was not always the exact same fox.

The matches were surreal.

But when Kazuya would throw from home to tag out a runner at second base, the cheetah was always there to catch the ball in his mouth, and that for sure felt like the realest, most thrilling emotion he experienced in those nonsensical matches. It was something he craved for in real life, especially when the shortstop of his team was so slow at second base cover.

 

That is how a fictive animal made from fragments of his imagination became his first friend. And honestly, he did not have the time to be saddened by that fact.

 

Kazuya must have been fourteen when one night he found his four-legged friend distressed. Even when Kazuya pissed it, the cheetah never ignored him, and would rather fire back in its own way. But this time, it was gloomily lying on the ground, resolutely facing the opposite direction from the teenager.

“What’s wrong kitty, not in the mood?” Kazuya teased it, sitting next to the animal.

The cheetah turned its face away. The gesture was full of heaviness instead of its usual petulance. That was the final alarm bell in his mind. Cautiously, Kazuya ran his fingers in his friend’s fur, trying to wordlessly comfort it. “Hey, kitty, it’s just me. Promised, whatever it is I won’t tease you.”

Slowly, the animal raised its head to meet Kazuya’s eyes. His breath got knocked out of his chest by the surprise of seeing how hurt, how human those orbs were. They silently stared at each other for a while, emotion unexpectedly clogging Kazuya’s throat. “You don’t have to be lonely when we’re here.” He finally whispered, and lied on the dirt next to his friend. The cheetah stayed unresponsive at first, until it nuzzled his muzzle in the crook of Kazuya’s neck. The teenager hugged it in return and they spent the night like that, simply breathing together.

 

 

“Dad, is the other person here during the soulmate dreams?” He asked the next day, still disturbed about the interaction. Maybe the cheetah was not just an animal he made up to render his dreams less lonely, like the other creatures which would join their duo from time to time. The previous day had been utterly normal, it did not make sense how he could create such strong feelings and transpose them into the cheetah. After reflecting on it for hours on end he was pretty certain about it: those emotions were not his own.

His father raised his head and peered at him curiously. “No, not from what I know.”

Kazuya already told him about his dreams, but they did not make a habit of discussing them. He did not think he ever mentioned the cheetah either. When he announced his father he would meet his soulmate on a baseball field, his old man had simply chuckled, congratulated him and had looked away with a faraway, melancholic smile.

Toku put down his chopsticks on the table and rubbed his chin in wonder, taking his son’s question seriously. “Maybe, a fragment of the other’s soul, something to embody them perhaps. But I don’t think anyone truly met their soulmate in those dreams.”

“Still, it could be part of them?” He eagerly enquired.

“Maybe, but that must be rare.” His father conceded. “That might be something you’d find about with a bit of research, but no-one I know experienced it. Have you, Kazuya?”

“Maybe.” He distractedly answered, head filled with hypotheses.

 

The foul mood stayed for a few weeks, but Kazuya could tell Kitty was gradually getting better. Still, whatever or whoever had hurt it did not leave the cheetah unscathed, and it probably would not go back to “its own self.”

It was already December when Kazuya finally dared to question his friend: “Kitty, are you my soulmate?” He seriously interrogated. The cheetah only tilted its head, as if it did not understand. “Or do you have a kind of owner? Someone you refer to that might be my soulmate? Or are you a link between us? The nights we don’t meet, does anyone else come here?” But the animal looked thoroughly disinterested by the end of his interrogation, playing with a ball at his feet.

“I get it, stay mysterious all you want and see if I care.” Kazuya huffed, and sat down. “I’m not even sure I want to meet my soulmate.” He added after a while, deep in his thoughts. “People make a big deal out of it being the chance to meet the perfect person you’ll spend your life with. But life isn’t as easy.” He sighed, running a distracted hand through his hair. Silently, the cheetah lay down next to him, watching him with an acute alertness which would have surprised Kazuya if he had looked. “To be honest, when I picture the future I’m always by myself. I’m not sure to be ready to leave some space for someone else.” He lowered his head, starting to trace meaningless symbols with the dirt. “Sometimes I wonder, what if... What if I’m unable to love my soulmate? Or what if they’re not able to love me?” And to be honest, that was an option more likely to happen. He had heard often enough how unlikeable he could be.

Suddenly, the cheetah stood up and moved in front of him, breaking Kazuya’s intense staring contest with the ground. “What do you-” He did not have the time to finish his sentence that the cheetah headbutted him.

A hand on his forehead throbbing with pain, Kazuya gaped in shock at the animal sitting before him, which fixed him with a disapproving expression. In front of such a violently unapologetic demeanour, the teenager burst into gleeful laughter.

“You’re right,” He admitted, petting Kitty enough for it to start purring, “no need to worry about it now, I’ve got time.”

 

 

 

 

Kazuya’s grip on his duffel bag tightens.

This is Seido’s A field. He stands on the hill that overlooks the baseball field, his eyes roaming the expanse. There is no mistake, Kazuya already knows every patch of soil, every tuft of grass, every pattern in the wire fence. He forces out the constricting feeling in his chest and breathes in deeply. Tomorrow he will introduce himself to his new team on the same field he has been dreaming about for the past four years.

 

Tomorrow, he might meet his soulmate.

 

Or not. After all, he does not have a clue yet. It could be a manager, an outsider coming to see their practices and matches, but deep down he knows it will be one of the players. Because, firstly, he has never been interested in girls that way while the mere existence of Takigawa Chris Yuu got him quite hot under the sheets; and secondly he should be fated to someone who loves baseball as viscerally as he does. Anyway, it could either be one of his upperclassmen, one of his batchmates, or a kouhai sometime in the next two years. The list of potential soulmates literally contains around 200 people.

Somehow, the anonymity and uncertainty comfort him.

 

 

 

First day was a blast. Kazuya decides, sprawled on his bed, thoroughly beaten up but with a manic grin on his lips.

He almost threw up after eating more than he usually does in a week and running all day. He got to hear authentic kansai-ben, riled up the fast guy that happens to be in his class, and made clear to everyone he was after Chris’s spot. As usual, he made it his goal to light a fire under everyone’s ass. Except those guys, especially the upperclassmen, were already burning with a determination so fierce it blinded him with awe for a second. Beating Chris would take most of his time and energy, he already knows. After all, he never managed to outdo him the two years they played against each other. Such challenges made the purest adrenaline rush through his veins, the kind that pushed him higher than ever and there was no doubt in his mind he would join the rooster, one day or another.

With the dynamic existing in Seido, he wonders how different from middle school high school will be. If, once he would make the cut, maybe, just maybe, he would not have to make everyone hate him in order to build the perfect team.

 

 

Caught up in his new life, it takes him a few weeks to notice he never dreams about the field again. Which, according to every book, means his soulmate and he crossed paths.

Kazuya feels weirdly bummed out, if he had known it was the last time he would see the cheetah, he might have made sure to part ways in a more symbolic way.

Still, his sample has been narrowed down to roughly 100 people. The knowledge he somehow met his soulmate makes him jumpy for a while, until the utter lack of interest anyone in the team seems to show regarding soulmates eases him a bit.

 

They are far more concerned by things like the intrasquad game opposing the first years to the second string. His team takes a thrashing, as expected.

“The upperclassmen are amazing!” One of his batchmates whispers in awe, echoed by mutterings of agreement.

Maybe Kazuya should try to encourage them, but he does not see what more he could say, when the loud guy from Osaka is already yelling some kind of motivational speech.

Kazuya never had leadership qualities anyway, and he has more important things to think about. Like the strategy he is organising for when his turn will come.

Finally, his battery with Kawakami, a meek kid, replaces Ono and Kawashima. It is a shame the pitcher does not throw more confidently, Kazuya wonders inwardly, he has good control and a decent repertoire for a first year.

The runner on first starts his steal as Kawakami pitches his slider, too sinking for the batter to touch it and Kazuya promptly throws to second. Impressed gasps make themselves heard at the display of his so-called iron shoulder.

Alas, the second baseman arrives too late and misses his throw. Despite himself, his hand twitches in annoyance. Not fast enough.

 

It only takes three innings, one RIB and a handful of bold plays for Kataoka to inform Kazuya he will train with the first string the next day. Mean glares from his fellow first years follow him to the dugout. Until he catches hazel eyes that seize him up in a way that is more challenging than hostile, despite how unfriendly their few exchanges have been so far. It is Kura-something, his classmate he teased on their first day. From what he recalls, he plays shortstop, but has not been called yet. Kazuya feels a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. Maybe he has some more to observe for the rest of the match.

 

 

“Kyahaha!”

Kuramochi is some kind of airhead, he decides. How could he laugh so loudly, so confidently when Kominato expressly made his distaste known? Still, he recognises the frenzied grin. That is the expression of someone thrilled to be here, by what he witnesses, instead of the defeatist expressions that settled on half of the first years’ faces, as they were confronted to the hardships of Seido. An exhilaration he saw – though more quietly – in the eyes of Shirasu too. Maybe Kazuya will not stay the only first year on the first string for very long.

A yelp of pain explodes as Kominato chops Kuramochi’s head, and he snorts before turning towards the bullpen. He has some older pitchers to win over.

 

 

 

Kazuya’s taunt on the first day rendered him distrustful, he knows. The green-hair head that sits in front of him in class is no exception to the way the team gauges him.

Except he kind of is.

Kazuya could not explain how it happened, it just did. One day, Kuramochi turned in his chair to ask him about the magazine he was reading. Kazuya teased him in return, the shortstop scowled, threw threats around and restarted the conversation. Despite his tough looks, it did not take more than a week for the catcher to establish his classmate was all bark no bite.

It was not like they really stuck together. Kuramochi was on more friendly terms with the other members of the team than him. He could be found running with the other first years, doing infield practices with Kominato, or swinging with Shirasu and Isashiki.

But still, for reasons he could not fathom, from time to time he would – willingly – seek Kazuya’s company, argue a little, and leave him be. Once, the shortstop even managed to find him in the spot he was usually practicing alone. They quietly swung their bats for an hour, and Kuramochi left without a word.

In spite of his loudness and the threats, the catcher did not mind the company.

The other was blunt and sometimes short-tempered, but at least he was easy to talk to.

 

 

 

The news of Chris’s injury hits them like a thunderbolt on a sunny day. Kazuya is as taken aback as the rest of them when Kataoka designates him as the new regular catcher. Kuramochi hisses next to him and the rest of the team turns in his direction, eyes full of doubts.

 

The next week is rough. Kazuya trains harder than ever, even harder than during the summer training camp when he almost threw up his bowels, lying face to the ground with Kuramochi. His classmate is the only other first year who joined the first string, although he is just a bench warmer for now.

The tournament starts in two weeks, and everyone is busy swinging his bat somewhere. So Kazuya trains to throw in a net from a crouching position, far from the commotion.

His thoughts are a mess of contradictory feelings. Overwhelmed by the responsibility, grateful he was given the opportunity, mad he did not see Chris’s shoulder was acting up, disappointed he did not win the position fair and square.

Kazuya is so busy mechanically throwing missiles on the net he does not hear the steps coming close to his barely lit space. “Easy there, we’ve had enough of a catcher busting his shoulder.” A gruff voice calls him out.

Of course it is Kuramochi. “Then someone else will take my spot. That’d relieve everyone.” Kazuya throws back the snide comment without a look towards his teammate.

“Dumbass. There are eight other catchers on the team, and six of them are upperclassmen. If any of them was better than you, he would’ve been chosen as the starting catcher. Coach is not irresponsible, if he picked you it’s because you’re our best shot to replace Chris-senpai.”

Kazuya’s arms stops into motion, after a millisecond he tosses the ball anyway not to betray how the words have startled him, but the throw is less powerful than the previous ones, and as he turns towards the other, he quickly realises the shortstop is not fooled either.

“Kuramochi. Who knew you could be so sweet?” He grins obnoxiously.

The shorter male rolls his eyes, but averts them quickly after. Kazuya wonders if it is just the shadows of the night, or if there really is a dust of pink on Kuramochi’s cheeks. “Whatever, asshole. It’s weird not seeing you being your usual cocky self.” The shortstop kicks at dirt, seemingly absorbed. “Not gonna lie, I’m mad jealous, but you deserve it. You represent us first years, so don’t screw up.”

“’Kay. You know, if your batting average was better you’d be a regular already. I suggest you work on that instead of worrying about me.”

The backhanded compliment get the shortstop roaring in offense, and Kazuya laughs for what feels like the first time in weeks.

 

 

They lose in the semi. To Inashiro. To Mei who took the mound in the 6th inning and obliterated them. The failure tastes bitter on Kazuya’s tongue, a foul savour that never quite leaves his taste buds nor his mind.

“You know Narumiya well?” Kuramochi suddenly asks one day after practice. The scorching sun of August burnt them down, especially the shortstop who did not benefit from the welcomed shadows of the bullpen and spent his whole day practicing his iron wall with Ryousuke.

For someone who did not play, Kuramochi has seemed weirdly affected by their defeat. He must have gotten along with a few third years.

“What makes you say that?” He cautiously puts his catcher gear at its designated place. The slow routine does not seem to drive away the shorter man, who patiently waits for him.

“He looked at you... a certain way.” Kuramochi hesitantly states. “And at the end of the match he called you by your first name.”

“Mei’s been a pain in my ass for a few years, that’s it.” Kazuya brushes it off, standing up and adding, despite himself. “And he wanted me to join Inashiro.”

The shortstop stares at him in quiet bewilderment. “Why didn’t you, if you were invited there?”

“Who else would’ve defeated the invincible Inajitsu then?” The catcher smirks smuggly.

“They won.” For once, Kuramochi’s scowl is not addressed to him, not really. Rather at the reminiscence of the semi.

“We still have two summers, Kuramochi. It’s not the end.” The catcher confidently affirms, and starts to walk in the direction of the dorms, Kuramochi on his heels.

We. That could mean their generation. But he mostly implied both of them. Since when has Kazuya started to think of them as a pair?

 

 

It does not make sense. That he feels so comfortable around Kuramochi. That by now, they laugh together as much as they banter. That he starts to notice things about the yankee. How observant and caring of his team he can be. How he would hover over Kazuya sometimes, but all those analysing glances do not bother him.

 

Until it does.

 

It is the Fall tournament. If they win, they can be invited to the Spring Koshien. It is the third round already, playing against Koukaidai Sugata. They are strong, but so is their new team. Kazuya has no doubt they can take them down. The second years are amazing, and Kuramochi is a nice addition to the team. Shirasu, Kawakami and Higasa have joined the first string, but are not regular yet.

Tanba throws one of his mean curves, when Tetsu yells from first base “Steal!”

It takes Kazuya less than two seconds to catch the ball and toss it to second. He barely has the time to see a white flash that the snap of a ball in a glove reverbates around the infield. “Out!” The umpire’s verdict is indisputable.

Kuramochi raises his glove above his head with a pleased grin, and a jolt of adrenaline courses through Kazuya’s entire body. It is not the first time Kazuya throws a ball to Kuramochi, they had plenty of situational practices after all. But it is the first time they do it so fast, so instinctively. The shortstop is not just fast, he is quick, Kazuya realises. Quick to react, to think.

 

It strikes him there. A fucking epiphany. The way under the right light the cheetah’s green shades would stand out. The feline grace of Kuramochi’s gait. Thoughtfulness hidden under a fierce appearance. All bark no bite.

And most of all, how this play right there made him feel the same way he would when playing in his dreams.

 

There must be something on his face, because when his eyes find Kuramochi, he realises they were already gauging him. Hazel orbs concerned, but sharp. Filled with a calm understanding.

He knows. And Kuramochi is many things, but subtlety is not his strong suit. If he had his lightbulb moment at the same time as Kazuya, he would have been more expressive about it. Shit. For how long has he known? How self-centered had Kazuya been to not recognise the clues sooner?

 

“Two out!” Their captain shouts after the cheering calms down and it puts Kazuya’s head back in the game.

The battery manages to take the last out, and the inning ends without Koukaidai scoring.

 

It is still early in the game, Kazuya cannot afford to lose one second of focus. Especially not to ponder if Kuramochi only ever approached him because he knew they were soulmates. And even less to wonder whether or not the shortstop would have repeatedly tried to befriend him without their bond.

A nudge on his shoulder forces him to walk faster towards the dugout. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t. It looks dumb and like a lot of bullshit.” Kuramochi mutters as he forcefully passes by him.

Kazuya has been promoted to sixth batter. Right now, it is the turn of the ninth batter, so he probably won’t get to bat this inning, contrary to Kuramochi who became their leadoff man.

 

“What a stare.” A chilling voice almost makes him jump. Their second baseman peers at him like a hawk while he puts on his leather gloves. “Do you have a problem with my partner, Miyuki? He’s still sloppy, but even I must admit the out at second was not too bad.”

“Nope, no problem at all, Ryou-san.” The catcher forces himself to smirk before focusing back on the action. Kadota hits a grounder to third and is quickly taken out. Kuramochi raises and walks towards the batter box. “Just wondering how bad he’s gonna screw his at-bat.”

“Good thing I have his back.” Ryousuke airily retorts, as he leaves the dugout to crouch in the on-deck circle.

 

 

 

It takes Kuramochi two days to corner him. “Oi, Miyuki.” The blunt voice next to him almost makes him drop his tray. “I wanted to let you time to cogitate and calm down, but clearly I’ve been giving you too much credit. Don’t overthink asshole, it’s not that deep.” The shorter boy glares at him. Still, there is a pinch of hesitation in the way he holds himself. “Let’s talk. At ten thirty, tonight. You know where.”

He barely has the time to nod that the other has already left the cafeteria.

 

Of course he knows where. Kuramochi is already leaning on the fence of field A when Kazuya joins him.

“The number of divorces and break-ups between soulmates keeps growing every year.” Is the first thing he says, avoiding to stutter by a hair.

“Wow. Smooth. D’you think I don’t know that?” Kuramochi’s frown deepens. “Soulmates don’t mean shit if you don’t want them to. So relax, I won’t jump you and demand you love me forever, marry me and adopt lots of babies, the hell.” The shortstop swears under his breath.

“Could have fooled me.” Kazuya jeers, because his nerves are aflame and he has no idea how not to be a mess.

The other bares his teeth. “What d’you take me for? Do I look like a hopeless romantic to you?”

“Not really.” He admits calmly. “Must be why we’re bonded.”

Kuramochi huffs and sits on the ground. A beat passes before Kazuya gingerly imitates him.

“I’ve done research. Sometimes it’s love at first sight, sometimes it’s not love at all. And it’s okay.” The shortstop quietly explains, eyes on the ground and fiddling with his fingers. “Think about it like a… gentle nudge towards someone you can connect with.”

A gentle nudge, eh? There was nothing gentle or akin to a nudge in the way Kuramochi barged into his life. Despite his best efforts – which Kazuya recognises now, how the shortstop would give him space, never crowding him for too long, never asking for more than inane questions – he was an abrasive punch.

“Someone you can connect with...” He repeats languidly.

“Yup, like a friend who can understand you better than others.” Kuramochi shrugs evasively.

“You want to be friends?” Kazuya wonders aloud, surprised.

“Why not?” The green-haired boy squints at him with suspicious eyes.

“Did you talk about it with someone else? Ryou-san maybe?” He asks instead. The way their senpai reacted during the Koukaidai match made him wonder if they had been obvious in a way, or if the second baseman became Kuramochi’s confidant over the summer.

The shortstop startles at that and immediately shakes his head. “The fuck, no I didn’t. It’s nobody’s business.” After a second, he sighs tiredly. “No pressure Miyuki, I don’t expect anything from you.”

Still, Kazuya recalls how the cheetah was starved for affection. But he selfishly chooses to believe Kuramochi. After all, whatever he is looking for in life, he might not want that from Kazuya. If he asks to be friends, at least that is something he can give. That is, if Kazuya is even able to.

“You’d be my first friend.” He confesses. If they want this to work, they have to meet halfway.

He can hear Kuramochi’s head snapping towards him, but continues to stare at the void.

“I mean, I shouldn’t be surprised considering your personality… But really?” Kuramichi asks in wonderment.

Kazuya shrugs at that, and explains in a light tone: “I never really got along with the people at school or in my teams. Some were friendly, others weren’t. But in the end, there was no-one I wanted to spend time with outside of classes and baseball. And well, Mei and I have always been more rivals than friends.”

The night starts to become a bit chilly, but neither of them make a move to leave.

“I’ve also read...” Kuramochi tentatively breaks the silence. “That your soulmate’s touch can bring you comfort.”

“Wow, did I sound that pitiful?” He retorts with a heavy sarcasm.

“Shut up, just give me your hand.” The shortstop mutters angrily and forcefully grips his palm, a light blush adorning his cheeks.

So they dumbly stay like that. Sitting in the dirt in the middle of the night, holding hands. Kazuya would rather be smacked in the face by Jun than to admit how warm it makes him feel.

 

 

 

Seido loses to Ichidaisan during the Fall Tournament, and they are soon introduced to their first hellish winter camp.

 

On the outside, nothing changed. They still fight, gravitate sporadically around one another. But when no-one is watching, they hold hands under tables and sit close enough during meetings for their thighs to touch.

It seems to be their thing. Either they cannot shut their mouths and discuss every little thing that could be linked to baseball, often triggering some arguing. Or they bask in a comforting silence.

 

Fraying nerves settle, and when Kazuya stands as the starting catcher of Seido, it is not for a show of bravado anymore. He finally, truly believes he deserves the title.

 

 

Months pass by. Before they know it, the third years graduate and they get new first years.

Kuramochi ends up rooming with Sawamura, the kid with whom he confronted Azuma. Kazuya is luckier to end with Kimura, who seems much more composed. Turns out they both played a little trick on the loud pitcher’s first day. Some true devilish soulmates that we are he would have teased if this was a joking matter.

 

 

They get their revenge against Ichidaisan during the quarter final of the Spring tournament, and qualify for the Kanto tournament without playing Inashiro.

A few weeks later, Furuya makes his breakthrough, and despite their loss in the first round against Yokohama Kouhoku the first year pitcher’s name is on everyone’s lips.

 

Sawamura and Furuya, the new first-string pitchers. Those two promise to make his next fifteen months as Seido’s main catcher thrilling.

Their batteries are not seamless, but he dares say they are at least more open to him than Tanba.

 

An issue Kuramochi also noticed, as they discuss the pitchers’ performance in the match against Osaka Kiryuu. “More importantly, are you gonna be okay?”

“Eh?” Kazuya got distracted by the display of Sawamura and Furuya fighting over a tire.

“As far as I can tell, Tanba-san doesn’t like you.” The shortstop teases with a malicious grin. “He’s a little hard-headed, but you’re way too straightforward despite being a year younger. It’s no surprise he doesn’t like you.” And Kuramochi loudly cackles. He imagines Tanba barely repressed passive-aggressiveness must be amusing from an external point of view, when the pitcher used to be notoriously wary and unassertive.

Still, Kazuya did not realise their tense partnership was so obvious. “It’s unavoidable.” He tears his eyes from the comforting sight of Kuramochi’s laughing face under the moon, and turns back towards the field. “A battery consists of both the pitcher and the catcher. It doesn’t matter who is older. If it means making the pitcher shine, I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll lie if I have to, and make myself hated if I have to.”

The catcher can sense the shorter boy’s stupefaction beside him. Indeed, he does not make a habit to be this earnest, even with his soulmate who already knows more about him than most.

And right now, he prefers diverting the attention than being confronted with Kuramochi’s judgement. So he taunts the pitchers, whose affronted protests have the merit to make him laugh, and he leaves the field under three pairs of astounded eyes.

 

Kazuya almost reaches the dorm when Kuramochi catches up with him. “Oi, Miyuki!” The grip on his arm makes him jolt. The shortstop’s frown is serious. “What you just said, right there... D’you view yourself as a sort of self-sacrificing scapegoat?”

Despite their height difference, the shorter boy’s demeanour is intimidating, piercing orbs scanning his soul. The catcher averts his eyes and shrugs, making Kuramochi’s hand fall. “Well, groups are more united if they commonly have someone to blame.” And he never had a problem shouldering this role.

“Bullshit.” Kuramochi spits, as if he just read his mind. “Oi, your twisted personality isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but at least the whole team respects you. And not all the upperclassmen want to strangle you. Tetsu-san always speaks kindly about you. I don’t know what you did with your former teammates, but fueling hatred towards you won’t make Seido grow.” The shortstop stops his rambling, suddenly self-conscious. He rubs his neck and adds grumpily “I’m not saying you should overflow the whole first-string with affabilities, but for real, you don’t have to play the bad guy here.”

“So wise, Mochi.” He teasingly whispers in front of Kuramochi’s light blush, more touched than he can admit to himself. “But I swear I’m okay like that.”

His soulmate’s head snaps back in his direction. Heat returns full force in the shortstop’s eyes. “Save your lies for someone else.” He almost snarls, crowding the catcher against the wall. From this close, Kazuya spots freckles on Kuramochi’s nose. Absently, he wonders whether he just never noticed them before, or if they only come under the summer sun.

A weird tension simmers in the air, the kind that gets him slightly light-headed for reasons he cannot explain. He was used to being ganged up on, and it never made him feel this way.

Kazuya’s train of thought shatters when he catches Kuramochi glancing at his lips. The eyes which meet his again are not shy. Hesitant maybe, but determined.

 

“Guys,” a loud voice suddenly breaks them apart, “get back here!” Jun roars from the balcony of the dorms. Fortunately he does not seem to think much about their compromising position. “Miyuki, you owe me a massage with all the stress you put me through, forbidding me to yell at Furuya when he was messing up!”

“Coming, Jun-san!” Kazuya laughs airily, walking towards the stairs without sparing Kuramochi a glance. He has already too much to think about for an evening.

He especially has to process why he had to fight against the instinct to lean closer, instead of wanting to run away.

 

 

“Poor Sawamura, Kuramochi’s terrible with him!” Seki cackles as half of the second years take their bath. “Sure, the kid is dense but Kuramochi must have something against Sawamura with how harsh he’s with him!”

“No, he’s not.” Kazuya retorts automatically.

It takes him a few seconds to register the silence. When he turns his head, everybody is looking at him.

“Why? How do you know?” Yamaguchi asks curiously.

He deadpans indifferently. “It’s obvious!” And it really is.

“Did he tell you?” Aso insists.

“Something like that.” He shrugs, and goes back to his methodical scrubbing. The sun had been really scorching today, and the quarter final against Yakushi almost left him boneless. The rest of them whisper for a few seconds before changing the subject, commenting on today’s performance and the future semifinal against Sensen.

Sure, Kuramochi might take advantage of Sawamura’s flexibility and his easy-going nature to taunt the pitcher more than he does with other underclassmen, but he cares deeply about his younger roommate. It is evident Kuramochi considers the loudmouth like a little brother. From the number of times the shortstop went to Kazuya to express his concern about Sawamura, the catcher suspects it will be a recurrent pattern in the year to come.

What he cannot fathom though, is how their batchmates misjudge Kuramochi so easily. Sure, the two of them are close. But he thought his friend spoke often enough with the other members of the team. Perhaps Kuramochi only talked to him about those things because Sawamura and he form a battery.

But, and that is a reality he did not foresee, perhaps Kuramochi confides in him more. To the point that Kazuya understands his soulmate better than he believed.

 

 

“Man, Mina from 1-D is so cute, if I didn’t have baseball to focus on, I’d ask her out...” Kazuya overhears one night as he passes next to the cafeteria, looking for Chris. They are playing Inashiro tomorrow, and he wants to check a last minute fact, before the first-string swamps his room as usual.

“What baseball,” a second voice he does not identify mocks, “you’re not even on second string and you barely practice your swing everyday. Just say you don’t have the balls to ask cause you know she’ll say no.”

“Shut up! I just don’t want to jeopardise anything.”

Kazuya snorts at the embarrassed retort, and turns around to continue looking for Chris, when a term roots him to the spot.

“Or perhaps are you saving yourself for your soulmate?” The second voice teases.

“Nah, from the way my dreams are, I don’t think I’ll meet her before I’m an adult. I want to live a little before that.”

 

Of course, people think about such matters, Kazuya realises with a start. It would be far fetched to call him a romantic. Rather, Kazuya just never imagined being romantically interested in anyone. Early on, he decided only his soulmate could be an exception he would consider tolerating, and even then he doubted he could genuinely like the person he was fated with. “Experimenting” never crossed his mind. He wonders if Kuramochi did. Which would be absolutely fine. Really.

 

“Oi, first years, don’t you have better things to focus on with the final tomorrow?” Jun’s gruff voice interrupts.

At that, hurried noises overcome the previous discussion, and soon enough intimidated underclassmen scramble out of the cafeteria. He should really leave the premises by now.

“But hey, they got a point.” Jun admits now that the underclassmen are out of hearing range. “What about you, Kuramochi?”

“Mm?”

Kazuya freezes at the voice he now recognises better than his own.

“Would you better experiment with other people before meeting your soulmate, or are you waiting for them?” Ryousuke calmly clarifies. That demon.

A pregnant pause ensues. Kazuya barely notices he stopped breathing. “I met them already.” Kuramochi finally confesses.

“You have a girlfriend!” Jun explodes vehemently. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“Jun is a romantic.” Tetsu seriously comments, as if to explain why their center field had to be informed of such matters.

“We’re not like that.” The shortstop reluctantly grumbles. Without seeing him, Kazuya knows he is embarrassingly scratching his neck. He really should head out, that is not a conversation he feels legitimate to eavesdrop.

“Looser!” The loud senpai boos.

“Jun-san!” The second year protests. “I’m just waiting for the right time.”

“Right time for what? Are you waiting for us to win tomorrow, and offer her the banner of the Tokyo West rep to declare your love and devotion?”

“Not a bad idea,” the shortstop snorts, “but knowing them it’d be nothing less than the national title if I want to get my point across.”

 

The implications make him dizzy. The right time? Point across? Since when has Kuramochi been seeing Kazuya like that? Unsolicited memories from that night when his soulmate looked as if he was about to kiss him come back full force.

 

“Well, at least now you have a double motivation to improve your batting average.”

“Ryou-san!” Kuramochi whines.

A few seconds after, Ryousuke leaves the room, giving him a knowing smirk as he sees Kazuya paralysed in the shadows.

 

He flees.

 

 

Kazuya does not have the time to think about it, or to try to talk with his soulmate. Not during the evening, when Kuramochi’s laughter fills his room and his head. Not the next day.

 

Because they lose to Inashiro. Again.

 

The loss cuts deeper this time.

Partly because they were just one out close to Koshien. And if Kazuya had not been so blinded by the fervor of the game, he would have noticed Sawamura was not ready to carry the burden of being the closer.

Partly because it means the third years are retiring. The mere idea of not having Tetsu as their captain anymore, of not being able to rely on Chris in the dugout digs a hole in his chest.

Fuck he really came to like this team.

But Kazuya would rather use this frustration to find ways to improve rather than lamenting the end of an era. He has never thrown a glance backwards, today is no exception.

 

 

Was I rushing to win? He asks himself in front of the game, gnawing on his nails.

The door of the cafeteria opens, but Kazuya does not pay attention. He is still in a sour mood, not really in the disposition to talk, not even to the person whose steps he is familiar with.

“You’re already reviewing yesterday’s game?” Kuramochi comments, voice lighter than he must feel. On the screen, Nori takes the mound.

“That’s great and all, but do you have to do it now? The upperclassmen have already retired and –”

“We weren’t good enough.” He cuts off curtly.

“Ha?” From the short annoyed sound, Kazuya cannot say if it is his tone or his words that surprised Kuramochi.

“I wasn’t. And the team wasn’t.” A tense silence seizes the room. The game runs in, Mei hits Nori’s pitch, and it is the end. “Even with such unbelievable upperclassmen, we couldn’t win.” The catcher continues. If there is one person on the remaining team who can take his words as they are, without sugar-coating, it is the shortstop. “We don’t have the indisputable cleanup anymore. We don’t have an ace. As it stands now, going to Koshien next year will be nothing but a pipe dream.” It is not a pessimistic prediction. It is an assessment of their challenges to come.

He turns towards Kuramochi, blazing with intensity. The shorter man grimaces with the look of someone who just heard something he did not want to but needed to be told. For once, Kazuya wonders how it would feel to kiss it.

 

 

 

Admittedly, being named captain is not something Kazuya saw coming. He genuinely thought Kataoka would have picked Kuramochi or Zono, even Shirasu seemed more responsible.

It was like being appointed as the regular catcher over again.

No.

It was worse. At least back then he knew he was a good catcher. While he has no fucking idea how to be a good captain. To be someone like Tetsu.

 

“Oi captain, why did you summon me? A special meeting? You should have included Zono, I’m not your only vice.” Kuramochi comes closer to the fence, the soundless steps ruined by his cackles.

It has only been a day and Kazuya is already freaking out. Usually, he would have dealt with it quietly on his own, but they are friends, are they not? He sits on the ground, back to the fence, and the other joins him. Like the first time they met there, the night is deep. Far warmer, though.

“Kuramochi.” He heavily lets his head fall backwards on the wire mesh. “I’m gonna need you.”

“Sure, that’s what I’m for.” His shrug makes their shoulders brush.

“Is it okay, though?” He mumbles. “If I keep relying on you. If I keep taking. You said you didn’t expect things from me, but what if I can’t give you anything in return?”

“Oi Miyuki,” the shortstop’s voice turns an octave lower, a serious frown marring his face, “this and that are completely different matters. Don’t stress your pretty head about nonsense.”

“You think I’m pretty.” He picks up with a weak grin.

“Of course you’re the most beautiful bastard I’ve ever seen.” In Kuramochi’s defence, he barely blushes as he says so.

Kazuya cannot say the same about himself, feeling a steady heat climbing his neck and cheeks. “Oh.” He coughs. “Thanks. It doesn’t hurt that much to look at you either.”

Kuramochi laughs good-heartedly and nudges him. “Good, if you still have the energy to be a douchebag, it’s not that much of a crisis, then. Almost got me worried, asshat.”

They exchange matching grins.

Kazuya really called Kuramochi to speak about their new duties, to talk about Seido and what kind of lead they should try to put on. But he could not prevent himself from broaching a topic that plagued his mind for longer than he usually affords to think about subjects other than baseball.

“Hey, Kuramochi. I enjoy spending time with you.” He confesses quietly. “But sometimes I think... In a year and a half, we might choose very different paths, and that’s it. We’re just in high school, it’s nothing.”

Maybe he needs to set back walls he can feel crumbling. For his soulmate to not entertain the illusion that Kazuya could be there in the long run.

 

To make the green-haired man realise he deserves better.

 

He did not expect Kuramochi to hum so pensively and to take his claim seriously, instead of getting immediately offended. “On the scale of life, sure. But it doesn’t have to mean nothing.” The shortstop gathers his thoughts. “It’s like saying going to Koshien doesn’t mean anything. Pretty sure there aren’t challenges more intense in the Pro League. There’s always another season. In high school, for the elite few, you only got three shots max.”

“Sure, but if we don’t have Seido in common anymore. What is left? You might find me handsome now, but it won’t last forever.”

“Ya think I’d only like you for your face or because we’re in the same team?” Kuramochi exclaims, dumbfounded. He leans towards Kazuya, until the catcher has no choice but to face him.

“Well, the rest can be pretty disappointing.” He jeers good-naturedly.

Kuramochi shakes his head slowly, intense eyes not letting go of his. “I’m not disappointed.” And the shortstop sounds dreadfully sincere. “Want me to show how much I’m glad it’s you?”

A shiver runs down Kazuya’s spine as calloused hands frame his face. Kuramochi slowly comes closer, eyes searching for traces of discomfort. He is asking for permission, that much is obvious. Kazuya feels a little overwhelmed as he nods instinctively.

Despite his dizziness, the pressure on his lips is grounding.

Rugged skin brushes against his, so warm after being toasted in the scorching sun for days on end. The kiss tastes like sand, summer, and baseball. Like something so burning it can only be ephemeral.

And perhaps what surprises him the most is that under the passionate firmness, there is a touch of unexpected softness in the way Kuramochi eases his lips against his. The clumsiness of it all makes him breathe better, when Kuramochi breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against his.

“I’ve always known you wouldn’t let me in so easily.” He starts with a low grumble, still firmly gripping Kazuya’s face. “That you’re so insecure, so rotten that you believe I’ll never know you enough to truly love you. That if you let me see the real you, I’d turn away. So just wait and watch Miyuki. I’ll dig things out of you, whether you want it or not. I’ll corner you until you get nothing to hide under. I’m gonna take everything, especially what you won’t give me. Until you won’t have any other choice but to believe it when I’ll say that I love you.” His eyes are so fierce, so determined that Kazuya does not even think for a second to contradict him.

“Mochi, you said you weren’t a romantic.” His teasing gets betrayed by his weak voice.

“And you said it didn’t affect you.” Kuramochi bites back, suddenly looking a bit self-conscious.

So, because he does not want to face Kuramochi in this state but does not want to part ways either, Kazuya gathers the shortstop in his arms. Instantly, the shorter teenager reciprocates the tight embrace. The contact is still burning, but gentle too. “Okay Kuramochi,” Kazuya relents with a shaky voice, “let’s do that. But I’m not as observant as you, so tell me things I can’t figure out on my own.”

“Sure.” The other accepts good-heartedly, his husky voice tickling Kazuya’s ears. “If you have questions, I’d answer them.”

After a while, they disentangle and sit back against the fence. Looking anywhere but at each other.

“That was my first kiss.” Kazuya eventually blurts.

“I know, I could tell.”

“I could tell it was yours too.” He lets out a shit-eating grin.

“Shut up!” Kuramochi exclaims, fist raised in embarrassment.

A nasal snigger fills the night.

I’m glad it’s you, too. One day he will be brave enough to say it out loud..

 

 

It is almost like a game. Every time a question would pop up in Kazuya’s mind, he asked it to Kuramochi, who was more often around than not.

“Were you surprised your soulmate was a guy?” Had been his first one, three days after their talk. They were leaving the bath late at night and hair still damp.

“Not really,” the shortstop muses aloud, unfazed, “I admit I’ve mostly liked girls until then, but I never excluded the possibility.”

“You’re not asking back.” Kazuya underlines after a while, reaching the stairs.

Kuramochi looks down on him with the most deadpan expression he ever wore. “Miyuki, there’s no world where you could pass for a straight guy.”

 

 

“What did you see in your dreams?” Kazuya pensively wonders, sitting on the ground next to Kuramochi swinging his bat behind the building. He has just observed Sawamura working on his outside trajectory with Kariba and had a talk with Chris. The situation with the southpaw’s yips drains him a little, he wishes he could help better, but there is nothing much he can do and he is already drowning in his new duties.

Kuramochi stops his routine and sponges down his face with his shirt. Despite himself, the brunette peeks at the display. The shortstop is getting more sturdy each passing day.

“A tanuki.” He snorts fondly. “The first time it appeared, it bit my calf. It was a skittish, asshole creature. It was so unapologetic with me: invading my space, messing with my hair, rolling over me when it was dirty, nuzzling against my chest… But when I was the one taking the first step, it would run away every time. It almost bit off my hand when I tried to rub its belly, or other vulnerable places it was protective about. It took a really long time to convince it to let me in. It taught me patience. But once I gained its trust, it became my biggest source of comfort.” His soulmate sighs and sits down next to him. “I still miss it. Miss what we built.”

A tanuki. He tries to wrap up his mind about the relationship Kuramochi has just described. Surely, he can recognise himself in some parts.

“I miss Kitty too.” Kazuya quietly admits.

“Kitty?” The shorter boy hums, curious.

“My cheetah.”

The head turning towards him sports an offended expression. “You... There was a cheetah in your dreams and you called it Kitty?”

A gleeful snigger escapes his throat. “It was pretty pissed when I did. Making that sort of scowl, right there.” He pushes a finger between Kuramochi’s eyebrow, trying to soften the frown.

The shortstop snatches his hand but does not discard it. Instead, they spend the next thirty minutes with intertwined fingers.

 

 

“How long have you known?” Come next. Tomorrow, Kazuya will go to the draw for the Fall Tournament. Excitation buzzes in his veins. The building of the new team has been, for lack of better words, rocky. Their strength will truly be put to test, especially since they have a new common goal now. The game against the third years and their revelation have been a wake up call. More than ever, Kazuya has something to gather the team together.

They are in room 5, for once Kazuya agreed to try Kuramochi’s video games.

He does not need to elaborate his question, the other directly understands. “Since day one.” The green-haired teenager responds without taking his eyes off the screen. “You quite metaphorically bit my calf, after all.”

“Metaphorically?” He teases. “Mochi being conceptual, what a day.”

“Stop trying to distract me, asshole. Even if that’d be the only way for you to win.” He cackles.

Kazuya is usually competitive, but this time he does not mind letting someone else win.

 

 

“Why did you not tell me sooner?”

Rain mixed with sweat still glue the shortstop’s clothes to his skin. They have just won against Teito, and Kazuya is seized with the irrepressible desire to kiss Kuramochi silly. But it might only be the dopamine speaking. They have not kissed since that one time on the field. Moreover, the catcher does not want to rush things he is not a hundred percent sure about. He would hate himself if he gave Kuramochi mixed signals and false hopes.

The delight that crinkled the shortstop’s eyes a few seconds ago has not faded yet. “Cause I knew you’d have shut me out for it. That you’d be more scared of your soulmate than of a random teammate.”

 

 

“Did something happen to you in October of third year?”

Kuramochi might not want to talk to him, not after the mess that happened in the cafeteria. At least, he has seemed far less angry than Zono, and ready to listen to Kazuya’s arguments. Zono’s harsh words, Kuramochi’s contemplative look and the cautious reluctance from the rest of the second years are not that easy to brush off. Why, at almost midnight, he felt the need to seek Kuramochi out with this particular question, is a problem for another time.

“The cheetah sometimes had scratches and would lightly limp.” He explains, fiddling with the can of Pocari between his hands. Two minutes earlier he knocked on the door of room 5, and Kuramochi followed him without a word when he offered to buy him a drink at the vending machine. “But something happened in October, two years ago. It never got bruises again, but it lost some of its sparks.”

“Yeah.” The shortstop eventually drawls after a long, hard look at his own can. “But don’t worry about it, I’ve gotten over it. This place is a good one for that.”

They drink a little in silence, until Kuramochi dares to bring out a similar subject. “The tanuki was beaten up sometimes, too. It made me furious. Might have been why I got more... vindictive with the bullies.”

Kazuya merely shrugs. “I told you, some upperclassmen weren’t really friendly. Didn’t really bother me, it just proved how weak and insecure they were.” And that is the truth. He hesitates, before adding. “But Kitty licked the wounds every time. It made it okay.”

“The tanuki would make a fuss of it like a mother hen and bring me healing leaves to cover them.” The other snorts, but his tone is affectionate.

They exchange little amused smiles and avert their eyes.

Things will be alright. Kazuya still does not totally understand what he did wrong with Nabe, and Zono might take some time to forgive him, but he can do it. He has the right entourage for that.

 

After that night, Kuramochi starts to talk more about himself on his own initiative. About his family, about the father he barely knew, about his overbearing gramps, about his mother who never gave up on him despite his misdeeds. About the people he thought were his friends, and about Rei’s offer of redemption.

 

In return, little by little Kazuya offers Kuramochi pieces of information the shortstop could not have guessed, and confirmed the things he had a hunch about. His father’s steelworks, his self-taught skills, his mother.

 

 

Kazuya laughs discreetly the first time Sawamura calls Kuramochi “cheetah” during the intrasquad match opposing the regulars to the substitutes, and shares a knowing glance with the runner on second base. The shortstop grins under the sun, and he looks ethereal.

 

 

They win. Each match is a trial, but they fight against the odds. Their ticket for Koshien is not a so far-away dream anymore.

 

Until Seiko’s ace crashes into him on the plate.

 

At first, Kazuya thinks the pain is a natural result of the choc. It is when he removes his chest protector that he understands it is not a mere collision.

 

Fuck.

 

But he powers through. Because how could he be Seido’s captain and cleanup if he failed his team right now?

 

Fortunately, his home run diverts all the attention from the accident, except for Furuya who sounds suspicious.

 

Each twist of his torso is torture, but it will be alright. Like in the semi, the adrenaline will carry him, he is sure of it.

 

Somehow, he can sense Kuramochi hovering over him the next morning. As he helps Sawamura warm up, the telltale tingling sensation on his nape seems to indicate he is subjected to an intense glare. He did not quite avoid his soulmate for the past day, but he kept a safe distance. Apparently, he was not cautious enough about hiding his injury.

 

“I have to say, I’m impressed.” The hoarse voice breaks his silent retreat in the locker room. Kazuya looks over his shoulder. Sure enough, Kuramochi’s silhouette stands out in the light. “Is it because you’re the captain? Or is it your ego as a player?” He obviously sounds pissed off, and for a hot second the catcher dreads he will be ratted out to Kataoka. But then, the shortstop’s next words provoke an electrochoc through his whole nervous system. “If you’re gonna be obstinate about it, you’d better not budge until the end. Crumble down after we win.”

 

As they get back in the dugout after the official opening of the match and that Kuramochi goes to the batter box, Kazuya reenacts his soulmate’s words and attitude in his head.

How, despite his clear disapproval, Kuramochi supports his decision and trusts him to play his role.

Kazuya really encountered someone like that. Someone who understands him and gets his back. Who does not try to change him. The shortstop did not lie when he said he would see right through him, until the brunette had nowhere to hide.

And that person intends to stay in his life.

Something squeezes in his chest.

 

Damn. He really likes Kuramochi Youichi. An awful lot.

 

 

It is possibly one of the most thrilling matches he ever played. There is nowhere else he would rather be, as he takes place at the home plate for the bottom of the last inning, exhilarated.

 

But he pays the price of his carelessness as soon as the umpire declares Seido’s victory, and the way from the lockers to the hospital is a blur between Zono’s cries of anguish and Kuramochi’s comforting warmth by his side, joyful laughter in his ears.

 

 

“You were right, it’s not nothing.” He states from his bed as Kuramochi is about to follow Rei out of his room.

As the doctor said at the stadium, he pulled his oblique muscles.

Three weeks of recovery. It will be hell to pay, but at least it is not a career-ending injury.

Kuramochi halts at the threshold of the hospital room, and turns back towards him in surprise.

“Are you still mad at me, or is the adrenaline of victory enough to convince you to kiss me?” He grins, no doubt with a slightly maniacal expression.

The shortstop smiles back but hesitation flickers in his eyes and he does not come closer. “You’re high, Miyuki.”

“Please.” It is a testimony of how little he asks for anything, when this simple word triggers such a reaction.

In an instant, Kuramochi indicates to Rei he needs a minute and crosses the room, reaching for Kazuya’s cheek.

The catcher waits with a nervous flutter in his chest, head tilted upwards on his fluffy pillows. He should steal one before going back to the dorm.

However, the kiss never comes. Instead, Kuramochi’s thumb brushes his cheekbones, and he cannot stop himself from nuzzling against the calloused palm.

With a gentleness he is not accustomed to, Kuramochi cautiously brushes his sides. “I’m glad it’s not too serious.” He whispers, and the relief in his tone is not faked. But they can talk about that later.

“Mochi, what about my good recovery kiss?” Kazuya whines pitifully. Alright, he might be a light high on morphine.

“So demanding, asshole.” His soulmate grins with mirthful eyes, but he obliges and leaves the softest peck on Kazuya’s lips.

 

 

 

The catcher never thought he would miss being the captain, but the tinge of envy he feels surprises him as he witnesses a team meeting from afar. Kuramochi does an excellent job, and he is proud of how his soulmate leads the team during his absence.

Still, he cannot wait to play with them again.

 

 

 

Sometimes, Kazuya wonders if Kuramochi and he are dating. They never discuss it, so he guesses at least they are themselves. Nowadays, when teammates or classmates comment they are attached at the hip, they do not scowl or deny anymore.

It is true. They spend as much time as possible together.

No matter who can hear (without you, it’s like something’s missing), no matter who can see (Youichi jumping in his arms after scoring against Ichidaisan), no matter what people think, in this world it’s just them.

 

 

 

Here they are again.

Inashiro standing in their way to Koshien.

Bottom of the ninth. Furuya and Sawamura exceeded themselves, and the whole batting lineup fought tooth and nail against the unbeatable Narumiya Mei. Kazuya spares a glance to the ace in the on-deck circle. Icy blue eyes stare back at him. They learnt the hard way how dangerous the fifth batter of Inashiro can be, especially in dire situations like that.

Seido leads 3-2, they absolutely must preserve their advance to avoid extra innings. Which means Inashiro batters and runners will go for anything, intense aggressiveness radiating from each one of them.

But Kazuya is proud of how calm Sawamura is in this situation. The loud pitcher really improved amazingly.

Yamaoka stands in the batter box. Carlos is on third, Saotome on first, and they got Shirakawa out.

The fourth batter of Inashiro deserves nothing but Sawamura’s change-up, his winning shot.

That is exactly why Kazuya asks for the improved cutter instead.

Carlos starts running the moment Sawamura releases the ball. Damn them, a hit and run.

Fortunately, Yamaoka hits a grounder but Carlos is already more than halfway there. “Back home!!” Kazuya shouts. Rather than trying a double play, they have to prevent the first batter from scoring. Swiftly, Sawamura intercepts the ball and throws it back to Kazuya just in time. Two outs.

In a fraction of second Kazuya analyses the situation. Yamaoka is further away from first base than Saotome who is almost already on second. He knows he should send to first, that is the safest bet if they want to end the match before Mei’s at-bat. But against all logic, he throws to second by instinct. Because he knows they can get him.

A blur of white, dark blue, and green was already waiting for him. Kuramochi’s glove slams on the ground.

“Three outs!! Game set!”

 

They won. They have just won.

Somewhere, Kazuya registers the rest of the team invades the field, he can hear Zono bursting into tears of joy, and Nori running towards Shirasu. He can see Kanemaru lifting Sawamura in the air and Kominato hugging Furuya. But it is all background noises compared to the way Kuramochi’s laugh rings in his ears, to the way they meet halfway for a well-deserved embrace of exhilaration. “Dumbass, what got into you at the end!? You should have thrown to Zono, you daredevil!” The shortstop chastises, softened by his large smile. He does not bother to answer, just tauntingly wiggles his eyebrows. Vaguely, Kazuya realises each time they tag out a runner on second might be the last. And yet, uncertainty and ephemerality never made the journey less thrilling.

 

Maybe he is ready to go all in, after all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“What is it you’re thinking about, Kazuya?” A gruff voice disturbs his daydreaming, but it is not unwelcomed. With the slope of the hill giving him a height advantage, Youichi puts his chin on Kazuya's shoulder and embraces him from behind, as they peer together at the A field. A year ago, Kazuya would have shuddered at the intimate gesture. Nowadays, it is part of his everyday life.

“Regrets?” Of losing at Koshien is implied. Indeed, they got eliminated in the semifinal against Seiseisha. The loss had been painful. Especially because it was the last match of their high school career. Nevertheless, Seido gained visibility, and it certainly helped to draw attention to them for the draft.

“None.” He replies honestly.

 

Tomorrow, they will graduate. It is certainly their last chance to quietly pay their respects to the field that witnessed all their struggles, without Sawamura blaring in their ears.

 

Kazuya squeezes the hands resting on his stomach. In the end of an era, but certainly not the end of their journey, he made sure of it.

 

First, by slyly negotiating with the direction to share Youichi’s room, when they moved from the Spirit Dorms after their retirement.

It certainly helped them to get closer, to find common grounds beyond baseball. To further develop their relationship, and to experience many other firsts.

 

The second point was a highly unexpected blessing. One Monday in late October, they set foot for the first time in the Grand Prince Hotel Takanawa.

“It’s ridiculous Kaz, I won’t get picked and the whole team gonna laugh at my sorry ass.” Youichi nervously grumbled, trying to loosen up the collar of his suit.

“They’ll pick you, they’d be crazy not to.” Kazuya affirmed with a comforting grip on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “And even if today doesn’t work out, you had try-outs with university teams as well, and several offered you a scholarship. You’re gonna be okay, wherever you go.”

We’ll be okay, Kazuya tried to convey with his eyes.

“Agreed.” Rei, who escorted them, backed him up. “The only players faster than you at Koshien were from Hakuryuu, and you’re an excellent shortstop Kuramochi-kun.”

It was a bit emotional, for them to be accompanied by the woman who recruited them years ago, and who believed in them even when nobody else did. They both owe her so much, for different reasons.

You would think they got accustomed to crowds of journalists after going twice to Koshien, but it was impressive nonetheless.

Kazuya got picked in the first round by the Hanshin Tigers.

Shirasu was sent to the Rakuten Golden Eagles in the second round.

Kazuya stood by what he said: recruiters would be crazy not to pick Youichi. Still, his soulmate’s nervosity was contagious and he was starting to get antsy.

Until Kuramochi Youichi was called in the third round to play for the Orix Buffaloes.

“Holy shit Kaz, I’m gonna be a pro baseball player!” Youichi’s awed expression and wide smile were so blinding, Kazuya had to fight the urge to kiss him in the middle of an ocean cameras. He never thought he could so happy for someone else, and there he was.

 

They ran into players they knew. Mei, of course, who was duly fought over during the first round, and who got in the Yakult Swallows, ready to keep his title of “Prince of the Capital” in another setting, and who was slightly bummed they would still be in opposite teams (You better be selected in the national team, Kazuya, because I’ll need a decent catcher, he had taunted when they parted ways); Amahisa, also a first-round pick for the Soft Banks Hawks; Mima, who was sent to the Seibu Lions, and some other players they encountered at Koshien.

 

“Congratulations, to the three of you.” Rei warmly praised the former Seido players. “Miyuki-kun, Kuramochi-kun, you won’t have to be apart, after all.” She added with an indulging smile.

It was only at those knowing allusions that they realised that, despite not playing in the same league, their training centers would be only twenty kilometers apart.

 

Picking a flat half way had not been too difficult, even though they had to visit plenty of flats in Osaka during their holiday breaks.

Three years in the dorms helped them to become autonomous, and the past six months together proved they were able to cohabit. Nevertheless, it was a big step for them who always went at a slow pace. That is why Youichi insisted they pick a two-bedrooms flat. That way, even if they would certainly sleep together in one room or another most of the time, it enabled them to keep a private space.

“Even more places to christen.” He had whispered hotly in Youichi’s ears as they visited what would be their future flat, with the estate agent and Youichi’s mother a few feet away.

Let's say it got him a particularly nasty bruise.

 

Many challenges await them, whether in the NPB or in their adulthood. Kazuya never was the type to be anxious about the future as far as baseball is concerned. But with his soulmate’s by his side, he feels especially fearless.

 

 

“Hey, Youichi.” He murmurs, turning his head slightly to look at the little face nuzzling his neck. A cherry blossom petal got stuck in the shortstop’s hair. What a cliché. Still, he does not mind.

His boyfriend hums to show his attention.

“I never really said it, I’m also glad it’s you.” He confesses with a tender rub of his index under Youichi’s cheekbones.

Dry lips stretch against his neck. “I know.” And it sounds like an I love you.

 

 

Under the sunset, shapes on the baseball field become distorted, blurry. But somehow, by a trick of the lights, Kazuya could almost see a cheetah and a tanuki chasing each other.

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Happy Kuramiyu day everyone ♥