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It’s not the waking up alone that pisses Mei off, but the disappointment that snakes up his throat before he can swallow it.
But he does, eventually, swallow it. This isn't the first time Kazuya's let him down. Though this is a new low, even for him.
With a labored sigh, he kicks himself out from the sheets and slides on yesterday’s jeans, lingering over a hungry bruise that still outlines the dull edge of Kazuya’s teeth against his thigh. He smirks at the memory. For once, Kazuya had abandoned his unending stream of stupid comments in favor of more interesting activities.
And then he ran, as usual. Long before Mei woke up, judging by the coolness of the fabric.
He’s only half-sure as he walks out the door. But when he gets to the field, sure enough, there's a familiar figure in the distance. He saunters down the slope, eyeing Kazuya from above.
“So that’s it?” Mei sing-songs once they’re on level ground, slipping his fingers between the nylon. “Surely I'm worth a goodbye text."
“It’s not a big deal, Mei,” Kazuya sighs, tossing a ball to the net.
“I prefer how you said my name last night." Even from here Mei can feel the wall in his gaze stiffen. He rolls his eyes. “What kind of stupid practice are you doing, anyway? Just catch for me.” He doesn’t wait for permission, just lifts the pitching net and lets himself inside.
They lock eyes for a tense moment, and then Kazuya’s demeanor morphs into something flippant. He calls for a fast ball, inside corner. “I was going to text you,” he hedges, “guess I forgot.”
Mei keeps his voice coolly detached. “Whatever, Kazuya. I’m not mad.”
“...You’re not?”
He snorts, refusing a forkball .“Puh- lease . It’s us, Kazuya. Like we weren't going to sleep together eventually.”
“Hah! Is that how it is?” Changeup. “No strings?”
“Mmhm.” He thinks for a moment, and then nods for the changeup. “Don’t worry a single hair on that ugly mop of yours. Nothing has to change.” The ball plunges into the center of the mitt.
Yet , he adds privately. Kazuya's never made things easy.