Work Text:
“Kei, play catchball with me.”
The sentence stops Kei in his tracks.
He pauses in whining about how tired he is and how he needs to go home and crash, his ears ringing with the echo of Haruka’s quiet words, barely above a mumble.
He can feel his friends have stopped too, and their chatter is cut off suddenly by the anomalous request from their ace pitcher.
The evening lights are dying out in mellow purples and soft inky blues, the summer sky is streaked with wispy lavender clouds, the warm air rustles his hair over his forehead and for a heart stopping moment— Kei feels like he’s standing at the boundary between two parallel universes.
Kei! Play catchball with me!
It's like a phrase from his dreams, an echo from his memories— he has heard it before— countless times. He is sure he knows it intimately, like a fact as easy as the earth is round or the sun rises from the east.
He’s familiar with the way the words sound out of Haruka’s lips, he recognizes the way he can feel Haruka’s hopeful gaze fixed at his back— but he just can't remember any of it.
It's frustrating. It’s so damn frustrating.
He covers up the turmoil inside him, smothers down the restless waves of disappointment and frustration with himself— and twists around to face Kei and his other teammates— with a dumbass, idiotic smile.
“Haru-chaaaan,” he whines, exaggerated and put upon and false.
Why can't he just remember?
“It’s so late already, my legs are jello and I'm totally knackered, do you see?”
For a moment, Haruka’s eyes flash with something complicated, but Kei convinces himself that his face is too shadowed to see clearly.
His best friend’s face falls, the hope dissipating, and Haruka gradually starts walling himself up with layers of stoic indifference— like he always does around other people.
“Oh. Then… never mind,” he mumbles, glancing away.
We are both so frustratingly similar, Kei thinks, wryly.
To anyone else observing this little exchange, there would be nothing amiss— the same poker faced Kiyomine Haruka, the same dumbass amnesia-Kaname Kei.
But Kei must have learnt to read Haruka all his life— because even if he doesn't remember, he intuitively knows he shouldn't say no to Haruka right now, not today.
That behind his casual request, was something important— something about them.
So he whines and grumbles and sends his teammates off with goodnights— accepting a friendly pat from Yama, swallowing down the good natured ribbing from Todo about not letting his dumbass work too hard, bakayaro, and digesting a knowing smirk from Mr. Four-eyes.
Why was Chihaya always so damn nosy and stupidly perceptive?
When everyone is gone, he turns back to Haruka and puts on a blustering front, planting his hands on his waist.
“Just a little bit, okay, Haru-chan? Then we go home.”
“Mn,” Haruka says, falling into step beside him, and he sounds pleased.
Kei hides a smile.
Haruka had always been so easy to please— especially when it came to playing baseball, especially with him.
Kei somehow knows this, even though he can't remember.
Just remember already, you idiot, he tells himself, annoyance piling up on the heap in his mind labeled ‘things amnesia-Kei needs to remember.’
For the next half an hour or so, in the semi-darkness of twilight, in some nameless sleepy neighborhood’s children’s park, he plays catch with Kiyomine Haruka, the formidable monster pitcher of Japan's under-19 baseball circuit.
The irony and unfairness of the situation doesn’t escape him.
Amnesia-Kei might be a dumbass, but by now, even he has grasped enough about pro-baseball to know that Haruka shouldn’t be wasting away his time playing irrelevant practice matches against small-fry schools or playing catch-ball with his washed up, amnesic childhood friend.
Even though they had miraculously won the game yesterday, a game that supposedly The Commander himself had set-up— Kei wouldn’t know, because midway during the game, the Commander had disappeared, leaving behind stupid amnesia-Kei.
But even then, by some miracle, Kiyomine Haruka hasn't left his side.
Haruka has waited for more than a year— and he has promised to wait for however many years it takes— until Kei is back to his old self.
Time is slipping away, and every subsequent throw from his childhood friend landing perfectly into his mitt right now seems like the inevitable fall of another domino.
Kei must remember, fast.
Why can't he remember, dammit?
“Did you hate it?”
Haruka's voice comes faintly over the wind, across the fifteen feet of earth separating them
Kei falters, misses a catch.
“Hm? Hate what?”
Haruka stops too.
“Kei did you- back in junior high… when we played baseball together, did you hate it?”
And there’s an inexplicable sadness and uncertainty in his best friend's eyes— as if Haruka already knew the answer to that question and was simply waiting for Kei to confirm it.
Haruka wasn’t the overthinker type, so this- now- this question that was an echo of the discussion their team had during lunch break on the rooftop today— that whole thing must’ve weighed as heavily on Haruka's mind as it did on his.
Even though he had pretended to be fine and brushed it off with jokes and even sulked for fifteen minutes when his friends continued to tease him, their casual words had cut some deeper, softer, unknown parts of him.
And Haruka had noticed it too, because of course.
(Kei must not have been the only one who had learned to read their best friend.)
He remembers every word of the rooftop conversation from just hours ago.
Kei was a dumb child to begin with, but playing baseball changed him, Haruka had confessed.
Or rather, he changed himself? He took control of himself through sheer force of will? Todo asked, the quickest to grab at the missing threads.
They say being in a certain position changes a person, but what position or situation has such great responsibility that it would change a person so much? Chihaya mused, his pointed observations always laying every situation out in a nastily efficient manner.
Playing baseball like that must be painful, don't you think?
The final blow had come from the gentle and soft spoken Yamada, one of his closest friends. Yama wasn’t even being unkind, instead, the fact that he could empathize with someone that had crushed his dreams as a player once was proof enough of his resilience and his kind heart.
And Kei had been afraid.
He had been afraid of the answer even then.
What if he had hated it?
What if his forgotten memories were a way his brain was trying to protect him— by not letting him be that boy- The Commander- once again.
The one who bore the weight of every game on his shoulders and led everyone to victory. The one who had crushed the hopes and dreams of so many people with a flick of his wrist calling the next pitch and the monster he had created with his own hands on the mound, following his every command with unnatural precision, like the most loyal soldier?
The way his teammates had heaped boundless praises onto the Commander was grating in his ears still.
It was as if there was an alter-ego of him existing simultaneously in everyone's memories but his own.
It was terrifying— to know that when people looked at him, they saw two polar opposite versions at once.
The lazy, good for nothing, idiot slacker Kei-kun.
And the god-like, icy cold and ruthless, hungry for victory Commander Kaname Kei.
And Kei feels torn between two parallel worlds at once— the only thing separating him from the Commander being the gap of years and years worth of memories.
Everyday, Kei wakes up and looks into the mirror— but instead of seeing himself, he can only see who he isn't anymore— the shadow of the Commander lurks in the yawning void just over his shoulders, too formidable and vast to ever live up to.
In his dreams too, the Commander lurks, like a phantom persona. Kei doesn't remember the last time he had a peaceful, restful sleep.
Last night had been a rare exception— with the thrill of a win earned by his own hands filling his veins, it was the first time the Commander’s dreams and subconscious had not invaded Kei’s mind.
Every night since he lost his memories, Kei has been haunted by memories of voices and curses and dejected, heartbroken cries— of innumerable boys whose names and faces he doesn’t remember, boys who were just stats in his notebooks chock full with strategies and game recalls and diagrams of important plays.
There were 33 of those abominable, neatly numbered and labelled notebooks in his bookshelf still now, dear fucking god.
Rationally, he knows they are his memories, but he still desperately wishes they weren’t.
Because the Commander had not only taken away his baseball skills, but burdened him with the guilt of successes in games he doesn't even remember.
Years and years and years worth of his and Haruka’s victories matched against the weight of hundreds and hundreds of crushed boys.
The monster pitcher Kiyomine Haruka was simply molded to satiate the Commander’s own thirst for victory, he realizes now.
He remembers his own voice from his dreams- the Commander’s dreams- I’ll make you the number one pitcher in japan, followed by the intensely familiar thwap of two mitts meeting in a confident bump.
Kei knows they’ve done that a thousand times now, even if he can't remember.
In a twisted way, Haruka had created him too, just as much as he had created Haruka.
Kei had probably trained himself ruthlessly for countless hours, pushed himself to change, until the frail, dumbass kid, the real Kaname Kei had vanished altogether— just like Todo had wondered— and in his place was born the Commander.
Maybe the reason he played in the catcher’s position was because he’d always wanted Haruka to keep his focus on him, and never look away, just like Chihaya had predicted.
Kei had probably changed himself to become the Commander to keep up with the prodigy that was his best friend, and in a twisted way, maybe he had convinced himself to enjoy the kind of baseball that was painful to play in reality, just like Yama had wondered.
But all of these were merely speculations— because the current Kaname Kei doesn't remember— he’s forgotten every step that was taken to get to this moment.
But he doesn't want to, not anymore.
He wants to remember.
In his dreams, the Commander had been wrong about one thing, however.
It wasn’t Haruka that was the monster.
It was he himself.
And Kei doesn’t know if he wants to be that monster anymore.
Because playing baseball was truly fun now.
It's a strange realization to be having in this nameless park in a sleepy neighborhood at seven p.m. on a summer evening.
Kei wants to keep playing baseball.
With Haruka.
And his team.
Because it was fun.
He was having fun now.
And by god he’s going to start from scratch and keep going, even if it kills him.
Because if one win in a single match had let him have a restful night’s sleep, then he wants to keep winning with everyone— in every single match they have in the future— just to have many, many, many more of those peaceful nights.
So he looks at Haruka’s dejected face, steels himself internally and allows the confession to slip through.
“I don’t know, I don’t remember,” Kei murmurs, truthfully. “But I'm having fun now, Haru-chan, truly. I want to keep playing. I want to get better and fight with all of you together. I’ll try my best, because—”
And here he falters.
The next words seem bigger than all the bravado filled promises amnesia-Kei has made till now.
Haruka gives him space, looking at him unblinking, his eyes unreadable.
He’s always been good at reading Kei, much more than the other way around.
Kei steadies himself on his foot, and takes a deep breath.
“Because I don’t like losing to myself,” he whispers, and feels a weight lifting off his chest.
That’s right.
Kaname Kei won’t lose to the Commander, not anymore.
He’ll continue to fight, and one day, if the Commander comes back permanently, he hopes they can meet at a middle ground instead of two polar opposite personas of the same boy.
Haruka freezes at his words— and for an extended moment, they look at each other, the fifteen feet of dirt shrinking and disappearing as easily as the sixty feet of space between the home base and the pitcher’s mound does on the field, in the middle of a game.
And then Haruka smiles— small and pleased and proud— and it steals all the fucking air from Kei’s lungs.
This sensation… isn’t new.
Neither is the swarm of something fluttering in his stomach, the way his heart lurches and blood turns turbid in his veins.
Within weeks after he woke up in the hospital, weeks after he learned that he had amnesia, Kei had given up on trying to ignore the way his body reacted to Haruka’s proximity in inexplicable ways.
Amnesia-Kei might have been a dumbass in every area of life, but even he couldn't ignore the way Haruka looked at him— his dark blue eyes following him everywhere.
He couldn’t ignore the way the weight of Haruka’s gaze settled at the back of his head— simultaneously oddly calming, and yet, in the next breath, agitating him until his skin prickled with warmth wherever Haruka’s eyes landed— which was every fucking where, all the damn time.
He began to have his suspicions, and it was pretty much confirmed when Kei had dragged him away on some flimsy pretext when he’d spotted Kei talking to a classmate- a girl- asking Kei about some mundane homework at the beginning of the term.
“I’d suggest asking further details from the class monitor,” Haruka had informed the flustered girl in a low, clipped voice, grabbed his wrist in a way that could only be called possessive and towed Kei away to the gym way earlier than start of the period.
Kei’s heart had beat rapid fire all the time they walked there, his face and neck blooming with warmth, and the weirdest part was that— he’d realized he was somehow feeling bizarrely pleased at Haruka’s behavior.
So from then on, Kei had stopped ignoring and started observing instead.
He’d observed the way Haruka looked at him during slow afternoon classes when he thought Kei was napping by the sunlit window, the curtains fluttering over his head. Haruka’s steel blue eyes would abruptly fill with a shade of longing so intense Kei would have to clench his eyes shut for real this time, his heart hammering inside his chest.
He’d observe the way Haruka was touchy-feely with him specifically, and no one else. Little things— an arm slinked over his shoulder, fingers brushing while sharing food and bickering over stealing the tasty bits, napping together under the shady awning at the back of the gym during breaks, Haruka’s sleepy head flopping onto Kei’s shoulders.
The way Haruka would shift closer— closer than necessary— and fix his uniform or hair or scarves or rub at an invisible ink mark on his cheek or whatever irrelevant thing that caught his fancy.
The way Haruka sometimes called his name.
And so now, standing in the blue twilight of this empty park, Kei is faced once again with the stark, devastating beauty of one of Haruka’s rare smiles.
And even though Haruka is silent, his eyes are softened into half moon crescents, the sheer joy and adoration and fondness in them as he looks at Kei across the fifteen feet of space potent enough to push Kei into action.
He takes the first step, the itch under his skin growing by every second.
He needs to be closer to Haruka right now, right at this moment.
“Whoa! Haru-chan, did you just laugh?” Kei teases, stepping cautiously towards Haruka while gauging his reaction.
Haruka freezes for a moment, caught off guard. His smile wobbles into an adorably flustered one and the tips of his ears tinge red, his eyes darting everywhere but at Kei.
Oh.
Oh.
Damn.
Kei almost forgets to breathe as he steps closer still.
Please don't move away, please don't go, please stay Haruka, he repeats like a mantra inside his head.
“I… I didn’t,” Haruka mumbles, protesting. And he doesn't move away.
“Did too, I just saw,” Kei teases some more, grinning. “Man, why is it so dark, I couldn't even see Haru-chan’s cute smile properly.”
He’s just a foot away from Haruka now— and Haruka still doesn't move away.
Kei’s heart is gonna beat right out of his chest.
“Sh-shut up,” Haruka mumbles again, the tops of his cheeks flushed a pretty pink, his glossy raven fringes falling in feathery strands over a pale forehead and Kei is surely going to have a heart attack at any moment.
Haruka was just so pretty. He was the prettiest guy Kei knew.
No one else should see Haruka when he is like this.
Wait. What?
The thought comes so abruptly and so out of left field it stuns Kei momentarily, halting all his rambling musings.
He realizes suddenly— as he looks at Haruka’s shy, flustered face, red from Kei’s teasing— that he wants to be the only one who can make the stoic Kiyomine Haruka look this way.
He wants to be the only one Haruka shows this side to— he wants—
Before he can stop himself, he crosses the rest of the space and reaches up to cradle Haruka's face in both of his hands.
Haruka freezes once more, but Kei is too winded-up to care about boundaries at the moment.
He finally knows what he’s feeling— what he has been feeling for the past several months— and he suspects years and years before he lost his memories too.
Suddenly, Haruka’s strange possessiveness and jealousy and clinginess make a lot sense.
So much sense in fact, that Kei wants to bang his head against a wall.
It’s like waking up slowly from a dream— stuck in the disorienting moment between sleep and wakefulness— as if he was looking into the frozen lakes of his mind and glimpsing at the depths of his memories through a distorted, hazy barrier.
And the singular fact he finds there— like a pearl in a treasure chest— doesn't surprise him at all.
Haruka was his, and he was Haruka’s— in more ways than one.
It was a fact as true as his loud heartbeats and his galloping pulse and the growing tightness in his chest right now. It was as true as the warmth of Haruka’s smooth skin under his calloused palms and the way Haruka’s breath hitches, stops, then escapes in a rushing, uneven exhale the moment Kei holds him.
It was true, even if he doesn’t remember it.
He can’t believe he forgot in the first place.
“Kei…” Haruka sighs, leaning into his touch.
His dark blue eyes are glazed over, and this time, Kei looks straight into the sheer, naked longing and desperation he finds there, and doesn’t close his eyes.
“I’m here,” Kei murmurs back, rubbing circles into Haruka’s cheeks, and feels him tremble under his touch.
Their height difference makes Kei crane his head back and look up at his best friend— his partner— his… everything, probably.
Why can’t he remember, dammit? Come on, you stupid idiot.
Frustration wells up inside his chest, and Kei has never hated his amnesia more than right at this moment, when he can clearly see how much Haruka needs him right now.
Needs the old him.
He hopes it’s not the Commander whom Haruka needs — but… maybe whatever they had been to each other.
Because for once in his life, Kei wants to be enough, just for who he is.
And Haruka sees it too— sees that Kei isn't back to himself yet, and a lone tear slips from his eyes and rolls down his cheeks.
The sight of it twists like a knife wound into Kei’s heart— and he desperately wishes things could be different.
Haruka presses closer and tips his forehead against Kei’s.
“Kei, I just- I just wish you could remember…that… that I miss you,” he mumbles, voice thick with emotion.
Kei’s throat closes up with a ball of frustration, the restlessness and simmering hurt inside him magnifying tenfold.
Looks like he wasn’t enough just for who he was, afterall.
It was that damn conversation from the rooftop again— people missing a version of him he doesn't even fucking remember.
A curl of anger blooms in his chest— and he knows it’s misplaced. He knows the real person he is angry with isn’t Haruka at all, but himself.
But it still turns him bitter.
“What, Haru-chan, you too? I've already heard enough from the guys, you know? About the Commander,” he emphasizes the title, tries desperately to inject levity in his voice, and he can hear how horribly it falls flat.
“But I'm… I'm not him. Not right now, I wish you guys understood that.”
He knows his voice is bitter, the hurt he’s trying so hard to hide not entirely being masked by his bravado.
Haruka frowns, moving away— his open, soft expression from earlier closing up and turning flinty.
Oh, now he’s done it.
Went ahead and fucked this moment up too. Just like everything else.
But instead of pushing him away, Haruka grabs his shoulders— his larger hands easily grasping half of their span— and it’s unfair, how distracting the feel of them is— solid and warm and grounding, even through the layers of clothes.
“No… No I didn't mean it like that. I told you, didn't I? Kei is Kei, with or without the memories?”
And Kei darts his eyes between his best friend’s and knows he means it, his voice is sincere.
Haruka has never lied to him, and he never will.
Kei doesn't remember how he knows this fact, but it slips into his mind as easily as breathing.
He and Haruka have never lied to each other.
And the relief that realization brings is staggering.
“Then what was that just now?” Kei asks, petulant, pouting.
Haruka’s eyes turn a shade regretful.
“I worded it wrong. I just— I just wish you'd remember this . Remember us.”
And Kei freezes, the implication behind those words punching all the air from his lungs— for a second time that night.
This was the most Haruka had ever admitted about him- about them- and even though Kei had suspected, it was nothing compared to the way the weight of the words settle in the inches of air separating them now— the way Haruka’s eyes are so open and vulnerable once more, the way he’s baring his whole heart to Kei.
He swipes a thumb- oh so gentle- under Kei’s eyes, and the callus on his fingertip catches on the smooth skin there, and the contrast of the touch— the gentleness and patience from those powerful, ruthless, unforgiving pitcher’s fingers— makes goosebumps break over Kei’s skin.
His head swims like he’s high, his thoughts fogging up and his conscious mind slipping— he can’t think straight right now.
The inches between them dwindle, as Haruka shifts closer and presses their foreheads together once more.
“Kei, tell me you remember it, please, just for today. I need you,” Haruka whispers against his lips, and Kei can feel how much they're trembling.
“I- I don't.. I can't… I'm sorry, I'm trying Haruka,” he falters, his voice wobbling at the edges—
And even as he says the words, Kei knows he's lying.
Because he can feel it in his bones now, a sensation as heavy and real as his heartbeats and a truth as deep as his soul— a cascade of feelings that plunge down like an avalanche.
Haruka’s warmth against his skin.
The way his damp breaths fall over Kei’s face.
The way the mere touch of his lips had felt against his own moments earlier.
The way every point of contact between their skin feels tingling and electrifying and incriminating.
It was as if he was reliving a memory that was simultaneously real and not, like a dream that he can't remember after he wakes up— like ghosts of touches and feeling of lips and hands on bare skin, and Kei feels dizzy with the sudden rush of emotions in his gut, his ears going cotton-wooly and ringing with a high pitched noise, leaving him breathless and light headed.
Because even if his mind doesn't remember, his body hasn't forgotten.
And none of these were the Commander’s memories either— there was something intrinsic and primal and bone deep about them— as if these feelings and sensations belonged to him, and only him.
They were Kaname Kei’s own. No one else’s.
And there is a truth he discovers in the same breath as realization hits him.
A single thought, in a single moment suspended in time- illogical, incongruous, irreversible.
I want to kiss him again.
Kei blinks open dazedly and watches as Haruka's face falls with his evasive reply, shadows over with a hopeless exhaustion— as if he too, was tired of holding onto someone who didn’t remember him.
And even if Kei doesn't have his memories, even as he can’t remember if he ever truly disappointed his best friend— he instinctively knows he never wants to be the cause of Haruka making that kind of an expression again— like he was doing right now.
So he steps forward urgently, and grabs Haruka’s face once more— his previous hesitation disappearing with the realization of what he truly wants right now.
Not baseball.
Not games.
Not winning a match or strategy.
Not even a good night’s sleep.
Instead, he wants to be the only one Haruka waits for— months and years at a time, even if that was an awful, selfish request.
He wants to be the only one Haruka gets possessive over.
He wants to be the only one who can make Haruka blush and get shy like that.
He just wants Haruka to look at him once more like Kei was his whole world.
“I want to remember, Haru-chan,” he murmurs, and hears the way his words tremble. “So please, come again. Help me remember once more, Haruka.”
And Haruka stills for a moment, his eyes flying wide open, something swirling in the inky blue depths of his irises— and it’s a curl of longing and hope and relief and joy— and it's worth it— that cautious glimmer of happiness is worth every single imminent kiss amnesia-Kei probably won't feel as they are truly supposed to feel.
But he will try, for Haruka's sake.
And his own.
The fluttering feeling in his stomach intensifies as Haruka leans in, closer and closer and closer still .
There's a hand cupping Kei's face— big and warm and bumpy with calluses from years of ruthless practice and skin laced permanently with the smell of powdered rosin from the pitcher's mound— and Kei remembers, his skin remembers, the moment Haruka's palm makes contact— and just for a heartbeat, the difference between dreams and reality seems to blur, making him shudder.
He sees it happening as if in a trance, a waking dream— feeling time itself slowing down— stretching long and loopy, like syrup.
He sees the way Haruka's eyes flutter closed, the way his lips part in slow motion— and Kei doesn't blink, not even once— to savor this moment that feels like a dream, like a memory — like thousands of memories—
As if they've done this a thousand times before, and maybe they have.
Maybe that's why it doesn't feel scary when Haruka’s lips press against his.
It doesn't feel off, when Haruka kisses him sweetly, his motions gentle and slow and so, so, warm— and Kei leans up on the balls of his feet, sways into Haruka, his body tipping way out of balance as he’s kissed for the first time—
No… not the first time.
But it sure as hell feels like it.
Because this is the first time he can truly begin to remember , living in this version of himself, in this body, in this reality— where he and Haruka have been separated by an invisible chasm of amnesia.
The kisses change as Haruka coaxes him to open his mouth— there's an abrupt press of a warm, wet tongue at the seam of his lips— and even before he can decide consciously, Kei opens his mouth by instinct and grants him access.
He’s done this before, he realizes.
He’s done this a thousand times.
And its such a fucking relief— because this- now?
It feels like coming home.
Haruka's suddenly gets impatient, his arms come around Kei’s lower back and all he can do is hold on as he’s pulled flush against his best friend’s taller frame, and Kei arches back into the touch, Haruka’s palms sure and insistent, roaming all over his back as if he can’t get enough of Kei.
It’s madness— because Kei knows he’s getting light headed as Haruka licks into his mouth and yet— Kei doesn't want him to stop, not for a single second.
Abruptly, Haruka grabs a fistful of Kei’s hair and tilts his head back a certain way to deepen the kiss, with a brash confidence and a practiced ease that’s insanely heady— and Kei is all but putty in his hands, his breath choking and mind fogging up, all his rational thoughts crumbling down.
He scrambles to hold on to Haruka desperately— hands winding around his shoulders and fingernails digging bluntly into firm muscles of his upper back— and the bastard lets out a pleased hum—
Then suddenly, without warming, he twists his tongue into Kei’s in a motion that positively curls his toes with a jolt of acute pleasure and he moans into the kiss, helpless with the sheer, single minded focus with which Haruka is devouring him now.
This is familiar to Haruka too— Kei realizes dazedly— Haruka leads the kiss, guides the beats of their push and pull with an ease that’s dizzying, and Kei is entirely at his mercy right now— but he’s never felt safer.
Haruka’s smell and taste fill up all his senses— and Kei doesn't know what his not first kiss was supposed to feel like, but it's overwhelming— in the best possible way.
There’s something primally, dearly familiar about Haruka’s scent— fresh grass and summer air and rosins and the earthy smell of the mound and the distinct note of his skin underneath it all— and Kei feels light headed because he can’t get enough.
Haruka tastes like happiness, as Kei feels him smiling into the kiss, a drawn out, breathy gasp escaping him as Kei takes more initiative, chasing the feel of his mouth— hot, scorching, intense— just like he is— and he can’t stop touching his partner now, threading his hands into Haruka’s glossy raven locks and tipping up on the tips of his toes and knowing that Haruka will hold his weight.
Haruka walks them back a few paces into the shadowed shelter of something big and roundish and concrete— Kei distantly registers it as an elephant shaped slide— and all the while, he holds Kei steady as he keeps kissing him, the insane fucker.
They both stumble as Kei’s back hits the concrete of the elephant’s butt-end and Kei can’t help but laugh, the absurdity of their situation hitting him in full force.
“Really, Haru-chan? An elephant butt slide for the location of our first kiss? So not romantic,” Kei laughs, catching his breath.
He keeps his hands anchored at the sides of Haruka’s neck though— he doesn't want to let go anymore.
Haruka flusters for a beat, mouth opening and closing in search of a quick, clever retort, and when he’s unable to find one, he looks at Kei with narrowed eyes, trying to cover up his embarrassment and pouting.
Adorable, Kei thinks, fondness rushing over him immediately.
Haruka’s whole face is flushed a pretty red, hair an absolute mess— Kei had raked his fingers through the strands too many times by now— there's a sheen of sweat over his forehead that gleams golden from the streetlights at the corner of the park, and his eyes are wild and hazed over with want— and holy shit— he looks gorgeous like this.
Kei is definitely going to expire and go to heaven.
“Not- not first,” Haruka mumbles, averting his eyes.
“What?”
“Not our first kiss.”
Haruka’s eyes are clear, burning with a blue fire, like twin sapphires.
Kei’s heart sloshes over the confines of his chest.
He knew this— he had assumed, by now— and yet—
And yet, hearing it confirmed verbally from Haruka’s mouth is a different kind of free fall.
He threads his hands into the back of Haruka’s head and pulls him closer.
“How long did- did we… have we been-” he tries to ask, the words tying up into clumsy knots in his mouth.
Haruka looks at him unblinking for a moment, but then his face crumples into one of abject heartbreak.
“Since- since middle school, second year. But- it’s longer- we… We were close. Always,” Haruka manages, and his words are getting tied up into knots too.
Haruka has never been good with words, and it breaks Kei’s heart to see him trying this hard to express himself— to arrange his deepest feelings into sentences just to answer Kei, because Kei doesn’t fucking remember anything.
He cannot imagine the burden Haruka must have carried all this time— clinging onto these one sided feelings, waiting day in and day out, and hoping that Kei remembers one day.
If their places had been reversed, Kei was sure he’d have gone off his rails.
“Oh… baby, Haru-chan… I’m sorry I don’t remember,” Kei blurts out, his eyes prickling with tears as he darts his gaze between his partner’s, swiping away the messy bangs off his damp forehead.
He doesn't even notice when the term of endearment slips out— not until Haruka stills, his eyes widening and breath hitching— and then it’s Kei’s turn to blush, as realization catches him unawares.
But Haruka beats him to a reaction— as he turns a brilliant shade of red, and promptly flops into Kei’s shoulders, hiding his face into Kei’s neck.
He clutches onto Kei’s sides and mumbles something incoherent that sounds suspiciously like that’s so unfair, Kei.
And Kei laughs, his heart full to bursting as he holds onto his friend, his partner, his everything — and sways them both gently in the hug.
After a while, Haruka emerges from his cocoon of embarrassment, shifting his face on Kei’s shoulders just enough so that Kei can hear him.
“You- um… you kissed me yesterday- before we left for the game.”
Kei stills.
This was new information.
Yesterday before the game— he was still the Commander t hen.
He can only imagine how devastating it must've been for Haruka to lose the person he loved in the span of just a few hours— to see them slipping away right before his eyes.
To keep losing him over and over and over.
And instead, being left with another version of the very same person who had no recollection of what you both used to be.
Even now, as amnesia-Kei finally has knowledge about what they were together, there was no guarantee that the Commander would return.
It might be that he will never return.
And strangely, Kei is okay with that.
He needs to tell Haruka that they will be okay too.
Because he has a feeling that he had loved Haruka long before he became the Commander.
He had loved Haruka probably since the day he could first say his childhood friend’s name clearly.
He had loved his best friend for as long as he had known him.
And memories or lack thereof was not going to change that fact.
He just needs to fall in love with Haruka all over again.
Afterall, how do you erase something that has always been there?
Kei makes up his mind, feeling strangely optimistic.
He gently plucks Haruka’s face from the crook of his neck and looks into his eyes.
“And I’ll kiss you again, before our next one. How does that sound, hmm?” He smiles at Haruka, waiting to see his reaction.
Haruka remains frozen for several moments, then makes a flustered noise and Kei can almost see the gears in his head turning— as he gulps down several times and blinks very fast.
Then he finally nods back— a pleased, adorable smile lighting up his whole face.
Ah. This was bad, Kei thinks, heart tripping and a swarm of something fluttering inside his stomach.
Butterflies. That's what they were. Stupid butterflies.
This was so totally, extremely, stupendously bad, Kei thinks again.
Falling in love with Kiyomine Haruka again would not be a problem at all.
Kei was already more than halfway there.
Very late that night, they lie awake on Haruka's bed, limbs tangled together in the dark.
Haruka is a comforting weight against his back, radiating warmth through his bare skin like a furnace— plastered all along the length of Kei’s body.
Lips press against the bloom of fresh reds and purples at the juncture of his neck and shoulders, and Kei shivers.
“Looks like I should just kiss you senseless and bring you back every time you forget, doo-doo head.”
Haruka's voice is teasing, filled with the happy, sated warmth of endorphins.
Kei rolls his eyes, face warming up.
He's never been able to handle a flirty Haruka, and that’s a fact he just remembered from the murky depths of his forgotten memories as well.
Good to see some things never changed.
“Sh-shut up idiot. ”
Haruka laughs— a huff of genuine, unfiltered joy, and it's a revelation— to remember all over again— how much Kei loves the sound of Haruka's laughter, rare as they were.
How much he had missed Haruka.
“Okaeri, Kei,” Haruka murmurs into his ears, voice sleepy soft.
Kei's heart trips in his chest.
He desperately wishes that this time, his amnesia stays beyond the bolted door of his mind a little longer.
He doesn't want to forget this— the way he's feeling right now— anytime soon.
He turns over in the bracket of Haruka's arms and smiles at him.
“Tadaima, Haru-kun.”