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“Wait, did you just say Abe’s jealous of me?”
Izumi downs the last of his energy drink and shoots it into the nearest garbage bin. It misses. Well, at least he knows for sure that he should stick with baseball. He bridges the gap between him and Hamada, who was left dumbstruck a few paces ahead by the comment.
“I mean, with you spending as much time with Mihashi during practice as you do, I’m not even that surprised,” he says. “Actually, I’m more surprised you didn’t catch on because the guy was practically glaring daggers into the back of your head so much we all could have sworn you’d actually feel it.”
Hamada blanched. “What the hell? Of course we’d spend a lot of time together—we’re both pitchers on the same team! And it doesn’t help that we happen to be classmates, childhood friends, and I just so happen to—oh, I dunno—not be domineering enough for us to actually get along without all the one-sided yelling.”
“Yeah, try telling him that.”
“Ugh, that Abe is a real piece of work sometimes…”
Izumi quietly grunts in agreement, even though he’s extremely aware that he’s also suffering from the same sharp constriction in his own heart. But he’s not like Abe. He’s worked hard to preserve—to make damn sure—the friendship he’s had with Hamada since elementary school. Hamada already had to simultaneously go through the medical ordeal with his elbow and the issue with his family that left him living alone in the Saitama prefecture; he didn’t need the added stress of being confessed to by close friend and teammate. And a guy, to top everything off. Izumi had to be content with every small victory that he managed to attain: whether it be getting into the same school as him or convincing him to take up baseball again when a club was finally being formed in Nishiura. He had to—
“Izumi?”
“Hm?” He lifts his head and sees Hamada’s concerned expression. “What? What’s wrong?”
“I mean, I didn’t want to say anything before, but…” Hamada trails off, opening and closing his mouth in odd shapes as he struggles with his words. Izumi waits patiently. “Are… Are you okay?”
Izumi quirks an eyebrow. “Uh, I’m fine? Do I give the impression that something’s wrong?”
“Well, no,” Hamada says, “but it just—I mean, I feel like you’re being distant.”
He’ll have to remember that and watch himself in the future. “I’m fine. Really. Maybe you’re just imagining it.”
Over the years, he’s noticed that Hamada gets a certain look on his face in the rare times he decides to get serious. Now is one of the times Hamada dons it. “It’s not just my imagination, Izumi, it’s true. I feel like I’ve barely talked to you since we started practicing for the summer tournament—and we’re in the same damn class!”
Crap, why does he pick now of all times to be perceptive about things?
“Izumi, dammit, at least look at me!”
“And what, have you find out about all these shitty feelings?!” He knows that he should stop talking right then and there, but his mouth keeps going. Even as his mind continuously tries to put a lock on his lips, the words continue to spill through. “For the longest time, I’ve tried my best to let things stay as they are—even though I’m jealous out of my mind and I want nothing more than to just go right over and be by your side and—and I’ve worked too damn hard to let things fall apart now!” Oh, he’s fucking done it now; and even then, he still won’t stop talking. “I don’t even know why I’m still rambling, considering I just outed myself to you and now you’re probably disgusted with me, but I… I can’t…” His throat is tightening and he can feel his eyes getting wet, the tears streaming down his face. His words get weak. He chokes back a sob and barely cracks out, “God, don’t hate me… Don’t hate me—please, I’ll do anything. We can forget this ever happened and just go back to being teammates if you don’t want to be friends—”
Warmth swallows him whole. He can blurrily make out the familiar shape of Hamada’s shoulder, trace the stretch of his arms around his body. He’s being held, his mind supplies, and Hamada’s hand presses a comforting weight at the back of his head not long after.
“It’s okay, Izumi,” Hamada says. Izumi can’t help but feel like the tone of his voice sounds oddly mature for someone who’s usually such a goofball. “You… Damn, you always have this habit of doing unnecessary things on your own.”
“Wh…?”
“I, um. I like you, too, Izumi. S-So you don’t have to, uh, hold things back from me anymore.”
Relief washes over him. He’s still crying, but he figures he’d let the tears finish themselves off. They must look funny right now: two high school boys hugging in the middle of the street with the sun setting behind them, one bawling his eyes out and the other being extremely awkward about it. Izumi figures he should try to pull them out of the moment.
“You sounded really cool, you know,” he croaks out. “At least, until you stuttered.”
“H-Hey! I’m trying to comfort you here!”
And with that, they were set back on course—only this time, with a tumultuous yet happy future ahead of them.