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So, it starts with him being unintentionally trapped in the locker room.
And he’s seeing something that he’s probably not meant to be seeing. But then again, it’s not like the two people involved are being totally subtle about it anyway. It’s kind of a curious sight, seeing Eijun’s usual blazing, fiery energy momentarily softened into a more demure lick of a flame, and seeing Miyuki’s hardened outer shell being unexpectedly chipped and cracked into like it’s nothing but thin ice.
They’re in the doorway of the locker room together; Eijun’s got Miyuki closely pressed up against the doorframe, and they’re having a subdued conversation in low, lilting murmurs. Haruichi can’t hear anything they’re saying, but he doesn’t need to – at this rate, it’s enough to read the story in their bodies, what with fingertips sliding over curved hipbones and parted lips moving against defined jawlines, quivering breaths tangling in their chests and low-lidded looks hazily given through dark, sweeping eyelashes.
He hadn’t known that the two of them were … well, this, whatever this is. It’s just like Eijun-kun to be a complete surprise, he thinks, face warming over. At least he’s composed enough that his mouth isn’t hanging open while he’s watching them, because if he’d had any less self-control, it definitely would be.
Haruichi backs away a little further, guiltily, around the cornered bend of the locker room. It’s probably inappropriate for him to stare, especially when he himself is creeping around practically half-naked without his shirt on and all, but it’s pointless to look away now. He still hasn’t fully wrapped his brain around it.
Either way, though, he wishes that this wasn’t happening right here and now, because it’s barely been ten minutes since today’s practice had finished and he’d immediately made his way here to get changed; but before he’d known it, there’d been a stir of subdued but lively voices at the door and Haruichi had peeked around the wall only to be greeted with the sight of Eijun and Miyuki getting pretty shockingly cozy without having checked to see if anyone else was inside. So now, he can’t move, he can’t breathe, and there’s no way out, no way that he can leave. On top of that, everyone else is undoubtedly going to come by any second, too.
And it’s impossible for Eijun and Miyuki not to know this, but to Haruichi’s amazement, it looks like the farthest thing from either of their minds. Just two teenage boys caught up in the heat of the moment, most likely.
He’s at a decent enough distance from them that he can graciously call out: ‘Eijun-kun? Is that you?’
Eijun and Miyuki jump a little, obviously surprised, before they quickly separate, which is even more intriguing – like skittish animals found wandering into new, unexplored territory. But there’s also some trace of a mild spark in their eyes and Haruichi has to wonder if that’s exactly what it is, the indescribable thing that’s simmering between them. Uncharted and unfamiliar, but a quiet thrill, and novel in all the ways that they actually want.
Miyuki doesn’t particularly reply with any sentiment beyond staring in silence at Haruichi – a pointed scrutiny that admittedly makes him squirm a little. Eijun’s gaze is less penetrating, although there’s a tense toothy grin currently stretching itself across his face; pale pink drips over the jut of his cheekbones, and he rubs the back of his head somewhat vigorously, answering, ‘Ah … yeah, Harucchi! Miyuki-senpai and I went ahead. Everyone else should be coming soon! God, I’m dying for a bath.’
Haruichi’s mouth modestly bends upward.
He supposes that where Eijun is concerned, there’s never been such a thing as subtlety anyway. At least, for now, he’s helped spare anyone from having to come up with awkward explanations; this way, Eijun and Miyuki can preserve their privacy until they get to a point where they actually feel ready to tell other people about it.
Right?
‘What the actual shit,’ says Kuramochi evenly.
Haruichi glances over at him with sympathetic understanding. ‘I was just as shocked, Kuramochi-senpai.’
Kuramochi turns and peers at him, pointed but curious. ‘Was? You mean you knew about this? For how long?’
‘I – maybe a week?’ he replies, surprised at being so suddenly put on the spot.
However ambiguous the thing between Eijun and Miyuki had been back when he’d seen them in the locker room, it’s probably not so ambiguous now, because they’re propped up against the wall of the building about twenty meters away and they’re actually kissing – honest-to-God sloppy, wet kissing – and Kuramochi’s face looks thoroughly pinched and tight, eyes narrowed into slits and thinned lips firmly pressed together in obvious distaste.
‘I just wanted to have a break and a snack,’ he monotones, tossing the still-packaged bun in his fingers down onto the floor as if he’s lost all semblance of an appetite. ‘All the damn places that they could go to in this massive school, and they had to come here.’
He sounds personally insulted, and Haruichi can’t help reaching over to give him two light, compassionate pats on the elbow.
All things considered, he and Kuramochi have long made this indoor training hall their own little shared space. They’ve practically made it a habit to come here after school’s done for the day to sit and have a short break before they’re due to get ready for the afternoon practice session; it’d first started a few months back, when Haruichi had randomly seen Kuramochi resting here and had joined him, after which they’ve kept each other company ever since. In all that time, Eijun and Miyuki had never suddenly materialized outside the opposite building until now – perfectly situated in Haruichi and Kuramochi’s line of sight, fully visible through the open doorway of this building like it’s supposed to be a tease or something. Like Haruichi and Kuramochi are destined to see them like this.
But they don’t look like they’ve done this much before. There’s a sort of innocent clumsiness to the way their noses awkwardly bump and how Miyuki’s eyeglasses tilt sideways on the bridge of his nose because he’s chosen not to take them off. Like this, their formidable team captain looks nearly sinless, Haruichi thinks. Disorderly and rumpled, with the tiptoeing sensitivity of an edgy stray cat – it’s almost hard to believe that this is the same guy who likes to flash those slick, wily smirks on occasion. And Eijun’s not any better: he’s scrunching his eyes up tight, as if he can barely believe that he’s making out with Miyuki Kazuya, but doesn’t actually want to stop.
‘Hyahaha, what the hell is that?!’ bursts out of Kuramochi’s mouth.
It’s hard to tell whether Eijun’s in pain or enjoying himself. Probably both. And Miyuki, eyebrows creased and all, looks like a pretty volatile mixture of indulgent exploration and inexperienced trepidation. They’re kind of stupidly endearing, Haruichi muses, smothering the mild threat of a smile behind his clamped teeth. And totally ridiculous.
Apparently Miyuki thinks so, too, because he slowly pulls back, brushing the flat of his palm against Eijun’s collarbone and frowning. ‘Can you stop that. I can practically feel your crumpled forehead all the way from here.’
Eijun’s eyes slide open, and even with the slightly misty quality in them, his face immediately twists into the most unimpressed scowl. ‘Don’t be a jerk, Miyuki Kazuya.’
‘I’m not,’ Miyuki deadpans. Lean knuckles trail softly across the line of Eijun’s jaw, and he moves forward to give one more kiss, light and delicate and fleeting, to Eijun’s mouth; he follows this with an airy flick to Eijun’s bottom lip with his fingertips, like he’s nonchalantly shooing away a fly. ‘You’re wrinkling your whole face like a prune.’
‘I – that’s—’ Eijun’s fingers fly to his chin in belated defense, and he indignantly jabs a long forefinger to the center of Miyuki’s chest with his other hand, nostrils flaring and gold eyes blazing. ‘You’re a prune!’
At this point, there’s probably no one in the universe other than those two who can suck face and somehow manage to argue like five-year-olds a few seconds later. Come on, Eijun-kun, Haruichi thinks, slanting his mouth dismally.
There’s a subdued, barely-there unease to the way Miyuki shifts his weight, but he gives a calm, bland sniff while staring flatly at Eijun. ‘Is this really that hard to accept.’
‘Yes,’ Eijun bites out like he’s in agony, briefly digging the heels of his palms into the hollows of his eyes. But then a resigned sigh pours out from between his lips, even while his frown’s stubbornly lingering, and he slides his hands over the rise of Miyuki’s shoulders. ‘God, you’re unbelievable. But I don’t do anything that I don’t wanna do.’
The entire surface of Kuramochi’s face creases like an old, used tissue, and Haruichi’s chest cavity unexpectedly prickles with heat and amusement as Eijun leans in to Miyuki and closes the gap between them all over again.
They’re about as subtle as being slapped in the face with a fish: kissing and blatantly discussing kissing right there in the open where members of the baseball team frequently walk to and fro, where any of them can walk past at any time.
But Haruichi supposes that at least the two of them look pretty comfortable doing it, and that probably counts for something.
The dugout is unsettlingly quiet.
Which is maybe an unusual way of putting it, because Eijun’s currently yelling at the top of his lungs.
But Eijun’s the only one making any kind of noise at all, which Haruichi can definitely verify just by taking a few quick glimpses around him. Zono’s shifting restlessly where he’s sitting, fists tightly clenched in his lap and a flush of pink blossoming over the tip of his nose. Kuramochi’s silently hunched over with his elbows on his knees and his face propped up by his hands, brows sourly furrowed. Kanemaru’s staring a little too intensely at the practice game taking place on the field, like he’s trying his best to look anywhere but at whatever’s right in front of his face.
Because Eijun and Miyuki are standing at the forefront of the dugout, casually watching the game; Miyuki’s resting bent knuckles on his hip, and Eijun’s pumping a fist while cheering loudly for his teammates, but they’ve each got a free hand that’s carefully, discreetly reaching out in the thin space between them. And, as if they’ve forgotten that they’re standing in full view of everyone – or maybe it just doesn’t bother them, for whatever reason – their fingers are not only loosely making contact, but are also just barely hooked.
Well, kind of. To be fair, it isn’t actually all that blatant when looked at as a whole, because only their little fingers are touching – feather-light, and barely a touch at all, but comfortably layered and coiled either way, with Eijun’s securely tucked under and Miyuki’s warmly curled over. Two delicate puzzle pieces that fit.
‘Oooh! That’s the way, Furuya!!’ Eijun bellows with gusto, flailing his arm. It’s kind of bizarre, seeing his wild energy bursting out on only one side; his other hand’s seemingly set on staying exactly where it is, soft and easy underneath Miyuki’s own.
Maybe it’s commendable that they’re at least trying to be somewhat subtle, fulfilling a secret craving for contact without outright holding hands. But in any case, it’s clearly having the opposite effect, because judging by the numerous pairs of eyes flickering over occasionally for embarrassed-but-curious glances, as well as the thick curtain of awkward silence hanging through the dugout, nothing in the world can be more obvious than this. After all, it isn’t like subtlety’s ever been close to being Eijun’s forte in the slightest, as far as Haruichi can tell.
‘Kominato, you’re up soon,’ Miyuki says in a level tone, pivoting to look over at Haruichi. Which would be a perfectly authoritative gesture if it weren’t for the fact that he’s only managing to turn partway, because it seems like he’s more than content with keeping his hand exactly where it is, too.
It’s halfway to being comical, in all honesty. Getting close to Eijun must be having an effect on Miyuki, because the lack of subtlety’s pretty obviously rubbing off on him. Unless Eijun’s some type of special case that Miyuki’s never actually had any subtlety at all with, or something like that; Haruichi isn’t even sure at this point.
‘Yes, Captain,’ he answers respectfully, bending long fingers around the curve of his bat and promptly getting onto his feet.
He gives both of them a vague smile as he passes them on his exit from the dugout, and gets raised eyebrows from Miyuki and a confused look from Eijun in reply.
‘… So how come Furuya’s here?’
The prone figure curled up on the ground alongside them squirms a little to get comfortable, as if in reply.
‘Ah,’ says Haruichi in a soft voice. ‘He was looking for a quiet place to nap, so I offered for him to come with me. I hope you don’t mind, Kuramochi-senpai.’
Kuramochi sniffs dully at that, upper lip sloping on one side, and he waves a dismissive hand in Haruichi’s direction.
‘And why are those two idiots always here.’
A thoughtful purse of lips, and Haruichi’s eyes flit beyond the open entrance to the indoor training hall. ‘I guess this is now their favorite place to make out?’
‘Then why are we here.’
‘Because we were here first, senpai,’ Haruichi answers with surprising patience. ‘We’ve always been coming here, so I think it’s fine to stay, even if they’ve started coming here too. We can wait until they leave, or at least stop, before we leave. Just like we always do.’
Kuramochi sucks in a deep, slow breath, and brings tense fingers up to firmly pinch the space between his eyes.
‘We’ve had to watch this for nearly two weeks. Nearly two weeks of them coming here and macking,’ he mumbles. ‘What the hell am I actually doing with my life.’
Furuya lets out a tiny, thin sort-of-snore beside them, and Haruichi flashes his upperclassman a sympathetic look. He knows full well, though, that Kuramochi’s capable of being a stubborn guy and is very likely still here because he secretly doesn’t want to lose a battle of wills by abandoning this spot – his spot. Not that the other side knows they’re even competing.
And Eijun and Miyuki have definitely gotten better. A lot better. There’s an easy, close familiarity to the way Eijun’s fingers tangle in Miyuki’s hair, and the way Miyuki’s hand teases underneath the hem of Eijun’s shirt to scrape blunt nails over Eijun’s skin; the way Eijun sensitively licks into Miyuki’s mouth, and the way Miyuki’s parted lips close around Eijun’s sigh. There’s barely an inch of space between their bodies, hips warmly coming together and Miyuki’s knee faintly nudged between both of Eijun’s own. Haruichi can already tell from a quick glance that there’s some new knowledge in their touch: it’s obvious that they’ve come to memorize each other’s angles, lines, bends. Compared to that first day that they’d come here, they’ve definitely gotten a lot more comfortable together – and brazen.
Not to mention there’s a keen enthusiasm coupled with all of it, resulting in indecently clipped breaths and noisy, wet smacking that’s clearly driving Kuramochi up the wall and making him look like he wants to fling Miyuki through a window. If he doesn’t throw himself through one first.
A muted snuffle drifts up from the general direction of the floor, interrupting that observation – a distraction that’s more than welcome, in all honesty. Kuramochi and Haruichi automatically turn to look at Furuya, who’s blearily stirring awake and blinking several times in a hazy, half-lidded stupor before tilting his head and finally fixing a watery gaze on the spectacle past the open door.
He most likely hasn’t witnessed that particular scene before; Haruichi’s breath catches in his throat, his entire chest tensing with a somewhat perverse anticipation as Furuya takes his time to soak it all in.
‘… Oh,’ Furuya finally murmurs, after a pause. ‘Okay.’
And within seconds, he’s unflappably rolling over, curling himself into a snug ball, and already fast asleep again.
The hall falls silent as he gradually goes still. Well, as silent as it can get with the all the slick, moist kissing happening right outside, anyway.
‘It’s alright, senpai,’ Haruichi suddenly blurts out before he can stop himself. ‘We can’t all have it that easy.’
He doesn’t even try to fight the miniscule smile that quietly slips onto his face when Kuramochi throws him a stony look.
At the end of the day, it’s not like anyone can really deny that there’s still a certain charisma and intelligence and presence underneath Miyuki’s occasional feral grins and questionable personality, so it isn’t particularly strange for heads to turn whenever he walks into any room, almost as if he’s making some kind of entrance. Even now, when there’s relative silence in the communal dining area, it’s noticeable that more than a few people’s attentions are caught effectively enough for them to actually look up the moment he sweeps in through the doorway.
‘Hey, do you have the report ready?’ Miyuki asks coolly with his eyes trained on Nabe, who’s sitting across from Haruichi. For some reason, though, he’s making a beeline for Eijun – who’s seated next to Haruichi – as if it’s the most natural direction for him to go.
‘Ah, yeah,’ Nabe says, setting his chopsticks down. ‘I left it in my room, though. Did you want me to go and get it now?’
‘No, it’s alright. I actually have to go talk to the coach now, so you can meet us when you’re done eating.’ Miyuki reaches a hand over Eijun’s shoulder and into Eijun’s bowl, then, crooning: ‘I’ll just grab—’
Haruichi nearly jumps when Eijun suddenly smacks Miyuki’s fingers, his reflexes lightning-fast.
‘Can you not?’ Eijun complains, mouth coiling into an impressive scowl. ‘Go get your own.’
‘No time,’ Miyuki replies flatly, crinkling the bridge of his nose. ‘Gotta go over some stuff with the coach in a bit. And what are you doing, whacking an upperclassman like that? You sure are rude, refusing to share with your senpai and your captain and your catcher—’
He pauses there, as if whatever he’s just said is already enough to carry some kind of unspoken message across, although Eijun doesn’t seem to take any notice at first, spinning around in his chair to glance sideways at Miyuki while bristling with indignation. His lips push forward and circle out like a stupid fish, clearly on the verge of ejecting some kind of protest – but the moment his eyes land on Miyuki’s, he unexpectedly stops in his tracks.
A small, quiet sliver of air spills out from between the rows of Miyuki’s teeth; he’s watching Eijun with a dusky, heavy-lidded gaze, pupils dilating behind the bright sheen of his eyeglasses.
The following stillness and silence is so dense and heavy that it smothers Haruichi’s lungs, stifles his breathing. Automatic reflex springs to life in his muscles and he finds himself actually leaning away a little, because in all honesty, he’s definitely sitting way too close to them right now. It’s almost unnerving, how the two of them aren’t looking away from each other; the stir and movement of people eating around them slows to nearly a complete stop – Haruichi can hear someone letting out a clumsy cough, can see someone else fidgeting awkwardly at the edge of his frame of vision. Everything considered, Eijun and Miyuki may or may not be having a voiceless conversation right now, but either way, there’s no doubt at all that everyone here can hear it.
Whatever Miyuki’s trying to do actually works, in the end. Eijun’s gaze thins and wrinkles at the corners, and he finally lets out a heated, irritable sigh.
‘I can’t believe you,’ he grumbles, reaching out to fetch a piece of meat from his bowl with his chopsticks. ‘Literally the worst.’
And then, to Haruichi’s surprise, Eijun moves to dangle the food in Miyuki’s direction while balancing an upturned palm underneath it to keep the sauce from dripping onto the floor; all around them, a number of heads lift and turn at the unexpected gesture, too.
In any case, it can never be a good thing when Miyuki looks like he does now, staring at Eijun with an unnervingly calm smile smoothing into one side of his mouth.
He bends over and leans in, skating his wrist over the curve of Eijun’s spine before sedately curling long fingers over the back of Eijun’s chair.
‘That’s generous of you,’ he drawls, sounding almost gleeful and pleased.
Haruichi doesn’t even hear anyone breathing anymore. At this point, the Seidō baseball team’s pretty much been reduced to a thick knot of communal tension, and of course, Miyuki’s not paying it any mind at all. Instead, he tilts himself forward a little more to slowly, carefully fold his mouth around the morsel. Pliant lips softly close over the chopsticks; he takes his time, eyes fully fixed on Eijun’s in a gratified flicker of gold-brown – before he leisurely slides his teeth back along the length of polished wood and finally pulls away.
Who knows if part of it is due to the fact that this is happening only a matter of inches away from Haruichi’s face, really, but it’s hard not to wonder how this isn’t the most unsubtle thing in the whole galaxy. Miyuki may as well tangle his fingers into the front of Eijun’s shirt and throw him onto the table and have his way with him in front of everybody, and it’ll hardly be any different from this.
Eijun’s still wearing that prickly frown like a badge of honor, but a flush of red’s also blooming like roses over the tips of his ears, and a taut curl’s made its way into his bottom lip as though he’s biting down on it inside his mouth. On top of all this, it doesn’t look like he’s breathing any more than anyone else in the room is, either; his chest is swelling full and strained like he’s carrying the weight of his entire life behind his sternum, and his entire face looks generally stretched at the seams.
‘… So, uh,’ a small voice interrupts, polite and hesitant. ‘Did you only want the statistics tonight or … should I bring along the footage that I recorded as well …?’
Somehow, not a single inch of Miyuki’s face changes as he turns to look over at Nabe, almost as if their original conversation hadn’t been broken at all. And presumably, only Haruichi’s positioned at the right angle to be able to see the thumb that Miyuki’s indulgently moving to trace tiny, lazy circles on Eijun’s back – but something about it must be leaking through into his expression anyway, because opposite Eijun, Haruichi can see Kuramochi rolling his eyes so far backward that his head melodramatically tilts and moves together with the motion.
‘It’d be great if we could watch the footage tonight, actually,’ Miyuki replies, sounding more than satisfied. ‘Thanks.’
Out of the blue, another slice of meat’s suddenly waved around under his nose. He blinks in surprise; apparently, he hadn’t actually expected a second offering.
‘Isn’t that your last piece,’ he says matter-of-factly, eyes skimming over Eijun’s empty bowl.
Eijun lets out a childish snort at that. ‘Well, I can’t let my catcher go hungry, can I.’
In some weird way, it’s smooth as hell – maybe one of the smoothest things to ever come out of Eijun’s mouth – and it’s not even being used as a pick-up line.
God, Eijun-kun. Amusement prickles inside Haruichi’s belly and a little smile edges into the line of his mouth, while Kuramochi doesn’t seem to even be trying to stifle the mangled groan bubbling out of his throat.
Soft humor kindles in the earthy flecks of Miyuki’s eyes, and he shakes his head in warm disbelief, murmuring, ‘Just half, then.’
He leans in again, parted lips unfurling into a small, sparkling grin as he delicately bites off a modest piece of the morsel with his front teeth; without wasting any more time, he straightens up after that, chewing meaningfully.
‘Good. I’ll see you in a bit, Nabe,’ he declares with a casual wave, before swiveling on his heel and straight-up leaving, both hands in his pockets and a spring to his step.
When Miyuki’s out of sight, there’s a clear mumble of what the hell just happened somewhere down the table and Eijun releases the biggest sigh that his lungs can manage, loud enough to echo throughout the entire room; there’s no visible shame at all in his face when he shoves what’s left of that piece of meat into his mouth and starts absentmindedly sucking on it, as if everything that’s basically just transpired isn’t illuminating enough already.
Then again, it’s pretty obvious now that those two wouldn’t know how to be subtle even if their lives depended on it.
‘Your pitches were good,’ Miyuki murmurs into Eijun’s jaw.
Eijun angles his lips with interest at that. ‘Just good?’
‘Your control’s been on point lately, so I have no complaints.’
‘Mmm,’ Eijun hums, pleasure coloring his voice. He idly twists his fingers into the back of Miyuki’s shirt, and mumbles: ‘What else.’
Miyuki’s hands shift over Eijun’s thighs, hoisting the other boy a little higher up on his own hips; he warmly leans up to Eijun’s ear to trace his mouth over its ridge, slow, lingering, and feather-light. ‘You should keep your throws fierce like you did today,’ he purrs, low and smooth and serious. ‘That was actually some exemplary work.’
‘God,’ Eijun breathes into Miyuki’s hair, eyes skimming halfway closed like he can’t take much more. ‘Say it again.’
How is Furuya-kun even able to sleep through all of this, Haruichi wonders, calmly glancing sideways at the boy who’s laid out on the floor next to him, curled up and unmoving. Furuya does sleep like the dead, all things considered; but at the same time, Haruichi’s pretty sure that Eijun and Miyuki’s bizarre dirty talk could potentially wake the dead at this rate, too.
‘… Is this some kind of weird fetish,’ Kuramochi deadpans, mouth slack and eyes dull.
Haruichi briefly wrinkles his nose in reply. ‘Eijun-kun always did like compliments. He really, really likes them.’
‘I know all about that moron’s creepy praise kink.’ A distinctly taut and unimpressed scowl knots itself into the slant of Kuramochi’s lips, but otherwise, his facial muscles are drooping as lifelessly as a crumpled, sopping towel. ‘I’m talking about us. As in, why the hell everybody’s here like a goddamn audience when we already knew that that was gonna happen right outside.’
‘You mean you knew,’ Zono corrects him. He’s somewhat rosy, a faint flush staining the whole way down the firm bulk of his throat, and an unnatural stiffness coils at his neck and head, holding them fast in place as though he’s beyond determined not to turn sideways to take a single glimpse at the doorway. It’s too late, though – he’s already been ambushed with a spectacular eyeful, because the moment Eijun and Miyuki had appeared, they hadn’t even bothered wasting any time getting down to it. ‘All Furuya mentioned was that he’s been coming here to nap with you guys, so we decided to come along to have our break, too. He didn’t say a single word about this.’
Furuya answers by releasing a snipped puff of air through his nose in his sleep.
Well, it’s a fair complaint. Nowadays it’s so rare for Haruichi to see that doorway without Eijun and Miyuki through it, like a picture frame enclosing some kind of steamy, sensual art piece, that he thinks he’s probably forgotten what that particular section of wall on the opposite building actually looks like.
Even now, Eijun’s supported by that same portion of wall behind him, balanced up against it with lean legs closely folded up and around Miyuki’s pelvis – they’re pressed nearly flush together, snug and eager enough for Miyuki to indulgently push slender fingertips into Eijun’s thighs, graciously messy in the way his mouth slips and catches on Eijun’s lower lip; he’s warmly, measuredly rolling his hips against Eijun’s, and Eijun’s readily answering him with the keen grinding motion of his own hips and the curling of wiry fingers into Miyuki’s spine. A hum of relish paints the soft sighs tangling between their parted lips, and they’re sliding open-mouthed against each other through the languid movement of their bodies – back and forth, firm and slow, breaths shallow and wavering – to the point where they’re just barely managing to even kiss anymore.
It’s a marvel, how Haruichi’s developed some kind of resistance to this like it’s some kind of bacteria. After all, he can still remember the film of heat that’d cloaked his own face when he’d first seen them exchanging mild, exploratory touches in the locker room.
Now, he’s sure that he wouldn’t even squirm or get flustered if Eijun’s and Miyuki’s pants were to start flying off them right here while they’re practically rubbing up against each other. Almost like he’s grown a thick skin for it. Almost like their lack of discretion’s bled over to him, too.
He sighs at that thought, resigned.
Toujou tilts his head sideways in curiosity, eyes actually fixed on the open doorway, and he skews his mouth. ‘Do you think they ever do this on the field?’
‘Why are we talking about this,’ says Kanemaru thinly, his entire face tightening.
‘—Like, we all play on the field and we’d never know what they’ve done in the places where we’re standing. Maybe they’ve rolled around on home plate while feeling each other up—’
‘Why are we talking about this,’ Kanemaru repeats.
And out of the blue, a sleep-smothered voice from the floor mutters: ‘… Yeah, they have done that.’
Furuya’s all low-lidded and bleary with drowsiness, but he’s clearly dead lucid and awake and dimly eyeing Toujou with a composed, steady gaze like he knows exactly what he’s talking about. Like he knows exactly what he’s seen.
Everyone in the training hall stares at him.
Supple leather creaks and displaced air shifts behind him; when Haruichi turns, he’s greeted with the sight of Miyuki leaning as far forward as he can in his crouched pose, staring at the section of earth in front of him, eyes narrowing with focused suspicion.
‘Something wrong, Miyuki-senpai?’ Haruichi asks modestly, fingers loosening from around the circle of his bat.
At first, the only reply he gets is a heavy silence. After a while, though, Miyuki eventually pulls back and resets into his usual position, calmly shaking his head. ‘Just that people are acting like they have something on their shoe when they touch home, so I thought the plate might’ve been dirty or whatever. Never mind.’
Zono’s off gazing uneasily at his feet while half-smiling about his successful run; the resulting expression is an interesting mishmash that makes him look uncomfortably pleased. Haruichi offers Miyuki a delicate look in response, lips quirking at the edges, and simply shrugs.
‘Oi! Miyuki Kazuya!!’
The unexpected bellow booms so thunderously in the otherwise fairly quiet field that Haruichi’s ears nearly ring with an echo. But that’s really nothing new, where Eijun’s concerned; he’s standing straight-backed over at the mound, feet spread evenly apart and cheeks passionately hollowed out, flapping both arms wildly in his effort to catch Miyuki’s attention.
‘You remember when we were here last week?!’ he yells with enthusiasm. ‘When we – you know—’
‘Moron. Of course I remember,’ Miyuki loudly calls back from the catcher’s box, forehead wrinkling marginally as if in afterthought. ‘What’s your point.’
It takes a moment or two before their words sink in, but when Haruichi finally gets it, he can barely stop his face from sagging faster than a wilting lettuce. He’s here, at-bat, and those two are actually, literally yelling at each other across the diamond. Yelling at the top of their lungs, at a volume where pretty much everyone can hear everything they’re saying. Yelling, presumably, about their not-so-secret erotic tumble on home plate that half the team already knows about by now, thanks to Furuya. And Haruichi’s standing in between them while this unabashed conversation is happening, like it’s some kind of divine punishment.
In the distance, he can see an expressionless Kuramochi plonking his baseball mitt straight onto his face like he’s suddenly lost all ability to feel anything anymore.
‘Just the way people are acting today,’ shouts Eijun energetically, his full, robust voice reverberating in the air. ‘Do you think somebody saw—’
‘Sawamura, there’s such a thing as discretion, you know,’ Miyuki outright says, interrupting him with a surprising degree of patience. ‘Control yourself. Do you not know subtlety?’
Haruichi doesn’t even realize that he’s giving his captain a flat, dead stare until his gaze is returned with a somewhat puzzled look.
‘Holy—’ a strangled voice says somewhere outside, in the distance.
Haruichi’s halfway through biting into a rice ball, and Kuramochi’s in the middle of playing with his phone; as soon as the sudden exclamation rings out, though, they both look up, their eyes automatically darting through the open doorway of the training hall.
Eijun and Miyuki are right outside, jeans unfastened midway, still happily necking and stroking with all the fervent gusto of two teenage boys who can’t even get their hands off each other long enough to be aware of what’s going on around them, so apparently neither of them have heard anything. Either that, or they don’t care.
There’s a brief, strained pause before Haruichi hears the faint scraping of light footfalls quickly getting the heck out of there, and fading away.
He never does find out who the mystery person is, but the next morning, Nori has bloodshot, shriveled, sleep-deprived eyes to accompany the docile lost lamb look that he’s unexpectedly wearing on his face – so he has a pretty good guess.
With how woefully Eijun ends up wailing at Kuramochi when he’s told to go get drinks for all the upperclassmen, anyone would think that he’s being banished from the dorm for all eternity.
It’s somewhat understandable, though, because he looks really comfortable where he is, curled up near the corner of the room. He and Miyuki aren’t touching at all, but they have been sitting closely side-by-side the whole evening, all relaxed and content in the way that they’re seated lazily against the wall together, long legs bent in front of them with soft ease, half-watching the movie that’s been put on while trading good-humored comments about it in hushed, intimate murmurs. So of course, the moment that Eijun and Haruichi are instructed to go to the vending machine, Eijun doesn’t even hesitate to complain, even when the objections are falling on deaf ears.
Haruichi doesn’t miss the juvenile pout of reluctance or the lingering gaze that Eijun momentarily shares with Miyuki when they finally leave the room in obedience.
‘Ah, now we’re gonna miss a chunk of the movie,’ Eijun groans with enough gusto to fill up the evening silence, smothering the light scuff of both of their footsteps against the concrete path. Which is typical of him, really; Eijun wouldn’t be Eijun if he weren’t as noisy as ever, at the end of the day.
‘I’ve seen it. I watched it with aniki over the break. I can fill you in on what happens,’ Haruichi offers mildly.
Apparently, it doesn’t take much to bring a sulking Eijun back into a flurry of good cheer. His mouth stretches to its full length on his face, smoothly unrolling sideways into a wide, sunny grin, and he exclaims, ‘As expected of Harucchi! So reliable.’
And in all honesty, that’s typical of him, too. Haruichi knows that that’s just the way he is: always perfectly honest, and the type to wear his heart on his sleeve. For the most part, Haruichi’s aware that Eijun’s feelings are hardly ever cloaked, and that he expresses pretty much everything – openly, loudly, and as truthfully as if he’s stripping the cover of his own skin away. Funnily enough, it’s probably one of his more charming qualities. And it’s most likely the exact reason why he hasn’t got a discreet bone in his body, everything considered.
‘So hey, Eijun-kun. You and Miyuki-senpai seemed … close in there,’ Haruichi says, letting the obvious question simmer unspoken. It’s probably a topic best approached carefully, anyway.
Eijun pauses curiously without giving any kind of pronounced reaction. In fact, judging by his suddenly glassy expression, he probably doesn’t have a simple or straightforward answer to that at all, which is kind of a surprise to see.
After a brief moment, Eijun seems to steel himself, squaring his shoulders and taking in a deep breath.
‘You know, Harucchi,’ he starts with an earnest gleam to his eyes. ‘What would you reckon if—’
He abruptly stops there, as if his mouth’s gone dry and his lips can’t really find or form the words. An interesting look of childlike contemplation swells over his face, almost like he’s trying to put his thoughts together, like his mind’s slowly grinding into movement; but after a moment, he ultimately seems to think better of it, shaking his head eagerly enough to send dark locks of hair sweeping across the tips of his ears.
‘… Actually, I’m not sure what I’m saying. It’s okay. Never mind.’
Haruichi tactfully doesn’t press the matter further.
Although their conversation’s probably managed to start some gears turning either way, because Eijun and Miyuki end up emerging from the bullpen with their arms casually slung around each other after practice has finished the next day, looking more than comfortable and happily discussing Eijun’s pitches in warm, mellow voices. And it’s never been strange to see Miyuki invading Eijun’s personal space – throwing a leisurely arm around Eijun’s shoulders like he’s doing now, or laying a firm and steady hand on Eijun’s forearm in encouragement, or giving a light, approving pat to Eijun’s back – but it is somewhat unusual to see Eijun good-naturedly returning the gesture for once, his own arm idly encircling Miyuki’s waist without so much as a hint of his usual protest.
‘Must be nice for such a great battery to end up being so close,’ Kariba says with offhand appreciation, beaming colorfully at them.
Eijun and Miyuki visibly stop in their tracks at that comment, which is kind of understandable – at least in Eijun’s case. After all, it’s that same word, and almost the same thing that Haruichi himself had openly insinuated the night before. The edges of Haruichi’s ears tingle with heat as Eijun turns to stare at him, but he chews discreetly on his tongue as he stares back, straightening his spine and saying nothing in reply.
‘Ah – is that so?’ Eijun finally manages, looking glossy-eyed and slightly open-mouthed; in some way, he suddenly looks young and innocent and sharply aware. Next to him, Miyuki’s face is perfectly impassive – a near-flawless blank slate – but his pointed expression is as keen and thoughtful as his usual intelligence, and there’s a telltale tautness pulling at the soft line of his mouth, too.
And just like that, it’s almost like the arms that they’ve securely draped around each other are somehow carrying a little more weight than before. As if some sort of revelation’s slid home, maybe, with as much fluid grace as any player on their team can run with.
Well then, Haruichi thinks, cocking an eyebrow.
Of course, the result of that apparent epiphany can only be as absurd as a nearly-naked Haruichi creeping around just a paper-thin distance away from Eijun and Miyuki, both of whom are also basically close to naked, because that’s apparently how fate works out these days. Not that he would’ve expected anything that’s less wildly ridiculous, considering everything else that’s happened.
And it’s hard for him not to wonder if he’s now got some kind of weird animal instinct that can just tell whenever Eijun and Miyuki are up to their usual nonsense, because that evening, he’d been the first one to get to the communal bath after the team’s extended practice; but when he’d heard the familiar pair of calm, cozy voices approaching behind him, his first knee-jerk reaction had been to quickly duck out of sight. True to their usual form of having no grasp on the concept of discretion at all, Eijun and Miyuki hadn’t so much as hesitated to start openly chatting in front of the doors of the bathing area with barely a crack of space between them and nothing on their bodies except for the towels around their waists, despite the fact that almost everyone else from the team’s about to come by any minute to join them for a bath.
Even then, Haruichi’s the one who feels like some kind of pervert, watching them from a secret nook nearby with only his cotton boxer shorts to cover him up and his towel dangling uselessly from his hand. Although technically speaking, it’s not like he doesn’t already know more or less every detail of whatever Eijun and Miyuki’s relationship is by now.
Eijun rubs the back of his head, wrinkling his nose meaningfully for a moment, before mumbling: ‘Hey, so I had a conversation with Harucchi the other day that got me thinking.’
… Don’t tell me they’re doing this right now, Haruichi realizes, his eyes growing wide.
It’s definitely a private conversation that he really shouldn’t be here for, and he knows it. But his feet suddenly feel as foreign to him as if they’ve turned into cloven hooves; all his bones and muscles are frozen in place, and there isn’t an inch of him that’s able to move.
‘Just, you know, we’ve been doing – well, this, for nearly two months or something. And …’
Miyuki doesn’t say anything, staring at Eijun and clearly waiting with patience. But Eijun pouts in a look of clueless confusion, almost as if he isn’t exactly sure how to arrange his thoughts in a way that sounds right. After a while, though, he seems to give up, letting out a sigh of obvious surrender.
‘I don’t know, I’m not good with words,’ he admits, tilting his mouth with displeasure. He shifts closer, fingertips hovering tentatively over the delicate line of Miyuki’s wrist, and continues: ‘I guess I’m trying to say that I was just wondering—’
‘If this,’ Miyuki evenly cuts in, nonchalantly flapping a hand back and forth between them, ‘is all there is to it?’
Oh. Oh, they really are doing this right now.
There’s a barely-there flutter to the lilt of Miyuki’s words, which is a bit unexpected, coming from him. Because it’s almost like he’s tamely returning the question – and almost like he’s actually nervous.
Whatever the case may be, though, it’s enough for Haruichi’s breath to abruptly snag in his lungs.
Nothing comes from Eijun other than silence: a strangely passive, accepting kind of silence rather than a restless one, although the line of his jaw’s noticeably set in place, rigid and unmoving. Miyuki gives a disbelieving sniff, then, but there’s an unusual softness to his eyes that Haruichi’s rarely seen from him before, a look that maybe has some degree of vulnerability to it. He raps the back of his knuckles casually against Eijun’s chest – a gesture that Haruichi knows is comfortably familiar for Eijun – before finally murmuring, ‘Was it ever all there is?’
Sure, it’s not a blunt answer. The two of them and their whole conversation’s been surprisingly placid and reserved, considering their subtlety these days is more or less on the same level as getting hit by a fastball in the face. But there’s something about the way that Miyuki’s just said the words that has Haruichi’s heart unexpectedly soaring. His trapped breath comes loose, comes free, comes streaming out of his lips; tender awe curls between the gaps of his ribs, and his mouth bends with amusement before he can help it.
Unbelievable. Good for you, Eijun-kun.
Eijun apparently understands exactly what Miyuki’s saying, too, because his face suddenly slackens with subdued euphoria and his eyes circle out, hot and gold and summery, glimmering with relief. Sudden merriment and gladness swells over his cheeks, and he says: ‘So it’s meant more to you than just this, then.’
‘What a dumb question,’ Miyuki deadpans. ‘You really think I’d willingly make out with an idiot like you all this time, for weeks on end, if it was nothing?’
There’s no real bite to that comment, but Eijun doesn’t seem to notice, because a scowl’s already crossing his mouth and he’s instantly geared up to argue. ‘Hey! That’s—’
‘—And what about you,’ Miyuki interrupts, voice thin and uneven at the edges. A high-strung hesitation that’s hardly noticeable at all, but not completely undetectable; his expression’s as cool and unruffled as ever, but he’s been under Haruichi’s gaze often enough lately for it to be pretty obvious when something isn’t exactly the way it usually is. Whatever sheer, fragile mask of stony indifference he’s wearing right now, there have definitely been heavier situations where he’s seemed more composed and collected than this.
Eijun shakes his head incredulously at that, looking comically unimpressed. ‘Stupid. Why do you think I asked? Obviously I feel the same way. Which is incredible, seeing as you’re a jerk.’
‘That last part was totally unnecessary.’
‘Says the guy who just called me an idiot.’
Miyuki rolls his eyes purposefully in reply. ‘I suppose we’re even.’
Even with the snark in the sentiment, the winding tension in Miyuki’s posture is already gradually thawing, and Eijun’s face is starting to relax too, his eyes softly locked onto Miyuki’s. Two sets of discreet hands reach forward just barely, knuckles grazing against knuckles, fingers nudging between fingers until they’re languidly interlaced; both Eijun and Miyuki are still unsmiling, but the hidden pleasure subtly pulling at the corners of their lips and the unsaid mirth dusting across their cheekbones can’t be more clear.
They draw themselves in, closing the remaining distance between them, eyelids slowly skimming to a close – and the tips of their noses faintly, briefly touch, before they shift just enough to gently press their foreheads together, quiet and warm and content.
That drives Haruichi into movement. His arms and legs heave, quickly springing to life, and he sneaks away on his toes without another moment’s delay; they may have looked pretty silly doing it in nothing but towels, but after confessing to each other like that, Eijun and Miyuki most definitely deserve some privacy. Which is nearly laughable considering that they’ve proven themselves to be the least subtle people in the world anyway, and in terms of private moments between them, Haruichi’s seen a lot worse than this.
Now he just needs to figure out how and when he’s actually going to have his bath.
‘Harucchi.’
The thing is, people always get the initial impression that Haruichi’s generally modest and reserved. And to some extent, they’re not totally wrong. But it doesn’t mean that he’s isolated from everything, because as far as he knows, it’s always the quiet ones that stand back and end up seeing. Although maybe this is a special case, considering the two guys that he’s unwittingly ended up observing all this time don’t know the meaning of subtlety anyway.
Besides which, it’s obvious to him that happiness is a picture that’s vivid enough for even the blind to see. For Eijun, it’s the lively pink blooming over his cheekbones, the singsong undertone sparkling in his voice, and the vibrant, tremulous energy in his footsteps. For Miyuki, it’s the unusually unguarded contentment in his gaze, the easy relaxation in his gait, and the barely-there traces of his dim, crooked almost-smile.
And it’s the slightest brush of the back of their palms as the two of them walk together; the slow, near-reluctant separation of that contact; and the lingering look that they give each other as they finally part.
Miyuki gives Haruichi a succinct nod of greeting before he leaves, which Haruichi respectfully returns; Eijun, on the other hand, grins and comes to a stop by Haruichi’s side.
‘Welll, you certainly look cheerful today,’ says Haruichi, intrigued.
‘Do I?’ Eijun asks, glancing sunnily at him. ‘Hmm, maybe. I have a secret to tell you.’
‘Yeah?’
They’ve barely even started this conversation, and it’s already getting interesting. Haruichi raises his eyebrows, mildly curious.
‘You know that movie night? The one where we were getting the drinks and chatting. And, like … I guess things hadn’t really come together yet at that time, which is why I wasn’t totally sure how to say stuff.’
Haruichi hums in confirmation, giving a single patient nod. His mouth twitches in vague fascination; he already has an idea of where this may be going.
‘But everything’s been worked out now!’ Eijun continues, with a strong, steady glare and an enthusiastic pump of a fist. ‘I’ve been talking to Miyuki-senpai about this for the past week, and he was okay with me telling you first. We’re kind of just testing the waters, or whatever, before sharing this with other people. No one knows about this, you know! Maybe we’ve gotten really good at being subtle.’
Subtle? There’s basically not a single person left on the team who hasn’t caught wind of it, Haruichi thinks; on top of that, it’s astonishingly lucky as it is that teachers hardly ever walk past the indoor training hall. But all in all, it’s okay. That conversation and any friendly advice that comes with it can easily be left for another time. Eijun and Miyuki may be the textbook definition of unsubtle, but there’s definitely a guiltlessness and simplicity to everything they’ve done that’s always left them looking happy and content, either way. That’s all that matters, huh.
‘Okay, here goes,’ Eijun starts; he takes his time, pulling in a deep, long, unhurried breath, like he’s working up to something big. ‘I know that this is pretty gross, considering we’re talking about Miyuki-senpai here—’
Haruichi leans forward and cranes his neck, spine taut with breathless anticipation.
‘—But for some reason I can’t even explain, we … basically like each other a lot? And yeah, I mean that kind of like! We’ve more or less been stumbling through it together for a couple of months, I guess,’ Eijun admits outright. He pauses for a moment after that – to properly collect himself, maybe – before pushing a sharp sliver of air through bared teeth, his yellow eyes loud and fire-lit with determination. ‘So, we’re actually together now. As in, for real going out.’
The revelation is so openly bold and frank that Haruichi legitimately has to take a few moments of silence to allow it to absorb. Eijun proceeds to fix a hot stare on him in the meantime, clearly eager for a response, his gaze firm and fiery and brimming with all the resolve that’s quivering across his skin.
Slowly, Haruichi’s mouth curves, genuinely warm and pleasantly amused.
‘Wow, Eijun-kun,’ he replies. ‘I had no idea.’