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prettyiwa · 1 year

Text

I do not authorize the translation or reposting of my work.

(previous) Relationship: Miyuki Kazuya x F!Reader Rating: SFW Content Tags: POV Miyuki Kazuya, Childhood Best Friends to Lovers, Soulmates (if you squint), Brief Mention of Grief, Adolescent Teasing, Light Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hints of Jealousy, One (1) Instance of Profanity (guys, it's me.), Concerned Miyukis (Toku makes an appearance), the Author Has Unrealistic Expectations About Seating on Public Transit, Reference to Kazuya's Name Etymology Summary: What are best friends for if not dragging into playing catch or forcing to model for your art? Word Count: 3,100

A/N: Let me know if you'd like to be tagged for future updates. I cannot promise a timeline/schedule for when they'll be published, but the option's there if you want it.

@tyga-lily, @no1frogfan, @bajiissofine (since you'll be reading the first in a bit)

He forgets how old both of you were, but it was around the time you were learning how to ride a bike. It was you who went first, terrified and unable to find your words. Absolutely petrified. Maybe your nerves carried over but he remembers feeling antsy, too. All he really knows is, you started calming down when he ran alongside the bike—as fast as he could, anyway. He shouted at you and you heard him clearly, despite high emotions and adrenaline.

I’m right beside you.

When it was his turn, you said the same thing.

Age 13 (Almost 14) | August 23

With the exception of you sitting on the benches next to his bag, Kazuya’s alone on the practice grounds. The upperclassmen left a while ago, uninterested in bettering themselves beyond regular practice, and the players in his year left not too long after. Adults still hover at the top of the hill, chatting with one another before they’ll eventually head home, taking the remaining teammates with them, but he’s not counting on them. They aren’t gonna help him keep practicing, so he’s not worried about them. It makes things difficult, but not impossible.

You’re here, so it’s definitely not impossible.

Kazuya approaches you, calling your name, unable to stop his grin from growing. You look up from your sketchbook with a smile of your own, but it drops the moment he tosses the ball into the air. By the time he’s caught it, your smile has turned into a frown and your nose is back in your book.

“C’mon. Just ten more minutes. Play with me for ten minutes.”

“I don’t want to play with you for ten more minutes because it’s never just ten minutes.”

“Okay… what do you want to do, then? Can’t be as fun as playing baseball.” He knows what you’d rather be doing, you art nerd, but he’ll ask anyway.

“I’d rather be drawing.”

“Ha! I knew it, art nerd!”

Your brows scrunch together and he can almost hear you call him baseball geek before his coach calls out to you both, interrupting whatever you were gonna say.

“Hey! Are you kids coming along? It won’t be light out for much longer.”

That catches your attention, making you jump to your feet to address him. Offering a slight bow, you call out, “We’ll be okay to travel alone.” Kazuya’s smirk grows again, knowing you’d only say that if you planned on helping him anyway. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t push himself too hard. Thank you!”

Coach seems satisfied, but Namikawa’s dad isn’t.

“What about your mothers? Won’t they worry?”

Even though it’s supposed to be hot, late summer, it feels cold. Kazuya looks at you and notices the way you freeze up. Coach leans over and Kazuya knows what he’s saying, even without hearing it. Your shared reality for the last six years, but it bothers you a whole lot more than it bothers him.

Your grip around your sketchbook tightens and his smile is gone when he shouts back, “We’re fine. My dad knows where we are. You guys shouldn't wait for us.”

“Kazuya, you’re being kinda rude,” you mutter, turning to face him. He doesn’t like the way your smile’s disappeared.

“I don’t care about that.”

Coach doesn’t either, it looks like, because he bids you both good evening, reminding Kazuya that practice starts later tomorrow.

You return to your spot on the bench and he stands there a bit longer, wondering why people have to make things into something they’re not. What would it have mattered what your guys’ moms think? It doesn’t since they don’t. Glancing your way, he sees that you’re still frowning and he remembers it’s always been a little harder on you, especially since your dad won’t do anything to help, but there’s not a whole lot he can do about that.

Tossing the ball into the air, he catches it, again and again, higher and higher each time.

“Stop moving so much.”

He catches the ball once more, looking over at you, watching him from just atop your sketchbook. Again.

“I can’t stop moving,” he says, tossing the ball up, up, up. “I’m practicing.”

“You don’t even have to practice right now. You did that for three hours already. It’s just you.”

You’re still moping, so he decides to goad you, just a bit. “This’ll go faster if you pick up the ball and help.”

Glaring at him, you scoff. “How could that possibly help?”

“If I get used to your crappy and wild pitches, I’ll be able to catch anything.”

That does it. His smile returns in full when you close your sketchbook and almost slam it down beside you, looking like you want to fight.

“I’m going to end you, baseball geek.”

He can’t contain his laughter, not when your pride prevents you from taking any slight lying down. “Practice with me and then you can sketch all you want.”

“Alright. Fine. Jackass.”

He laughs again as you start to warm up your shoulder, but your scowl only deepens. He knows that once you get going, you’ll actually enjoy playing with him—getting you to start is always the hard part. He doesn’t understand why, especially since it didn’t use to be like this. You used to enjoy playing with him and do it willingly. But things change, he supposes. Like what Akari said yesterday (though he’s pretty sure she only said it to annoy Kazuya). Her comment festers and he tries to remember how you reacted and it’s enough for him to laugh again.

“So vulgar! How do you expect to make other friends or find a boyfriend with a mouth like that?!”

For a couple of minutes you don’t say anything, focusing on warming up while shooting him a withering glare once or twice. You raise your hand to ask for the ball, catching it without flinching or looking away and it makes him excited.

“I make friends fine.” There’s a crawling under his skin when you say that, a light itch that doesn’t really go anywhere. He opens and closes his mitt, hoping you’ll throw your first pitch and he can forget about it. “No one would even want me to be their girlfriend so long as you’re around.”

Or not. You could say that and the itching could get worse and it could feel like something heavy’s twisting his stomach. The dropping in his chest reminds him of those dreams he sometimes has where he’s falling.

He shouldn’t have asked.

You throw your first pitch with more control than you usually exhibit. He doesn’t have a retort or a compliment to offer and he thinks he can hear Akari laughing at him. “So what? You want me to stop hanging around as much?”

You catch the ball he throws your way and he can tell that, at the very least, you aren’t upset at the question about your mom anymore. He sees it in your eyes as you wind up—you don’t even have to say it. He hears you clearly simply by being the person to catch your pitches. Harder than you usually do and with better aim than you usually have. Maybe his comments went too far this time.

Waiting until you have the ball again, you answer before you throw. “No. I’d rather be friends with you than have some boyfriend.”

It’s like you’re spitting the word, like it’s the worst insult he could’ve thrown your way, but he doesn’t care. That twisting stops and the itching does, too. The way the ball nestles into his mitt tells him you’re still mad, but it’s hard to focus on that because his heart stops completely, turning him cold before burning him up. Heat spreads across his face and he feels dumbfounded until you call out to him, expecting the ball.

Throughout the rest of your practice, you don’t say much more, letting your pitches speak for you. That’s fine—your words won’t stop replaying in his ears anyway. All in all, he shouldn’t push you. You’re not an actual pitcher, despite the promise you show and the way the girl’s team would probably love to have you. It’s getting dark but he likes this.

He likes playing like this with you. No matter how much of a fuss you make, you always end up having fun, too. He likes that he can understand you perfectly when you throw the ball his way. It reminds him of when things were a little bit easier. The natural light is running out and you complain that you’re getting hungry, meaning he can’t keep this up much longer.

The distance between the field and the bus stop seems shorter than usual, filled with him trying to get you to admit you had fun, no different from any other time you two do this. He gets nothing but non-answers and he knows you’re still annoyed with him, so it’s no surprise when you pull out your sketchbook the moment you two are seated on the bus.

At first, you don’t mind when he leans on you, looking over your shoulder as you touch up what you had been working on earlier. Most of the pages are filled with him, but he spots his teammates there as well. The bus continues on its route and gradually empties as it always does around this spot at this time of night and you push him away.

“Hey, what’s that for?”

“Shut it. I want to draw you. You said I could.”

He sighs, giving up whatever fight he planned on giving. It’s not the worst thing ever and he kinda likes the attention you give him, especially since it means you won’t be angry with him for as long. As you try to steady the pages, you end up lowering your sketchbook and he gets caught on the fact that you’re using the purple pencil again. You always seem to use it when you draw him, but he can see Namikawa and his coach in orange and red at the bottom of the page, just beneath your hand.

“You always draw me in purple, but you draw Namikawa in orange.”

“Okay?”

You don’t stop sketching, only looking up for reference. He knows that look—like you’re not only seeing him, but seeing through him. Sometimes he hates that look, but he imagines it can’t feel that much different when you sit at his games and practices.

“Why?”

“Why…? Why do I draw you using purple?” Your brows scrunch together and your tongue peeks out as you try to get the lines just right.

“Yeah. Why not orange or red?”

“Because you’re not.”

“I’m not what?”

“You’re not orange or red. You’re purple.” Spoken like the truth. Something known, like the depth of the Mariana Trench being over 11,000 meters or that the sun will always set and that he’ll seek out baseball when it rises again or that you’ll call his name and he’ll come running. Kazuya doesn’t quite understand how you’ve made this your truth.

As if you can feel his confusion, you look up, properly. Your face relaxes and you tilt your head back before saying, “You’ve always been purple. Does it really bother you?”

Again, you say it like it’s a fact.

But he considers your question and comes to the conclusion that it doesn’t bother him. Not really. “I guess not.”

Nodding before returning to the page, you take a moment before speaking again. “Kazuya, I don’t remember asking since we were kids.”

“Asking what?”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Oh.”

What a silly question, but you’re an artist, so it makes sense that you’d ask him something like that. While he thinks, wondering whether he even has a favorite color, you grab his chin and move back into position.

“Uh, I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.”

“What about orange?”

It’s a nice color. Reminds him of summer and how hot it gets and how much fun he has. It reminds him of you a little bit. “I like it. It’s warm.”

“It is. It’s connected to sunshine and happiness.”

“No kidding? What about red?” He likes that, too, but it’s everywhere. Not that it’s a bad thing, but there has to be a reason for that.

You hum, tilting your head to the side before answering. “Protection and strength, I think.”

“What about purple?”

Why do you think he’s always been purple?

“Well… it was hard to get, for dye and paint and stuff, so only royalty and people at the top had access to it—”

He laughs and you pull him into position again. “What, so you think I’m some kind of royal?”

It’s your turn to laugh, and it’s the infectious kind that drags him in, too. Your pencil pauses for a moment and you look at him. “No, you idiot. Maybe it’s because of your name or because you’re jersey number two on the field. I don’t know. I mean, I can’t think of anyone who’s all that better at catching than you.”

There’s a catcher that comes to mind, but he can’t be bothered to think of him when you give a compliment like that. Even if you tell him you don’t know a thing about baseball (which is an absolute lie) and you tell him that your opinion on the sport shouldn’t matter, it does. You continue your thought and he’s unable to put away his cheeky smile.

“I read somewhere that purple sometimes means strength and drive. I don’t know. That all seems like you.”

“I suppose so.” You return his smile before gently closing your sketchbook, denying him the opportunity to see how much progress you’ve made. The bus comes to a stop and he follows you off it, happy when you take a moment to wait for him instead of just going ahead. “So… what’s your favorite color?”

You glance in his direction before taking a step in the direction of home. “Purple.”

“Oh, so you draw me purple because it’s your favorite color and I’m your favorite person.”

“No!” He snickers at your reaction, at the playful way you push his shoulder, glad to have pushed the right button at least once today. “Purple’s my favorite color because I’m always drawing you and you’ve always been purple.”

His words die on his tongue and he can’t tell why. He wants to respond (maybe tease you some more) but he can’t find any words. A smirk forms on your lips, happy that he’s being quiet. The two of you walk in silence for a couple minutes and it’s not until you’re a block away from home do you turn to him with that smile that means you’re up to no good.

“Y’know… Tanaka-sensei was complaining that sometimes purple can be really difficult to print. Maybe that’s why you’re purple. You’re just difficult.”

“Seriously?”

Your laughter echoes down the street before you skip in front of him, stopping in front of his house as he catches up.

“Hey, don’t you wanna stay and eat? I don’t think your dad’ll have anything at home.”

“Nah, that’s why I have to get home. I might need to make something.” You say that, but you glance toward the lights that are still on in the factory.

“You’re going to end up poisoning you both. Just stay and eat with us. It won’t take too long.”

“I shouldn’t.” Even though it looks like you want to.

He can try once more—

“How else are you supposed to finish your drawing?”

A smile appears on your face, nice and wide and one he only sees when you’re really happy with him. “Seriously? You’d sit still for me?”

“Yeah!” If it gets you some proper food tonight, yeah.

You bite your bottom lip, chewing on it while you think. “Could you do that tomorrow? I gotta make sure he’s good.”

That feeling in his chest gets smaller and his smile feels heavier, but he still makes it come. “Yeah, I’ll do it tomorrow.”

The light inside the factory turns off and you both turn as the metal doors shut, bringing Dad and Kusaga outside. After locking the doors, Dad catches sight of you both, walking forward after wishing Kusaga a good night.

“You two are out late. Did Kazuya keep you at practice again?”

“Nope! He was helping me with my art today.”

Dad gives him a look that tells him he knows better, but he simply asks you, “Can I take a look?”

Flipping through the pages, you land on the ones of today, bringing it to him. “This is what I was able to do while he was practicing, but this is what he helped me with after.”

Dad takes a moment to look through your sketches, the same ones Kazuya peeked at earlier. You never let him see how far you got with the sketch from the bus and it bothers him a little that Dad gets to see it first. But you’re trying to save him from another lecture about keeping you out too late, so he’ll leave it alone.

“You’ve improved quite a bit.”

“Thank you! I’ve been working at it as hard as Kazuya’s been working on baseball, I think. I can’t let him be the only one with talent here.” Dad laughs but that doesn’t stop your smile from starting to slip away. “I should start heading home. Dad’s waiting for me.”

His dad looks at him briefly before turning to you. Part of him hopes he’ll invite you to stay for dinner because you suck at telling parents no, but a larger part of him knows that Dad wouldn’t do that.

“You good to travel alone? Kazuya and I could walk you.”

“No, it’s okay. Thank you for offering!”

“Alright. Tell your dad I said hi.”

You wave to them both as you continue heading down the street, turning away without much of a smile. Dad turns to him again but, before he can say anything, Kazuya speaks up.

“Can I walk her home anyway?” He thinks about it for a moment, glancing the way you’re going, and Kazuya adds, “It’s just around the corner.”

That seems to do the trick and Dad extends his hand, gesturing to Kazuya’s bag. “That’ll be fine. I’ll get started on dinner.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Kazuya doesn’t give him any time to respond, hurrying after you like you had called. Even if you didn’t call his name, he’s sure he heard it anyway.

Promises We Exchanged Fic Page | Daiya no Ace Masterlist | Next

#miyuki kazuya x reader #miyuki x reader #daiya no ace x reader #ace of diamond x reader #daiya x reader #✒.ix writes #✒.promises we exchanged #pwe #Miyuki Toku deserves more love and I will be busting him out in as many Kazuya stories as I can〜#I have the following part about a third of the way done but it's... a bit more time consuming so we'll see how this goes down #this won't appear on AO3 until I have Part I finished so for now it's a tumblr exclusive #daiya.✒#the boy

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prettyiwa · 11 months

Text

I do not authorize the translation or reposting of my work.

(previous) Relationship: Miyuki Kazuya x F!Reader Rating: SFW Content Tags: Primarily POV Miyuki Kazuya, Childhood Best Friends to Lovers, Soulmates (if you squint), Minor Character Death, Descriptions of Grief & Mourning, Descriptions of Anxiety, Mentions of Alcoholism (not Miyuki & not reader), Mentions of a Less-Than Stellar Home Life (not as bad as it sounds), Hints of Light Insecurity, Reader Smokes, Profanity, Undefined Something More, Miyuki Toku!! Summary: Caught in transition, waiting between graduation and starting with the Yomiuri Giants, Kazuya didn't expect for it to feel like everything's been shifted two inches to the left, you included. Word Count: 7270

A/N: I honestly don't know why it took this long to get this chapter out. HUGE thank you to Lily for beta-ing. Dunno where I'd be without you, but certainly not here. Lemme know if you wish to be tagged for future updates because I am no good with schedules!

@tyga-lily, @no1frogfan, @miyukiissofine, @princesskazuya, @ceenthesis

Roughly ninety minutes after it happened, you were both pulled from class. The counselors tried explaining to you and Kazuya what happened while the principal stood behind them. Neither you nor Kazuya could comprehend the truth of it, but you both felt the irrevocable shifting of your worlds nonetheless. Your father arrived for you both, picking up two seven-year-olds without acknowledging the crumbling of your foundation until you were both left without the ground beneath your feet.

Afterward, Kazuya was angry at everything while you couldn’t find your voice. Your dad started drinking and his dad didn’t know what to do. For a while, you hoped you would stay with the Miyukis. There’d be food and you’d have Kazuya. It seemed that way, until your dad got his shit together just enough for you to go back and for you both to avoid the guidance office.

The counselors at school didn’t help—their patience was tested when you wouldn’t speak and their nerves were frayed after meeting with Kazuya. The teachers tried helping, but they never quite understood. Another two months before you spoke again, only ever to Kazuya, only ever after school, and only ever when it was just you two.

You think it may have been that underlying constant in your life, one that remains to this day: you only feel safe and comfortable around him. And for him? Well, who knows. You think he may have appreciated that you already understood. Whatever it was, things got easier when you two started leaning on each other.

Even if you couldn’t put it to words then, you promised you’d always listen to whatever it was he had to say.

Age 18 | March 15

His phone buzzes again on the counter, flashing with the notification of yet another message. Before he can internally chastise himself for having brought it, he receives another two, one interrupting the other. If his hands weren’t busy washing dishes, he’d turn off the device, but since he can’t, he’s left bemoaning whoever’s on the other end.

Kuramochi and Zono might still be irritated that he’s not going to their hastily thrown-together celebration tomorrow, organized at the last minute. It could reasonably be any of the other third years, roped into this campaign by his two vice-captains, though none have been successful in their attempts to guilt-trip him. It could just as easily be Sawamura, though Kazuya hopes that Okumura’s keeping him busy.

Honestly, it’s not like any of them can be surprised by his reluctance. They never let him live down his attempts to avoid his surprise party after his seventeenth, and they weren’t any more forgiving when he tried to make himself scarce for his eighteenth. He even told them he was looking forward to coming back when they asked. It’s unrealistic for them to expect he’d jump at the chance to head back to Kokubunji when he’s only just returned.

A final message comes through as he’s drying the final dish and, beyond handling his phone to turn off vibrations, he ignores it in favor of being back. Dad’s chuckle barely carries over the sound of the talk show on TV, guest starring Chris’ dad. Looking over his shoulder, he spots Dad still watching through his yawn, arms crossed with his half-drunk beer in front of him, exhaustion radiating off of him.

Has business remained slow, forcing him to continue working extra hours by himself? Does he take on extra shifts because it’s just him at the house now? It’d be easier if Dad didn’t dodge Kazuya’s questions when asked, but that might be asking too much.

This sinking feeling persists in his chest as he turns, churning as it lowers, settling behind his navel as it leaves him with the sour taste of loss in his mouth. Leaning back on the countertop, he glosses over the room, barely taking in the state of everything as he does. There’s this twisted sort of familiarity to everything—this remains the house he grew up in, but it’s different.

The table and chairs remain the same, hosting the same indents and nicks that have accumulated over the years. The TV stand is new, providing more storage space, and there’s a new stand beneath the window. On it sits the same plant you had once picked out for Kazuya to gift his dad some Father’s Day ago, barely (miraculously) alive. Overall, everything is much tidier than when he last visited, but it’s all still here.

Glancing at the fridge, something pink catches his eye and he finally puts two and two together. Why he didn’t think of it sooner, he doesn’t know. Stepping closer, he looks at your newest addition to their collection once more, proof that you were here and that you’re ultimately the reason why it’s so orderly.

It’s a sketch of him, drawn in pen from the perspective you had on the bus in January. Your commentary (Miyuki Kazuya, spotted in the wild) still makes him chuckle despite how many times he’s looked at it upon returning. The page is still clean and crisp, unlike the others beside it.

He’s still unsure whether it was your doing or Dad’s, but most of the notes that once littered the door are now gathered beneath a single magnet. The pages have aged with wrinkles having smoothed over and he has to check his fingertips when he notices that the pencil has become faded and smudged, but that doesn’t stop him from flipping through the rest.

The note on top has a date from last summer, around when they would’ve been in Hyogo, a thank you and a reminder of when the vegetables were going bad. The one beneath it is a doodle of the factory from across the street. Ignoring a couple of notes in his own hand, he finds the one you wrote for Kazuya nearly three years ago to the date.

March 2010

I’ll be looking for you at Koshien! Can’t wait to hear all about it when you come home.

The air in his lungs grows cold before he decides against reading the rest. He’s memorized them all anyway.

It isn’t as neat as before, but the magnet still pins the notes with ease, allowing him to step away. Sighing, he runs his fingers through his hair, disliking the sensation he’s left with. His eyes scan the room once more, but he knows nothing will have changed in the last ten minutes.

It’s the same house it’s ever been, but this feeling reminds him of when he looked out at the Seidou practice grounds following graduation yesterday—a little lost in his body and in the space that used to be his, caught somewhere in transition.

Before he knows it, he’s reaching for his phone, flipping it open despite his earlier refusal to acknowledge the team’s combined dedication to proving their persistence isn’t exclusive to the field. Any hesitation he has disappears because it’s better than dealing with whatever this is.

Ten messages from his vice-captains, though it’s a dramatic decrease from what they spammed him with this afternoon. One from Nabe, accepting his absence and wishing him a good weekend. Thirteen from Sawamura, originally talking about his excitement for a return to Koshien, though the most recent ones are about the party. Chris sent a congratulatory text with a question about Kazuya’s next move. As he continues to scroll, that discomfort from earlier becomes impossible to ignore, searching for a name that’s not there.

Maybe a new phone still hasn’t been a priority? Or maybe one message wasn’t enough. Should he have sent you another? He thought—

It doesn’t matter what he thought. He’ll figure this out tomorrow. Thanks to Dad, he knows where you work, and he should be able to avoid Akari this time around.

In the meantime, he should cherish tonight while he has it. Honestly, this visit won’t be much different than his winter ones. A bit more time, but in two weeks, he’ll be moving into team dorms. It’ll be closer to Edogawa than Seidou was, but it still leaves Kazuya with nowhere near enough time. He’ll take whatever he can.

“Hey, Dad? Thanks— oh.”

Dad’s head is drooping where he’s otherwise upright, arms still crossed, beer still relatively untouched. His breathing is steady and shallow, and Kazuya wonders again just how tired he is. It’s always taken a lot for him to fall asleep at the table, and that’s with him taking the day off.

Just as well. Dad’s worked plenty for the last eleven years. It won’t be much longer till he can repay him.

Slipping his phone into his pocket, he’s unsure whether he should wake Dad to get him to bed or leave him to rest just a bit longer, hitting the light switch as he passes. The ceiling light turns off, leaving the room illuminated by the flickering of the television and the cheap standing lamp in the corner. When he reaches for the remote, his finger hesitates, hovering over the power button before turning down the volume instead.

Kazuya’s not too sure what he’s feeling, but he’s not ready to confront sleep with this sitting on his chest, and the prospect of an otherwise dead house makes it worse. It’s been a while since he’s felt like this. The feeling isn’t productive, so he doesn’t wish to waste any time on it. Dad’ll be fine if he leaves him like this for a minute while he steps outside.

The rubber seal of the sliding door protests for a moment before the door slides, the soft squeal of old wheels on the track sounding louder than Kazuya knows them to be. Looking over his shoulder, he breathes easier that his dad remains undisturbed.

Cool night air is the first thing to hit him, followed by the lingering scent of petrichor and the heaviness of the atmosphere, despite no further forecasts of rain. The chill comforts him, reminding him of winter camp and private practices, of years spent trying to hide the effort he put forth to maintain his skill. It reminds him of when he relinquished the pressure of “genius catcher” in favor of “Seidou’s captain.” His fingers twitch with the impulse to reach for the bat that remains put away inside his room.

If not for how this part of the city quiets following the sunset, he might have missed the sound of someone talking around the corner or of heels against the pavement, announcing their approach. He doesn’t even know why he’s straining to listen, but—

“Shit. He probably isn’t even home. If he is, he’s probably asleep… Screw it. I’ll try again tomorrow.”

It… is. Isn’t it?

Time slows and his heart pounds until he’s overwhelmed by the sound of it beating in his ear. A woman comes into view and his excitement bursts in his chest while he tries to rationalize that it’s probably not you. Her head is bent and her hands are busy, one shielding the other as she tries to light her cigarette. Every cell in his being screams at him in recognition the moment she looks up.

Your name sounds, louder than is appropriate for the time, and he recognizes the voice as his, but he doesn’t remember using it. You start, turning slightly, and he watches your surprise grow into something more when your eyes meet his. Brows stitching together, your mouth falls open and you look as you do when genuinely surprised. His smile is quick to grow at the familiarity of it all and it only takes a second more before your lips are stretching into a wide grin. As he looks at you, he’s caught between what he knows and what he doesn’t.

In you, he still sees the girl who’d wait for him to catch up after classes and who’d steal the book he was reading and who’d always end up making his kitchen smell like fire when left alone for more than twenty minutes. The way you hold yourself, shifting your weight from one foot to the next, swinging your bag so it’s at your side instead of behind you, allowing you to slip your free hand inside—he’s seen it hundreds of times before. Your cheeks lift with your smile and that’s something he’s seen even more. The growing silence and the way you look at him? Yeah, that’s all familiar, too.

But there’s just enough that’s new and unexplored that has him calling out, “Stay where you are. Don’t move a muscle.”

You dip your head like you used to and your smile shifts before you meet his eyes again. “Ten seconds in and you’re already asking for the impossible?”

Halfway to opening the door, he falters, watching you scratch your forehead with your thumb, eyes getting stuck on the cigarette secured between your index and middle fingers. You come onto the property, standing near the factory, and it feels like if he doesn’t leave to meet you right now, you’ll slip away.

His heart drops in his chest when you bring the cigarette to your lips, but it doesn’t matter as much as the fact that you’re here and waiting and he has time to figure out what the hell that is.

The care he had previously taken to avoid disturbing his dad is now largely forgotten, eager in his quest to see you again. Not exactly loud, but not exactly quiet either, he closes the distance to the front door as quickly as possible. Bumping the side table as he slips on his shoe, he wakes his dad with a knock against the wall.

Before he can turn and apologize, he hears his dad say, “It’s good to have you home kid.”

Glancing back, Kazuya smiles to himself before grabbing his jacket from the side table and stepping into the night.

There’s a quiet warmth that builds somewhere beneath his heart, spreading to his fingertips in a wave of anticipation. His heart quickens as he hastens down the steps, nearly tripping as he goes. Despite that hope, despite how he almost feels that kind of satisfaction of when a pitch lands perfectly in his mitt as he’s asked for it, he still can’t shake the feeling that the longer you’re out of sight, the greater the chance is that you’ll have vanished.

But there you are, leaning against the factory doors beneath the light, smoking as though it’s natural when it’s one of the most unnatural things he’s ever seen. As if you know where his mind’s gone, you glance at your fingers, taking another drag before pushing yourself upright and stepping away.

“Heya, stranger. Welcome home.”

That warmth blossoms from where it settled beneath his heart and he can’t stop his answering grin—neither can you, by the looks of it. A cool breeze pushes past you both but that doesn’t stop heat from spreading. As he steps forward, seeking to close the distance, you take a step back, stepping into partial darkness as you shoot him a half-guilty look.

Is it that you changed? Or that he has? Or is it your cigarette?

Whatever it is, he feels like the change he’s struggled to accept all evening is staring him in the face. It’s enough for him to come to terms with it. Perhaps home is a little different than he remembers, and maybe he is, too, but he’ll still take it. It’s still his.

“Stranger? You’re one to talk.”

“Yeah? You’re the one who left first.”

A snicker punctuates your light tease, but your words make it a little difficult to swallow. Scratching the back of his neck, he tries to come up with some sort of response, something that won’t let you know how your presence has wiped his mind. “How does that make sense? Well, going by that logic, I was the first to return.”

“That’s such a lame response. Did Seidou steal all your witticisms?”

“Your response was lame in the first place.”

This laugh is light and airy, not quite coming from the heart. “Maybe so.” He watches as you bring your cigarette to your lips again, watches as your lips shape into a soft ‘o’ to release smoke with your exhale. “I’m glad you came back. I was hoping I’d find you tonight.”

“I heard you earlier,” he says, a little slow to respond, eyes slow to leave the path your cigarette takes. “What, were you nervous or something?”

“I can leave and come back if you mind. My smoking, I mean.”

Of course, he minds, but where would you go? What if someone wants to be an ass about you wandering with a cigarette? And that’s not even considering the sneaking suspicion he has that if you leave now, you won’t actually come back.

“No, just stay here.”

“You… don’t mind?” Skepticism weaves throughout your words, settling on your tongue in a way that’s always annoyed him.

He laughs, voice once again louder than it should be, but with the sound leaves some of that tension you were holding. “No. You said you were hoping you found me, and you did. What, was this supposed to be some catch-and-release nonsense?”

“Alright, alright, Kazuya.” Dipping your head, he catches the unmistakable lift of your cheeks, something that still has the power to make time stop for just a second. “Yeah. Yeah, I was nervous. I thought you might have a party or something with your friends. It’s the whole reason I accepted my friends’ invitation. Thought maybe if I went out with them, I’d come back and you’d actually be here.”

“It sounded like you were gonna try to leave again. Did you give up or something?”

“Shut it. No, I, uh. I guess I psyched myself out into thinking I’d end up getting your dad telling me you weren’t back yet. Again.”

There’s anger in your voice. Not a lot. He doubts anyone else would be able to hear it, but after knowing you longer than almost anyone else, he can’t not hear it. It’s the kind that used to make you hesitate in middle school, the kind that would last weeks.

“That happen a lot?”

“More than I told you about.”

Shit. “Sorry.”

Shrugging, you take another step back until you’re pressed against the concrete half-wall that delineates the property. When he looks a little closer, he finds your exhaustion to be inescapable. Your weariness blends with something sad that he can’t stand, evident in the corners of your eyes and the way you move—slow, measured, as if you’ve already given away most of your energy and you have to conserve the rest. Beyond that, there’s something intangible about you, like trying to hold a shadow.

“Well, I’m back now. I looked for you when I was back during winter break. It almost felt like fate was laughing at me when I saw you on the bus after spending the day looking for you.”

When you smile, it holds none of that anger, but he knows it’s still there. “Is that what happened? I only had the privilege of hearing Akari’s complaints when school started again.”

“What would she have to complain about? She got a good laugh out of it.”

“Ah, just the usual. I’m sorry you had to go through her. Didn’t you ask your dad?”

Now that he thinks about it, asking Dad is one of the first things he should’ve done. Kazuya knew you liked to visit, so it makes sense Dad would know. Could he have saved himself that uncomfortable trip?

… Dammit.

“Your dad was there when I dropped my phone and it broke. I thought he would have told you. It was a little before you played against Mei.”

Back then, he didn’t talk to his dad until well after, worried about Nori and Sawamura, and the conversation was almost entirely about Koshien. Jeez, he really doesn’t like that twisting sensation that’s starting to become familiar.

“Unless… Please tell me that you guys still talk regularly.”

“He’s so busy, I let him call when he can. I don’t want to interrupt him.”

Silence grows as you deadpan, only breaking when you give him a humorless snort. “You know he says the same thing, right?”

“Shut up, will you?”

Your laugh helps loosen the knot that’s forming and he finds himself unable to look away from your cigarette again as you put it out and stash it in a pocket ashtray. Glancing up, you catch him staring, rolling your eyes when he smirks in response.

“You mind, don’t you? I knew it.”

“It’s too late for that, don’t you think?”

“I wish you told me. I would’ve rather stepped away than irritate you.”

Yeah, well, it’s been so long he’d rather have you here. Smoking or not. It’s not like he was never around Coach when he smoked. “Why’s it matter? It’s already done.”

“Kazuya, if you—you know what? Never mind. It’s fine. Like you said, it’s already done.”

“No, say it.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m not trying to fight you right now. It’s just been so long since we were together I must’ve forgotten that this is just you.”

“Oi.”

This time when you laugh, it’s full. This time when you look him in the eyes, it’s softer, more welcoming.

“There’s the sore pout I know.”

It’s been a minute since you two have been together, so he could be wrong, but he’s pretty certain you’re saying something completely different. He feels a low heat start to spread from his nose, not quite reaching his cheeks just yet.

“So? Did you get a new phone yet, or will I have to drag you around with me to make up for lost time?”

“What’s this? Is Kazuya feeling needy? Did you miss me?”

“Shut up.” That heat ignites, spreading across his cheeks like wildfire at your teasing, warming the tips of his ears and making his skin itch as it rushes down his neck. Your smile changes, uninhibited for the first time tonight. “Like you didn’t miss me.”

“Aha, yeah, I missed you a lot.”

Easy. Simple. Wholly you, the girl he’s spent his entire life getting to know. Why your confession makes that heat tingle, ensuring it lingers on his face, he doesn’t know. This is silly. It’s you and it’s always been you and none of this is new.

“So?”

“Yeah, I got a new phone today, actually.”

“No kidding?”

“No kidding,” you say, looking away to grab, presumably, your new phone from your bag. Your hand comes out, holding a flip phone that looks like the same model as his. “One of my coworkers got tired of me borrowing her phone, so she got me a new one. Gotta find time to activate it.”

You hand it to him and, yeah, it’s the same kind, just black where his is silver. He rotates it in his hand before flipping it open, unsurprised when it remains off. “Why not tomorrow?” There’s a shop not too far that’ll do it for cheap.

“Tomorrow? Eager, are you?”

“Oi.” Though he offers the phone for you to grab, he’s reluctant to let it go, enjoying the slight way you pull at it. “You’ll still be around, right?”

Why not tomorrow, unless you’re planning on being gone? He’ll go with you, whether that means finding something to do near the restaurant and doing it after or picking you up from your house tomorrow morning.

“You mean you’d wanna waste time with me like that?”

“You’re not being for real, right? I was prepared to spend all of tomorrow searching for you again.” Waste time?

“You weren’t.”

“Don’t try to tell me what I’m thinking.”

“How can I not when you won’t even admit you missed me?”

Hasn’t he? Do you think he doesn’t? “I don’t need to say it for it to be true and you know that.” Maybe he needs to remind you. “Yeah, I want to hang out with you like that. How long are you gonna be in the neighborhood this time?”

“I dunno. I came by to pack and to try to see you, so just a coupla days. No more than Tuesday, I hope.”

“Pack? For what?” You’re leaving?

Your eyes light up, smile slow to follow. “I haven’t gotten the chance to tell you, but do you remember that art school I always talked about?”

Not the high school, right? You were supposed to go, but then your dad’s drinking problem got worse and you stopped talking about it years ago.

“... That university, right? Close to Seidou?” Excitement starts to build in his chest, unmistakable as he watches your lips stretch into a wide smile.

“Yep.”

“You got in?”

“I got in. Not just that, but they offered a full ride.”

“No way! That’s fantastic!” For a second, he thinks about how it felt, learning after the fact that you had to stay behind. “It’s not going to end up like—”

“No.”

Oops. He shouldn’t have entertained that memory of high school.

“It won’t be like before. The old man can build himself a new house with empty beer cans for all I care. I’m not giving up another opportunity for him.”

That’s new. Not unwelcome, but… new. What happened to push you like that?

“Will you be moving into the dorms?”

“They actually don’t have dorms.”

“Oh. Then where—?”

“My coworker hooked me up with her sister,” you answer, taking another step away from the half-wall and rubbing your hands together. “She’s a year older and needs a new roommate. She’s attending one of the Meijin campuses.”

“That’s pretty cool, I guess.” Your coworker. Again. Huh. “Are you cold? I can—here. Take my jacket.”

“I’m fine, Kazuya,” you say, pushing away the offered garment. “You don’t seem enthused.”

“I am.”

“Don’t tell me it’s been so long that you think you can lie to me.”

“I am happy for you.”

“But?”

“But nothing. I’m happy for you. Does this mean you’ll be getting a new job? And you’ll be moving? When? Tuesday?”

He should be feeling uncomfortable with the way you’re scrutinizing him, but he doesn’t. He feels at home. Your eyes narrow and he sees the second you decide to give up calling him out.

“Yeah. I’ll be starting a new job. Same place that my roommate works at, so I won’t have to commute far. My last shift with the restaurant was today and the new job starts two days before the term does. She said she’d be ready for me on Tuesday.”

“Jeez. That soon?”

It’s not lost on him that, had he missed you today, his knowledge of where you worked would’ve been outdated.

“Well, yeah. What’d you expect?”

“Some more time. More than the weekend, at least.”

“Now that you’re back, I wouldn’t mind staying longer, but I don’t want to be at the house longer than necessary.”

That’s an easy enough fix, but he has to know. “Okay, are you going to tell me what happened?”

Rocking back and forth from the heel of your boot to your toe, you chew on the inside of your cheek, turning your attention elsewhere. He snickers at the familiar display of annoyance, barely earning him an irritated glance before you return to staring at the office door. “Can’t you just accept that I’ve had enough? It was more of the same.”

“I know you. You have inhuman patience.”

“I have to. I grew up alongside you, didn’t I?” This time, you look at him with just a glimmer of half-hearted exasperation dancing in your eyes.

“Yeah, but your patience doesn’t begin and end with me. Not unless you’re trying to say that I’ve become so important in your life that it does.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Stepping forward, you lightly push his shoulder, not knowing that your touch sends a spark traveling down his arm.

“What’d your dad do to make you not want to be here?”

“Can’t deduce it on your own, genius pretty boy?”

“Jeez, can’t you just—wait. ‘Genius pretty boy?’ I don’t think I’ve heard that combination before.”

“Really? Cause I can guarantee I’m not the only person to use it. Didn’t realize you paid attention to things like that.”

He cackles and the full weight of how much he missed you crashes into him, stealing his breath for a moment. “Obviously I don’t or I would’ve known, wouldn’t I?”

“Please. We both know you kinda like hearing it or you wouldn’t bother listening at all.”

“I don’t! You’re the only person allowed to call me whatever you want—”

“Oho, those are big words, Genius Pretty Boy.”

“—and that’s only because I can’t stop you.”

He feels warm, despite the cold. Your smile is cheeky and teasing, annoyance no longer there, reminding him of all the times that came before. Stepping forward again, it looks like you might close the distance, but you don’t. Even if you don’t, he—

“Is that all? Cause I think you like when I say it. Or it’s cause you missed me that much. One of those two for sure.”

Fluttering erupts in his abdomen and it leaves him feeling light like he used to. Hadn’t this gone away? Or has three years of separation brought it all back? “Only one?”

His heart hammers at the acknowledgment that he wants you to come and close the distance as you had before. You don’t step forward, instead shifting your weight to your other foot, hovering just outside of the light of the lamp.

“You’ve changed a lot, you know.”

“How so?” So have you. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

“I don’t know how to describe it, but you’re… more. More you.”

You smile when he laughs, pausing when he takes a step forward. “That makes no sense. I’ve always been me.”

“You’d see it if I drew you.” Your hand moves to your bag and he knows you still have a sketchbook in there. He’d like to look through it if you’ll give him the chance.

“You sticking around to draw me?”

“You’d sit still for me?”

“Yeah.”

How many times have you two done this little routine, said these same words?

Pursing your lips together, you look like you’re trying to suppress your smile, and when that fails, you duck your head. Bashful, if ever you were bashful with him. Cute.

“Mm. I’ll stick around for you. I’ll need to get a purple pen, though.”

“Still with that?”

“As long as you’re purple.”

Kazuya’s attention drops to the hand fiddling with your bag, wondering whether you’ll bust out your sketchbook now since the temptation to draw is written all over your face. Your fingers tap against the opening, index and middle fingers fluttering for a moment before closing your hand around the strap.

“How much longer do you plan on being in the neighborhood? You’re moving soon, too, right?”

“Yeah, uh—you know about that?”

The second it leaves his mouth, he knows it’s a stupid thing to ask, but, man, it’s great watching your expression change so quickly. It’s stupid of him to even consider that you wouldn’t have paid attention.

“Oh, no. Of course not. I wouldn’t know about my best friend being drafted by the Yomiuri Giants of all teams. How could I possibly know anything like that?”

“Alright, alright—”

“It’s not like I came over to hang out with your dad while the draft was ongoing or anything. We totally didn’t complain when they won the rights to you.”

“Very funny. I get it.”

“No. Why would we? We haven’t been Swallows fans since forever. Not at all.”

“You done?”

Instead of answering him, you stick out your tongue, though that’s answer enough.

“Yep. I’m some kind of traitor.”

“I think it’s ridiculous that the Giants got so lucky this year. You and Mei? The draft has to be broken for that to happen.”

“It was probably just the number of talented players this year. They didn’t know how to break us up. Next year will be interesting to watch, too.”

“I’m sure Mei’s excited. He’s wanted you to catch for him as long as you two have known each other. Ugh. I can’t believe I have to cheer for his team now. The Giants and Mei?”

Your guys’ joined laughter echoes in the quiet streets and he feels fifteen again, talking about how you’d have to cheer for Chris and Seidou, not that you had a problem with the school. When his laughter dies down, his mind wanders to the upcoming week, to the reality that Tuesday is closer than he’d like. He wants far more than the next couple of days if he’s about to be half a city away again.

“To answer your question, rookies have to be moved in by the 29th. I missed so much time here that I’m gonna drag it out as long as possible.”

“Ah, I think I understand. Do you have anything planned, or are you just gonna hang out with your dad when you can?”

“I wanted to hang out with you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he answers, listening as wind passes through the trees down the street. It travels closer, causing you to shiver again, turning in on yourself as you do. “Take my jacket.” Another gust, stronger than the last, causes another shiver to rip through you and he’s opening up the jacket and draping it around your shoulders anyway.

“Really?” you say, though you waste no time slipping your arms through the sleeves of his Seidou windbreaker. “This isn’t even all that thick.”

“It’s better than the sweater you’re wearing now. You better not catch a cold.”

“How ever could I possibly catch a cold when I have your jacket to protect me?”

“I think a ‘thank you’ would suffice.”

“I think you shouldn’t expect to get this jacket back.”

“We’ve barely gotten back and already you’re trying to steal my clothes?”

“This one’s on you. Besides, I don’t think any of those old shirts are gonna fit you now. Your old beanie definitely won’t fit your big head anymore.”

“My—?” He was wondering where that went. “You stole my black beanie?”

“You’re the one who left it behind last winter,” you say with faux innocence and a smile that confirms you took it.

This is easier. This feels like it was only yesterday since you two were last together. The air around you both is lighter, not weighed down by all of the accumulated changes that have occurred over the years. At the core of it, you two are both still you. You’re still friends and you’re still—

“So, tomorrow…”

“What about tomorrow?”

“What are you trying to do tomorrow? Watch me pack?”

“Does it matter?”

“A little. If I didn’t have to pack, what would you have us do? Play catch? Would you be my model while talking about nothing but Seidou and Koshien?”

“Well, since you’re the one who offered, wanna pitch to me tomorrow? After you pack, of course.”

“Oh, ‘of course,’” you repeat, laugh bubbling past your lips.

All it takes is a single attempt to cease your laughter before it becomes louder, harder to control. He watches as your brows and nose scrunch together and your hand comes up to try to hide your face and it’s not much longer before a laugh spills past his lips, too. You choke on your laugh, doubling over as he leans forward, offering his hand in support, gladly grasping yours when you take it. The harder you laugh, the more laughter you pull from him until he’s holding onto you, too.

This is—this is so dumb and yet he can’t stop. Your fingers tighten around his palm and he squeezes in response, so glad that it’s you. Giving another squeeze, you try to straighten yourself, letting him see the tears that have started streaming down your cheeks from laughing. When he blinks, he can feel a stray tear pulling at the outside of his eye, too.

“You oughtta warn me if you’re gonna joke like that, Kazuya.” Your voice is wispy, altered by your laughter as you wipe away your tears with the knuckle of your free hand. Glancing at him, you pause, lips parted, reminding him of the last day you two properly spent together. You step forward and reach for his face and he hesitates, only for you to gently wipe away the tears that have gathered, moving around his glasses. “Ah, I don’t know if I’ll be any good, pitching to you.”

“We can find out tomorrow.”

It’s the first time since he’s come down that you’re properly under the light with him and that distance feels smaller. There’s no attempt on your end to remove your hand from his and it’s the first time that you feel almost tangible, like he’s not desperately grasping at smoke.

“Tomorrow? Oh, jeez. I forgot how relentless you are. Next you’re gonna tell me it’s ‘just gonna be for ten minutes,’ or something.”

“No, I wouldn’t say that. I’d want you to pitch for at least thirty now.”

“Oh? Seidou made you greedy.”

“I was already greedy. C’mon. Throw for me.”

“I don’t know. I need to pack and make sure I’m good to leave.”

“You don’t have that much stuff. I’ll even help you.”

“You’d help me just so I’d play catch with you? I didn’t even say yes.”

“I’d help you regardless. And you didn’t say no.” Not in any way that truly matters when it comes to you. You’ll throw to him at least once in between now and Tuesday.

“You’ll help regardless? Is this what being captain did to you? Alright. Come by tomorrow and we’ll tackle my stuff together. I expect to hear everything about Seidou, though, alright?”

“Between packing and activating your phone, that doesn’t sound like there’ll be room to play catch tomorrow.”

“Hey,” you say, pulling at his hand, though he’s reluctant to let go. Even after he does, you follow his hand with yours, fingers tapping on the back of his. “You said ‘regardless.’ You also said that you’d want to waste time with me, right?”

“You’re being so particular about my words now.”

“I think I have a right to be.”

Ouch. “I came back.”

“That you did.” It comes on the back of a sigh and he feels that distance increase again. “You always said you would. But I want to hear all about Seidou and Koshien, alright? You’ll tell me tomorrow.”

Because you promised you would. Because you want to hear about what he’s been doing. Because you want to know why he didn’t come back. None of it’s lost on him.

“Yeah, I’ll tell you tomorrow. You’ll be there to answer the door when I come, right?”

“Of course.” You say it so simply like it’s the most obvious thing in the world and maybe it was, once. But to pretend that he still feels uncertain would be to deny that the way you prepare to say goodbye right now doesn’t put him on edge. “I should get going. It’s been a long day.”

As you take a step back again, his hand reflexively wraps around yours. Glancing back at him, you pause, raising a brow as a playful smile forms. His mouth goes dry and his heart climbs into his throat, not ready to let you go.

“Did you eat tonight? I’m sure Dad wouldn’t mind—”

“Kazuya. I worked at a restaurant. They never let me leave hungry. I’m fine.” As if you can tell where his mind’s going, you add, “You’ll see me tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You only just got here. He has tomorrow, and the next day, too, but that’s not enough time. Searching your face for any indication that you might feel the same, that you might share the burden of some of this anxiety, his eyes get stuck on the shape of your lips, on the questioning smile that remains.

“No, Kazuya.”

“No? I didn’t say anything.”

“I know that look.”

He clears his throat and meets your eyes only to find that sadness from before. You might be here in front of him, but you still feel out of reach. His grip around your hand tightens, just a bit, and you respond by turning your hand in his, fingers briefly ghosting over his palm. You’re the one who breaks eye contact, focusing wholly on your joined hands, trying to distract him from what he wants.

You used to do this, hold his hand open in one of yours while tracing the lines and callouses with the fingers of the other. Just as three years ago, your touch is soft, no less familiar, even if everything else feels so radically jarring.

“You don’t want to kiss me.”

“I don’t?” He dips his head, trying to grab your attention without pulling his hand from yours only to receive half a glance in turn.

“I taste like smoke.”

Of course, you do. He hadn’t thought about that, but does it really matter?

“Are you sure that isn’t an excuse?”

“An excuse?” You look up again, fingers pausing where they sit, tickling the heel of his palm.

“Not to kiss me.”

Another breeze passes through, distracting you for a moment before his words hit you. Even though you’re the one who brought it up, even though you’re the one who denied him before he had a chance to ask, your eyes still widen in surprise like you weren’t expecting him to push the topic. Biting your bottom lip, you look down again, pretending to be busy with his hand, though he knows you’re not since your fingers still don’t move.

If anything, it’s nice to know that he still affects you like this even if you feel a world away.

“Oh, no. The old captain of the Tokyo Representatives and the soon-to-be rookie catcher for the Giants deserves better than a cigarette-flavored kiss.”

“Shouldn’t I decide what I deserve?”

He steps forward, hoping that he’ll be able to convince you, that it’ll stop feeling like he’s losing you, but all it gets him is you, pulling your hands back before stuffing them in the pockets of his jacket and taking a step away. It’s your turn to clear your throat, to square your shoulders and look at him, half as the girl who’d always talk back, half as the woman he’d like to know.

“Perhaps,” you say, taking another step away, this time toward the street. “But I think you of all people know that you can’t always get what you want when you want it.”

When you smile, it’s teasing, a little sharper than he’s used to, but he’ll get used to it. Yeah, that’s fine that you turned his old words against him, and yeah, you have a point that he can’t always get what he wants, but it’s you and he’s never given up that when it comes to you.

Turning on your heel, you start walking in the direction of your father’s house, looking over your shoulder as you do. “Alright, I’m gonna get going, for real this time. Come by whenever you want and I’ll make sure I’m the one to answer the door, okay?”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He watches as you make it across the street, suppressing the urge to follow after you, heart stuttering when you turn around and call out to him.

“It’s good to have you home, Kazuya.”

Promises We Exchanged Fic Page | Daiya no Ace Masterlist

#miyuki kazuya x reader #miyuki x reader #daiya no ace x reader #ace of diamond x reader #daiya x reader #✒.ix writes #✒.promises we exchanged #pwe #end part one #the boy

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