#ace of diamond x reader

[mangoisms]

superposition ━ miyuki kazuya in which miyuki isn't the fool in love with his childhood best friend. it's you.

━ completed

━ wc: 27k

━ warnings: none

━ you can read this on ao3 as well

You met Miyuki Kazuya when you were eight-years-old. You didn’t know how to feel about him.

You were introduced to him simply because he was the same age as you and you happened to live a few houses down from each other. It had been an attempt to get you to socialize more, as the move from your home country had severely jarred you. Here you were, in an entirely different city and country with strange new customs and environments. The small, eight-year-old you didn’t like it very much.

The move had all been done in favor of the bakery your parents ran, recipes based on traditional dishes you grew up with. The bakery was right next door to your home and always seemed to be busy. Your father was almost always there, running around, making sure customers were happy while your mother played the entertainer.

They must’ve gotten tired of having to split their attention between you and the bakery because that morning before the bakery opened, she dragged you into the yard, where a short boy with brown hair and glasses waited.

“This Miyuki Kazuya. He lives down the street with his father. Go on, say hello,” your mother tried to coax you out from behind her legs, but you stayed there stubbornly, the fabric of her skirt balled up in your small hands. Your strength was no match against hers, though, and she pried you off her skirt, leaving the two of you in the yard of your house alone.

The boy peered cautiously at you. You realized he was smaller than you and relaxed slightly. Smaller kids were easier to deal with, right?

“Do you know how to play baseball?” he asked suddenly, watching with wide, amber eyes.

You pursed your lips. “Not really. It’s hard.”

Miyuki blinked in surprise. “Hard? No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is,” you countered stubbornly.

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is!”

“Can you throw a ball?”

You stopped, confused at the sudden question. “Of course I can,” you huffed, now affronted. What kind of question was that? Who didn’t know how to throw a ball?

“Then you can play. Come on, let’s go. I left my glove at my house.” He turned and began walking down the street, not bothering to wait for you.

He was annoying, you thought, but you were a little curious, so you followed him down the sidewalk to a two-story home a few houses down from yours, right next door to a factory.

“Wait here,” he instructed then dashed into the house, giving you no time to protest. You pouted, crossing your arms over your chest. Who was this boy? He was so demanding and know-it-all. And you barely knew him, who was he to tell you what to do?

While you were tempted to not listen to him, you stayed there, waiting impatiently for him to return. You glanced around. The factory next door had the sounds of work going on, but you couldn’t see anything and the windows were far too high for you to see. You squinted to read the sign. Miyuki Steel. Did his family own a business, too?

You looked back to the door as he dashed out of the house, baseball glove and ball in hand. He held up a hand, signaling for you to wait as he ran to the factory and popped his head into the doorway.

“I’ll be home in a little while, Dad!”

There was no audible response, but he turned back around anyway, walking back towards you. He tossed you the ball, which you clumsily caught with a scowl on your face.

“Does your family own a business, too?”

“My dad,” he corrected. “He makes machines. It’s cool.”

That was kinda cool, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing you agreed.

“Are you gonna work there, too? When you’re grown-up?”

“No way. I’m gonna be a professional baseball player.” He turned to grin arrogantly at you. “Hey, hurry up. We need to get a good spot at the park.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you muttered, mood souring quickly at his bossiness.

Miyuki shrugged. “That’s what catchers do for their pitchers.”

“I’m not a pitcher,” you protested, following him reluctantly across the street after you glanced both directions, something he’d totally failed to do before crossing. “I wanna be a doctor.”

“That’s boring.”

You scowled, stopping on the sidewalk and dropping the ball unceremoniously onto the ground. “I don’t want to play, then.”

“Fine, then.” He continued walking towards the park, barely sparing you a glance.

You stood there for a second, casting a glance at the baseball still resting at your feet, then at your house that was quite a ways back. Squinting, you could see the bakery right next to it, the door swinging open and closed as people entered in quick succession. You recalled your mother’s words before Miyuki came over.

“Honey, please . . . Try to make some friends, okay? Kazuya is a good kid. He’ll grow on you.”

Initially, you’d been confused. Shouldn’t she have said something like ‘you’ll like him’ instead of that? But now, you understood. He was infuriating.

Yet, you remembered the loneliness of the first few days, stuck inside the house with nothing to do. Your older sister was always in her room, not willing to play with you. Apparently, she’d outgrown you, which didn’t make much sense. Sisters were always there, weren’t they?

Then, there was the situation with your parents and the bakery. On top of that, they were also preoccupied with your mother’s pregnancy. Rather, your father was constantly worrying about her, even though she was only six months pregnant. The baby only came when she was nine months pregnant, so why was he so worried about it?

You frowned, staring at the red stitching on the baseball. Miyuki’s bossiness . . . Well, it could be something you worked on, right?

You picked up the ball and ran after him.

“Wait up!”

You decided that he may not be the ideal friend, but he was there, and that was all that mattered.

Your younger brother was born two months later in the winter of December on a particularly cold day. By then, Miyuki had stuck to your side like a parasite, always asking for you to pitch to him, always asking for you to help him out if he ever got scraped up. And you did it, not necessarily because he was being annoying about it — which he was, but you were beginning to grow immune to his pestering — but because it was fun.

(Well. Disinfecting bloody knees wasn’t fun, but the cringe you’d get out of him when you poured hydrogen peroxide over the cut was always satisfying. Served him right for running around like an idiot.)

For your little brother’s one-month anniversary, friends and family were invited over. Aunts and uncles preened over you (“You’re growing up so fast!” and “You look exactly like your mother!”). It was horrible, so you managed to sneak Miyuki in and made a getaway to your room to play video games.

As you walked down the hallway, his attention was grabbed by your little brother currently napping in his nursery. (You didn’t understand why the party still went on even while he was asleep. This was all for him, wasn’t it?)

“He’s not that cute,” Miyuki muttered as he looked over the bars of the crib.

You nodded somberly. “He isn’t. He looks like a wrinkled grape. Mom said that’s just how little babies look, though.”

“So, you looked like that at one point, then.”

You scoffed. “So did you.”

“Of course I didn’t. I was a cute baby.”

“Sure.”

He reached out to tug on a piece of your hair and you batted his hand away with a scowl. “I won’t pitch for you anymore,” you said warningly.

“Fine, fine,” Miyuki snickered. “Come on. I wanna play Mario Kart today.”

You two snuck out of the nursery and into your room to play games for the rest of day, at least until he had to go home. Or until your mother discovered him.

Your name is called, just as your mother opens the door, in the middle of saying, “— come downstairs we’re all going to have din —"

She stops, blinking in surprise at the sight of Miyuki on the floor. “Hello, Kazuya.”

He stood up quickly and bowed.

She smiled, but it looked strange. “Would you like to join us for dinner? Perhaps you want to invite your father as well? Oh, does he know you’re here?”

Miyuki nodded but didn’t say much after that. You took over.

“He’ll stay. You should invite your dad, too. If he’s not working.” Both of you knew the answer to that, but your mother was still watching you two interact, a curious look in her eyes.

“Well, you know where the house phone is. Come down in a few minutes, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She shut the door. You look down at him. “Working?”

He nodded. “All day.”

You shrugged, pulling yourself off your bed. “That’s okay. You can be with us.”

“Let’s play catch afterward.”

You rolled your eyes as you two exited the room. When you passed your brother’s room, the crib was empty. You could hear your family members cooing downstairs and figured he must’ve woken up.

“Thought you wanted to play Mario Kart?” you huffed as you walked down the stairs.

“I changed my mind.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s not a compliment.”

For the last few years of elementary school and your first year of junior high, you two were joined at the hip. Junior high also meant that Miyuki was getting serious about baseball. He’d received his first catcher’s glove from his father for his birthday that year. Not that using the one from the school hindered his performance anyway.

Being on the team meant he constantly got into fights with the older boys, so you slowly transitioned from cleaning up scrapes he received from rolling around to bandaging and icing bruises he received from fights.

You’d been making your way to the baseball field to catch Miyuki. You’d already heard of his loss from the other students part of the medical club and worried about his well-being, but when he dashed up the hill, he was grinning widely. Your eyes immediately went to the cut on his face.

“Where’d you get that?” You asked, gaping as he ran up to you, baseball gear over his shoulder.

“Never mind that. I can’t believe you missed today’s game. It was so good.”

“Miyuki, didn’t you guys lose?”

“Yes, but that’s not the point. Their catcher outplayed me!”

You surveyed him carefully. “Did you get a concussion?”

“What — No, I’m fine,” he shook his head, his cap moving precariously with his rapid movements. “You’re not listening to me right now. He was some foreigner, I heard his dad was in the Majors here after coming from America.”

“And this is good because . . . ?” you trailed off, confusion clear in your voice.

Miyuki’s grin turned competitive. “I finally have a challenger.”

You scrutinized him for a few more seconds, long enough for his grin to fade and for him to fidget under your gaze. Finally, you clicked your tongue in disapproval. “Is everything a challenge to you?”

“How else am I supposed to be the best?”

You scowled. “Maybe not get hurt? Also, how did you get that cut? Are you the boys beating you up again? They better not be.”

“I tripped and fell on my way up here.” As usual, he looked utterly unashamed. You had to wonder: did this boy even feel shame? You pinched the bridge of your nose, turning on your heel, setting off for the school.

“Dummy. Come on, let’s go.” You didn’t wait for him, knowing he’d keep up with you without any protests.

“Those fights were never my fault, either,” he disagreed. “Age doesn’t matter on the field and I was just saying it like it is.”

You rolled your eyes, though you agreed. You’d never been fond of the way his older teammates pushed him around; even if Miyuki could be painfully blunt sometimes, you didn’t think there was any reason to get violent with him. And even then, sometimes he didn't even need to say anything for them to get pissed off.

You really didn't like his teammates.

He never fought back, either; said everything should be resolved on the field. You agreed, but the other boys would never think like that. They’d only continue to beat him up because they felt insecure, or he said something about their performance — something that was probably true. He could be brutal but he wasn't cruel.

“Also,” he continued as you two reentered the school and walked to your locker where you held a first aid kit (specifically put there because of Miyuki), “there was a scout there today, from Seido High School.”

You unlocked the locker, rummaging through it for the kit. “And?”

He told you about his encounter (you snorted when he recalled her comment about his height) with her and when he was finished, leaning against the locker as you tended to his cut, he looked thoughtful.

“You think he’d go to Seido?”

“Who’s this kid again? Do you have a crush?”

Miyuki puffed out his cheeks, glaring slightly at you. “No way. He’s my competition. I can’t like the enemy that way!”

You laughed, reveling in this brief moment where you were the one annoying him. “Alright, alright. I don’t know, Miyuki. Seido’s a good school, I think, especially if you wanna get serious about baseball.”

“Should I go?”

You pressed the gauze to his cheek, shooting him an apologetic look after he winced from the pressure. After, you began cleaning up and putting the kit away again. He was awaiting your answer still, watching you with analytic eyes. You shrugged.

“It’s up to you. Seido’s a powerhouse school, so I think you’d be fine, especially since you’re so damn competitive. I just thought you meant you’d challenge him from another school, assuming he went to Seido,” you told him honestly. “But also, we’re barely first years.”

He nodded, but he still looked thoughtful. Too thoughtful.

You shut your locker and shoved him forward, making him stumble on his feet.

“Hey, what was that for?” he yelped indignantly, catching his balance and readjusting the bag on his shoulder.

“You’re thinking too hard,” you replied. “Hurry up. You need to shower because you stink and my mom wants to try out a recipe with you.”

“You’re picking up too many of my habits,” he said, mock-disapprovingly, as you put on your backpack again and fell in step beside him.

“Is Miyuki Kazuya admitting he has flaws?”

“Never mind. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

In your second year of junior high, your brother turned four-years-old. You also finally hit fourteen, along with Miyuki. With that, many changes came. Odd changes. Body changes. You wouldn’t lie. It was weird.

The counselors seemed to notice the sudden plight you all had. Girls stuck closer to each other, gossiping about boys and the like. Boys were suddenly coming in wearing heavy cologne, trying their hardest to appeal to others. You thought it was stupid. So did Miyuki.

That didn’t mean you two were exempt from the mandatory conversation with the counselor about the ‘changes in your body’ and the ‘strange way you may be feeling,’ whatever that meant. Truth be told, it was almost scarring.

“Tell me, have you noticed a change in your feelings to other boys? Perhaps even girls?”

You blinked demurely. “Not really.”

The counselor wasn’t satisfied, her lips turning down for a split second before she fixed into a proper smile. “No to the girls?”

“No to both of them,” you corrected politely. “I don’t really notice or care about those sort of feelings. They’re not necessary.”

“Not . . . necessary?” She asked, confusion as clear as day on her face.

You shrugged. “That’s what my older sister says.” Your elder sister had graduated high school last year and stayed home to help out with the family business, apparently finding some happiness in the kitchen baking pastries. You weren’t so keen on staying here, at least not in this part of Tokyo.

Your mother and father would probably have you stay back happily, too. As your third and final year of junior high grew closer, teachers and parents were suddenly awaiting your decision on a high school. You wished they’d just leave you alone.

“Alright,” she conceded warily. “But what do you think?”

What did you think? Now, that was the million-dollar question.

You shrugged again. The counselor was beginning to look annoyed.

“Well, regardless of that, you should know that some of the . . . urges you may get aren’t things you need to act on.” . . . Wait, what?

You stared at her. “Uh . . .”

“I’m sure you know what sex is —”

You blanched. “Sensei!” That was what this was about? No, you already knew about that, probably too much. The other girls in your grade hadn’t hesitated on divulging private details about their close encounters with other boys and it was far too much information you ever wanted to know about anybody else. You didn’t judge on what they were doing, that’s not it, it’s just — too much information.

“I already know about that stuff,” you hurried out, feeling your face begin to heat up. “A-And I know I shouldn’t do any of that until I’m older. I know.”

She scrutinized you and you wondered if this was what Miyuki felt like whenever you gave him that look. If so, you were going to stop. It felt like she was seeing right through you.

Finally, she sighed and nodded. “You have a good head on your shoulders, so, I trust you’ll know what to do if you’re ever faced with something like that. Remember, though, you can always say no to unwanted advances, alright?”

You nodded firmly, finding familiar ground. Yeah, your father had given you that particular talk, too.

“Girl or boy, you always ask consent and they should, too. Don’t be afraid to say no and don’t be afraid to get out of there if they don’t agree.” You weren’t a pushover. Hell, you couldn’t be one if you had to deal with someone like Miyuki. But even he seemed more aware of the kids that were suddenly looking at you with renewed interest.

“They ought to keep their eyes to themselves,” he’d muttered, stepping around to your other side to block you from the wandering eyes of a group of third years.

You only sighed, burying your nose deeper into the book on medicine you’d been obsessed with at the time. Oh, you could definitely take care of yourself and if need be, fight for yourself, too, but if Miyuki was willing to be your defender for now, who were you to deny him? It wasn’t like you doubted your ability to defend yourself. But he was already there and you weren’t going to waste that opportunity. Basic strategy in your opinion.

“Alright, then, we’re done here. Send Kazuya in, won’t you?”

You nodded and scrambled out of your seat, desperate to get out of that situation. Your face still felt irritatingly hot but you ignored it. You exited the office, spotting Miyuki in the waiting area, a sports magazine in his lap.

“You’re up, Miyuki,” you said, stealing the magazine off his lap, much to his chagrin.

“Hey, I was reading that —” he made a grab for it but you stretched your arm behind you, holding it at a distance. He stood up and you were momentarily surprised, stunned if you were being honest. So surprised you let him pry the magazine out of your hands.

“There’s a good article in here about the catcher that the SoftBank Hawks just recruited, I want to take a picture of it. You have your phone?” He held out his hand expectantly and you had the briefest of common sense to hand your phone over to him. His fingers brushed against yours and you pulled back, as though you’d been electrocuted. He didn’t notice.

You stared at him. When . . . When had he gotten so tall? Only last year he’d been the about the same height as you, if only a few inches taller, but it hadn’t been noticeable. When you’d been kids, you’d always been the one taller than him, but you kept growing and seemed to have stopped now.

Miyuki, though . . . He was easily five to six inches taller than you. What would that be? Five foot nine? Maybe even five foot ten? When had this happened? Was this recent? Or had it been gradual and you just hadn’t noticed?

“I’m gonna need to use your phone later to read this. Thanks. Hey, what does she want, by the way?” He’d handed you your phone back without glancing back and set the magazine back down on the coffee table, but once he’d turned around, he stopped and frowned at you, saying your name. “You good?”

You snapped out of it. “I’m fine, sorry. Just got distracted.”

“With what?” Of course. Miyuki Kazuya never knew when to drop something. He eyed you with barely-hidden suspicion.

“It’s nothing. Have you gotten taller recently?” Curse your loose tongue. You couldn’t help it, though. You had to know.

“Have I . . . ? Oh. Yeah,” he grinned, looking smug now, but there was something different because now you had to look up at him. It felt weird. Strange. “Five foot nine and half, last time I checked. Had to donate almost all of my pants. What about you?”

You scowled, your strange feelings disappearing as quickly as they’d come. “Shut it. Hurry up before Otsuka-sensei comes out here and beats you up.”

His obnoxious laughter followed you out of the main office. “She wouldn’t! I’ll see you in class, don’t eat lunch without me!”

You paused to look back at him. “What if you take too long?”

He grinned in a way that irritated you. “Guess you’re not eating lunch!”

You scowled deeply, swallowing down the curse words you felt compelled to throw at him, only holding back because of the receptionist currently eyeing you two in disapproval.

Prick, you mouthed.

He winked. Bastard.

Saying others didn’t have high expectations of you would be a lie. You were one of the top students in your grade, well-known for taking excellent notes and passing all your exams. Of course, others merely assumed you were just naturally intelligent, but it didn’t work that way.

There were far too many times when you had to split time between working register at the bakery and studying for a test. And many more times when you had to turn Miyuki down for some time to yourself. Honestly, though, you were sure you’d have run yourself into the ground if it hadn’t been for Miyuki’s pestering sometimes.

“I need to study, Miyuki,” you grumbled, switching between reading your textbook and taking inventory behind the counter. He was leaning over it, glove and baseball in his hand with his hat worn crookedly as per usual.

“You’ve been studying for the past three days. A break won’t kill you.”

“It might.”

He huffed petulantly. “You’re ignoring your best friend in favor of school? How cruel.”

You sighed shortly. “Don’t pull that.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m sure your little brother would be more than happy to pitch to me —”

“You realize he has the arm strength of a toddler, right?”

“Or maybe Mei would be willing to do it. He has been begging me to catch for him recently . . .”

“Narumiya . . .” you grumbled out, mood souring further. Narumiya Mei was from downtown Tokyo, living it up in the more expensive districts at his junior high where he dominated as the ace. Apparently, Miyuki and Narumiya had gone head-to-head during a game in the first semester of your second year and Narumiya liked Miyuki’s style of catching, even though your junior high’s team had lost phenomenally.

“I’m sure he won’t mind taking the train here . . .”

You clicked your tongue, flipping to the next page of your textbook. “Miyuki, you and I both know you can’t handle him for long periods of time. It’s literally impossible.”

He cracked a genuine smile. “Give him more credit.”

“No,” you refused stubbornly. Narumiya could be so condescending sometimes. The first time you’d met him, he hadn’t hesitated to throw an insult at you and worse, Miyuki hadn’t felt the need to defend you from it. That had been your first serious fight.

“Yes, Miyuki, I can defend myself, but I hardly knew him. Why couldn’t you step up for me? Just that once?”

“You’re making this a bigger deal than it actually is.”

“We’re friends, aren’t we? Friends defend each other, especially best friends, so what the hell?”

“If that’s all you’re going to talk about, I really don’t want to play with you, then.”

You had thick skin. You had to, being friends with Miyuki and all. And okay, fine, you were hurt when he had dismissed you so easily. Sure, maybe you were making this a bigger deal than it should’ve been, but nothing had quite hurt as much as it had when you learned that he’d went to catch for Narumiya after you had abandoned him. (Or rather after he’d abandoned you.)

Your older sister had been pissed to find you sniffling about it later on that day, vowing to kick his ass. You only barely managed to restrain her. Miyuki wouldn’t like someone else coming to speak or fight on your behalf. You both were mature enough to discuss it. Or so you hoped, anyway.

One week of no contact between you two had you almost caving and giving into him, but to your pleasant surprise, he approached you first. More specifically, he’d taken the painstaking time to jump the fence into your backyard and toss pebbles at your window until you finally opened it, almost taking a well-aimed pebble to the face in the process.

Of course, he didn’t outright apologize. Instead, he’d asked: “Can we play catch?”

“It’s two in the morning.”

“It is,” he agreed, then held up his glove and ball. “Please?”

You’d sighed, turning back into your room to change out of your sleeping clothes into something more suitable for going out in the muggy July night. It was easy to sneak out, your parents and siblings all fast sleep and immune to any quiet noises you might’ve made on the way out. Miyuki was waiting for you on the sidewalk in front of your house when you exited; you shut and locked the door quietly behind you.

Silently, you two began the trek to the park down the street. You found yourself tensing whenever a car would pass, ducking your head to hide your face. When the third one came round, you finally spoke. “What exactly am I breaking curfew for, Miyuki? My parents would kill me if we got taken home by a police officer.”

You lifted your head once the car was out of sight and turned to look at him. He had a pensive frown on his face. “I . . . I’m sorry.” He didn’t make eye contact with you. (In the present day, you distantly wondered if he’d been taller than you at the time, too. He had, but only by a few inches, not as tall as he’d been during the talk with the counselor.)

You were speechless. Miyuki Kazuya didn’t . . . apologize. Quite honestly, you were beginning to think you had made a bigger deal out of it than necessary. But perhaps that had been a trick on your own part, anything to try and talk with Miyuki like normal again. Up until now, you two had been close, though baseball was starting to take up a lot of his time and the medical club at school had begun helping third years find good high schools with medical curriculum programs so you were constantly staying after school.

He continued to avoid your eyes. “I should’ve defended you. You were right. Mei was being an ass and you don’t deserve that. Only I can be mean to you.”

The last part almost sounded like a defense mechanism, a way to stop this conversation from becoming too heavy. You appreciated it more than you thought you would.

You elbowed him in the ribs. “Is it physically impossible for you to say something nice?”

“Yes.” Miyuki nodded unabashedly. You scowled, but there was no heat behind it.

“Fine, I accept your apology. I’m sorry, too. I did kind of make a big deal.”

He shook his head, adamant now. “I was being a dick. You were right.” He looked at you, a little more meaningful. He elbowed you back. “Now, come on, I’ve been missing my favorite horrible pitcher.”

“Keep saying stuff like that and I won’t pitch for you.”

His laughter echoed off the houses, his eyes looking golden underneath the tawny glow of street lamps —

“— attention to me. Hey!”

Tan fingers snapped in front of your face, making you jump as you were abruptly brought back to the present. Right. Studying, an annoying Miyuki (as usual), the impending end of course exam for your English class. You regained your bearings, finding a frowning Miyuki in front of you. The furrow of his brow told you he was concerned.

“Sorry. Just got lost in thought for a little while,” you chuckled, a little embarrassed. Despite yourself, you noticed how the warm glow of the setting sun accented the golden flecks in his eyes, which were studying you seriously. You tried for a reassuring smile, but he clearly didn’t believe you.

He called out to your mother. “I’m going to be taking her out for a few! She’s been working hard!”

You gaped at him and barely managed to slip a bookmark into your textbook before he shut it and slid it underneath the counter. Your mother popped her head out of the kitchen, smiling in that perceptive way of hers.

“Of course, Kazuya. Be back by six. You’re more than welcome to stay for dinner and bring something to your father if he can’t make it.”

He grinned at her, in that charming sort of way he always did for your mother and older sister. “Yes, ma’am!”

You sighed, taking off the bakery apron and reaching for your own baseball cap. You both had gone to a SoftBank Hawks game for his twelfth birthday and bought matching caps for it. It was one of your favorite memories.

You didn’t truly care for baseball — definitely not like he did — but it made him happy, so you never really minded playing a good game with him.

By no means were you a legitimate pitcher, and as you two grew, you worried that your horrible pitching would hinder his performance since you didn’t provide a true challenge, but he had constantly said he liked playing with you for fun.

“Competitions are fun, too,” he’d agreed with your initial argument. “But I don’t have to be strategic or hard-working with you. It’s always been better with you.”

You weren’t sure you believed him, as you’d see the way his eyes lit up whenever he was out there on the field, hitting home runs, calling pitches (honestly, baseball was the perfect sport for him to show off his bossiness; you always pitied the pitchers assigned to him).

But, as you two walked to the park, you listening to him ramble about some baseball game, you figured he’d been playing catch with you this long, hadn’t he? That had to count for something.

Third year meant picking your high schools, pulling all-nights to study for entrance exams and most importantly, keeping up your grades — all the while dragging a reluctant Miyuki right behind you.

“What if you can’t get a scholarship? What if you do get one but it’s only for baseball? They’ll really be paying close attention to your grades then, you know,” you’d lectured him for the umpteenth time since the first semester began. “Having good studying habits won’t hurt you.”

“Yes, it will,” Miyuki grumbled petulantly from his spot next to you on your bed, laying down with his arm tossed over his face. You rolled your eyes, picking out a pencil to use for your assignment that you were about to do.

“You have no problem swinging three hundred times a day but when it comes to notes, what is it? You can’t read now?”

“I’m illiterate.”

You climbed over his legs to retrieve your notebook from your backpack on the floor, then threw it onto his stomach, making him jump at the sudden impact. You climbed back over to your spot against the wall. “Read those. I dumbed it down for you.”

“Thank you!”

You shook your head, grinning despite yourself. He was a real loser sometimes.

The two of you lapsed into a comfortable silence, punctuated by the sound of your little brother’s laughter from downstairs. He was probably watching one of his kid shows again. When the bakery began to get busier with the new school year, TV had become a fixation for him, a surefire way of keeping him in one place.

You unfolded your legs out from beneath you, resting them over Miyuki’s legs. He didn’t protest. Not that he ever did, really. Much to your pleasant surprise, Miyuki could be incredibly affectionate, always wanting to maintain physical contact with you. Whenever your class was taken on long field trips, his head always found your shoulder, though you knew it had to be uncomfortable for him because of the height differences between you two. He frequently draped an arm over your shoulders, if only to lean heavily on you and cause you to stumble — much to his amusement.

It was strange. He’d done those things often when you were kids, and they’d only increased in frequency as you’d gotten older, but . . . Why exactly were you noticing? Who cared? Miyuki sure as hell didn’t.

Maybe it was because sometimes, on those long field trips, when the hum of the engine, the feeling of his warm body next to yours put you to sleep in an instant, you’d wake up with the phantom warmth still lingering, finding yourself missing it. Or when you couldn’t help but notice the pleasant scent of something sweet and a little spicy whenever he’d lean on you and it’d be so overwhelming — his weight, the warmth, the scent — that your knees felt a little weak.

You pressed your mechanical pencil harder onto the page, finding your heart beating at what seemed like an unhealthy speed. That wasn’t good. Why was your heart doing this now? All you’d been thinking of was Miyuki.

“The heart should always be beating steadily. The only time it doesn’t is when you’re high on adrenaline, you’re exercising, or —”

“What about when you have a crush, Miss?” You couldn’t recall who had asked that, but it had probably been some annoying underclassmen. A few of the other kids present giggled while the upperclassmen rolled their eyes.

The nurse smiled indulgently. “Or if you like someone.”

“Have you thought about what high school you’re going to?” Miyuki’s voice brought you out of your internal strife. You almost breathed a sigh of relief, desperate for that distraction. You turned your attention back to your assignment since you’d neglected that, too. Then, you realized what he was asking.

“Not really.”

You had.

Miyuki hummed quietly. You could see him glancing at you in the corner of your eye.

You wrote down the answer to an equation. “You?” you asked.

“Sort of . . . I think I might head to Seido.”

You couldn’t say you were surprised. That guy — Chris, you’d learned his name was — had really gotten Miyuki going, a “potential rival” to keep him on his toes.

“Oh?” you asked, feigning surprise.

“Yeah. I got an offer from them. Full ride for academic and baseball.”

“Studying pays off, doesn’t it?”

“I can’t believe you don’t have a school in mind already,” he said, ignoring your jeer. He laid the notebook flat across his chest and turned his eyes up toward your ceiling. “What have you been doing in the medical club all this time?”

You snorted. “Helping the last third years get into good high schools. I don’t know, Miyuki, I just haven’t really thought about it that much.” Now, you were blatantly lying to him. Oh, you’d given high school a lot of thought. The idea of going somewhere far away — such as Hokkaido — detested you, and you knew Miyuki would love it if you’d go with him to Seido. In fact, any moment now —

“Why not Seido? They have a great academic program, you know. They’re always in the top ten national rankings every year for academics.” He was trying to be nonchalant about it, but you could hear — and understand — the message under his words. Let’s do this together.

Your grip on your pencil tightened. The idea of being away from him was painful.

But was that the best idea?

You managed to stave off his questions, only promising to tell him your choices when you managed to find a few good schools. He left after dinner, taking a plate for his own father and your notebook, promising to read them. (You didn’t believe him.)

When you went back up to your room, you went over to your dresser, pulling open the bottom drawer. It was the one with undergarments — one that Miyuki would never touch since he knew what was where. You brushed aside the articles of clothing and took out the thick envelope.

Mimayama School for Medicine and Science

It was in Kyoto, a huge campus that spanned an entire block and was the height of a skyscraper. It was a well-renowned school, one that had perfect statistics and scores in all subjects. The ideal high school. But it didn’t have a baseball program. Not to mention that there was a three-hour train ride from here to Kyoto.

Your grip on the envelope tightened, denting the thick cardstock. The fact that you’d been invited there was something to celebrate, but you hadn’t told your parents, having managed to steal the envelope before they could see it.

Maybe you would’ve celebrated if you lived a different life. One where Miyuki wasn’t there.

You felt guilty for thinking like that, but your sister’s words echoed in your head.

“Don’t allow feelings to influence important life decisions. Don’t think about those sorts of things. You don’t need them.”

You’d been a first year when she’d said that to you, strangely enough. It’d been the same thing you’d repeated to your counselor during that horrible conversation about puberty. And you’d firmly believed it, though there was one exception.

Don’t let others influence your feelings. Except Miyuki.

He was your best friend, after all. You’d be cruel to not feel anything.

What were you going to do, then?

Your answer seemed to come sooner or later. More specifically, the day Miyuki got into a fight.

It had been a cool October day, baseball season already over for Miyuki so he had no choice but to hang around the campus after school while you went to your regular club meetings.

The meeting had been adjourned earlier than usual so Miyuki wasn’t leaning against the wall like he usually would. The last text he’d sent you said that he was in the library, so you began walking over there. As you neared the doors, you passed a few girls, talking rapidly to each other.

“. . . fight. That’s so weird, I’ve never seen him lose his temper.”

“I know! He’s almost always antagonizing someone else, I can’t believe Tanaka was able to get Miyuki so riled up.”

You froze and turned to them, recognizing them as a few fellow classmates.

“Wait, what happened?” You stepped toward them, drawing their attention. They became fidgety and sheepish under your eyes, avoiding eye contact.

“Um . . . Miyuki got into a fight with Tanaka a few minutes ago outside the library.”

What?

Miyuki didn’t fight. He couldn’t fight. Well, no, you were sure he had a few good moves on him, especially since baseball kept him in prime shape and there were his unfortunate experiences with his more violent seniors on the team but they were long gone. Since he was a third year now (and considerably taller and more muscled), no one would dare to mess with him. Especially because he’d proved his worth on the field, that he had a right to say the things he did. It’s just that you knew he hated being at the tail-end of those confrontations. Having to take the hits, while refusing to say anything to any of the adults because they wouldn’t do anything. The violence of it. Violence has no place in baseball, he’d once said. Anything someone needs to say can be done on the field.

More than that — he couldn’t fight without risking expulsion. It would look horrible on his record and — he wouldn’t be able to go to Seido.

“Why?” you recovered quickly, not caring that you were being demanding now, probably too harsh if anything.

“We don’t know . . . We just heard it from some other kids.”

“Where is Miyuki now?” He probably wouldn’t answer your texts. If anything, it’d be exactly like him to hide this from you.

The girls shared glances again. “Um, I think he went to the boy's bathroom by 3-B.”

“Thanks,” you told them shortly, then turning on your heel and heading towards the hallway for third years. You made the decision to not retrieve your first aid kit. You’d lead him back to your house instead. He didn’t need to be around the school with visible injuries.

Once you were at the boy’s bathroom, you hesitated. What were you supposed to do? Could you go in there? Would he allow you to even see him? Maybe you could wait. He had to come out eventually.

You leaned against the lockers next to the wall, wondering what on earth happened. Even disregarding his dislike of violence and the huge risk that comes with fighting, like those girls had said, he wasn’t someone who got riled up easily. He was the one riling people up. But the fact that it’d been Tanaka made some sense; Ichiro Tanaka was the asshole in your class, always finding someone to pick on, always making unwanted advances on girls.

Miyuki may be an asshole in the sense that he could pick you apart and annoy you to death, but he had honor. (Plus, he’d never shown any interest in any girls or boys in your class ever.)

You rubbed your forehead tiredly, pulling out your phone to text your mother that you might be home earlier than usual. Just as you’d sent off the text, the door to the boy’s bathroom opened and Miyuki stepped out, his backpack slung over his shoulder, still not noticing your presence until you’d reached out to tap his shoulder.

You could see him tense, muscles stiffening. He was hesitant to turn around and you were about to call him out on it, but he turned before you could say. Your eyes widened as you took stock of his injuries.

“Are you okay?” you gasped, any thought of scolding him thrown out the window at seeing the busted lip, the cut on his temple, and the blossoming bruise on his cheek. A quick glance at his hands showed you the cuts on his knuckles, though they were only on his left hand. You knew he caught and threw with his right. At least he’d had that foresight. “What happened?”

He avoided your eyes. “I may have gotten into a fight with Tanaka.”

You huffed, glad to see he was acting normally. Well, as normal as Miyuki could ever be.

“No shit. I know that part already — though I don’t know why — but what did Tanaka do to you?” There was the underlying question in your words, one you wouldn’t outright say because it would probably appease him. Did you win?

Miyuki picked up on it anyway, smirking but then wincing at the pain he was probably feeling on his lip. “I won.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “You — I can’t believe you. Come on, let’s do this at my house. We don’t need someone seeing you.” You two began walking towards the exit. You shot him a worried glance. You couldn’t imagine the potential repercussions this could entail. You didn’t want Miyuki to be stuck here. You wanted him to leave, to go to Seido and become the best damn catcher to play high school baseball.

As if sensing your thoughts, he spoke. “No one’s going to say anything. Tanaka’s looking for a volleyball scholarship at some school in Hokkaido and his lackeys have their own scholarships they need to worry about, too. It was an unspoken agreement.”

You sighed heavily. “I don’t want you to throw away your chances at a good baseball career, Miyuki. Especially not over a fight, which, speaking of, is very unlike you. So, regardless of that . . . what on earth happened?”

He stayed silent. You pursed your lips and led him to your house. It was easy to sneak past the bakery, where your parents and older sister would be preoccupied with the dinner time rush. The house would be empty, too, since your little brother was over at a friend’s house for a playdate.

You ushered him up to the bathroom on the second floor, dropping your bags off in your room beforehand. You shut the door behind you and locked it for good measure, then opened up the window to let some fresh air in. Miyuki was still silent, appearing introspective. For once, you were unable to find out what he was thinking.

You made him wash his face and hands first, taking his glasses and setting them on the counter behind you so they wouldn’t get wet. Once he was finished and resituated on the closed toilet seat, you began tending to his wounds, first going back downstairs to grab an icepack and wrapping it in a towel so it wouldn’t be too abrasive against his face. You worked on disinfecting the cuts on his knuckles, which weren’t too bad. You had one hand cupping his, the back of his hand facing up as your fingers pressed against his palm to spread out his hand.

He grimaced at the burn of the hydrogen peroxide but didn’t say anything. When you moved to wrap up his knuckles, you closed your hand around his fingers, trying not to focus on how the calluses rubbed against your skin. You moved on to the gash on his temple, murmuring a soft “sorry” when he winced from the burn. He had to keep his glasses off, but his eyes were on the floor.

You’d been applying an ointment to the cut when he spoke again. “Tanaka said something . . . Something I’m not repeating.” You paused, your eyes briefly flickering to his bandaged hand in his lap that clenched into a fist. “I couldn’t let it slide. I know . . . you know how I feel about fighting but . . . it was about you. And I’m not going to let him, of all people, talk about you like that.”

He sat up straighter, his eyes meeting yours. You froze, golden irises searing into you in a way that made your heart race. The lack of glasses made it all the more intense, your stomach doing flips in nervousness.

“Miyuki . . .” you muttered, feeling your face heat up. “I —”

“Don’t say you don’t want me fighting because of you. I did it because you’re my best friend and no one gets to speak about you that way. No one.”

Miyuki was passionate about baseball. About his cooking. About the SoftBank Hawks. But never about you. Yet, here he was, speaking so strongly that you felt a little weak at this display of anger and . . . touched.

You pursed your lips, breaking eye contact with him to turn to the sink and take out a bandaid to put over the cut. You carefully covered the wound then took out another disinfectant wipe to use for his lip. You actually hesitated before you started your work, but it had to be done.

You brushed his chin with the back of your hand, avoiding grabbing it. He turned his head up with no qualms, but his eyes stayed on your face. You attempted to disinfect the cut on his bottom lip, but it proved to be more difficult than you thought. It could also be because your heart was racing and your face was itchy with heat. You swore silently and grabbed his chin with your hand to better clean.

You hated this. Here you were, close to his face, staring at his lips as you cleaned them. At least you had an excuse to stare, though.

You caught your train of thought and almost swore out loud. Where was that even coming from? When had you begun thinking of him like that? Yeah, Miyuki was good-looking, almost unbelievably so, but it wasn’t anything new. So why now?

You realized far too late that you’d stopped moving the wipe on his lip, the white cloth blossoming red from the blood still leaking. He winced from your grip and you wrenched your hand back, uttering a soft “sorry” again. You turned back to the sink to grab the ointment, only squeezing out a small amount so that it wouldn’t be noticeable.

With shaking hands, you pressed your fingers to his jaw to angle his face once again, concentrating on anything but the feeling of his smooth skin underneath your fingers. You spread the ointment over the cut, trying your best to be gentle but also ensuring that it wasn’t showing.

In a desperate attempt to distract yourself and to break hold from the heavy atmosphere you’d found yourself in, you lifted your head to look at him again, but before you could even think to speak, the look in his eyes made you stop. Your brain short-circuited at the look he was giving you, whether it was on purpose or not, you didn’t know. You stood there frozen, still invading his personal space for the most part.

For a moment, it felt like time had stopped. His eyes looked warm underneath the light coming in from the window, casting shadows over the curve of his nose, making him look so much more older and — and handsome.

Then, like a warning siren, your sister’s voice echoed in your head.

“Don’t let feelings cloud your judgment.”

You sighed shortly, the loud noise shattering the moment. “Honestly, Miyuki.” You shook your head, turning around to toss the q-tip into the trash along with the other used supplies. You heard him make a surprised noise at your sudden movements.

You picked up his glasses off the counter and handed them back over then took a few steps back, leaning against the wall opposite to him, putting a respectable amount of distance between you two.

“I appreciate what you did,” you said, managing to keep the shakiness out of your voice. He’d put on his glasses again, his eyes now impossible to read. “But, god, I don’t want you to not be able to go to Seido . . . That is where you decided to go, right?”

He shrugged. “Probably. Don’t worry. I mean, I don’t regret what I did. Not at all. But I do understand what you’re saying and I’m not planning to make this a regular thing.”

You scowled, feeling the atmosphere around you lighten up. “I sure hope not. You don’t need to be batting with cut up knuckles like that, you dummy.”

“I know,” he said quietly, before trying for a smirk, though it came out more like a pained grimace. “Besides, you’re here to fix me up, aren’t you?”

You huffed, turning your nose up at him. “You’re so annoying, Miyuki.”

“Thanks.”

“Shut up.”

But even as he began talking about the studying he’d managed to accomplish before he’d left the library and ended up face to face with Tanaka, you thought about your plans for high school. These feelings . . . Whatever they were, they weren’t needed. Not right now. Not right before you two were picking out your high schools. You couldn’t allow them to cloud your judgment.

At the same time, though, going to Seido with him . . . That seemed amazing. Another three more years seeing him, going through all the high school experiences, cheering him on at baseball games, it was all too dangerous. Far too dangerous.

It was dangerous because here you were, at risk of feeling something more than platonic feelings for a boy you’d known since you were eight, where you already know your feelings will never be returned.

First semester of your third year wrapped up quickly after that. With the start of your second semester, you received many offers from different schools all over the country. Your parents and sister were proud.

“That’s our girl,” your father had grinned, reaching out to ruffle your hair, much to your displeasure.

“Hey, make sure you choose a good school,” your sister said, giving you a severe look. You fixed your hair, not meeting her eyes.

“Wherever you want to go, honey, we’ll support you.” There was a heaviness in your mother’s tone, as though she didn’t want you to go far. You’d gotten an offer from the high school in this area, but you weren’t satisfied with the curriculum. Staying here would mean ending up like your sister (no offense to her, of course, since she was happy). You wanted out of Old Town Tokyo.

Miyuki had gotten a lot of offers, too. Schools everywhere wanted him as their catcher. The powerhouse schools, like Inashiro, Teito, Seido (of course), even several schools from Hokkaido. It wouldn’t be hard for him to make it as a pro. You were proud.

But he was set on Seido, and he was pressing you for your own decision, too.

“I have to start planning. It’s going to be busy when we start up,” he’d told you, trying to convince you to spill which schools had sent you offers.

“I’m still thinking,” you’d lied. “But if you really want to know, I’ve gotten one from Sakurazawa High.”

“Oh, I know them. They’ve lost in the first round of the West tournament for like, twenty consecutive years.”

You shot him a glare. “Is that all that matters?”

He chuckled, holding up his hands in a sign of surrender. “They have great academics, don’t they? But, you know . . . I’m fairly sure that Seido is equal in terms of national academic ranking . . .”

That was another thing. You knew Miyuki wouldn’t ever hold you back, just like you wouldn’t hold him back. It felt like some sort of crime to ever try and stop him from pursuing his interest in baseball and vice versa for him and your desire to be a doctor. But you knew, just like he did, that Seido was a powerhouse school in both academics and athletics. Going there wouldn’t hinder your performance nor his. Not to mention, you two would be together, right?

Except, it sounded horrible. The past few months had been stressful, because not only did you have to deal with the looks your mother was giving you about choosing a school way outside of Old Town Tokyo, but you also had to stave off the counselors who wanted your decision, along with Miyuki. Then there were your feelings for him. You weren’t sure what they were, but you knew they weren’t good. They were the type of feelings to inhibit you.

You couldn’t be a good friend to Miyuki if all you were thinking about is how much you wanted to hold his hand and have him tuck you under his arm like so many other couples did. If all you thought about was how happy he looked whenever he was talking about baseball or talking about Seido and competing for starting catcher. If all you thought about was how pretty his eyes were and how handsome he looked whenever he genuinely smiled.

You weren’t being a good friend. And you needed to fix that.

That night, you mailed the application to Mimayama. Two days later, you received your acceptance letter.

“Mimayama? That’s so cool!”

“Wow! You’re serious about being a doctor, aren’t you?”

It had meant to be a secret. You’d only wanted your family to know and no one else. You’d tell Miyuki when you had to. Preferably right before he left to Seido, or maybe when he was there already. Clearly, that had been too tall of an order.

You’d notified your counselors of your acceptance and subsequent admittance into Mimayama, much to their happiness. Apparently, no such thing as student-to-administrator confidentiality existed because your homeroom teacher found out immediately and after publicly congratulating you, a group of girls had approached you, gushing over your acceptance.

Luckily, not many people had been there yet, though a few of your other classmates had eyed you curiously. Miyuki was running late, something or another about sleeping in. You didn’t know — didn’t care, since that meant you had time to do damage control.

“Listen,” you began, trying to look as serious as possible. The girls leaned in eagerly. “Keep it to yourselves, alright? Don’t tell Miyuki or anyone else. I don’t want to start unnecessary rumors. It’d be horrible if people thought I was boasting about it.”

They nodded, agreeing immediately. “Of course! But why not tell Miyuki?”

They were looking harder at you now, more analytical, more perceptive. It reminded you too much of your mother and sister. You came up with a quick lie.

“It’s a surprise for him. I’ll be telling him later on. We’re going to different schools —” those words left a bitter taste in your mouth and a numb ache in your heart “— so I’m trying to prepare, you know?”

They soaked it up. Of course they did. Miyuki was popular with girls and they’d always wondered about your friendship with him. Saying all this to them was probably enough gossip to last for the rest of the year.

“Totally! We’ll be quiet, promise!”

You smiled at them, glancing over at the door just as Miyuki stepped into the room, looking like a total mess. The girls turned back around and began whispering to each other, sending occasional glances towards him then to you.

You ignored them in favor of watching him shuffle over to the desk in front of yours. He collapsed dramatically into his seat, laying on top of your desk instead of his own. You raised an eyebrow.

“Are you done?”

“I’m tired,” he muttered. “Exhausted.”

Now a little concerned because a tired Miyuki wasn’t a good thing (though he was absolutely adorable), you leaned forward. “Is everything okay? Did something happen?”

He lifted his head and you clicked your tongue at the circles underneath his eyes. His hair was messier than usual, leaving you to contemplate whether or not he’d actually brushed it. “I was finishing the application to Seido. Mailed it off this morning.”

“When was the deadline?”

“Tomorrow.”

You rubbed your forehead, exasperated. “Miyuki . . . You’re so lucky you don’t have baseball anymore.”

“Not until next year.” He yawned and you tried your best to not think that he looked so adorable all sleepy and tired. This was a bad thing. He needed his sleep. “It was worth it. Hey, Mei wants to talk to me today after school. D’you want to come along?”

You pursed your lips. Well, you still weren’t fond of Narumiya, even after he’d begrudgingly apologized to you. He was Miyuki’s friend — sort of — and you’d wanted to lead Miyuki straight to his house so he could take a nap after school. This would just have to be done before, then. “Sure, but after, we’re going back to your house and you’re taking a nap.”

He grinned lazily at you. “Thanks.”

You turned away, ignoring the burn in your cheeks. “Whatever. Try not to fall asleep in class.”

He did end up falling asleep. And of course, you covered for him despite your earlier words. You had to wonder. If these feelings weren’t there, would you have done it? You glanced at him from the corner of your eye as you two made your way to the park. (After school, you’d dropped off your bags at his house since his was closet and began towards the place that Narumiya wanted to meet up at.) He yawned again, something he’d been doing frequently today, and you decided yes, no matter your feelings, you would gladly take cover for him.

Maybe that was where the problem had started.

Miyuki had always been the best in baseball, striving to work hard and prove himself, calling for aggressive plays and focusing even if something hadn’t gone his way. Despite his tendency to laziness when it came to exams and such, he was a diligent student.

In some ways, you wanted to be like him. Charismatic and charming when it counted, quick-thinking in difficult situations. After all, that was how doctors needed to be, right? They needed to be decisive, no hesitancy in their movements. You had someone’s life laid willingly into your hands and you couldn’t disappoint.

Had this admiration planted the seeds for your feelings?

You didn’t know and you didn’t have time to think it over as you came to the park. You fell a little behind as you realized there were other boys present, all from different leagues, though you knew they were part of Narumiya’s friend group. If Miyuki noticed you partially hiding, he didn’t say anything about it.

“Well, well, what’s with the gathering of the all-stars?” he asked, announcing his presence to them, in that conniving way of his. The boys turned to him, a few curious eyes glancing over to you, but you resolutely stood silent with your arms crossed, not offering your name. Thankfully, Miyuki didn’t offer to introduce you either.

He began listing off their names and leagues (you wondered briefly how he knew that, but of course, if it was baseball, it was important). When he finished, hands still casually in his pockets, he turned to Narumiya. “Did you call them all here, Mei?”

Mei grinned. “Yeah. And you, Kazuya. If you come with me, I can form my ultimate team.”

You raised your eyebrows. Well, you were surprised at this turn of events, but it wasn’t exactly far from something Narumiya would do. Miyuki laughed, sounding surprised as well.

“I don’t really care if you’re not the catcher, but Narumiya wants you,” the one named Shirakawa said, probably trying to help Narumiya convince Miyuki but it just sounded like he was bored and would rather be somewhere else.

“Inashiro invited you, too. Right, Kazuya?”

It was strange. You’d never been the possessive or jealous type. Miyuki had his fangirls — of course — but he’d never paid attention to them. Hearing Narumiya call Miyuki by his first name made you tense. Miyuki, you could understand — he called everyone by their first name, whether it was welcomed or not and you’d been calling him by his last name for as long as you could remember, more by habit now rather than respect. He’d never asked you to call him by his first name, either, so that’s the way it’d always been.

But here was the ever-so-condescending Narumiya Mei, speaking so casually with your best friend. It made you uncomfortable, but you pushed that away. This wasn’t the time nor place.

“So, why don’t we make the ultimate team together? If we all get on the same team, we could take nationals.” That was what this was about then. Barring your brief discomfort at hearing Narumiya call Miyuki by his first name, you felt a little proud that even such a self-centered pitcher like Narumiya and the others knew how valuable of a catcher that Miyuki was.

“Inashiro’s coach has a lot of experience under his belt and they have the best equipment in Tokyo. It’s a great environment, too,” Kamiya added.

“Not to mention, you won’t have to play against Narumiya. You’re in, too. Right, Miyuki Kazuya?” Shirakawa, as much as you hated to admit it, had a point. You’d seen Narumiya pitch. He was head and shoulders above a lot of the pitchers in your year. That was probably why he was so arrogant. But the guys made it sound like Miyuki would actually be averse to going head-to-head with Narumiya, when in fact —

“I’m sorry, but I already got an invite from Seido a while ago. I can’t join you guys.” His hand came up to his neck, a sign that showed he was a little uncomfortable being cornered by so many.

“What? Are you being serious right now?”

Narumiya stood up from his crouch. “Seido, huh? They’ve only gone to nationals once since their old coach quit. Compared to what Coach Kunitomo has achieved, Coach Kataoka is just way too green.”

You shifted on your feet, turning your eyes back to Miyuki. He scratched his neck in a shifty movement. It was coming any moment now. “Well, it’s not really about that,” he began. “Inashiro’s a team with a bunch of all-stars like you guys, right? So . . . I want to face you as an opponent.”

Of course. While the others were visibly shocked, you bit back a small smile. You’d seen it coming from a mile away. Sure, Narumiya could probably prepare a team to take nationals on with Miyuki and his other friends, but Miyuki wasn’t like that. He didn’t want the easy out. He wanted to work for it. You recalled his words from first year, after his loss against that second year catcher, Chris.

“How else am I supposed to be the best?” How else, indeed. There would be no better way than to face Inashiro than on a different team, still at a powerhouse school with a competent team where Miyuki would fit right in.

“Are you stupid?”

“Oh, you’re too kind.”

“It’s not a compliment!”

“Kazuya.” Narumiya didn’t look too surprised. Well, you could give him props for trying. “I’m gonna ask you one last time —” and for being so annoyingly persistent as well.

“Sorry. No.” Miyuki didn’t sound too apologetic.

Narumiya looked a bit irritated and his eyes shifted to you. “You’ll regret it, Kazuya. Is it because of her?” He calls you out, by your first name. “Are you going to Seido as well?”

You glared at him. “I don’t remember giving you permission to call me by my first name, Narumiya. And let it go.”

Shirakawa and Kamiya snorted as an affronted look passed over Narumiya’s face. “Hey, you’re always so mean to me —”

You turned your nose up, ignoring him. He didn’t know when to quit.

Most likely in an attempt to defuse the situation, Miyuki took a step back and said his goodbyes, then turned around and guided you away from the park.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” he confessed when you two were a reasonable distance away from the park, well on your way back to your own neighborhood. “But it was a very Mei thing of him to try.”

“Exactly what I thought,” you agreed. “He is right, too, you know. You’d probably be able to take on nationals without any problems.” Miyuki opened his mouth to protest but you elbowed him in the ribs, continuing with a small smile. “But I know. Challenger. I get it. It’s a surprisingly level-headed decision coming from you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” You coughed to hide your snickers at the look on his face.

His house was empty as usual, his father most likely next door in the factory working on whatever project that needed to meet its deadline soon. You’d never asked about Miyuki’s mother, but you never had to. You’d seen the picture frame of a handsome, younger Toku Miyuki and a beautiful women standing next to him, a small bundle in her arms, standing in front of the factory. It didn’t take a genius to know that his mother had probably passed when he was younger.

Upon the entrance to his room, you went to his drawer where some casual clothes of yours were kept — purely for practical reasons since he had his own clothes in your dresser, too, along with many sweaters you’d kept. When you came back from the bathroom, he was already sprawled out on his bed, changed into comfortable clothing.

You went to take a seat in his desk chair, but his tired voice stopped you. “Hey, what are you doing? Come here.”

Your heart skipped a beat in your chest. You two had slept in the same bed when you were kids every now and then, but it had stopped when you’d gotten older. Well, you had gotten more aware of it every time you had shared a bed — of him right next to you. Evidently, he’d never cared because he had no problem taking a nap whenever he crashed your room.

You climbed over him so you were next to the wall. His bed wasn’t big, only a full-size, so it was enough for you two but no more than that. He stretched, yawning quietly. You hesitantly laid down next to him, facing him with a reasonable amount of space between you two. He turned to face you, blinking sleepily as his face was pressed into the pillow, probably putting the edges of his glasses into his face uncomfortably.

“You’re gonna break your glasses,” you muttered disapprovingly, reaching out to pluck them off his face. He squinted, readjusting to the absence of his glasses as you leaned over him to place them on the nightstand. You made sure that you didn’t touch his body as you did so.

He hummed quietly, drawing up the blanket to his waist. You abstained from it. He radiated enough body heat on his own, plus your internal temperatures were always high when you were in close proximity with him.

“You never said.”

His sleepy voice brought you out of your thoughts. Miyuki was clearly having a hard time staying awake, so you indulged him. “Said what?”

“Where you’re going. When we saw Mei. You didn’t deny it, but you’re not going there, are you?” His eyelids fluttered and you found yourself enraptured with the way his eyelashes just barely ghosted his cheeks. “I’m not going to be mad if you don’t, if that’s what you think.”

You tensed. He scooted closer to you. “I . . . Well, Seido’s a great school, Miyuki.”

His eyebrows furrowed, his eyes finally shutting, but he didn’t drift off. “You’re confusing.”

“What . . .?”

“I don’t want to hold you back from a good school. That’s what you deserve, especially for putting up with me this long —” your heart broke just a little at that admission. Did he think he was a burden to you? “— so I won’t be mad. Just tell me where you’re going.”

“I . . .” I can’t tell you. I can’t tell you why. I’m leaving, not because it’s a good school, but because I need to leave you. I can’t be around you. If I tell you now, I just might back out and go somewhere near you. “I’m still weighing my options, to be truthful.”

He hummed again, a sign he was still listening, so you pushed on. “I got an invitation from Oya, too, in East Tokyo. They’re a public school and they have a good academic program. If I remember correctly, they went to Nationals five years ago.”

“Not bad,” he mumbled. “Make a decision soon, though. I take it that means you’re not going to Seido, then?”

You were surprised that he was still managing to make logical conclusions despite being on the verge of unconsciousness. “Yeah, probably not. It would’ve been great to be with you, though,” you lied. It wouldn’t have been great. You would’ve suffered from your unrequited feelings, having to see him make it big in high school baseball, watching the entire nation fall in love with him.

He nodded, eyes still shut. “That’s okay. Just tell me where you’re going soon, okay.”

“I will.” Another lie. You were on a roll today, weren’t you?

He drifted off after that. You knew when he’d fallen asleep because you could feel the bed dip as he became dead weight, utterly relaxed, his breathing deep and steady. Your eyes roamed his face as you become more relaxed, finding comfort in being so close to him.

That fight had left an unnoticeable scar on his temple, usually hidden by his glasses, then the cut on his lip had healed up finely so there was no trace of it — at that point, your eyes lingered too long on his lips — and the cuts on his knuckles weren’t that noticeable either, probably something he could blame on his gloves.

Your heart stuttered in your chest as he shifted even closer to you. You had nowhere to go, your back pressed against his wall. You sighed quietly, shutting your own eyes to take a nap of your own. Whatever. These last few months were ones you had to treasure because the likelihood that you’d see him during high school was little to none. Really, the chances of him wanting to see you would probably make it even lower.

You fell asleep, weighed down by your decisions and restless for what the future might hold for your friendship with Miyuki.

(Those thoughts really didn’t bother you when you woke up lying on his chest and he had his arms wrapped tightly around your shoulders. You were mortified, though.)

Graduation from your junior high had come and gone with no problems. You were in the top ten, sitting comfortably as number two while Miyuki sat as number ten; you weren’t surprised by his rank, by any means.

You’d avoided packing your own things, too. You would need to be in Kyoto by April 10th. They started the school year much later, for whatever reason, but it just meant that you’d be seeing Miyuki go off on March 28th, three days before the first day of school. And you’d managed to avoid telling him your final decision.

It all seemed to be catching up because the walk to the station was filled with an uncomfortable silence. Miyuki had said his goodbyes to his father and your family, your little brother strangely sad at the disappearance of his “Miyu.” (A nickname that had you rolling in laughter when he’d come up with it and always managed to make Miyuki’s face turn red.)

His train would be leaving in ten minutes. You both sat down on the bench at his platform.

“So,” Miyuki prompted. “Which is it?”

When you looked at him, his eyes were hard. He was irritated. Rightly so. You’d been dancing around your own leave for several months now and here he was, about to leave to Seido and he still didn’t know. You’d briefly contemplated allowing him to stay mad at you. Let him blow up. Perhaps it would give you the shock you needed. But he didn’t deserve that.

You sighed softly, guilt eating away at your insides. “Mimayama.”

You felt him tense up beside you as he made a strangled noise. “In Kyoto?”

You nodded, turning your eyes to the ground. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds and you clenched your hands into fists, ducking your head lower.

“That’s a good school.” His voice was leveled, cool and indifferent. Somehow, it hurt more than having to hear anger. “They’d be stupid not to accept you.”

You hummed softly.

He sighed shortly. “I don’t — what the hell? Why did you . . . What did you even gain from that?”

There it was. You turned back to look at him, then balked at the hurt on his face. “I . . . didn’t want to worry you.”

“You worried me more by not telling me,” he replied shortly. “That’s so far away.” Are you going to be okay?

That was more than you deserved. You’d been such a shitty friend for the past two years. Here he was, still trying to be a good friend.

You tried for a smile. “It’s not Hokkaido or anything, Miyuki. I’ll be fine. And I’m sorry . . . I just — I didn’t know. I don’t know.”

He stared at you. You met his eyes head on. You had to show him that you’d be fine. This was what you needed. You had the reckless urge to transfer back to a school here in Tokyo, if only to be close to him, but it was muted. Doing this was for the best of your friendship.

“I’m still mad.” Understandable. “And I’m leaving now. Baseball starts up immediately so I won’t have time to talk to you, especially since you’ll probably be busy with school, too. Solving this won’t be as easy as it was when we still lived here, you know.”

Would it even be solved?

“We’ll figure out a way,” you said, despite yourself. Something had changed. Your distance in your friendship had been noticeable. A child could notice. Whether it had been conscious or unconscious was up to debate. Evidently, though, it had hurt Miyuki and that was the last thing you wanted.

. . . Right?

You were moving all the way to Kyoto for the sole purpose of burying those feelings for him. Focusing on school. Rebuilding . . . Rebuilding your friendship. Right, that’d been a priority, too. But could it be done? You’d messed up.

“Well, let’s not spend our last few minutes together arguing or mad at each other.” Miyuki’s voice brought you out of your thoughts. He stood up, holding out a hand for you. You accepted, trying to imprint the feeling of his calluses and the way his palm felt against yours into your mind.

He wouldn’t give up on your friendship, though, would he?

The train pulled in, the draft carrying stray pieces of your hair, hydraulics hissing loudly as it eased to a stop. You were stunned as Miyuki pulled you in for a hug. It was tight, almost painful, but he was so warm and that sweet and spicy scent was overwhelming you in the best possible way that you couldn’t help but hug him back just as tightly.

“Don’t forget about me over there,” he murmured into your ear, warm breath tickling your sensitive skin. You suppressed a shiver.

“I-I won’t.”

He stepped away, sighing softly as the doors unlocked and popped open for the cabin in front of you. He picked up his bag. “I’ll see you later. We’ll talk.”

You nodded. He hesitated to leave, a strange look passing over his face as he fought with himself over something, but then it was gone just as quickly as it had come. He turned away and there was something foreboding about seeing him walk away from you. A cold feeling blooming in the pit of your stomach.

This wouldn’t be the last of him. You’d go to school in Kyoto, get over your feelings and rekindle your friendship with him. Things would get better. They would.

They had to.

Interlude: start

Miyuki wasn’t sure what was going on.

You’d been distant for the last few months, clearly having something on your mind and he’d waited patiently for you to come to him. But you never did.

Instead you sent him off, finally telling him where you were going. To the Kyoto Prefecture, of all places. Was he mad? Yes, and he sort of had a right to be.

He had to wonder. Had all those times he’d pestered you for your answer, had you lied to him? Applying to Mimayama and getting accepted wasn’t a last minute choice. Prestigious schools like that always had application deadlines earlier than other private and public high schools.

So, why hadn’t you told him?

It was something that plagued him for the entire train ride to Kokubunji, even when he made it to Seido High and received his dorm number.

Had you . . . figured it out?

He’d tried his best to hide his feelings and he felt that he’d been largely successful. You’d acted normally as you would and this felt like too much of a secret for you to hide if you knew. You weren’t one to hide what you were thinking, especially when it came to him. But falling in love with your best friend wasn’t normal, was it?

He couldn’t help himself. He’d never say it, but you’d stood beside him for the past six years, you were always so supportive, so patient even when he didn’t deserve it. So how could you even possibly begin to feel the same way? He wouldn’t openly admit this either, but he had more flaws than he had strengths.

Sure, he was . . . conventionally attractive and he was great at catching, but what else was there? It wasn’t like he’d be the type of guy to shower you with gifts or anything. Compared to so many other people, he wasn’t good enough.

He sighed heavily, continuing to unpack his things. His roommates were two third years but they were out, probably practicing. For once in Miyuki’s entire life, he didn’t feel the urge to practice.

Despite himself, despite wanting to give you the benefit of doubt, he wondered, had you attended Mimayama in an attempt to run away? From him?

Immediately, he felt guilty for thinking that way. Mimayama was an excellent school within itself, one you’d thrive in. He couldn’t be so selfish to assume that you’d gone there just to avoid him. You were trying to get a good curriculum. He was trying to get better in baseball. You both had your own agendas.

It wouldn’t be like you to allow your feelings to influence your decisions. Especially when it came to such an important decision.

His previous question came up again. Why wouldn’t you tell him? Were you scared he’d be mad? Or were you trying to protect yourself from something else? Did you think he’d try to convince you to stay?

His frown deepened. Well, that was a good question. Kyoto was so far away . . . If you’d stayed in Tokyo, it would’ve been easier to see you but now that you’d be all the way in Kyoto, the chances of seeing you were slim to none. You’d probably only see each other during winter break.

Regardless of that, though, he was sure he wouldn’t have tried to stop you.

Did a small (or very large if he was truthful) part of him want you to go to Seido with him? Yeah, but things don’t always work out. Friends don’t always get to stay together. Apparently, you had realized that sooner than he did and taken advantage of it.

But your reluctance to tell him was what had gotten on his nerves. He deserved an answer from you. (Right?) One that hadn’t been last minute, one where you two could discuss it. One where he could begin to make plans to see you, arrange methods to talk during the school year. But here he was, sitting on the barren side of the dorm with no real plans to see you again until December, irritated at you.

Until he had a proper answer from you on why you’d done it (because he deserved that too), he’d give you the space you needed to sort out your thoughts.

Besides, come April 10th, there would be three hundred miles between you two. Space would come easily.

Interlude: end

Things seemed to be fine for the first few months. You and Miyuki kept up moderate contact, calling and texting when you were able. There would be odd bouts of absence on his part, something he’d blamed on baseball practice and you could understand. As far as you knew, Miyuki had been able to secure the position as starting catcher with little to no problems. The way he felt about it was a different story.

“Chris . . . He injured his shoulder. He was removed from first string. I took his place.”

You pursed your lips. “That stinks. I’m sorry, Miyuki.”

Going to Seido to get that spot as starting catcher had been Miyuki’s main goal. And he’d already achieved it within three months of being there.

You knew he’d wanted to go toe-to-toe with Chris to properly fight over the spot. It probably didn’t feel too good to have it conceded to you.

“Starting catcher is starting catcher, I guess. There’s nothing I can do about it. Just have to get to Nationals and win.”

“You can do it,” you said, putting as much encouragement into your words as possible. You absently read over your textbook, waiting for his reply.

“So . . . You must have come up with a good reason for not telling me about going to Mimayama, right?”

Surprised, you dropped your pencil, his words catching you off guard. You hadn’t necessarily forgotten about his promise to figure things out between you and you were fully prepared to apologize, but explaining why was an entirely different ordeal.

You had been silent for too long, because he sighed shortly on the other line. “Come on. Did you think I’d be mad? That I’d try to stop you?”

You tried to think, tried to formulate an adequate answer. Would lying save you? Could you continue on in your friendship after lying to him about it?

“I just . . .” You were at a loss for words. You hadn’t expected him to bring this up. But of course, in classic Miyuki fashion, he would want to catch you off guard. Make sure that you wouldn’t be able to lie. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” he scoffed. “It’s not that hard.”

You bristled. “Well, damn Miyuki, you said you wouldn’t have gotten mad and maybe you wouldn’t, but look at you now.”

“I have a right to be mad now,” he replied waspishly. “You lied about it for how long? How many times had I asked you? I know Mimayama has the earlier deadline for applications because it’s a private school. You made this decision and you didn’t tell me about it. I thought we told each other everything. I mean, that’s what best friends do, right?”

“Since when have you ever cared about how other friendships function? You’re only doing this because you’re mad. You’re not thinking straight.”

Miyuki laughed suddenly, in a callous manner he’d never used with you. “I’m not thinking straight? Well, we both know the answer to that,” he sneered. “Me and you are best friends just like anyone else, but now that I have a genuine problem with you lying, suddenly I’m the one who’s needlessly comparing ourselves to other people, right? I’m the wrong one here, yeah?”

“I didn’t say you were,” you disagreed. “It was just — I don’t know. I didn’t tell my family for a long time, too.”

“I get it. It’s a personal decision. But lying to me about it is where I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to!” you snapped, finding yourself fed up with his attitude. “It was . . . a personal decision, just like you said. I had to come to terms with it myself, too, you know.”

It wasn’t a lie, by any means. The day after his fight and after you’d filled out the application, you had stood by the mailbox so long, envelope in hand, the next door neighbor had come out to ask if you were okay.

“You could’ve told me that you’d made a decision. I was worried you’d end up stuck there with how much you were pushing it away. I would’ve respected your boundaries, you know.”

His voice had quieted considerably and you weren’t sure how you felt about it. Did it mean he was calm now? Understanding? Or was his anger and hurt phasing him so much he couldn’t muster the energy to be loud? You hated this. You hated not being able to see his face, being able to gauge what he was feeling. Relying on his tone was getting you nowhere.

“I . . . know.” Maybe it’d been irrational, but your decision had been the one thing he hadn’t known about. You could be so weak when it came to him. If he even knew that you had made a decision, it felt like he already knew where you were going, as though he could see right through you.

You and Miyuki could read each other like the back of your hands, unwillingly or willing. You knew his ticks, his dislikes, his fears, and vice versa. Alongside your feelings, the choice to attend Mimayama had been one of the few things you’d ever kept from him.

“Then why do it? That’s all I’m asking for. That’s it. Just an explanation and we can be done here.” He sounded almost desperate. It was disconcerting. Miyuki Kazuya wasn’t desperate; he didn’t beg. He was above that. But his voice —

You pinched the bridge of your nose, inhaling shakily. This was too much, it was all too much. You’d regret it later on, maybe, when you finally got your head back on but you couldn’t stand it right now. He couldn’t know.

Under no circumstances could he know that you were in love with him.

“I can’t do it.”

Miyuki was silent, for one, two, three seconds, then —

“I guess we’re done here.”

You tried again. “Miyuki, I — ”

The call ended abruptly as he hung up first, not even sparing you a chance to talk. You stared at your phone. Maybe that was what you deserved, though. You weren’t being the greatest of friends, but you just wished he would let it go. Why was it so important? Did it truly both him that much? Regardless of whatever it was, he wasn’t going to be letting it go anytime soon — that much was apparent.

The abrupt hang-up had hurt a lot more than you thought it would. (You certainly wouldn’t admit it out loud, though.) Miyuki wasn’t exactly the gentlest person and he could be mean, but he’d never been that way with you.

Something told you that this was only a small dose of what he could do, that he wasn’t completely shutting you out. Not yet.

You tossed your phone behind you, not minding the rough thump that came after. You dropped your head onto your textbook, sighing heavily. There was the slightest of stinging behind your eyes, but you shook it off, squeezing your eyes shut tightly. It wouldn’t do well to be crying. Dinner would only be in thirty minutes and you didn’t want to explain to your classmates why it looked like you’d been crying.

You dug into your nails into your palm, the pain relieved you from the burn in your eyes. The urge mercifully passed.

You sat back up, taking a deep breath. This would have to be dealt with later, you promised yourself, turning your eyes back to your textbook in a vain attempt to start your assignment again. All you two needed was space, some time to cool off and regain your bearings. Then, you’d solve this.

You didn’t solve it.

Baseball took up a handful of his time, so when you sent a wary text to him three weeks after your phone call, you didn’t receive a reply back. You then found out that that exact day, Seido had been at a game and had won, qualifying them for quarterfinals. Of course he wasn’t going to reply. He was probably busy basking in that afterglow of victory.

So you let it go.

But then, Seido was eliminated. You got that news from your classmates, a girl who apparently had a cousin attending the opposing school. When you’d asked, she had said proudly, “Inashiro.”

It felt like too much a cruel joke. But when you returned to your dorm and looked up the game, sure enough, Inashiro had won. The game had been four to three. Narumiya was their star — their ace. If you hadn’t had any real reason to dislike him before, you certainly had one now. You sent an apology to Miyuki, trying your best to be comforting.

His reply — albeit cold — had been relieving. Things weren’t as bad as you’d thought they were.

But then he didn’t contact you for the rest of the summer. And that was where the space between you two grew. It wasn’t only physical anymore — he’d stopped contact with you completely.

Summer passed and you descended into autumn, where temperatures dipped and the trees began to lose their leaves.

There was still no contact between you two.

You sent him the occasional message, just a random update about this or that, fooling yourself into thinking that he was just busy. The fall tournament was coming up and if they made it, they’d have a spot at the Spring Invitational. It was another chance for Nationals. But your messages stayed silent, save for the messages coming from your family.

Seido lost during the semifinals at the fall tournament; you sent him a text.

i’m sorry about the fall tournament… you guys played a really good game. text me back when you can.

Maybe he felt your desperation, somehow, through the screen and even though hundreds of miles separating you two.

You sat up abruptly as the little words underneath your message changed from Delivered to Read. You waited, your heart racing in your chest. But no message came.

You tried to rationalize. He’d just lost. Their ticket to Nationals was a pipe dream once again. He wouldn’t be up to talk immediately after, right?

It sounded foolish, even to yourself.

As though your problems with Miyuki weren’t enough, you got into an argument with your mother.

She had apparently believed that once you graduated high school, you’d come back home to work in the family bakery. That was the last thing you wanted to do.

Summer break had been an awkward affair because of it. You had envisioned summer break as time away from working and from the stress of high school, but your mother had other plans.

You were forced to be the cashier, much to your displeasure. Your father had patted your shoulder consolingly, while your older sister told you to stop complaining so much. Your younger brother — already seven-years-old — could only giggle at your predicament while he went to his friend’s house to spend the night. You were almost envious at his freedom.

You had no idea if Miyuki was back in the neighborhood since he wasn’t taking the time to answer your texts. You knew that if he had come back, he had no business to be outside of his house, either, so you decided that you would probably never know.

The fifth day of summer break started bright and early with you on the cash register. It had been slow, though, the heat of the sun discouraging people from walking out and about. The wall-length windows of the bakery did nothing to hide the sun, either, and the air conditioner was mostly focused on the table area rather than behind the counter.

The heat had started to make you sleepy but before you could actually doze off on the job and piss off your mother, the bell above the door rang, signaling a new customer. You straightened up, trying to blink the sleepiness away.

Thankfully, you didn’t have to try too hard, because the newest customer turned out to be Miyuki Toku.

“G-Good morning, sir. What can I get for you today?” Your voice was steady, thankfully.

He stared up at the menu, dark eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed behind his glasses. He was dressed in work clothing, grease staining various spots, a black baseball cap tucked over his hair. It was no wonder Miyuki himself was so handsome. His father was a handsome man for his age, the only sign of his age being the lines around his mouth and forehead, and the slightest hint of grey in dark brown hair and in his stubble.

“Two coffees and three sweet rolls,” he finally said, his eyes flickering to you.

You dropped your eyes, hurriedly ringing up his total and scribbling down the drink order to hang up for your sister to do. His eyes were the exact same shade as Miyuki’s. Of course they were, they were father and son, but it . . . made you miss Miyuki even more.

You handed back the money and grabbed some wax paper to pull out the sweet rolls from the display case of pastries. As you put them into a paper bag and folded it up neatly, he lingered near the pick-up counter. You wanted to ask him if Miyuki was back, but would that give you away? Maybe he already knew of the fight, if Miyuki had told him, but that sounded far-fetched. Miyuki wasn’t that open with his father.

You glanced around the bakery; all the customers were satisfied at the moment and nobody was waiting in line. You glanced back at Miyuki's father. He was looking over the display case with uninterested eyes. It wouldn’t hurt to ask.

“I-Is Miyuki back in the neighborhood?” you asked before you could lose your nerve, handing the paper bag over to him then stepping back behind the cash register, as though it could protect you from any unwanted questions.

He seemed surprised that you were speaking at him, brown eyes widening briefly before he cleared his throat. “No. He’s still at Seido. The coach keeps them for summer break.”

“Oh.”

That sucked, but knowing Miyuki, he was probably using that off-season time to get better.

“Have you been speaking to him?”

Now, you were the one surprised. When you looked back up, he was watching you with scrutinizing eyes. It reminded you so much of Miyuki that you had to avert your eyes. “Not really, sir. We’ve just,” you cleared your throat, “he’s busy. I’m busy. Our schedules don’t line up very well.”

“Mimayama, right?”

You looked back at him, furrowing your eyebrows. How did he know?

“Kazuya told me. That’s a good school,” he paused awkwardly, but before he could continue, your sister called out his order.

He picked it up and lingered in front the counter, shifting awkwardly before finally saying, “Well . . . keep in touch with him.”

You barely had time to get out a ‘have a good day.’ Did he know of your fight? There was no way that Miyuki could’ve told him, right? And if he did, then why was his father so nice? You knew Miyuki wouldn’t mince words and he probably wouldn’t hold back if he was talking about your argument.

“Hey.” You jumped as a wet towel smacked your back. “Stop looking so sad. It turns people off.”

You scowled, turning around to face your older sister with an insult on the tip of your tongue, but it died quickly at the semi-serious expression on her face. You both stared at each other for a few seconds before she slapped the wet towel onto your shoulder again.

“Loser.”

“Shut up!”

It was his birthday. He was officially sixteen-years-old.

You typed out a quick message. Maybe your conversations were beginning to be made up of your outgoing texts and nothing else from him, but you weren’t going to abandon him on his birthday. (Though, a small mocking voice in your head told you he had an entire team to spend his birthday with.)

You’d sent the text and went to put down your phone on your desk, but to your pleasant surprise, it buzzed a few seconds after, signaling a text.

It felt almost too true to be good. You unlocked your phone quickly, fumbling for the messages app. But when you clicked on his name, the message waiting for you wasn’t what you’d expected.

Error 1404. The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable. For further inquiries, please contact —

Had he blocked you?

You tried again, but the message continued to pop up in reply to every text you sent.

You stopped trying, the words of the text seeming cold and callous, almost taunting.

Was he this petty? You had never believed him to be petty. Cruel, sometimes, sure, but never petty.

You tried calling. It rang two times before an automated message picked up.

“We’re sorry, but the person you are trying to reach is — ”

You hung up. This couldn’t be a coincidence. But why . . .?

You scrubbed your hands over your face roughly, feeling the familiar burn behind your eyes. Nothing was seeming to go right for you. Sure, you were at a school where you were put to work, but you were fighting with the only friend you had, with your mother about your choices for the future, with yourself over some stupid feelings.

Had it bothered him that much? Was this something to end your friendship over?

Evidently, to Miyuki, it had been.

December and January marked record-breaking lows with surprisingly heavy snowfall. You stayed on campus, burrowing in your room through the beginning of December to study hard for exams. Winter break brought you back home, where your sister had staged an intervention, surprisingly enough.

“What’s the deal with you and Miyuki?” she asked suddenly one day, when you two were in the kitchen at your home, making dinner for that night.

You continued your work, undeterred and unaffected. “What do you mean?” you asked tiredly.

She reached over to swat the back of your head, gaining a glare from you.

“Don’t glare at me, brat. You’ve been all mopey since the summer. I know something is going on,” she huffed, giving you a glare of her own.

You were prepared to shrug her off, turning to her to tell her off, but she was wearing that expression again. The one you’d seen during summer break after your run-in with Miyuki’s father. She looked serious. You hesitated.

You’d been dealing with this all on your own, with no one else to talk to. You definitely didn’t have Miyuki — not that you’d tell him about it, anyway — and certainly not your parents. Your mother would probably disapprove of your feelings since Miyuki wasn’t the type of guy to settle back down in his hometown and your father would disapprove because this was someone after your own heart.

Your sister was the next best thing.

That was how you found yourself telling her about the argument, about his lack of communication, and because you couldn’t avoid it, about your feelings for him.

She remained silent while you spoke, a pensive look on her face. When you finished, you shifted nervously on your feet, glancing at her in the corner of your eye.

“This is because of me, isn’t it?”

You blinked. “What?”

She paused from cutting up a vegetable, laying the knife down on the cooking board and turning to look at you. “What I said to you when you were in junior high. About focusing on yourself and not letting others influence your decisions.”

“I guess . . .” you murmured, agreeing reluctantly because you didn’t want her to blame herself for it. Luckily, that wasn’t what happened.

“You’re an idiot,” she muttered, grabbing the dish towel and hitting your shoulder with it. She tossed it back onto the counter before turning to you. “An absolute idiot.”

“What the hell — ”

“You played yourself, kid! I get it. These feelings are scary and new but running to Kyoto is not the answer!” she hissed urgently, looking annoyed.

Your hackles were raised. “You literally said — ”

“I know what I said, you fool! You had good intentions, but look where that got you.”

You winced. That was fair.

She groaned loudly. “Did it ever occur to you that you were letting your feelings influence your decision when you decided to go to Mimayama?”

You stared at her, eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“For as smart of a kid you are, you’re kinda dumb when it comes to feelings.”

You scowled at her. “Feelings are dumb! It’s easier to memorize algebra equations than it is to handle what I’m feeling!”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Listen to me. I understand that you thought putting distance between you two and lying to him about your choice would help, but you were blinded by your own feelings. In your desperation to forget, you made a rash decision. I know Mimayama is a good school and worrying about your education is worthwhile, but are you even happy there?”

You stilled. “Happy?”

“You’re hopeless!” she bemoaned.

“Hey, it was your advice! Don’t get mad at me,” you protested, unwilling to take all the blame for this.

She grimaced. “Fine. I’ll take half. But it’s redacted as soon as we fix this.”

You balked. “Fix this? No, there will be no fixing here. I’m going to suffer the consequences of my actions — and partially yours — for the rest of high school and that’s it.”

“You don’t even know if he feels the same,” she pointed out.

“He doesn’t,” you said firmly. “Why would he? After everything I’ve messed up on, I refuse to let him know. It’ll only make things worse.”

“It’s called taking a risk,” she muttered, finally turning back to finish chopping up the vegetables. “You won’t know if you don’t try.”

“We’re not even talking to each other anymore. I think,” you grimaced. “I think he blocked me.”

She paused mid-slice. “I’m going to murder that boy.”

“No, you will not!”

“This is better than homicide,” your sister muttered gleefully as you two watched your mother wrap up a plate of food. “So much better.”

Your mother faltered in her actions briefly, having heard your sister’s words, then resumed quickly. She was probably used to it.

Your little brother was waiting impatiently by the door, some action figure grasped in his tiny hands.

“One of you take that to the Miyuki’s. It’s a holiday gift. Dress appropriately!” With that, she left the house, your younger brother following after her, the door shutting firmly behind them.

“I’m not taking that,” you said immediately after. It’d been several days since you had told her about your problem and she hadn’t brought it up since. Maybe for good reason, too. You had time to think over what she said.

Her question about whether or not you were even happy at Mimayama was . . . conflicting, as much as you hated to admit it. What did it matter if you didn’t like it? It was a good school, one that would boost you ahead. It was giving you experience in the medical field, experience you couldn’t receive at a regular high school.

But at the same time, there were regular high school experiences that you were missing out on. Mimayama rarely had dances or anything of the sort, typically hosting an end-of-the-year banquet for the third years to congratulate them on their progress, but that was the extent of their dances. They had no sports programs, save for a volleyball team that was in sore need of motivated players and a better coach. All the students were always so competitive, constantly fighting for the top rank, making passive aggressive comments about grades. It was tiring.

It also made you think. Had Mimayama been the best choice?

“You don’t even know if he’s back,” she countered, drawing you out of your revere. “Pretty sure all the sports teams had one week less of winter break than regular students.”

“I don’t care. I’m not — ”

You stopped as you heard voices outside. It was your mother, very distantly. She was saying something, but the words were muffled by the door.

Your sister pushed you away to go towards the front window that overlooked the yard, peeking through the curtains. She gasped, making you take a wary step forward, but before you could ask her, she was turning around, grabbing your wrist and dragging you upstairs. You allowed her, figuring it was a lost cause to try and stop her.

“What’s going on?” you grumbled. She turned into your parents’ room, yanking you over to the window that overlooked the street.

You both kneeled on the ground under the window and she pointed up at it, grinning.

“He’s here,” she said in a sing-song voice that made you want to cover your ears.

You cautiously looked out the window, at first finding nothing to look at, but then your eyes latched onto the figure currently taking his bags out of a taxi’s trunk. Your heart kickstarted in your chest. Miyuki.

It was a bit far away, but you could recognize him anywhere. He looked taller, lean with muscles he didn’t have before. His skin looked tanner, too, no doubt from all the time he’d have spent in the sun. He was dressed in a black hoodie and jeans, looking far too good for someone who probably just threw that on without giving it any thought.

You dug your nails into the windowsill. A small, childish part of you wanted to run downstairs and out the door to tackle him into a hug. You were craving the feeling of his arms around you and feel his usual tight, almost vice-like, grip. You bit down on your lip.

“You look like a love-struck fool,” your sister whispered, sounding awed. You shoved her, making her wobble precariously from her crouch, then fall over, hitting the ground with a loud thump.

You continued to stare out the window, and you were grateful for your hyper-fixation on him, because you were able to catch the slight movement of him turning his head towards your house. You fell away from the window, the curtains fluttering back to their place.

“What?” your sister grumbled, rubbing her elbow. “That hurt, you know.”

“I don’t care,” you muttered. “He looked. If he saw me, I’m going to die.”

She scoffed. “Don’t be so dramatic.” She laid down on her side, propping up her cheek with her hand, shooting you a cheeky grin. “So? You wanna give them the food, now?”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no? Why not?”

You shot her an irritated side glance. “Seeing him doesn’t make me want to ‘try things out,’ as you say. What part of ‘we’re not talking anymore’ do you not understand?”

She scowled. “So, you’re giving up?”

You looked away. “I guess so.”

It was silent for a few seconds before she huffed quietly. “Well, I’m not. Stay here. I’m gonna give them the food. When you hear the door close, look out the window, but stay hidden.”

You stared at her as she got to her feet and left the room. This . . . couldn’t be good.

Nonetheless, when you heard the door shut from downstairs, you peeked out the window again. You caught sight of her walking down the sidewalk, her jacket and beanie on to fight against the freezing cold, the dish cradled in her arms. At that point, the taxi was gone and you suspected Miyuki had retreated into the warmth of his home.

When she walked up to the house and rang the doorbell, she sent a furtive glance to you, making brief eye contact before turning back forward. The door opened and she looked surprised for a split-second before schooling her expression into one of ease. You squinted, trying to make out who she was talking to.

She took a half-step back and you finally saw that it was Miyuki who’d answered the door; he leaned out of the house, nodding and saying a few things before accepting the dish with a gracious bow. Your sister returned it and turned around, walking back towards the house.

You dropped away from the window, making sure to fix the curtains carefully this time, then dashed out of the room and down the stairs. You didn’t have to wait more than thirty seconds before she was entering the house again, letting in a burst of icy air. Once she had locked the door and began taking off her shoes, jacket and beanie, you cleared your throat.

“Well?”

She looked at you, grim, and you prepared yourself for bad news, but then she said, “He’s cuter than I remember him being.”

“That’s not what I wanted to hear.”

She shrugged. “You two would be cute together. His looks cancel out any ugliness you have.”

“Again. That’s not what I wanted to hear.”

She sighed. “What do you want to hear, kid? I don’t know . . . He seems more mature now. Are you two really fighting about this as bad as you say?”

You glared at her, irritated that she was doubting your words just because he seemed ‘more mature.’ “I have no reason to lie. It’s not like you’ve ever liked him that much, anyway.”

“That’s true,” she murmured. “But he made you happy, so that was all that mattered to me. He’s not doing that for you anymore.”

You toed the edge of the carpet with your foot, avoiding her eyes.

“If you’re truly incessant on not making up with him, then find something that makes you happy,” she continued. When you glanced at her, she looked serious again. You decided you didn’t like that look on her face. She coughed.

“If not, I refuse to see your mopey face around here.”

“Comfort me or insult me! Pick one, dammit!”

As much as you hated to admit it, your sister had a point.

So when you returned to school, you tried to find something that made you happy. Either an end goal, or even another friend.

You found that continuously telling yourself to find something made things a little bit better. You didn’t think about the absence Miyuki had left you. You thought about ways to raise your grade or make the other kids mad about your success.

You even found a friend — a quiet girl in your class who was pretty low in the class rank named Arakawa Akemi. You didn’t care about the rank stuff too much. (Only when it could be used to make your snobby classmates angry.) If anything, had she been in a regular high school, she probably would’ve been top of the class.

So, your first year ended with a secure friendship and excellent grades. Your relationship with your mother had gotten better, mostly because of the shining commentary that all your teachers had about you and your behavior during the afterparty of the third years’ graduation ceremony, where students, families and parents mingled. Your sister was annoying as ever — though a bit proud — and your brother was merely happy about seeing you again.

You knew, when your second year started up in full force, that your friendship with Miyuki was gone at this point. He hadn’t seen you at all during winter break and didn’t make an attempt to contact you at all. You hardly ever saw his father, so you couldn’t ask him about it, either.

You were sad at this realization. Almost seven years of friendship flushed down the drain. And the worst part was that your feelings hadn’t even faded with that.

After the Spring Invitational, Miyuki had gotten . . . famous. He was known nationally, media calling him the ‘catcher of his generation.’ Known for his aggressive plays, people loved him. When you’d seen the magazine with an article about him in it, you were proud.

Despite his lack of communication, you were still proud that he was doing what he loved. And he was good at it. You could never be angry about him doing well in what he loved.

When you’d seen his picture in the magazine, your heart still beat like crazy and your stomach still did flips. You hated it.

Even without almost a year of no contact, you were still infatuated with him.

You found yourself busier than you’d anticipated when second year started up again. You were required to put in volunteer hours at a hospital, so you’d found yourself preoccupied not only with homework, but work from the hospital as well.

The busy schedule was good; it helped you keep your mind off things, especially when the Summer Tournament started up and Seido blazed through the first rounds, then qualified for the quarterfinals. They were constantly making news articles, something or another about their new first year pitchers that were blowing competition away; usually those articles had companion editorials about Miyuki and how quickly he was improving. You tended to stay away from those.

You felt guilty for avoiding the games as much as you did, but at that point, there was no real need for you to keep up. It wasn’t like Miyuki would be calling you afterward to ask for your opinion on it.

The way you saw it was that if there was no Miyuki, then there was no need for baseball, either.

Unfortunately for you, however, your classmates happened to be avid baseball fans, so when you came to class the Monday after the weekend of the finals, you weren’t surprised to hear them talking about it.

“ . . . what messed up their game.”

“Yeah, after that deadball, there was no way they were getting their momentum back.”

“It’s all that first year pitcher’s fault. Sawamura, right? If he hasn’t fallen apart, maybe they would’ve been able to continue.”

You listened curiously, only brought out by a nudge to the arm. Akemi was giving you serious side-eye. “You could look it up, you know, or even ask,” she murmured.

“Look what up?”

She elbowed you again.

You sighed, leaning forward to tap on the shoulder of your classmate sitting in front of you. He turned around, his eyes widening at seeing you interact with him.

You gave him a polite smile. “Are you guys talking about the finals of the summer tournament for West Tokyo?”

“Yeah. Between Seido and Inashiro.”

You sat up straighter. You hadn’t realized that it’d be between them, but of course, it made sense for them to be the finalists. Two of the three baseball powerhouses in West Tokyo.

A queasy feeling had settled in the pit of your stomach, but you pushed on.

“Who won?”

“Inashiro. Their ace, Narumiya Mei, was a complete monster but honestly that first year pitcher — Furuya, right? — was insane . . .”

You sat back, staring at the plastic of your table. Akemi hummed softly and leaned to show you her phone. It was an article, presumably on the game. You read the headline.

Seido loses to Inashiro by 4-5

The article was detailed, filled with baseball jargon that you didn’t bother trying to decipher. You latched onto a few pieces of important information; Seido batters unable to get a hit off Narumiya for the majority of the game, the deadball by that first year pitcher Sawamura Eijun in the bottom of the ninth inning and Seido’s ultimate loss. You sighed heavily.

“Great.”

Akemi shut off her phone, watching you carefully. “That’s it?” she asked quietly.

You’d told her about everything that had happened between you and Miyuki. Mostly as a precursory warning that apparently, you could be dumb when it came to your friendships; you’d try to be better with her, but fair warning and all that. Though, you had to give credit to yourself, since your errors were really because of your feelings and while Akemi was pretty and very kind to boot, Miyuki still held your heart.

But that was it.

You shrugged, pointedly looking away from her. “What am I supposed to do? It’s not like I can talk to him anymore.”

Akemi said nothing else on the matter, looking forward when the teacher entered and started up class. And you didn’t bring it up again, either. But you still had to sit through the excited murmurs of your classmates, biting down the urge to defend Seido whenever someone would badmouth the team for whatever reason. (At that point, you were irritated with yourself. You didn’t even know anyone on the team except for Miyuki. Why should you feel the need to defend them?)

The majority of summer break — wherein you stayed at school for extra classes — was filled with talk of Nationals, mostly about Inashiro blowing through the rounds until the finals, where they ended up as runner-up. For the half of the last week of break, you headed back to Tokyo, where you visited your family and managed to avoid working in the bakery under the guise of needing to study (which you actually did need to do).

You knew Miyuki wouldn’t have been back, probably training with the rest of his teammates. When you passed his house on your way to another café to study at (since you’d probably be roped into doing some form of work if you went to your own), you pointedly avoided looking at his home and the factory.

It was time for you to move on.

Despite your best efforts to hide behind the menu, Narumiya’s face lit up upon recognizing you.

He grinned brightly; there was less baby fat on his face than you remember. He looked taller, too, adding to his maturity.

He calls you out — by your surname, thankfully. You didn’t think you’d be able to handle if he called you by your first name. You’d probably walk straight out of the café . . .

“It’s so good to see you! How are you?”

You sunk in your chair as other customers glanced at you, irritated. Narumiya was unbothered by their glares, taking a seat across from you even though you hadn’t invited him to do so. He was just as annoying now as he’d been two years ago.

“I didn’t say you could sit down,” you said, annoyed.

“We need to catch up!”

“We don’t.”

He grinned. “Have you gotten meaner over the last few years?”

Your grip tightened on the menu briefly, but you took a deep breath, turning your eyes back to its contents. You would ignore him for however long you needed. He would get the message sooner or later.

“Are you meeting Kazuya here? I’ll wait with you. Maybe he and I can catch up, too.”

“No,” you replied stiffly. “I’m here to study in some peace and quiet.”

You looked at Narumiya over the top of the menu, then glanced pointedly at your bag sitting in the third seat between you two. He followed your gaze and made a small noise of dissatisfaction.

“How boring. Do you keep up with him?”

You studiously ignored him, turning the page of the menu.

“Is that a no, then?”

You continued to ignore him.

He huffed petulantly. “Come on, don’t tell me you’re still mad about what I said? I was some annoying first year brat in junior high. I’ve changed.”

You looked over the menu again, eyebrow raised in doubt.

“I have!” he protested.

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever. Can you please leave now? I need to study.”

“Study for what?” he frowned, then. “What school do you go to? Shouldn’t you be on break?”

“You’re asking too many questions.”

“Then sate my curiosity and answer them!”

You huffed this time, finally surrendering to your fate. “Fine. I’m going to Mimayama right now and I took extra class over summer break. We always have homework.”

“Mimayama, huh?” Narumiya looked at you closely. “All the way in Kyoto?”

“Yes.” You turned back to the menu, but your head was beginning to ache from switching between squinting to read the small text and looking up to Narumiya. Or maybe that was just Narumiya . . .

“Is that why you and Kazuya haven’t been talking?”

“I didn’t say anything about that,” you said, feeling a frown form on your lips. “It’s none of your business, anyway.”

“Come on! When’s the next time we’re gonna see each other?”

“Never, hopefully.”

He pouted. “You don’t mean that. Come on! Tell me about it. Who would I even tell?”

“Your friends. Your sisters. Miyuki.”

Narumiya laughed, but it sounded forced. “As if I still talk to him too.”

You looked at him this time and he had a bitter smile on his lips. He suddenly looked tired — worn out. You couldn’t imagine from what, though.

His smile tightened. “You’re not the only one with problems.”

You pursed your lips. “Evidently. If you listen, I’ll listen too.”

He frowned, looking away, clearly not liking the prospect of airing out his vulnerabilities.

“It’s a fair exchange,” you added before he could refuse. “And I’m the last person to judge, if that’s what you’re worried about. I wouldn’t judge even you, Narumiya.”

He grumbled. “At least call me Mei.”

You did your best to offer advice but he waved you off.

“I’m doing it because it was fair and I needed to vent. Don’t worry about me. I’ll deal with it.”

You eyed him disbelievingly. “I have no problem helping you, either . . .”

Another lazy wave of the hand. “Don’t worry your pretty little head. I’m fine. Now, what’s the deal with you and Kazuya?”

Mei leaned forward, unabashedly stealing a fry from your plate. You two had ordered your meals before Mei dove into his problems concerning pitching, the team, and the first year catcher he had to deal with now.

You listened intently, finding yourself sympathizing with him, much to your own surprise. You knew, rationally, Mei had his own problems — of course, he was only human — but for him to be this open, you appreciated it. It made you feel at ease. Maybe Mei wasn’t as bad as you’d painted him to be.

You pushed your plate to him, appetite having disappeared, but he pushed it back toward you, pointing at the food with an intense expression on his face. “Eat.”

“I can’t talk and eat at the same time,” you pointed out.

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and eyeing you with narrowed eyes. “You can take breaks and eat.”

“Is the famous Narumiya Mei worried about me?”

“Never mind, you can starve!”

You smiled slightly and launched in your story, punctuated with breaks to eat or drink some water. Mei listened to all that you had to say, only interrupting to ask a question to prompt more details. He didn’t seem to judge, but you couldn’t tell for sure; his facial expression stayed composed throughout your talk.

When you finished, you found yourself suddenly conscious of his eyes on you. You squirmed a little in your seat, poking tentatively at the cold fries on your plate. You looked back up when he sighed, slouching in his seat.

“We both can’t catch a break, can we?”

You snorted. “No kidding.”

“If it makes you feel any better, if I was in your place, I might’ve done the same thing. I mean it’s not the right choice, but solidarity or whatever.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Anyway,” he cleared his throat, evading your glare. “It’s fine. We can actually do something about your problem.”

“You know, we can also do something for you too — ”

He waved you off. “I’ll deal with it eventually. But you . . . We can do something here.”

You didn’t like the look on his face, the conspiratorial smile on his lips beginning to grow as you shook your head. “N-No, definitely not. Besides, why would you want to help me? I’ve been pretty mean to you these past years . . .”

Mei shrugged. “That’s how most of my friendships start.”

You sighed. “Regardless, I’m not — we’re not doing anything about it. I just told you to vent. We’re finished with that.”

“You’re giving up, then?” he asked, unintentionally echoing your sister’s question from last year.

“I . . .” You frowned. “If it’ll save me the heartbreak, then I guess so. He’s not even — not even talking to me, Mei. His message is loud and clear.”

“Well, he’s dumb. You and I both know that. Why should you listen to him? You have to try.”

“I can’t.”

“You don’t want to,” he corrected. “What do you have to lose? Your friendship is already in shambles, you’re going to school all the way in Kyoto so you won’t have to see him if it goes rotten and it’s not like you two live that close. Maybe telling him will fix things.”

“And what if it makes it worse?” you asked sharply. “I’d rather we leave it like this.”

“Assuming for one moment that he doesn’t feel the same — ”

“He doesn’t.”

Mei ignored you. “ — then telling him will yield the same ending to your friendship as it did before. Except now it’ll be official. It’s a better way to break things off, anyway.”

“I have no business to mess his life up like that,” you said stubbornly.

“You want to reconcile, don’t you?” He suddenly asked, scrutinizing you.

“What?”

“Reconcile with Kazuya. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? But it’s not that easy. He’s going to want an explanation and he can be cruel. He’d probably make you choose between him and not explaining.”

You avoided Mei’s eyes. He was right. Miyuki wouldn’t accept you with open arms. He’d be affronted and demand an explanation. Rightfully so.

“So, what? I don’t tell him and we break things off or I do tell him and my feelings aren’t reciprocated so he breaks things off all the same to save us from the awkwardness?”

“Or you somehow manage to reconcile but still keep it to yourself. It’s unlikely, though. I wouldn’t be surprised if this bothered Miyuki. You’d probably do him a favor if you told him,” Mei finished, lacing his fingers together on the table.

“A favor,” you snorted disbelievingly.

“Now,” Mei continued, ignoring your tone, “let’s say he does have feelings for you. Which he does. Honestly, did you see the way he’d look at you when we were in junior high? It was gross.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mei rolled his eyes. “Because you’re just that unattractive or what?”

You shifted, uncomfortable. “I don’t deserve him.”

“Shut up.”

You blanched. “You — ”

“You and Kazuya are perfect for each other. That sounds like something he’d say about you, too. I’m not here to listen to you depreciate yourself. I’m here to help.”

You softened as he aimed a displeased frown at you. “Thanks, Mei,” you said, truly meaning it.

“You’re welcome. I’m great, aren’t I?” he preened, a happy grin replacing the frown. “Now, assuming he liked you — which he does — he’d want to know if you felt the same. So, telling him maximizes the possibility of reconciling your friendship. Plus, maybe you get a boyfriend out of it, too.”

“Boyfriend!”

“Obviously. That tends to be what happens when two people like each other.”

“Don’t get sarcastic with me, Narumiya Mei!”

Mei’s words left a significant mark on you.

You left the cafe thinking over the possibilities (sparing no thought to the homework that hadn’t been completed). But the thought of confessing seemed . . . strange. Could you be so forward to actually go after Miyuki and tell him? He’d probably avoid you as much as he could.

You weren’t looking to make a fool out of yourself, either, so you certainly didn’t want to try going to Seido. Going to his house and cornering him there seemed to be your best option, but the next break where he’d be home was Christmas and that was four months away. That was okay; there was plenty of time to work things out.

But it also gave you time to back out.

You chose not to discuss this with Akemi, knowing she’d encourage you to tell him as well. For now, you just wanted to make your own decision without outside influences (excluding Mei since you’d made the unfortunate decision of giving him your LINE account).

The rest of August was split between school, Akemi, Mei and your deliberations. Mei constantly kept you updated on the start of the fall tournament, finding every chance to talk about Miyuki — which led to Mei’s usual declaration of taking Nationals next summer. You continued to mull over the decision of telling Miyuki, always finding yourself becoming anxious at the notion of facing him again.

At the same time, you missed Miyuki. If things didn’t go well, at least you’d spoken to him one last time.

It was a decision that demanded great thought. No one was going to have a part in influencing your choice (not even Mei). You couldn’t half-ass it or do it on the fly. You needed to have some organization when it came to deciding.

The call was what threw your entire plan off its axis.

You’d been in the middle of composing a text to Mei, demanding to hang out since he’d seemingly dropped off the face of the earth following Inashiro’s loss to Ugumori. You knew it had to do with those problems he’d told you about in August and you weren’t going to let him deal with it alone.

It was almost funny how much your friendship with Mei had grown in such a short time. While he could be unruly, irritating and arrogant, he seemed to have a softer side when it came to you, toning down his need to get a rise out of someone. It reminded you of Miyuki, but you shelved that thought quickly. It was a comparison that had no reason to exist.

Dutifully ignoring the review for your English class on your desk, you’d been in the middle of typing out a word when your screen changed from the conversation between you and Mei to the call screen. You eyed the number warily. It was from Tokyo, but it wasn’t one you recognized. Your thumb hovered over the decline button but you huffed and answered it. If it was a telemarketer, you could nip them in the bud right now before they got the idea to call you back.

“Hello?”

“Er, is this — ?” The voice on the other line proceeded to give out your full name.

“Yes, this is. May I ask who I’m speaking to?”

“Uh . . .” Another person on the other end said something, but it was too quick for you to grab onto. “I know that, Zono! Shut up!”

Your frown deepened. “I’m . . . hanging up now.”

You went to pull away but the guy spoke again, hurriedly. “No, no, hold on! My name is Kuramochi Yoichi, I’m the shortstop for Seido’s baseball team.”

What the hell was a player from Seido doing you? You glanced at the calendar mounted in front of you, finding the words Seido vs. Yakushi final @ 1 marked down for today. So, the game must’ve been over then. Didn’t these boys have better things to be doing right now?

“How’d you get my number? And what’s the reason for calling me?” you asked, trying to sound as polite as possible. You were a bit irritated, though.

“You know Miyuki, right? Miyuki Kazuya?”

“Unfortunately.”

Kuramochi coughed, though it sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Right. Well, he sort of mentioned you today, before we went to the hospital, so I figured I should give you a call — ”

“Hospital?” you interrupted sharply. “Why are you going to a hospital? Did something happen? Was he injured?”

“Eh, he was but it’s not too serious. I think. So, yeah, he said to not call you otherwise you’d ‘kick his ass for getting hurt’ so I thought why not? Let him suffer a little bit for trying to hide his injury.” Kuramochi sounded nonchalant about the entire thing, so maybe it was okay, but you were still confused.

“Explain.”

“He was tackled at the plate by a pitcher from Seiko High in our semifinals and trust me, he wouldn’t have said anything unless someone else had noticed. I’m not sure if anyone else noticed, but if they did, they didn’t say anything. I told him . . . Well, I told him not to fall apart until after we’d won,” Kuramochi admitted sheepishly. You pursed your lips in disapproval.

“If he showed any sign of bringing the team down, I’d tell the coach but he didn’t for the most part. Unfortunately, another one our teammates noticed and brought everyone’s attention to it so the coach knew by the middle of the game.”

“Did he continue to play? Or was he benched?”

“No, he played the entire game. Miyuki’s our cleanup, too, so it wasn’t a bad move — ”

“Are you discounting the fact that he struck out a few times?” the other guy on the other end of the line asked.

“Shut it,” Kuramochi snapped. “It was better for our team morale, too. That bastard is aggressive. We might not have won if he’d been benched.” Then he coughed, seeming to suddenly realize that he’d called Miyuki a bastard with you listening. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you muttered tiredly, rubbing your temples to stave off the incoming headache. “So, what? He was taken to the hospital?”

“Yeah. We got here like fifteen minutes ago. He was . . . pretty out of it. Probably from the pain. We’re waiting for him right now. But, uh, I guess I called to see if you’d like to come and see him. Don’t worry about his father, I know someone else took care of that already.”

“Where are you guys?” you asked, more out of curiosity than anything.

“Tokyo General.”

“And how did you get my number again?”

“Miyuki’s phone.”

Kuramochi must’ve copied the number from Miyuki’s and into his own. You were surprised that Miyuki had even kept it. You sighed heavily, turning back to the conversation. “You do realize we don’t even talk anymore, right? Has he even told you about me?”

Kuramochi was silent for a few seconds. “Not really, but he’s always closed off. I did notice the lack of conversation for you on his messages, though. I don’t know, I just thought I’d tell you. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to see him, but as soon as we get his room number, I’ll text you from this number.”

“That sounds fine. Thanks, I guess.”

“No problem. Sorry for bothering you, though.” He hung up quickly before you could reply. You dropped your hand holding the phone into your lap, staring at the calendar. You had two finals this coming Monday and you needed to study. But was this your chance?

The way that Kuramochi has phrased it . . . It sounded like Miyuki was joking about it. In his pain-induced haze, had he forgotten about the ruins of your friendship and joked about you? Or was he conscious about what he’d been saying?

It was all so confusing.

You gritted your teeth at the oncoming headache and stood up, the chair scraping loudly against the wooden floor. You packed up your notebooks that you needed for studying, grabbing your wallet as well. A quick search told you that the next train to downtown Tokyo would leave in thirty minutes. You bought your ticket, sending a silent mental apology to your father who’d see the purchase and probably freak out.

The dormitory wasn’t too lively, meaning you could make your escape unnoticed. You notified the resident assistant of your leave — one of the teachers for your year — and she let you off without much problems, only stressing for you to be back before curfew tomorrow. After boarding the train with no problems and sending Akemi a message about your impromptu leave, you dove into your studies but found that you couldn’t concentrate. You had too many worries, too many thoughts.

This was going to go very well or very horribly.

After the three-hour train ride from Kyoto to Tokyo, you arrived at the hospital at six. You had met Kuramochi in the lobby of the hospital and he led you to the in-patient wing.

Kuramochi was an interesting individual. He was stiff, overly-polite in a way that said he was trying too hard. He probably felt uncomfortable actually seeing you in person.

“Does he have to stay overnight?” You asked, fingers tightening over the strap of your bag. When studying had escaped you, you obsessed over what sort of injury he could have. Was it sprained ribs? Had he torn a muscle? Or was this worse?

“Eh, only one night. He kicked up a fuss about it but we pointed out that he’d fainted from the pain. Better safe than sorry,” he explained as you two stepped into the elevator. He pressed the button for the second floor.

You looked at him sharply. “He fainted?”

Kuramochi grimaced and nodded. “Like I said, he was pretty out of it. He’s fine now. Conscious and all that.”

“What about his father?”

Kuramochi reached up to scratch the back of his neck. “Said he’d come tomorrow.”

You sighed softly. Yeah, that sounded like him.

There was a soft ding as the doors slid open, Kuramochi stepping out and briskly leading the way. His cleats were loud against the tiled floor, disturbing the quiet environment of the second floor. Your stomach twisted uncomfortably.

You made it to a room but just as he’d lifted a hand to pull the door knob, you stopped him.

“Wait.”

He looked questioningly at you, his hand paused in the air. “What?”

“I don’t think this was a good idea . . .” You fidgeted with the strap of your bag, swallowing thickly. Your heart was beating like a drum in your chest and you had the ridiculous thought that everybody could hear how loudly it was beating.

Kuramochi scanned your face and he became serious, seeming to sense that you were genuinely doubting yourself.

“Whatever happened between you two,” he said, hushed. “It’s fine.”

“It was my fault,” you mumbled. “Why we stopped talking.”

“Somehow, I doubt that. But I don’t know your story. Listen,” you looked at him, finding him meet your eyes earnestly. “Now is the best time to fix it. Whether it goes well or not, I don’t know. But at least you tried, right?”

What do you have to lose?

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. “You’re right.”

“You look like you’re about to throw up.”

“Thanks.”

Kuramochi stared at you, then nodded to himself, as though he’d just realized something. “It makes sense now,” he mumbled under his breath, making you frown.

“What — ”

He opened the door before you could ask what he’d meant and you instinctively jumped behind him as several voices floated out of the room.

“Ah, Kuramochi. Is everything okay?” a woman asked.

“Yeah. Just had to pick up one of Miyuki’s visitors,” he replied, staying in the doorway, probably sensing you hiding behind him.

“Is it — ?” another voice asked, sounding like the one you’d heard on the phone.

Kuramochi didn’t respond, simply stepping into the room, leaving you standing in the doorway for everyone to see.

There was only another guy your age in there and he looked utterly panicked at your presence. There was an intimidating man as well, dressed in the Seido baseball uniform — the coach presumably — and then a woman standing next to him, dressed in formal clothes. You turned your eyes to the hospital bed, but instead of meeting those familiar brown eyes, you were met with his bowed head, his eyes averted to his legs. You noticed his clenched fists on his lap and felt your heart drop to your stomach. He was angry.

You bit your lip then bowed to the two adults, introducing yourself, “I’m an . . . old friend.”

The two adults looked at Miyuki for confirmation. The air was uncomfortably tense. You saw him sigh minutely before he nodded.

With his confirmation that you weren’t some stranger trying to sneak in, they introduced themselves as the coach and scout of Seido; the other guy introduced himself as the Zono you’d heard from the phone before. You accepted them politely, but a stifling silence ensued afterward.

You snuck glances at Miyuki in the corner of your eye. He had raised his head, but his eyes remained on the white wall in front of him, eyebrows furrowed.

“Well, we should head out, then. Miyuki, will you be okay here?” Takashima asked, turning to look at him.

“I’m fine.”

His voice had dropped since junior high, but he still sounded the same. Just like the Miyuki you once knew. Except he sounded tired. You felt guilt bubble in the pit of your stomach, knowing you were probably going to stress him about more.

One by one, they all exited the room. Kuramochi had hissed something to Miyuki before he left, sending you a nod of solitude. When the door finally shut, you weren’t sure what to do with yourself. You shifted on your feet awkwardly. The silence was absolutely unnerving. You briefly considered just fleeing and never coming back, but that would be too cruel. Why should you show up abruptly then leave just as suddenly?

Yet, Miyuki still hadn’t spoken.

You took a deep breath, ignoring the racing of your heart, preparing to say something — anything.

Miyuki beat you to it. “Why are you here?”

Hurt pierced your heart. You faltered at the cold tone in his voice, the apathy, the indifference. Miyuki raised his head to look at you and any remnants of a response flew out of your head. He had matured, baby fat disappearing from his face and leaving someone else behind. Miyuki had grown into his looks. Those familiar brown eyes that had often glowed with mirth were hard, almost unrecognizable, burning into you with searing intensity.

You fidgeted with the strap of your bag, dropping your eyes to the floor. “Kuramochi called me. Said you were here so I — ”

“You thought you could come and visit like we were ‘old friends?’” Miyuki finished for you callously.

You dropped your head, trying not to let his words affect you. He was angry and Miyuki never spared his words much thought when he was angry. You certainly deserved his ire, anyhow. You’d been such a shitty friend.

You took a deep breath. “Not really. I know I haven’t been a good friend to you. I just thought . . . I don’t know. I thought you deserved to finally hear an explanation from me, but like I said before, it . . . might not be something you want to hear.”

Miyuki didn’t say anything else, turning to look at the window. You took that as your cue to continue, dragging a chair over to his bedside. You managed a reasonable distance away from the bed, dropping your bag onto the floor with a sigh.

“It’s taken far too long for me to explain myself. I understand if, even if you know, you’ll want to go our separate ways, though my explanation sort of ensures that you probably won’t want to talk to me, anyways.” You glanced up at him and he was still looking out the window, but his eyebrows were furrowed now. He was troubled.

You pushed on, dropping your eyes to your lap. “My reasons weren’t entirely for educational purposes, but I think you’ve picked up on that already, right? It was . . . Well, it was partially because of my sister’s advice, I guess. She didn’t say to leave because of you or anything, just that I had to prioritize my education when it came to picking a high school.”

You’d raised your eyes to his face and saw him raise his shoulders, the furrow of his eyebrows deepening in a way that told you he was ready to protest. You continued speaking before he could. “Seido is a great school. Looking back on it now, it probably would’ve benefitted me as much as Mimayama has. Plus,” you dropped your eyes back to your lap. “You would’ve been there, too.”

“What’s your point?”

You flinched at the sharpness of his voice. It cut deeply, making you feel small and insignificant. Still, you ventured further.

“That was the problem,” you mumbled. “You’d be there and I’d be with you. She — my sister — said not to let my feelings influence my decision. At this point, I’ve clearly missed the mark that she was aiming for. I just,” you paused, leaning forward to brace your elbows on your knees, rubbing your forehead tiredly. Your heart felt like it was going to break free from your ribs.

“I wanted to go to Seido with you. But if I did, I would’ve picked that school because I was in love with you. So, I went to Mimayama because I thought that by leaving, I could get rid of these feelings and we could continue to be friends.”

Finally saying it felt so relieving, like the pressure on your chest had lifted and you could breathe freely. The constraints of your secret were gone. But that left you to deal with the aftermath.

You didn’t raise your head as the silence seemed to echo, broken only by the occasional voice outside the room and the ticking of the clock. Miyuki still hadn’t said anything.

Your liberation ended with the cold revelation that no, he didn’t feel the same and you’d ruined your friendship permanently.

You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling a few tears slid down your cheek. You rubbed them away roughly, though fresh ones replaced them immediately. Your chest and throat felt constricted, making breathing steadily a little difficult. You heard the sheets rustle as he moved.

“Why are you crying?” Did your ears betray you or had his voice softened? He still sounded tired as hell, but he didn’t sound irritated. If anything, his tone was almost exasperated.

You brushed away the fresh set of tears but they just kept coming. Was this two years of pent-up frustration coming to the surface? Or was it because of the imminent end of your friendship?

“I just ruined my friendship,” you muttered, sniffling. It didn’t look like your tears would be stopping anytime soon, so you decided to save yourself the embarrassment; you stood up then grabbed your bag and stood up quickly, covering your face with your arm. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have — ”

“Wait,” he called quickly. You stepped back as you heard the hospital bed creak then a soft ‘fuck’ reached your ears, making you drop your arm away from your eyes.

Your eyes widened once you saw he had sat up and shifted, moving to stand up in front of you. “Don’t get up, you’ll hurt yourself more!” You put a hand on his shoulder, trying pushing him down, but it was all in vain. The strength he had gained over the years — and more recently as the cleanup for Seido — was no match for your own. He stood up and you found yourself trapped with him in the space between the chair and the bed.

You froze. With this proximity, you could lean your forehead on his chest; in fact, you could almost feel the warmth he radiated. You dropped your eyes immediately. Funnily enough, your tears were quickly drying with this new distraction.

Miyuki pried your fingers off his shoulder and your heart fell to your stomach, but instead of dropping your hand, he clasped your hand between his own. His grip was tight and unyielding. The message was clear. You weren’t going anywhere.

(And to be completely honest, you didn’t want to be anywhere else.)

You saw his chest lift and fall as he sighed, the warm air brushing over the crown of your head, tickling stray pieces of flyaway hair. There were too many things going on at once. You felt the coarseness of his palms against your hand, callouses rubbing against the skin roughly, the distinct scent of a generic detergent brand printed on the cotton t-shirt he was wearing. But it was all so Miyuki that you couldn’t complain.

Being this close, hearing his steady breathing, he was here. That familiar comfort you’d always found with him was slowly returning and that was dangerous. You didn’t even know if he still wanted to be your friend. But maybe . . .

“You’re right,” he finally said.

“About what?”

“About ruining our friendship.”

You flinched, taking a step back and running into the chair. It scraped loudly against the floor. Well, then. At least that had been solved, right? You felt the tears that had dried begin to well up again, the hurt piercing your heart like a knife once more. You tried to pull your hand away but he was too strong for you.

“Miyuki — ”

“I don’t want to be your friend if you feel like that.”

Your mouth quivered. “I get it, you don’t need to — ”

He released your hand but before you could step away, his hands were cradling your face, tilting you towards him. You had no choice but to look at him. You inhaled sharply, feeling exposed underneath his gaze. But more than that, his eyes held an unspoken tenderness that hadn’t been there before. His thumbs gently brushed away the stray tears that had escaped.

“I’m not . . . good with this,” he said. “But I don’t want to be your friend because I — ” He stopped, almost seeming to pout at his lack of articulation. You had an inkling to what he was trying to say, to what he was hinting at and it made your chest tighten, made your palms sweaty and your heart race.

“Why?” you blurted out, feeling like you had to know why he would chose you, out of all people, and also because you weren’t sure you could deal with the implications of his words so soon.

Miyuki looked genuinely confused. “What?”

“After all I did . . . Not talking to you . . . Honestly, I understand why you blocked me — ”

“Blocked you? I never blocked you,” he frowned.

“I — Your number didn’t work when I tried to text you for your birthday last year,” you clarified. “No call, either.”

“Oh. Oh.” He seemed to understand and winced, a guilty expression passing over his face. “I got a new phone a few days before that. I broke my old one — ”

“How do you break a Nokia?”

He grinned, tugging on your cheek playfully and your heart skipped a beat at the sight of his grin, so warm and full of mirth. You felt like a little thirteen-year-old again, experiencing the first adrenaline rush of your feelings.

“My teammates broke it,” he corrected. “Dad got me one, said it was partially a birthday present, too. I got a new phone number but I . . . Well, I never texted you my new number. I had yours, I just didn’t . . .” he trailed off and the happy bubble you two had found yourselves in popped.

It hurt, but you understood. Miyuki was the type to need to know — he needed to know why you had avoided telling him for so long, why you wanted to go all the way to Kyoto for school; he was analytical in every aspect of his life. You weren’t going to be excluded from that particular quirk.

But you also wondered what would happen now. If his terrible word phrasing from earlier said anything about it, Miyuki seemed to think of you as more than a friend — but it had been two years since you two had spoken or even interacted face-to-face.

“Hey.”

You blinked, refocusing on him. He was frowning, eyebrows furrowed as he squished your cheeks together. You struggled in his grip, feeling a scowl quickly form on your lips. “Your hands are probably filthy, stop that — ”

He sighed and dropped his hands from your face, stepping back to lean on the hospital bed fully. You were . . . disappointed at the ensuring distance, no longer finding his natural warmth at your disposal. You chided yourself; Miyuki had an injury. He shouldn’t exert so much energy. You weren’t sure about the extent of his injury, exactly, but if he had fainted from the pain, then it had to be worrying, right?

You scrutinized his appearance, too caught up in your worries to be shameful. At least that was one thing that never changed. (And would probably never change.)

“You should sit back down, Miyuki.”

Miyuki huffed softly. “It’s just an oblique muscle tear on my right side. And I’m not made of glass, you know.”

“I know.”

“And hey,” he caught your attention again. “Why do you always call me by my last name? Even Mei calls me by my first.”

You shrugged, shifting uncomfortably at the sudden question. “I don’t know. It was just a thing I always did. Besides, this is Mei we’re talking about.”

He snorted. “That’s true. Wait,” he frowned at you. “Since when do you call Mei by his first name? This is just unfair.” He pouted a little and you huffed.

“I’m relieved to see that you haven’t changed, and well, we’ve sort of . . . become friends.”

“You know we lost our ticket to Nationals because of Inashiro, right?”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, you’re going to Koshien Stadium now, aren’t you? It’s basically the same thing.”

“It’s not.”

“Mei and I are friends, I guess. He was the one who encouraged me to — to talk to you. Try and rekindle our friendship.”

“What exactly did he say?”

You pursed your lips, narrowing your eyes at Miyuki. “Why do you want to know?”

Miyuki shrugged carelessly. “Mei’s the type to incite action in someone else. Would you have come if you hadn’t spoken to him?”

You made a choked sound of disbelief. “You’re assuming — ”

“You said you were in love with me, didn’t you?”

The abrupt reminder of your confession was like a slap to the face. You shut your mouth silently, feeling embarrassed at being put on the spot like this.

Miyuki looked thoughtful. “Whatever he said must’ve resonated with you. I imagine your sister had a hand in this, too. She doesn’t like taking the blame, does she?”

You were worried about nothing, apparently. Miyuki seemed to remember all your ticks now as he had two years ago. In fact, just being with him for these past few minutes have been refreshing. It was like coming home.

Miyuki huffed softly at your lack of response. “Look, I . . . I’m sorry. For everything.”

You stiffened. “What are you — ”

He says your name lowly, cutting you off short.

There was an edge of rawness in his voice, a vulnerability that you hadn’t ever heard before. You swallowed your response, watching him tentatively as he dropped his head, turning his eyes to the ground.

“These last few months were difficult. Did you know I was made captain? The, uh, previous captain — Yuki — nominated me, of all people. You know how I am. As you might imagine, we had a few clashes, but things are coming together now. I mean, we won. Can you believe that?” Miyuki laughed, but it was cold and brittle.

You didn’t like how depreciating this was turning. He may’ve asked for your silence, but if all he was going to do was put himself down, then you would put a stop to it.

As if sensing your climbing ire, he looked back up and the anger simmered, fading to a dull roar as you met his eyes. There was a warmth in there you hadn’t ever seen before.

“We got through it. We’re here now. Things are looking up. This damn injury . . . It’s just a speed bump in a long road. But through it all, I kept going back to you. You never left my mind. I,” he paused again and dropped his eyes, seemingly embarrassed, “I missed you.” It came out like a mumble, a hesitant admission; expected for someone as emotionally closed off as Miyuki.

But you found it charming. His inability to respond in closely social situations, in times like this that were intimate. You knew him well enough to know what he was saying.

“So, I’m sorry. For ignoring you. For prying when it wasn’t my place. For being an asshole about it all, really.”

You took a deep breath. This was it. “I’m sorry, too. No matter what, you deserved to know the truth.”

“Well.” It sounded like Miyuki disagreed as he reached up to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. “It was a deeply personal reason.”

You snorted. “No shit.”

“If it’s any consolation, I’ve always felt the same.”

You froze.

There it was.

Your heart was going into overdrive once again and you found your breath stolen from you when he lifted his head to make eye contact with you. There was still that warmth in there that hadn’t been present before. But maybe it had always been there, you had just never seen it. Miyuki was a master at disguising his emotions and you supposed you couldn’t ever have idealized the concept of him having feelings for you to be able to actually notice it.

“And I think,” he continued quietly, “that we’re not ever going to be the same again. But that’s okay. So, let’s start off with you calling me by my first name, yeah?”

The air left your lungs in a rush and before you could even think to manage an agreement, he lifted his hand to your cheek, settling warmly on the curve, thumb brushing gently over it. He pushed forward and you knew, you knew where this was heading. You didn’t stop him. You weren’t sure you wanted to. Sure, there might’ve been some things that still needed to be discussed but you had settled your battles for the most part.

So when he asked, his voice soft in the tenderness of the moment, “Can I kiss you?” You found it a little hard to keep standing straight, so why wouldn’t you have leaned forward on him — totally mindful of his injury, of course — and met his lips halfway.

There might’ve been a number of things that ruined it for anyone else — having to watch his right side constantly so you didn’t hurt him, the bookbag still weighing heavily on your shoulder, keeping an ear out for the nurses and doctors — but there were other factors that made it perfect for you.

The warm and firm press of his mouth on yours, easily consuming all your senses with everything that was Miyuki Kazuya but retaining a gentleness that was also him. Always making sure you were comfortable. And the way his other hand had easily fallen to your waist to keep you in place was your anchor, powerful tendons of his arm underneath your palm that kept you from falling into the sea.

It was strange. He was both all-consuming and anchoring.

He shifted, angling a little more to slant his lips over yours, deepening and taking you down to the depths of the ocean. You followed willingly, reciprocating eagerly if only to prolong this experience. But the growing burn in your lungs was going to be a problem soon.

That was okay. He was back in your life now, wasn’t he? Miyuki Kazuya wasn’t a stranger, he wasn’t a friend; he was something more, a fixated presence in your life that caused you both immense happiness and irritation. No one was perfect, you knew, but even with all his faults and flaws, he came pretty damn close.

And he was right, too.

You had sort of ruined your friendship, though you supposed it was on his end, too. This was a two-way street, after all.

But as he pulled away, breathing a little faster than usual, his lips beginning to swell, you didn’t find yourself mourning the end of it. No, as he caught his breath and leaned forward again to claim your mouth, you found yourself looking forward to what he’d bring.

Your future was firmly entrenched with his and you wanted it to stay that way.

#fair warning i wrote this when i was in my. sophomore year. in 2019. LOL #its not bad! im actually quite fond of this fic #particularly of my characterizations. mei especially. he grew on me while writing it #its been up on ao3 since 2019 i just thought that since i'm posting dogfish here #i might as well throw up my other oneshots #the shorter content basically. long stuff will be posted strictly to ao3 or wattpad #daiya no ace x reader #daiya no ace #ace of diamond #ace of diamond x reader #miyuki kazuya #miyuki kazuya x reader #miyuki #moss writes

[celandinee]

..0 Surprise!

IN WHICH…

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ It’s a certain catcher’s birthday.

—

word count - 700

note - HAPPS

—

The quiet walk back to his dorm was calm, with the lingering chill of autumn leaving him in a thick hoodie and sweatpants. There was a bite in the air and his cheeks were pink while his hands took comfort in the pockets of his pants.

Nothing like a late night batting session. He had been in the indoor practice grounds alone, swinging off of a tee into a dingy net until his bucket was emptied. The resonating sound of bat meeting baseball filled the silence.

Now that he thought about it, Miyuki was alone the entire night. Normally, the grounds were scattered with members of the team either training or plain messing around. He hadn’t seen any of his teammates for some time now. After practice, everyone up and vanished.

Miyuki furrowed his brows as he continued the short walk back to the Spirit Dorm, now scanning the quiet area with a frown. It was like a ghost town. The vending machine was lonesome and the normal chatter from the dorms was replaced with the sound of crickets.

Normally, Miyuki would take a moment and relish in the silence. The star-dotted sky and orange leaved-trees, the cold breeze nipping at his nose and the flickering of a light post.

But then again, this wasn’t normal. Where the hell was everyone? The catcher peered around at the doors to each room as he neared the stairs that led up to the second floor. He felt like a dog, perking his ears to catch even the slightest sound of laughter or conversation. Miyuki’s frown deepened while his heart began to race. The cool, calm and collected Miyuki Kazuya was nervous. Letting out a harsh puff of air, he raced up the steps and to his room, fumbling for his key to unlock it.

He turned the cold knob, slowly pushing open the door. It was dark inside so he moved his hand towards the light switch. As he flicked his light on, he was met with a sight.

“Happy birthday!”

Cramped in his room was his team. With big smiles and little space, they cheered.

Miyuki felt a slight smile take over his frown, his pink cheeks deepening and a fuzzy feeling replacing his racing heart. He hadn’t expected them to remember it was his birthday.

Sawamura ran towards him with blazing eyes and a cartoonish grin. Trailing behind the pitcher, you carried a small gift in your hand.

“Happy birthday, Miyuki! How old are you now, 30?” Sawamura laughed loudly, hands proudly on his hips. The first year tossed an arm around your shoulders as you walked up, barking out another laugh.

Miyuki eyed you along with your present, “A gift? For me?” he smirked, though the warmth in his eyes betrayed his snarky expression.

Your eyes rolled as you tossed it to him, allowing him enough time to catch it in his hand. “Happy birthday, tanuki,” you huffed. The arm around your shoulder tightened as Sawamura shook with laughter, “Ha! Yeah, tanuki!”

You giggled as Sawamura went on— well that is until a knee sent him flying.

Kuramochi grinned at the first year now sitting on the ground, “Watch it, idiot.”

Miyuki watched the interaction then looked back to you. Fondly, he flicked your forehead, “Thanks.”

You rolled your eyes again before motioning for him to open his gift which was so finely wrapped with baseball-patterned paper.

He tore the wrapping and revealed a pack of baseball cards. The catcher grinned as he read over the cover before giving you a brighter smile.

“It was this or a stupid shirt that Mochi saw at the mall,” you snorted, rocking on the balls of your feet.

Kuramochi elbowed your side, “Hey! It was not stupid. It would’ve been sentimental and sweet,” he grumbled.

It would not, in fact, have been sentimental or sweet. The shirt had a corny print from some show that Jun and Sawamura watched, and you knew that Miyuki would’ve rather taken a ball to the face than wear it out in public. Personally, you like to think that you saved the birthday boy.

Suddenly, you found yourself squeezed next to Kuramochi. Miyuki wrapped his arms around the both of you, his chin resting on your shoulder. “Thanks, you guys.”

#celandinee #ace of diamond #daiya no ace #ace of diamond x reader #daiya no ace x reader #miyuki kazuya x reader #diamond no ace x reader #daiya no ace scenario #miyuki kazuya #miyuki kazuya x you

[prettyiwa]

Relationship: Miyuki Kazuya x F!Reader Rating: SFW Content Tags: MLB!Miyuki Kazuya, Interpreter!Reader, Coworkers to Friends to ???, Pining, Previous alcohol consumption, Mild flirting, First kiss, Almost confessions, Slight panic, guilt, & frustration, Adult Kazuya is still awkward, Reader is a little older than Kazuya, Reader takes her job very seriously, Mixed signals at the end. Summary: When Kazuya asked his team with the NPB to be posted, he didn't think he'd end up meeting you again. When time came to choose an interpreter, he chose you without hesitation. Neither of you truly anticipated that feelings would bloom, even with the near constant proximity. Your birthday rolls around and he isn't thinking about his silly little crush until he can't stop thinking about it. Word Count: 4,590

A/N: I wanted to include the entire story for his birthday but NaNoWriMo came along and took up my attention. So I'm sharing an excerpt instead!

And thank you, as always, to my wonderful beta @tyga-lily. I'd still be floundering if not for you ♡

As soon as he steps out into the night, Kazuya’s met with a wall of humid air, thick and warm thanks to the lingering heat from the day. His clothes are already starting to stick to him as he steps further from the house and it won’t be much longer until he starts to feel beads of sweat building at the nape of his neck. When he turns to find you, his movements feel a little loose and everything seems hazy at the edges and he realizes he’s not as sober as he thought he was.

Still, he’s gotta be soberer than you, what, with the drinking games you were dragged into by your college best friend. He’s honestly lost count of how many shots he took from you throughout the night (and however many more he ended up tossing into the plant him when they became too much).

The music inside dies down a bit—probably the work of your brother, the acting adult of the evening—and he tries to listen for you, only to come up empty. No sounds of your footsteps, neither in the street nor along the staircase leading to the beach, leaving him alone with the increasingly loud beating of his heart.

It’s only been a couple of minutes. How far could you have gone? It’s not like you could’ve made it down to the shore in that time. That doesn’t stop his mind from conjuring scenarios in which you fall into the water, unable to get back up. Moving forward, he ends up tripping over that same rock he’s tripped over three times today, feeling that familiar pain shoot from his toe up his leg.

“Dammit!”

“Miyuki?”

The sound of your voice floods him with relief and he turns his head in your direction. The motion makes him dizzy for half a second. “There you are.”

You pop around the corner, confusion almost as palpable as the humidity before it makes way for your wide grin. “Are you okay? Did the rock attack you again?”

He feels a flash of minor annoyance, but he can’t ignore the way your smile pulls at his own lips. “Shut it.”

“It’s been picking on you all day.” You chuckle, coming closer, letting him see the way you bite your tongue and hold it between your teeth to keep yourself from saying much more. “Aha, sorry. I don’t get to tease you like this often.”

“Yeah, sure.” He closes the distance, grip tightening around the jacket he brought for you in case it got cool. “What are you doing around here? I thought you came outside to get some fresh air.”

“I did, but then I remembered that I left you with them and that didn’t seem like a good idea.” You both glance toward the door, lips quirking at the raucous laughter that comes from inside, almost as if to prove your point. “At the very least, you should have someone to…”

You suck air through your teeth, trying to find the words, so he tries supplying them for you.

“Should I have someone to protect me from them?” He likes the sound of your laugh, the way it bounces between you two before settling on his skin.

“I was thinking more along the lines of, ‘you should at least have someone to interpret what they’re saying,’ but sure. Protect works too.” Even when drunk, you’re thinking of him and how to include him. Even when you’re drunk, you’re thinking about working.

“You don’t need to do that. It’s your birthday celebration. You should have fun.”

“I am having fun. You’re lots of fun.”

How do you do that so easily? Heat spreads across his cheeks, settling on the tips of his ears and the back of his neck and his mouth goes dry before he runs his fingers through his hair, thinking of what to say.

“You know, you switch to English a lot when you’re drunk.”

Yep. Awesome. Awesome response, Kazuya.

He watches as the realization hits you—the way you tilt your head to the left as you’re trying to remember, the slow opening of your mouth and raising of your brows before your hand covers your mouth in surprise. “No! What? Have I really?”

A laugh escapes him at your reaction and he feels a little bad when you bury your face in your hands. It’s not often he sees you this unguarded and animated. He’s still laughing when he starts pulling at your fingers, gently prying them away from your face as you eke out an apology. He won’t admit it to you, but he enjoys witnessing these tiny mistakes from you, little hints of proof that there’s more to you than he’s yet to learn.

You once told him you’re an open book, but he’s surprised by how deep the book actually is.

“Seriously. I hardly ever hear you speak so much English unless we’re doing interviews for the media.”

“Yes, almost like that’s entirely by design or something!” Your groan turns into a laugh before you turn away from him, leaving his hand to fall away from yours. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go take a swim until I hit land again.”

Three steps away and his hand is wrapping around your wrist, remembering why he came out here in the first place. Glancing over your shoulder at him, you smile, pulling your arm (and him) forward. “You’re not gonna try to stop me, are you?”

“With how much you’ve had to drink tonight? You definitely need a chaperone.” You wriggle your wrist free, though you slide your hand into his, filling the spaces between his fingers with yours.

“And you wanna be my chaperone? Miyuki. Listen. You’re an absolute baseball genius but I have seen you on the sand today. I’m much better suited to be your chaperone instead.”

“Oi! It was you who assumed I was any good at soccer in the first place.” Snickering beside him, you pull toward the stairs that lead to the sand, stumbling on the first step. His left arm comes out to stabilize you and the grip of his right tightens around your fingers and all it does is make you laugh more. “Who’s tripping over their own feet now, huh?”

Your fingers squeeze his and, when he glances over, you’re sporting a wide, carefree smile, one he’s only recently started seeing more of. Warmth blossoms from where you two touch, quickly spreading from his tingling fingers up his arm, gathering in the center of his chest. It’s impossible to be around you right now.

Looking out at the beach, he finds the minuscule moonlight barely bouncing off the waves in the distance, otherwise leaving everything in the dark. Despite how clear the skies were during the day, clouds have since taken hold in the sky, making everything feel closer than it is. Despite the darkness ahead that threatens to consume everything, it’s like you provide your own source of light, just for the two of you.

All giggles and energy beside him, nearly bounding from the last step once you reach it, only stopping because you’re tethered to him. His grip on your hand loosens and he refuses to acknowledge the fuzzy feeling in his chest when you ignore his offer to let you go, keeping your hand in his. Still, you pull at him, urging him forward at your pace on the uneven terrain.

“You’re such a child,” he says.

“I’m a child? I’m older than you. What does that say about you?”

“That I’m a victim of circumstance.”

Stopping in your tracks, you pull your hand from his grasp, he thinks he said something wrong, but there’s a smile on your lips as you bend down. “You? A victim? You, Miyuki Kazuya, are a great many things, but ‘victim’ isn’t one of them.”

It takes a moment too long before he registers that you’re fiddling with the fastening of your shoes.

“Oi, oi. Don’t take those off.” Looking up at him, you stick out your tongue, not ceasing your efforts to free yourself from your shoes. “You’re gonna complain about your feet being sandy when we reach those steps again.”

“Oh, boo. Let me have some fun.”

He catches himself halfway through running his fingers through his hair, smoothing the rest of it over to stop the nervous tic. “Are you gonna blame me when your feet hurt later?”

You’re silent for a bit, biting your tongue as you think before coming to a decision. “I’ll try not to.” It’s only a second or two more before you’ve successfully freed yourself from your shoes. Looking up at him, you give him a smile that means nothing good, though you wait before stepping away from your shoes. “Miyuki? You’ll let me have fun tonight, right? I hardly ever get to do stuff like this.”

Kazuya’s not sure what it is, but something about the way you ask has his heart kicking up a gear. “Agh, fine.” A false concession, but it keeps a smile on your face. “Just for tonight.”

“Good. I’ll hold my complaints till tomorrow, then!”

And you’re off, jumping up and away from your shoes with little regard for the sand you’ve inadvertently kicked everywhere. The skirt of your dress swishes as you move, catching his eye as it does. He looks away when you carelessly bend over, grabbing your shoes before starting to skip toward the shore.

“Hey! That’s not the agreement.”

“It is now,” you call, the sound of the ocean drowning out your laugh. Only once you’ve reached where the sand grows wet do you pause, looking his way. There’s still a wide smile plastered across your face and his chest grows tight as you step closer to the water.

He picks up his pace, anxiety creeping up on him at the thought of you nearing this massive, black body of water, only spiking when he hears your sharp shriek as the cold water laps at your toes. Despite the chill, you step deeper still until your feet are consistently covered.

Kicking off his shoes, he can’t keep his eyes off of you—the way your dress barely moves with the briefest breeze and the way you subtly shift your weight from one foot to the next as you try to grow accustomed to the cold that contrasts with what little warmth remains. The clouds pass, revealing more of you to him and he’s a little surprised at how much energy you still seem to have.

The sand is cool against his feet, meaning the water is that much colder, but he doesn’t particularly care about that right now. The closer he steps toward you, the less worry he feels for your safety and the more anxiety he feels for something entirely different. You shiver and he remembers the jacket in his hand, taking a moment to place it on your shoulders.

You start, almost as if you had forgotten him, but your smile suggests otherwise. He takes his place beside you, wondering how the hell you’re staying so quiet when the water is fucking freezing.

There’s a light out on the horizon, something that goes in and out with the waves, something to stare at when he becomes too aware of your presence next to him. Clouds pass over the moon again, making everything ahead go pitch black, leaving him with naught but the beating of his heart, the light in the distance, and the burning of his fingertips.

“I like it out here, you know?” Your voice is low enough that it’s almost lost among the lapping of the sea on the shore. The clouds continue to move and the moonlight comes back, letting him look at you while you continue to look ahead.

He’s struck by the memory of you two when you two first properly met. The rain that poured, driving everyone inside while you remained outside, under the cover provided by the building. The way you watched him with a curious look on your face as he tried to make himself as presentable as possible for the start of contract negotiations. The quiet ‘good morning’ and the comment about the weather just before he remembered where he knew you from.

“You like the rain, too.”

As you turn to look at him, he wonders whether you remember it, too. Despite you working with Wynd Academy for the Tokyo Senbatsu reunion, despite you again working with Tetsu during his negotiations, despite all of the little almosts that could have swayed him… He wonders whether you remember the first words you two actually exchanged with one another. The smile that shapes your lips is softer, one that, again, reminds him of when you two stood out in the rain together.

“Yeah, I do.”

The ocean captures your attention again and he enjoys the silence that falls.

“Hey, Miyuki?”

“Hn?”

“What made you choose me?”

“What?”

“When we came back from Japan. What made you stick with me as your interpreter?”

There’s a draw, an invisible pull that makes him want to look at you. When he does, you’re already watching him, head tilted, unsure of what you’re asking. Or perhaps unsure of the answer he’ll give?

“You could have chosen anyone else from the firm, but you stuck with me. I saw you looking through the portfolios.”

“Why are you asking? It’s in the past, isn’t it?”

Your gaze shifts away from him, but he has a feeling you’re not watching the waves. “I dunno. It’s something I’ve always wondered about and… never mind. It’s fine.”

He hates when you do that. “And?”

The breeze mixes with the waves as it passes, almost taking your reluctant sigh with it. “I thought I pissed you off with how demanding I was at first. I remember you looked so annoyed and I wanted to crawl into a hole.”

He snickers, trying to apply what you’ve just told him to the woman he met in Japan two years before. From the start, you needed him to be open and to communicate in a way that he couldn’t even muster in his previous relationship. More than once you reminded him of Mei and Kuramochi with how easily you caught onto his lies, even those by omission. Imagining you intimidated by him is laughable.

“Is that funny?”

“Yeah, a little.” He laughs properly when you roll your eyes and frown. “You hardly knew me but you had no problem putting me in my place. It’s funny to think that you wanted to crawl into a hole because of it.”

“Sure, sure. So? If my first impression didn’t ruin you, what made you want to keep me around?”

“That wasn’t my first impression of you.”

“Wasn’t it?” There’s this nervous edge to your voice, accompanied by the tell-tale playing with your nails.

“Did you forget? You were one of the interpreters for the Tokyo Senbatsu. You worked with the kids more, but I remember seeing you around.” You certainly got along with Mei back then. “And then you were who the Giants sent to interpret for Tetsu during his negotiations.”

“Yeah, but you weren’t there for that.”

“I was there at the airport, and Tetsu told us that he wanted to hire you then, too. Why didn’t you take him up?”

Blowing air, you take to chewing the inside of your cheek and turning your face away from him.

“It wasn’t the right timing. I wasn’t going to be able to interpret for him and finish my program if he was going to San Francisco.”

“So if he went to the Dodgers like I did, would you have accepted?”

“No.” You still don’t face him, but your admission sparks a wave of fluttering in him, only heightened by the cold water at his feet.

“What made you choose me, then?”

At this, you turn, challenging him with a smirk. “You didn’t answer my question.”

His smile grows, knowing full well that you’re avoiding answering his question. “You made it very easy for me to trust you.”

Whatever you thought you were going to hear, it’s clear that wasn’t it. That challenge in your eyes fades, your smile losing its edge as it’s colored by disbelief.

“Why do you ask?”

He watches as you take that disbelief and pocket it away with something more tender, something you’re not ready to be seen just yet. When you meet his eyes again, it’s with the ghost of a smile playing at your lips. “I’ve always been curious.”

“Is that all?”

You pause, eyes flickering across his face before settling on his again. “Yep.”

“You’re a bad liar.”

“At least you know when I’m not being honest,” you try, starting to step away from him with a borderline mischievous grin. “Very hard for me to lie to you.”

“Yeah?”

Instead of answering him, you turn forward, allowing a silence to build between you both until he can feel the nervous energy that buzzes around you. Unable to stand it, he closes that distance again, nudging your shoulder as he settles. “Now it’s your turn.”

“My turn?”

“Yeah, your turn. You turned down Tetsu, so what made you say yes to me?” Was it because the Dodgers are closer or because they’re the team you and your dad have followed or was it timing or…?

“I don’t know. Maybe because you would be close and the timing was right or—”

“You already admitted that proximity wouldn’t have made you say yes to Tetsu. Was it because it was me?”

“Are you kidding? If I knew it was you, I probably would’ve quit working with the league and gotten a position with the university.” Your laugh is a little self-depreciating and he doesn’t know why. “All I know is that we got the call that the Dodgers needed a Japanese interpreter and I jumped at the opportunity because it was something else to put on my portfolio. I didn’t learn they were courting you until I was already on the plane.”

“You seemed just fine when you greeted me that morning.”

“Aha, yeah. I was so nervous, it kinda just slipped out.”

“Were you really that nervous? I honestly never would have guessed.”

“Good to know. I never expected—” Catching yourself, you look at him, clearly hoping he didn’t hear that. “I didn’t say anything.”

“No, you can’t just start that and then pretend like you didn’t say anything.”

“I can and I will.”

“No, for real, you can’t pretend like I didn’t hear that. Finish your thought.”

He watches as you try to edge yourself away, but he’s quick to wrap his arms around your waist to keep you from getting more than two feet away.

“Ooh, no you don’t.”

Squirming in his hold does nothing but make him pull you closer, trapping you against his chest. When he tries to get you to look at him, you hide your face in your palms again, failing this time because you’re still holding your shoes. The more you squirm, the closer he pulls you to him until you’re effectively trapped back to chest, laughing to yourself as he brings his lips level to your ear.

“What didn’t you expect?”

You shiver and he hears a muffled, “You aren’t making this any easier.”

“Why would I do that when you’re trying to hide something from me?”

“I’m not trying to hide anything.”

“Oh, yeah? Then you can tell me, right?”

“Kazuya, please—”

“Kazuya?” You freeze in his arms and his heart stutters in his chest—full-on stalling out, struggling to make it to the next gear, demanding more power to keep going. He hears the apology tumble out of your mouth in a rush, so he tells you, “I like it when you call me that.”

You stiffen for a moment before leaning into him, letting his words sink in, still feeling his warm breath against the exposed skin of your neck. “You— you are very good at making me do stupid things.”

“You mean to say that I bring out an entirely different level of stupid?”

“Shut up.” You push against his arms with no real effort to get away, but he doesn’t want to cross a boundary, so he loosens his grip. Despite the room to move, you lean into him more, staying where you are.

Is this a stupid thing?

“So? What’s this thing you never expected?”

Shuffling where you stand, he expects you to step away. Opening his arms fully, you surprise him, turning around and pressing your forehead against him.

“I never expected your stupid sense of humor or your stupid laugh or your stupid pretty face or that you would be the exact combination of stupid that would make me stupid.” Your voice is soft, lost somewhere between the night and the fabric of his shirt, but he hears you nonetheless.

“I’d be offended right now if you didn’t just say you find me pretty.” He’d be offended right now if you didn’t just suggest what he thinks you’re suggesting.

“You are pretty. It makes me mad.”

“Me being pretty makes you mad?”

“Very mad.” You move to look at him and he’s expecting a pout, not the serious look in your eyes. Your brows furrow and—yup, there it is—your lips turn into a pout as you continue staring before your gaze shifts to his lips. He thinks it’s just gonna be a moment, just a glance, but it’s not.

Shit.

Your lips part, just a little bit, just enough that he’s slowly inching forward and so are you. Just enough so he feels the shaky little exhale before you close the distance, pressing your lips to his.

You’re—soft. Really soft. Soft in the way you’re pressing against him. Soft in the way you feel when his arms close around you, holding you to him. Soft in the way you move your arms so they’re draped over his shoulders, so your shoes tap against his back, so your fingers brush against the hairs at the nape of his neck. Soft in the way your lips move against his, making him dizzy, making him feel, as you so eloquently put it, stupid.

Then there’s that sound you make, something else that’s soft, something between a whimper and a whine before you flick your tongue against his bottom lip.

Shit.

Another sound when he tries to hold you closer, when his palms spread out across your back, when all he can think and feel and breathe is you. Your fingers tangle in his hair before pulling, giving you a whine in turn and he feels you smile before pulling away for air.

Resting his forehead against yours, his senses slowly come back to him, though they’re still primarily focused on you. The feel of the bunching of the fabric of your dress beneath his fingertips, the racing of his heart in his chest, the cool of the water against his feet. The smell of the salty ocean air and that odd combination of sunscreen and your body wash. The lingering taste of you against his lips, and the little craving to taste more. The sounds of the waves, seemingly in the distance when compared to the beating of his heart and your shaky breathing. The sight of you, of your tongue smoothing over your bottom lip before they close, of your eyelashes touching your cheeks in the lighting provided by the waxing moon, of the slow opening of your eyes and the emotions that follow.

He’s never been good at reading people, especially not their emotional state, and he can’t trust himself to get it right at this moment. He wants there to be hope. He wants there to be acceptance. He wants to see the reciprocated feeling of “fucking finally” because that’s what he’s feeling. He wants it so bad that he can’t trust himself to read you right now.

But he does know he’s not imagining it the moment it hits you.

You release his hair before your hand slides back down his chest, coming to rest on your lips.

That surprise. That fear. That—

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry! I’m your interpreter! I shouldn’t—shit. That was so stupid. Please forgive me.”

All the warmth that built up in his chest leaves with the slow sinking of his heart. Of course. Everything comes back to your job.

“I’m not here as your client.”

Oof, that came off a lot harsher than he meant it to be. He hopes that your little flinch is because of the sudden breeze and not because of him. “You’re not my interpreter right now. You’re my friend.”

But that guilt written all over your face doesn’t go away. “I’m—”

“It’s your birthday, right? Happy birthday.”

You turn your gaze down before you turn your head away slightly. His grip around you loosens and this time you take the smallest step back. Dammit.

“Thank you. I—” You won’t even look at him. “Please forgive me.”

He sighs through his nose and he can feel the crease between his eyebrows as it forms. Turning back toward the shore, he slips his hand in yours.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” It definitely comes out as a bite, though (again) he doesn’t mean it as such. That doesn’t deter you from squeezing his fingers.

You trail behind him for only a minute more before quickening your pace and taking your space beside him. As you grow closer to the stairs heading back to the street, you turn, looking toward the solitary tables near the public bathroom.

“You don’t—”

“Let’s sit,” he interrupts, making it known he’s still with you, even if a large part of you seems intent on trying to move past something he’s wanted for the last year and a half now.

When you look at him, it’s with relief, with that stress and second-guessing slowly melting away. “Thank you.”

Maybe he should take the seat opposite you instead of right beside you, but he’s going to be selfish for as long as you’ll let him.

“I’m not ready to go back inside just yet.” You wait for a response and Kazuya decides it’s better if he doesn’t. “Do you mind… you don’t have to, but I’d like to sit out here for a while longer.”

Instead of offering a verbal response, he relaxes, brushing his thumb over your knuckles.

“Thank you. I think… I think I might still be a little buzzed.”

Yeah, you really can’t lie to him.

“I don’t want to go in there when she’s still awake. I might say something stupid.”

That’s more like it, though he wonders if that “something stupid” will end with your friend giving you a lecture or giving one to him. Lecture or not, he’d prefer to keep your attention for himself.

You chatter on for another ten or so minutes, mostly compelled by your wish to move on from what happened, but eventually, you give in to the silence. It’s another couple of minutes before you rest your head on his shoulder. The two of you sit in silence with the soft promise to leave whenever you’re ready.

The sun slowly rises and he still finds himself on the beach with his hand still interlinked with yours, still hoping that this sea salt flavored kiss won't be the only one you two share.

Daiya no Ace Masterlist

#miyuki x reader #miyuki kazuya x reader #daiya no ace x reader #daiya no a x reader #ace of diamond x reader #✒.ix writes #daiya.✒ #tti #✒.the catcher's accomplice #title inspired by a tyler knott gregson poem: #I kiss you and on your lips I taste the sea and the sea has always been home to me. #pls their relationship is so complex and there's so much that happens but it's not ready so I have nothing to share but this little bit #;-; #the boy

[kunikame]

like planets in orbit. - k. youichi

warnings : fem!reader, cussing, more astral references guys i cant stop., violence mention, lmk if i forgot anything, tooth rotting fluff, miyuki and ryou are presidents of kuramochi bully club (eijun is a honorary member), if the fandom is dead i will cry

w/c : 3.6k

kuramochi youichi has witnessed the ever changing inconsistencies life brings with it.

he's seen many people cry over jobs lost, family members gone, or friends who have left; he likes to think he's pretty observant and can tell when something is wrong with people, or get a clear read on their feelings before they know them themselves.

that skill, however, does not apply to himself. when it comes to his own emotions, he is, for lack of a better word, clueless. this, he comes to realize in his 2nd year of high school, after the devastating loss in the finals.

life brings with it many inconsistencies, junior high youichi notes.

most of the friends he had in his younger days he doesn't talk to anymore, some of his grades aren't as good as they used to be, and he himself has also changed over the years.

the one constant in his life– other than his family, however, were you (and his atrocious (your words, not his) yellow hair).

the young girl he met at the playground at the age of 4, when he accidentally ruined your sandcastle with a stray ball.

you didn't cry or scream, like any child would, instead you accepted his apology and got to work on rebuilding it all the while smiling softly. he couldn't deny he felt bad (it looked like it took a while to build, the castle was more of a palace with a town to accompany it), so he stuck around to help you instead.

that started the lifelong friendship between kuramochi youichi and [name].

you accompanied each other to 80% of the places you went, people started thinking of you as the "constantly bought in pair, do not separate" type of oddity around town. if youichi was in one place, there was a high possibility you were somewhere near, and likewise.

dating rumors started spreading at some point, but they were quickly shut down by both of you.

and yet.

when youichi started going around doing his 'punk stuff' and getting into fights, you were there to patch him up. who else would he go to? even though you tried stopping him, very nearly bashing his skull in with your words (stars forbid there be any weapons nearby lest you actually do it), he continued ignoring your efforts. if you were as worried as you said, you'd cry for him, wouldn't you? shed a tear or two? but you never did.

then he got scouted for seidou and you joined shortly after him, through the entrance exams. it's not that you were simply following him– seidou was actually one of your choices even before youichi got scouted, it was a lucky coincidence that you ended up together even in high school; but it was comforting knowing even in a different place with new faces and surroundings, there was still something that resembled home.

he joined the baseball team, and here, you admit, you followed after him– as a manager.

it wasn’t too hard to adjust to the managerial duties or the daily practice sessions, you’ve been helping youichi practice since the day you met him, and the way of the scorebooks was properly explained to you by your fellow managers– thank the universe for them, seriously. the only thing you were having slight trouble with was the fact youichi didn’t seem to be doing too well at the start. 

with what was left of his previously-bad-reputation in his system, you were afraid he would pick fights he couldn’t possibly win. all of the 2nd years are so tall and strong– with the exception of kominato– and youichi was.. well, for lack of a better word, a twig. yeah, he picked fights in junior high, and he actually won most of them, but junior high kids are still just that. these are middle schoolers who’ve been on an extremely strict baseball training regimen, which youichi has just started. with his aching muscles and exhaustion, he really would get his ass beat. 

so you continued watching over him, from the sidelines this time.

(and, yes, watching over him entailed taking care of him also. it was like second nature– to listen to him complain about minor setbacks, to study up on massage techniques so he can get some relief from his aching muscles because he's youichi and you’re you, to patch up his wounds. all of it was like second nature. you cared for him and in turn, he cared for you.)

wherever youichi went, so did you. wherever you went, so did youichi. 

those were facts– laws known by almost everyone the pair of you acquainted yourselves with, mostly the baseball club and your families, but those 2 are almost the same thing, if you were being honest.

the facts you were well aware were true continued to be proven time and time again, even more so when neither of you went to nationals.

which you think would be obvious with how you were the team's manager, so if the team didn’t go, neither did you– not as anyone important, anyway.

at the first lost chance, you didn’t cry. you didn’t just shrug and move on either, you simply took a deep breath and with the words, “maybe next year” you smiled at your seniors and friends and left the stands.

that night you headed out to the seidou baseball grounds alone.

in the lone serenity under the stars, you sat on the mound and cried.

not for the loss that could’ve been a win, not for losing the chance to go to nationals and experience the thrill, but for the 3rd years who lost their final chance.

but wherever you go, youichi goes– and on that cloudless night where he first saw you cry, he promised you he would take you to nationals.

you, in turn, promised to tell him a secret when he does.

he thinks if you smile at him like that again, he might just do anything you ever ask him to.

it is in his (and your) second year of high school when kuramochi youichi has a realization, one he can’t simply shrug off.

mundane things concerning you and him that used to be normal and done without a second thought now had his hands shaking ever so slightly, his heart rate spiking, and his cheeks feeling just a tad warmer.

which would all be okay and simply shrugged off, had it not been for sawamura and miyuki, the bastard duo (and ryousuke, purely because he enjoys bullying youchi).

“so, have you finally admitted your crush to yourself? or are you, perhaps, still in denial?”

for how much miyuki claims to hate having people in his business, he himself sure loves to poke into others. youichi feels his eye twitch.

“what–”

“what crush are you talking about, miyuki kazuya?!”

great. now the other one’s here too. and you seem to have noticed the commotion, since you’re turning his way (he wouldn’t have noticed, had he not been staring at you this entire time) with an eyebrow raised in question. youichi does an exaggerated eye roll while tilting his head towards both annoyances at his sides, and with a giggle you turn back to furuya.

“why, didn’t you know? our dear kuramochi has a–”

“aaand that’s where i’ll cut ya off,” youichi said, slapping his hand on the brunet's mouth, “i don’t have a crush on anyone.”

“but, kuramochi-senpai, you’ve been staring at [name]-senpai for the past 5 minutes. i’m pretty sure you didn’t even blink!”

now his other eye is twitching. he thinks he can actually feel the vein in his forehead bulging the more sawamoron continues speaking.

“i was not!”

“were too, we all saw,” his pink haired senior said, appearing seemingly out of nowhere, his intentions written all over his face clear as day.

“i wa– okay, since you’re not gonna listen to me anyway, i’ll just prove there’s nothing between us. on either side. never was, never will be,” said youichi, getting up from his spot on the bench, which had sawamura falling over as he was leaning all his body weight on the green haired shortstop.

he makes his way over to you with an easy goal in mind: have a calm and collected conversation, without triggering his (seemingly) symptoms of illness so he doesn’t worry you, turn around and leave.

question is, what is he gonna talk to you about? conversations with you usually flow naturally, but for the first time ever, youichi finds himself nervous at the prospect of talking to you. his frustrated fast paced steps gradually slow down the closer he gets to you, contrary to his thoughts which are speeding up– he finds himself unable to keep up with his thought process for the first time ever in your presence. 

and he doesn’t know why. 

for the first time since he befriended you, he realizes the mere thought of you renders him unable to think properly.

sensing his presence you turn his way and his thoughts come to an abrupt stop. all he hears is white noise– like his brain got unplugged and it’s showing one of those black and white static screens– until you utter his name.

“youichi! i was just about to go over there to check what the commotion was about. I’m pretty sure i heard eijun ask about a crush or something. does he like someone?”

why do you want to know whether the first year moron has a crush or not? “him? nah. i don’t think he has the brain capacity to pull someone,” he says offhandedly, a little late to realize you took a liking to his roommate.

“youichi!” you repeat, though angrier than when you greeted him, “don’t say that! he’s just a guy. i think he could be a good boyfriend to someone. he’s nice.”

he finds his frustration growing at that, and still, he doesn’t know why. then you seem to notice something behind him because suddenly you’re grinning and waving. when he turns his head he finds it’s the previously mentioned first year and tanuki bastard and his blood boils– he tries, really, he does, to not let his thoughts bleed through his expression, but with the way miyukis smirk widens a tad, he believes he might have fucked up.

“anyway, what did you need?”

“huh– oh, i was just wondering if you needed help with anything, since you were just standing around here,” he internally apologizes for lying through his teeth, but he can’t have you finding out the real reason.

“mm, not really. jun-san did most of the heavy lifting we needed done already, so unless you wanna stay late to help us collect the balls, nothing much.”

“ah, alright. i’ll stay to help, then. i’d hate it if our poor managers did all the hard work.”

“now you’re just making fun of me.”

“me? why, i would never, who do you take me for? miyuki?”

“you’re even worse than kazuya.”

this is okay, youichi thinks. this is how it’s been for the past 13 years, this is how it should be. friendly banter. you bully him, he bullies you, you take care of him, he takes care of you. that’s how it’s always been.

he chooses to ignore the slight shake in his hands and the sudden warmth on his cheeks.

the next day you’re not in class and his only conversation partner (read: professional bother) is miyuki kazuya. which isn’t necessarily unusual, but usually it’d be the three of you engaged in conversations initiated by you, and now that he’s alone youichi misses you more than ever before.

“are you gonna answer my question or not? are you, perhaps, too shy~”

“if you don’t shut your damn mouth soon i will literally take this pen and stab you with it.”

“how scary~” the tanuki bastard let out his very tanuki like giggle and youichi nearly snapped his pen in half, “come on, you can tell me! i’m your best friend after all!”

“the absolute audacity you have to call yourself that. you know very well my best friends are ryou-san and [name],” though, he can’t particularly deny he has began considering miyuki a close friend as well.

“i believe i’m still a better person to talk about this than either of them. unless you’d prefer to discuss it with sawamura?”

the shortstop lets out a deep, heartfelt sigh of pure annoyance, and miyuki celebrates his victory. only in the depths of his twisted little soul, of course, but celebrates nonetheless.

kuramochi turns in his chair to stare at his friends desk, and with a frown so deep it genuinely concerns miyuki, finally speaks what’s on his heart, “.. i’ve been wondering about this for a while, but what makes you guys think i like [name]? i personally don’t think we’ve done anything to make it seem that way, we’ve always been like this, so–”

“you haven’t,” kuramochi looks up then, only to see the brunet more serious than he’s ever seen him be outside of baseball, “you haven’t always been like that, don’t lie to yourself. had you said that to me last year i wouldn’t have questioned you– granted, i hadn’t known either of you for long back then, but this year you both started acting differently towards each other. it’s not much noticeable to people who don’t know you, but since i spend nearly every waking moment around you guys, it’s about as clear as sawamura wanting the ace number.”

“different?”

“you.. really haven’t noticed? kuramochi, you can’t be serious.”

he slowly shakes his head in denial, thoroughly confused on not knowing what it is he should have noticed. he thought he was supposed to be observant, what happened to that?

miyuki, with his mouth hanging open in disbelief for mere seconds, decided he was nice enough to lead his one (and only) friend in the right direction, at least. if even that fails he might just have to straight up out kuramochi to kuramochi himself.

“you became more.. nervous? flustered, should i say? around her this year. you get fidgety and your hands shake after physical contact sometimes– yes, i noticed, stop staring at me like that. sometimes– actually, pretty often you just stare at her with hearts in your eyes.”

“i do not–”

“oh you do. you stare at her like she hung the stars in the night sky, like she’s what makes the sun shine. you look at her like a man in love would.”

that was kuramochi youichis final straw, he thinks.

a week after kuramochis one-on-one eye-opening talk with his friend, he starts to notice that maybe, perhaps, theoretically, the tanuki bastard might have been right.

the keywords being the verbs expressing his uncertainty.

each passing minute he spends with you, however, he finds himself running out of verbs.

he’s caught himself staring at you very often these past few days. which would be good and all, were you not quite literally staring at him also.

these new occurrences end with both of you looking away with cheeks that are just slightly more tinted than they are naturally, and (usually) miyuki rubbing his forehead in annoyance.

if his newfound realization gets in the way of his practice, coach kataoka will have him sit out the fall tournament for sure. he can’t have that happening, so he shrugs off whatever awkwardness this caused between you to focus on getting to nationals.

he did promise you he would take you there, after all.

with that thought in his mind, he feels his lips curl into a smile, and his fielding starts to look less half-assed than before.

okay, so maybe the tanuki bastard was right, youichi thinks, so what.

it’s normal to have an eeny weeny crush on someone you know better than you know yourself at some point in your life, is it not? 

which would be all shits and giggles, were it an ‘eeny weeny’ crush, rather than a ‘oh my god she’s in the same room with me how do i breathe why is she so beautiful oh my god call an ambulance oh my god?’ crush.

he slams his head against his desk, lamenting whatever it is he’s done that got him here. why can’t he just see you the way he’s seen you before?

wait. how exactly did he see you before?

sure, you were always beautiful and nice, helpful to a fault, generous and extremely smart, but have you always sparkled like you do now?

yes. yes you have.

to kuramochi youichi you’ve always sparkled and shone brighter than the lights in rooms you occupied, brighter than the full moon in the night skies and the sun during daytime.

you entered the classroom and upon hearing you greet him his head snaps up and– is that a fucking halo?! (it is a figment of his imagination fueled by the many shojo mangas jun made him read) why are you glowing?

miyuki can only sit back and observe from his seat behind kuramochi as the shortstop looks at his life-long friend as if she herself hung the stars, brightened the days and nights– as if she put the planets in orbit. 

and if the planets in the question were kuramochi youichi and [name] was the sun, then perhaps you have. youichi somehow finds himself sucked into your atmosphere, somehow always orbiting you, always in your presence or not far from it. you are always in his thoughts and in his heart, a part of you is always in his conscience and he can do nothing but accept it, embrace it. he is kuramochi, but he is not youichi without you. similarly you are [l/name], but never [f/name] without him. if only he would’ve known sooner that neptune’s slow departure from the solar system symbolized his common sense leaving when he’s around you.

in your second year of high school, with a lot of hard work, you make it to nationals.

during the victory announcement, youichi could’ve sworn he saw a tear stream down your cheek, but it could have just been a trick of the light.

that night you once again meet under the tranquility of the stars on the diamond, but this time, it’s on a more positive note than last year.

“so, what’s the secret i was promised?”

you freeze for a mere moment, as if you yourself have forgotten you ever made him such a promise, then the shock clears out of your eyes and you turn to look at him.

“can’t we push the due date a bit?”

“wha– no! what was it all for?!” he’s waving his arms around to exaggerate his point, “i’ve waited a year for this, wondering each day what could possibly be so special, and now you tell me to wait more?! man..”

you watch his lips curl into a pout and his brows furrow and you know.

“.. not that i wouldn’t, i’d wait however long it takes, if it’s you..” you know.

you feel your face heat up slightly, even though it’s exactly what you predicted he would say. you reach out and your fingers tap against his cheek first, then you place your palm against the warm skin (it continues to grow warmer under your touch, you note).

“thank you for fulfilling your promise, youichi. i love you.”

he can physically feel his heart skip a beat and his neck very nearly break with the abnormal speed he turns his head at. blood is rushing to his head and all he hears is white noise (or perhaps that’s just the cicadas) and your words on a loop in his already you-filled brain. stars, what have you done to him? he thinks he might short-circuit.

but, then again, this could just be a normal, friendly ‘i love you’, as you usually say. he shouldn’t get his hopes up, nor be weird about it, lest you catch on and start distancing yourself from him (not that you would do that, since you didn’t after he threw lizards at you when you were 7).

“you’re welcome,” he smiles, “love ya too, stupid.”

you shake your head and he pauses, “no, youichi. i love you. always have. that’s the secret.”

“.. i’ve always loved you, too..? what do you mean,” he shakes his head to mimic you, then raises an eyebrow in question, as if not agreeing he loves you was a crime (at this point, it might even be).

“i’m in love with you, idiot,” you resist the urge to just smack him at this point, “have been for the past 10 years.”

he’s struck by lightning. hit by a truck. squashed by a rock, even. he can’t even properly describe the bolt he feels striking him upon realizing he is, in fact, an idiot. and so are you, apparently.

idiots in love, as ryousuke once said. now he knows why.

the shortstop grabs you by your shoulders and shakes you back and forth with an almost crazed look in his eyes, “oh my god. i’m in love with you, too! oh my god!”

there’s a sudden sparkle in your eyes and you grab onto his arms, “oh my god! i thought i was going insane whenever i saw you acting like a schoolgirl with a crush!”

he momentarily wonders how much money miyuki will rack up for the bets placed on who will confess first, but that’s an issue for tomorrow.

for now, youichi thinks, the only issue is finding out if your lips are as soft as they look.

(they are.)

ੈ✩₊˚TAGLIST : @gabirii @heroesfan101 @celandinee @wizardclown @solxima // ask/comment to be added/removed! (if you're in bold i can't tag you)

#🖋 「txt」 #ace of diamond x reader #ace of diamond x you #ace of diamond x y/n #daiya no ace x reader #daiya no ace x you #daiya no ace x y/n #kuramochi youichi x reader #kuramochi youichi x you #kuramochi youichi x y/n #daiya no ace imagines

[kazuyalvr]

Miyuki Kazuya x F!Reader

In which you and Miyuki Kazuya share a special moment while waiting for the train…

- warnings: none

- notes: this is my first fanfic in a while so sorry if it’s a little bad 😶 and ty to my friend who inspired this idea

Being in the train station during rush hour in Tokyo is never fun. It’s always too crowded on the platform with sweaty bodies squeezing through. If you weren’t cautious enough, it was easy to get crushed or lost in the crowd of people.

As much as you hated rush hour, this one was a little more bearable since Miyuki Kazuya was standing right by your side. You and Kazuya had just finished watching a baseball game between the Yomiuri Giants and the Yakult Swallows. And of course, the game had to end just at the start of rush hour.

Looking down at your phone while waiting, the train should have been here around five minutes ago.

“The train is unusually late today…” You sighed peering at the train tracks to see if anything was arriving. There was nothing to be seen or heard though.

“Just means I get to spend more time with you before heading back to the dorms.” Kazuya teased. You let out a little chuckle at his words.

“Hmmm, maybe that doesn’t sound so bad. But still, I hope it gets here soon though. I’m not liking how the platform is filling up.” Shifting your balance from one foot to another, you started to feel rather uncomfortable. It was hard to stay calm when more people began pushing through.

Suddenly, a man in business attire accidentally pushed you into the crowd. Losing your footing, you felt yourself slip on your steps and begin to fall. Unable to catch yourself, you accepted your faith of falling on the subway platform. But, then you felt an arm circle around your waist keeping you up. Peering up at the person who caught you, you locked eyes with your boyfriend.

“Are you hurt?” He pulled you back to stand properly.

“Just accidentally got bumped a little too hard. I’m all fine though, don’t worry.” Giving him a reassuring smile, Kazuya was still feeling unnerved.

Without any words, Kazuya wrapped his arms around you from behind. He settled his head right atop of yours while his arms held you close against his chest. Kazuya was never one for public affection, so this was definitely out of both of your comfort zones.

“Wha- What’s this for?” You stuttered. This hug was unexpected, but it was comforting. It was exactly what you need at that very moment. All the anxiety suddenly washed away from your body.

“Hmmm…nothing. Just wanted to hold you.” His actions didn’t need to be explained for you to understand his intentions.

Continuing to wait for the crowded train, he still kept you in his arms rocking back and forth. No words needed to be exchanged between the two of you. You felt his warmth radiate off his body helping to you calm down. This was a type of affection you could get used to.

“Thank you…” You whispered softly. You didn’t expect him to hear you, but he did. Instead of responding with words, he held you even closer to him and continued softly rocking you.

Even when the light of an incoming train started becoming brighter, he didn’t let go. He still held you by his side all the way back to the dorms.

#daiya no ace #ace no diamond #ace of diamond #miyuki kazuya #miyuki kazuya x reader #miyuki kazuya x you #miyuki x reader #daiya no a x reader #daiya no ace x reader #diamond no ace x reader #ace of diamond x reader #daiya no ace scenario

[no1frogfan]

Untitled Miyuki Kazuya phone sex drabble

Miyuki Kazuya x afab reader

Word count: ~1.5k

Tags & warnings: SMUT-MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Dubcon phone sex (reader doesn’t know? Miyuki can hear them, ecouteurism), masturbation (m&f), Miyuki is a desperate virgin, a touch of angst

Note: In a FRENZY due to this art by nume, and fever-fueled by writings by ix & mica. I wasn’t trying to make this as long as I predicted, but it’s not surprising I guess that this art has me so fucking depraved

Part 2, the next day

bzzzzzzzzzz bzzzzzzzzzz bzzzzzzzzzz

bzzzzzzzzzz bzzzzzzzzzz bzzzzzzzzzz

bzzzzzzzzzz bzz—

He quickly swipes to answer.

“ ‘llo?” he mumbles.

No response.

“Hello?” Miyuki repeats, a little louder, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

Still no response.

He pulls the phone back. It’s you calling, and — he squints at the display the top of the screen — it’s just past 2am. What could you possibly be calling about at this hour? Did something happen? Is something wrong? He throws the covers off and presses the phone back to his ear, calling your name louder than before.

Finally, he hears something. A rustle, then—

A soft gasp.

More rustling. A keen.

He’s wide awake now, palms starting to sweat, free hand clutching his knee. What’s happening?

Another gasp, no a moan.

It can’t be. You can’t be.

He turns the volume up, holds his breath. Rapt.

Fabric brushes against the phone. You’re adjusting yourself, settling with a drawn-out hum. Your delicate sighs start again, breaths shallower and quicker, and there’s no mistaking it now. Miyuki sits transfixed at the edge of his bed, grateful for the tile against the soles of his feet to cool the need burning in his blood.

Your voice gets pitchier, throat tensing to a quiet whine.

He’s picturing you now, head pressed against your pillow, fingers dancing around your clit. Maybe you’ve dipped one or two inside already, drawing out the slick pooling there and smearing it over your slit. He’s never been so hungry, and he doubts anything else could taste as sweet. Saliva floods his mouth at the thought. The skin there must be so velvety and sensitive. He wants to nip at your inner thighs, suck at that little bundle of nerves, run his hot tongue over your lips and bury it in your soaking core.

He wants to make you grind against his face, frantic, make you whine louder. He’s never done it before but he’s a fast learner. He’s sure he could.

You mewl, and Miyuki answers with his own hushed whimper. It feels like all the blood in his body is pulsing along the length of his cock. He shifts to relieve the tension between his legs, but even a slight flinch has his sensitive head chafing against his boxer briefs, the sensation making his jaw clench.

The sharp pain of his fingernails digging into his thighs brings him hurtling back to his room. The phone is pressed so hard against his ear that it may as well be fused into the side of his skull.

He looks down, and the size of the damp patch on his underwear draws out another whimper. He’s so hard it hurts.

He slowly unlatches his hand from his thigh and reaches over to palm himself lightly over the fabric, inhales and exhales rattling like yours every time he runs his thumb over the head.

You choke out a moan, and…you must have bumped the phone because nothing is muffled anymore. Suddenly he can hear the rough edges of your desire, and it sends an agonizing pang straight to his — NO. He has to stop. He should hang up. You’ve called him by accident. He shouldn’t be listening.

He should hang up.

This isn’t right.

He should hang up.

He wrenches the phone away from his ear. Or, he’s just about to, he swears he was, but he hears a squelch. A squelch. Fuck how wet are you? Your cries are throatier now with every thrust of your…fingers? A toy? What he wouldn’t give to know. The wet slap slap slap betrays how absolutely fucking soaking you must be.

And he’s only human, isn’t he?

He can only take so much, he justifies to himself as he pulls down the band of his underwear, freeing his throbbing cock with a shudder of relief. It smacks him hard in the abdomen, flinging pearly drops of precum across his chest.

Kazuya spits on his palm and rubs it over the head of his cock, smearing sweat and spit and pre as he slowly drags his hand along the length of his veiny shaft. His fingers catch lightly on the skin with each stroke. He leans over to dribble more saliva onto it. If he were there he could just dip the swollen head into your folds, wet it with a grind along your drenched pussy.

He’s been working up his courage for weeks, and this is what it’s come to, rubbing one out, alone, in the dark. It’s almost sad that he can’t dream of anything better, but he doesn’t regret it, especially not when he hears you fumble around, the glide of wood against wood. A click. A light buzzing. You swoon.

He responds with an unwitting groan.

His tendons flex as he pumps himself faster, desperate impatience winning out over his desire to bask in the moment.

“Ohhhhh fuck,” you wail.

You’re writhing around now, sheets rubbing against the mic, hoarse gasps sounding against his ear. Kazuya’s mouth has gone dry. His back arches, his quaking abs are covered in a sheen of sweat as he strains with the effort of holding back. He wants to slow down, the pressure keeps building, he wants to prolong this so bad but he’s so fucking close already and he can’t stop.

His knuckles have gone white around the phone. His breath only able to come out in short little wheezes. The heat in his core builds. His balls feel tight, he’s right there.

You’re just as much of a mess. Every clap against your sopping cunt practically reverberates off the walls in perfect time with his fist.

Between your sobbing pleas, the thwack of skin against skin, between your screams and his, he can just make out— “Fuck, I’m so close” — the sound of you begging, “ ‘m so-o close -uki— oh my g— just like that, please, please— fu-uck me -uya, just like that.”

Fear flickers deep in his brain (his hand never slows down), you’re calling for Tetsuya, you’ve got to be, you want fucking Yuuki (you’re close now too, your words croaky) who’s so charismatic, who’s a (fuck, he’s right there, he’s right there) much better captain, who’s—

A lightning strike, a brilliant burst against the inside of his eyelids, a shockwave. He convulses, chokes, shouts when he cums. He bucks uncontrollably against his fist as white hot ropes shoot up, over and over, more than he’s ever cum, more than he thought possible, splattering against his neck, his chest, his stomach. He lets out a long, quivering whine. It’s too much it’s too much but there’s more, there’s still more, more thick streaks paint his pecs, hit him in the chin. He’s disoriented, aching, almost delirious by the time the spurts get weaker, globbing on his thighs and leaking down his shaft and puddling over the coarse hairs at his base.

He comes to, collapsed on the bed, twitching and wincing with empty spasms, so hypersensitive that he swears he can feel the air of his exhales against his tip. The ringing in his ears come into focus as loud curses and moans, a rush of pleasepleaseyespleasefuckpleasefuckmgonna—

A swallowed moan, a garbled wail, the waves must be washing over you now as he hears you thrash against the bed. Your wails are loud, almost blowing out the speaker on his phone.

“Fuck,” he yelps and hangs up.

Fuck.

He runs his clean hand down his face before resting his forearm over his eyes. It feels cool against the heat of his face.

He lays there, chest heaving, coming down from his high. Sweat and cum pool and swirl over his skin, some trickling into his belly button, some settling across his torso, some dribbling into the sheets.

It’s not until he turns and feels the streaks drying against his skin that he realizes how long he’s been laying there. He sits up with a groan, muscles twinging, shivering from the cold air that hits his sweat-soaked back.

His breathing has settled but his heart is still pounding in his chest.

The haze of arousal has faded, replaced by a gnawing sense of guilt. He forgot he was still on the phone. He was loud too, maybe louder than you. His head is swimming. Did you hear him? Why didn’t he mute himself? You couldn’t have heard with how loud you were, right? Otherwise you would’ve hung up. Right? He can only hope that’s the case. Hope you won’t look at your recent calls. Won’t check the call times and see that he answered. Won’t notice he stayed on the line the entire time.

He doesn’t look down, doesn’t want to be faced with what he’s done.

He’s seen you unlock your phone enough times to know the password, maybe when he sees you tomorrow, he can delete the evidence.

Miyuki stands on shaky legs and pads to the shower. He turns the water up as hot as he can stand.

#daiya no ace #daiya no ace x reader #ace of diamond x reader #ace of diamond smut #daiya no ace smut #miyuki kazuya #miyuki x reader #miyuki kazuya smut #miyuki smut #froggy scribbles

[aesthetxcimagines]

miyuki x reader but he’s an international student that was recruited by a university in the usa to play baseball, and they become fast friends and start to feel things for each other, and there’s a lot of angst and miscommunication, and…

do you see the vision😋

#miyuki kazuya #miyuki kazuya smut #miyuki kazuya x reader #ace of the diamond #daiya no ace x reader #daiya no ace #ace of diamond x reader #ace of the diamond x reader #x reader #imagine #smut

[boohaitani]

my baseball nerd | miyuki kazuya x reader

summary: in which kazuya is just being the baseball nerd he is

word count: about 500

just fluff <33

The sound of the television filled the room as Kazuya sat on the couch, his eyes glued to the baseball game playing out on the screen. Y/N joined him, curious about the intensity in his gaze as he watched every pitch and analyzed every play.

"Kazuya, you're such a baseball nerd," she teased, nudging him playfully.

He turned to her with a mischievous smile, not taking his eyes off the game. "Well, Y/N, it's not every day you get to witness the brilliance of the game firsthand. There's so much strategy, technique, and skill involved. It's fascinating."

Y/N chuckled, leaning closer to him. "I'll never understand your obsession with baseball, but I do love seeing your passion for it. You light up when you talk about the game."

Kazuya's eyes twinkled with excitement. "It's more than just a game, Y/N. It's a beautiful dance between the pitcher and the batter, a battle of wits and athleticism. Each pitch holds the potential for greatness or disappointment. And as a catcher, I get a front-row seat to all of it."

Y/N leaned back against the couch, crossing her arms playfully. "I suppose I should consider myself lucky to have a baseball nerd for a boyfriend. At least you'll always have something to talk about."

Kazuya's grin widened as he turned to her, his eyes filled with enthusiasm. "Oh, Y/N, you have no idea. I could talk about baseball for hours. The strategies, the statistics, the rivalries—it's endless. And I won't hesitate to educate you on the intricacies of the game."

She rolled her eyes, feigning exasperation. "Please, spare me the baseball lectures. I might just fall asleep."

He pretended to be offended, placing a hand over his heart dramatically. "Fall asleep? My passionate discussions about baseball are riveting, Y/N. I promise you won't be able to tear your eyes away."

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. "Alright, Kazuya, I'll humor you. Just don't be too disappointed when I start daydreaming about other things."

He feigned shock, his eyes widening. "How dare you? Baseball should be the only thing occupying your mind at all times!"

Their banter continued throughout the game, with Kazuya passionately explaining various plays and Y/N playfully teasing him about his obsession. It was a familiar dance between them, a playful back-and-forth that brought joy and laughter to their relationship.

As the game reached its climax, Kazuya's excitement grew, his eyes never leaving the screen. Y/N watched him, marveling at his childlike enthusiasm and unwavering dedication to the sport he loved.

"You know," she said, breaking the playful banter for a moment, "your passion for baseball is one of the things I love about you. It's a part of who you are, and I wouldn't change it for the world."

Kazuya turned to her, a soft smile on his face. "And your acceptance of my baseball nerdiness is one of the things I love about you. You embrace all parts of me, even the ones that might seem a little strange."

Y/N leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. "Well, someone has to keep you grounded, right?"

He chuckled, his eyes still glinting with excitement. "I suppose you're right. And who knows, maybe one day you'll find yourself caught up in the magic of baseball too."

Y/N grinned, her eyes sparkling. "Never say never, Kazuya. With you by my side, anything is possible."

#miyuki kazuya #daiya no ace #diamond no ace #anime #fluff #miyuki x reader #miyuki #sawamura eijun #miyuki fluff #baseball #daiya no ace headcanon #headcanon #scenarios #miyuki kazuya smut #miyuki kazuya fluff #daiyo no ace x reader #ace of diamond #ace of diamond x reader

[tettatonin]

HEAVEN AND BACK (REUPLOAD) ︰ miyuki , eijun , furuya , haruichi

⠀⠀⠀⠀— their kinks and favorite things ♡

cws: 18+ NSFW MDNI. fem!reader. unprotected sex. MIYUKI: edging, implied overstimulation. EIJUN: blowjob, throat/face fucking, praise. FURUYA: fingering, toru being ambidextrous, slight size kink. HARUICHI: sub!haruichi, oral (f receiving), handjob, vibrator.

notes: just an old post i wanted to fix up while also finally and officially putting daiya on my blog <33 totally not bc im in another writing slump

MIYUKI KAZUYA

+ EDGING. OVERSTIMULATION. miyuki can give you everything you want and take it away from you as he pleases. the power trip of having you at his fingertips just really gets to him. he wants you to enjoy yourself, sure, but not without him getting a piece and absolutely ruining it for his own self pleasure.

miyuki doesn't have to tell you that he gets off watching you struggle, it's simple enough to understand just being with him. even when he won't admit such a thing to your face, expressing it in ways that would make you keen for him to get to the end of his foreplay. he'd be a liar if he said he didn't enjoy doing it to himself either, kissing your neck to keep his thoughts straight.

he moved his hips slowly, seething through his teeth at the tight, closing feeling of being seconds away from orgasm for the fifth time tonight. you were in the same boat with your bottom lip swollen from being bitten down on, pussy throbbing for release.

"had enough?" miyuki asks you with a slight grin, lifting his face out of the crook of your neck. "y'know i wanna fuck you just as much as you do, you just cum so easy on my cock."

you try and hold back a laugh but it slips, your boyfriend's expression dropping a bit. "sorry." you cover your mouth.

"oh, so its like that, huh?" he raises his eyebrows, sitting back up and holding you by the underside of your knees, locking your legs to your chest. "you want it like that?"

miyuki pounds into you hard, the bed creaking under the weight. though his pace wasn't bruising, still keeping that silent oath of edging himself and you, but he was hitting your sweet spot with every snap of his hips. and when your eyes screw shut and your mouth parts in a silent scream, he knows he's won.

"wait! kazu— ya," your words broke by the syllables with his thrusts. "fu— ck! please, don't stop!"

like hell i would, he thinks while adjusting his pace, switching to a quick and steady rhythm that has your eyelids fluttering shut.

you've been edged for far too long, your climax building up fast as miyuki bullied your sweet spot. his stomach tightened at your face that twisted in pleasure, cock throbbing inside you as the height of his climax matched yours before he rides out his high, or so you thought.

"aww, don't tap out yet, princess." he coos, the rhythm of his hips picking back up again. "you said 'don't stop', right?"

SAWAMURA EIJUN

+ BLOWJOBS. PRAISE. as much as eijun likes to take care of you, he loves being pampered. something about you sucking him off after a long week of training just sends him into a state he wouldn't trade for the world. you're so good to him with your body that he'd still reward you with praises that would make your stomach tighten.

eijun leaned back into the headboard, relaxing his body to enjoy the moment to its full extent. you were propped up on your elbows, laying on your stomach between his legs with your mouth sucking on half his length while your hand pumps at what can't fit.

your lips wrapped around the tip, teasing him a bit while his cheeks flushed a shade of pink. he swallowed a moan as you took in more of him, his hand instinctively covering his mouth.

you look up at his flushed expression with a smile, a satisfied hum vibrating around his dick just before you pull off with a pop.

"something wrong, eijun?" you ask, looking up at him with doe eyes as you stroke him, making sure to tightly part your middle and index finger at the tip.

he lets out a shaky breath, his reply caught in his throat and all that comes out is a strained noise.

"hm?" you lick up a pearl of precum off the tip, sucking on it gently while waiting for a reply.

he shakes his head. 

"n-no, 's nothing you just— fuck, you feel so good." he barely gets to finish his sentence when you take him all the way to the base without warning. "mouth's so good for me." he sighs.

with your lips tight around his girth and your hand massaging his balls, his own shameful whines cut him off every time he tried to speak. not to mention the occasional jerk of his hips that had you grasping firmly at his thighs from the tip hitting the back of your throat.

"deeper, please, baby." he pleads, tucking a bit of hair behind your ear to sugarcoat the request. "want more."

obediently, you took him all the way for the last time, stilling your motion when the tip touches your throat. eijun's lips were parted slightly, the bottom one red and a little swollen from being bitten down on as you looked up at him.

the taste of his precum made your throat itch but still you bob your head gently, a string of moans falling from his lips the more you moved.

"yes, yes! fuck— just like that." he said, hands reaching to grab the sides of your face, his fingers lacing through your hair. "more.. need more, please, you're doing so good."

eijun times the controlled bob of your head with the raise of his hips, your nails digging into the skin of his thighs with the continuous touch of his tip to your throat.

"fuck, hah, you're gonna make me cum." he pants, already on the edge of release.

your eyes started to sting with tears from the lack of air and drool started to dribble down your chin. you look up at him desperately but he returns it with a look that said 'just a little more'.

and with a stuttered moan, he blows his load down your throat. your nose touches the skin above his cock while you swallow everything he gives you, the contraction of your throat making him sob just before you pull off with a gasp for air.

FURUYA SATORU

+ FINGERING. WHEN YOU SAY HIS NAME. furuya's size often slips his mind, forgetting that he's much bigger than you and that his fingers alone he could press up to that sweet spot in you with ease and that two were enough to make you feel so full. still, he still pushes for that warmth your cunt envelops him in along with the chant of his name as you get closer and closer to release.

furuya's lips rest on the skin of your neck as you lay on your back. he was propped up beside you with two fingers slowly thrusting into you, digits parted slightly to stretch you out. with his other hand he brushes a bit of hair from your face, watching with low lidded eyes.

"you okay?" he asks in a low whisper, littering a few kisses along your jaw.

you nod at the query, an assuring hum turning into a pleasured sigh when he hits a sensitive spot.

he pulls his fingers out of you, stomach tightening at how wet you've gotten with just his fingers.

"just a little more." he whispers, continuing to kiss gently along your jaw.

"satoru, i think its enough." you told him, gripping at his wrist.

he shook his head before his lips met yours, moving to kiss you deeper. his tongue pushed into your mouth, a moan coming out of him when you sucked on it. it has you melting, grip loosening as he slides his fingers between your folds, using his sense of touch to feel how much more slick he can gather before pushing them back in.

"not yet," he says breathlessly, a thin string of saliva connecting his lip to yours for a moment before he breaks away to shift in his position again. "not done with you yet."

he gets up from his place beside you, taking off his boxers and sitting between your legs instead.

he lets out a sigh when the cool air touches the tip, precum coating the head from the minutes he'd spent fingering you, listening and feeling how your body reacted to him. and god was he hard, so painfully hard from not being able to touch himself while doing so.

"wait—" you gasp, slender digits entering and pressing right up against your sweet spot again.

furuya gave his focus to your cunt, mesmerized by the glistening sheen and the sounds of you echoing throughout the room. his thought process felt hazy and fucking you had almost slipped his mind as he wrapped his left hand around his cock, already pumping to the bruising pace he was fingering you in.

"f-fuck, shit," he seethes as his eyelids suddenly start to weigh like iron from the pleasure, but he keeps them open for you. low lidded and clouded with lust.

"satoru, please. don't wanna cum yet."

not yet. not yet. he thinks, panting too hard and too engulfed in pleasure to tell you.

he could only feel the warmth of your walls around him, senses overflowing with impatience as he curls his fingers on one hand and tightens his grip with the other, giving special attention to the spot that makes you tighten. and when your walls clench around him one last time, he pulls you in close, hands wet with precum and slick but you could care less as your arms rest above your head.

furuya hovers over you, broad shoulders casting a shadow over your frame from the setting 4 o'clock sun for a moment before he rests on his forearms. the view from another perspective makes it look like he was trapping you under him from how big he was as the tip lines with your entrance, his hips move to push it in and you both gasp at the feeling. he rests his head in the crook of your neck when he builds up a steady rhythm, muffling his breathy moans against your skin but you can hear him so clearly while his hands try to find yours.

"so good," he sighs, his fingers loosely lacing with yours once he finds you. "can you— can you say my name? please?"

the hold he has on your hands anchors him, the curl of your fingers to his keeping him from slipping too far into self indulgence like before.

"satoru... faster." you moan, his pace changing at your command and stuffing you close to the hilt with quick, shallow thrusts. "fuck, you feel so good."

his stomach tightens at the praise. "gonna— gonna cum," he pants, kissing your neck to keep him from moaning too loud. "inside... wanna do it inside."

furuya didn't sound like he was asking, so you wrap your legs around his waist for assurance, heels digging into his lower back to bring him closer when his hips stutter.

he lifts his head out of the space in your neck, face hot and cheeks flushed a light shade of red as he kisses you slow and sloppy in another effort to suppress his moans again. but you can still hear them, you can feel them and how they intensify the closer he gets.

"cumming, cumming— satoru!" you moan when he pulls away.

you clench around him, strings of curses flowing out until his hips still, burying himself to the hilt.

KOMINATO HARUICHI

+ HANDJOBS. ORAL. he just looks so pretty with his glossy eyes and blushing cheeks. whether he's sitting on your lap, whimpering and nodding mindlessly at your words while you toy with his cock in your hand, or between your legs with his lips sucking your clit with fervor, haruichi's at your mercy.

haruichi sits on your lap, his arms wrapped around your neck while your hand strokes up and down his length in a steady motion. he moans against your lips, pleasure having washed over him and cut short many times.

he'd worked hard this week, balancing college studies and baseball training at the same time, so you gave him a remote, the small device clutched in his hand for the vibrator that whirred at a medium setting in you, a little bit of an extra reward. but you have a feeling that he's forgotten all about it, far too distracted by the pleasure you brought him.

his eyelids felt like they weighed a ton but he kept them open, watching your hand twist and pump around him with a sheen of precum and spit coating your skin.

"a lil' more, haru? 's getting dry." you request, slowing your pace.

haruichi opens his mouth, tongue lolling out to let a drop of spit fall onto the tip.

"thank you, baby." you smile, planting kisses from his cheek to his neck. "you feeling okay?"

he nods, swallowing thick to get rid of any potential stutter. "feels good.. so, so good— please, don't stop."

he rolls his hips, an adorable attempt to aid you in helping him reach his high.

"aww, don't worry. 'm never gonna stop." you coo. "gonna make you cum like you deserve, pretty boy. and," with your free hand you reach behind your neck where his hands rest, tapping the one that clutched the vibrator remote. "turn this up a bit, wanna feel good with you too."

his hands fumble with the remote, pushing the switch up a level. the bullet vibrating against your sweet spot earns a moan out of you, the sound had haruichi throbbing in your hand even as your pace faltered for a moment.

he pulls you in closer, opting to kiss you and drink in your moans while you stroked him on your lap.

"so pretty, haru." you comment between kisses. "my pretty boy with the prettiest cock."

his stomach tightens at your words, the praise making his vision hazy.

"want me to go faster?" you press your lips to his cheek. "'you worked so hard this week, so tell me. tell me what you want, 's okay."

it takes him a moment to relax and find the words he wants to tell you. you were already doing him so good and he was already so close, but speeding up the process shouldn't hurt.

"faster— please. i— i wanna cum so bad." he whines. "jus'— wanna cum, please."

you gladly pick up the pace, one hand twisting around his length while the other rubs the tip. haruichi's moans only increased in volume and it got harder and harder to hold back and savor the moment, his high coming up faster than he wanted.

"cumming, cumming!" he whines, desperately pressing his lips to yours as he spills all over your hand.

you take in his moans, tongues pressed together in a sloppy kiss. haruichi comes down from his high while you're about to reach yours, the fact of it evident in your moans and your panting breath when he pulls away, a string of spit connecting his bottom lip to yours.

he trails kisses from the corner of your mouth to your cheek, down your neck and to your chest, then finally stopping at your lower stomach. haruichi looks up at you as his lips latch onto your clit, lapping and sucking on it gently, actions drawing sweet moans out of you.

the remote's still grasped tightly in his hand, his thumb turning up the intensity to its highest before setting it on the floor. his hands hold onto your thighs as they clasp around his head, burying himself deeper into your cunt as you come so close to your release.

you moan out his name, the sound of it making his eyes roll back in pleasure and the his focus on your clit nearly breaks.

you part your thighs, allowing him room to breathe. slick covered him from his cheeks to his chin and pink dusted over his cheeks as he caught his breath, pulling the vibrator out of you by the string to turn it off. he brings his face closer to your pussy again, flattening his tongue to lick up a stripe from your dripping hole to your clit, swallowing the slick pooled on his tongue.

TAGLIST: @dearkamiya saw this first but here it is again 😵😵 ++ @fsh1gvro @21-06-1996 @1990-06-12 (i'm sorry for the tag sumi but i rmbed u rlly like furuya sooo)

#daiya no ace #daiya no ace smut #daiya no ace x reader #daiya no ace x reader smut #ace of diamond #ace of diamond smut #ace of diamond x reader #ace of diamond x reader smut #diamond no ace #diamond no ace smut #diamond no ace x reader #diamond no ace x reader smut #miyuki kazuya #miyuki kazuya smut #miyuki kazuya x reader #miyuki kazuya x reader smut #eijun sawamura #eijun sawamura smut #eijun sawamura x reader #eijun sawamura x reader smut #furuya satoru #furuya satoru smut #furuya satoru x reader #furuya satoru x reader smut #haruichi kominato #haruichi kominato smut #haruichi kominato x reader #haruichi kominato x reader smut

[softeninglooks]

ace of diamond | falling in love with sanada shunpei

yet another comfort character voiced by hiroshi kamiya ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡) for age purposes, yakushi is a university team in this drabble!

neither you nor raichi can pinpoint the exact moment when you went from classmates, to friends who warmly cared for one another beyond chatting between class breaks

perhaps it was when raichi admitted (a little ashamed) that he needed help with passing exams, because low grades would prevent him from going to baseball tournaments, and his request was met with nothing but genuine understanding and kindness (he was no longer ashamed, then)

or when he invited you to watch his next baseball game as a thank you, and suddenly you were attending every game and wholeheartedly cheering for your university team

or when he introduced you to his team-mates and dad, proudly boasting that he had passed all his exams thanks to your invaluable help - you knew better than anyone that when raichi put in the effort, he was capable of tremendous growth in surprisingly short amounts of time

from then on, your friendship was sealed. and with it came the rest of yakushi, who enthusiastically welcomed you into their circle; they were proud to have such a fervent supporter, and you fit right in with them as you too took an interest in baseball

as raichi's other closest friend, sanada was someone you got to know quickly. as a strong and focused player, he was a counterpoint to raichi's explosive energy. while sanada had been influenced by raichi's deep passion for baseball and was driven by the desire to play more, his presence on the mound sufficed to soothe the nerves of the rest of his team and give them confidence that even missed plays could later be turned into new opportunities to win

sanada was enthralled by you as soon as the two of you met. he had got the chance to talk to you as you walked with the team on the way back to university, raichi insisting that of course you could stay, since he was the one who asked you to come to the game!

judging by your open friendliness and enthusiasm to learn more about baseball, sanada could easily see how raichi and you had become such good friends. not only that, but sanada had glimpsed just how passionate you were about your own interests when his other team-mates fired a little too many questions your way to get to know you better. his heart skipped a beat right when you asked “what about you, sanada-kun? how did you start playing baseball?” your passion was something that he admired, it reminded him of why raichi had become such a dear friend of his, how passionate people inspired him to give his very best

when he was not pitching, the intense gleam in sanada's dark eyes turned into a bright and inviting light. after you had been introduced to the baseball team, sanada left a lasting impression on you - you had been drawn to his self-assured and well-meaning ways, his smile at once playful and sociable. he spoke highly of his friends and believed in them like no other; he wanted to get stronger to be a reliable ace for the team, to contribute to raichi and raizou's dream, which had become the team's dream too. you could see how father and son had adopted the entire yakushi team

your fondness for the yakushi baseball team only kept growing from then on. you cheered for your new friends tirelessly (a little louder for sanada, it seemed) and sometimes even met up with them after practice. and sanada, too, had been thinking about ways to see you more often. the more he got to know you, the more he wanted to spend time with you, the harder he worked to impress you from the mound (though we wouldn’t tell anyone, for fear of his stupid—mostly in an endearing but sometimes troublesome way—team embarrassing you or him)

sanada started to attend the lectures that you went to. though he was a science major, you found him following courses that had nothing to do with his subject - and his enjoyment of them warmed your heart like no other. he would come up to you and offer some excuse, “i heard that this series of lectures is really good” (the person he had heard it from was you, though), then ask if he could take a seat by your side. you would stay chatting after classes, sharing thoughts and impressions, and sometimes you would text each other facts about the subject that you found out on the internet in the evening. his natural warmth and extraversion, his readiness to help out and reassure his team-mates, his genuine curiosity for your interests, made you fall harder for sanada day after day

“sanada-kun, i started reading the book that that professor recommended last time, and it’s so interesting!,” “sanada-kun, i caught a baseball game on TV last night. i tried to see if the pitcher had any cutter balls!” sanada’s smile softened as you told him all about the baseball game you had watched, his heart thumping loudly along to the sound of your voice. he invited you to attend a baseball game with him then, one that he wasn’t playing in, so you could watch it together and he could provide commentary. of course you accepted, and the warmth in sanada’s smile made your chest ache in the best of ways

during the game, sanada realized how happy you were to be spending this time together, how brightly you grinned at him, and he wholeheartedly hoped that his feelings might not go unreciprocated. you started spending even more time together after that. you would stay by sanada’s side after games, sit together in lectures you attended together, have lunch together with raichi, laugh at each other's jokes, and be proud of each other's accomplishments. sanada would walk you back home after lectures when you ran into one another at the end of the day (not entirely by accident)

everyone on the team could see how close the two of you were, to the point that the rest of yakushi started teasing sanada relentlessly when you were not around. funnily enough, raichi was probably the only one who did not pay attention - when he was with the team, he was too absorbed in baseball to truly care about anything else happening around. raizou was secretly rooting for sanada and you though, it reminded him of his own youth

the confession was sweet and easy, so natural that you barely needed words - the soft look in sanada's eyes was enough to make you understand what he meant. you were walking home together and he asked you if you wanted to spend time together the upcoming weekend, just the two of you. “of course, i would be really happy to,” you smiled at him, your heart racing so fast that you thought sanada could sense it somehow. but you were not embarrassed. on the contrary, there is nothing you wished more than for sanada to know how appreciated he was, how loved and supported by everyone around him

“so it's a date?” you nodded, taking his hands into yours. “yes, please.” “so you will be my girlfriend?” he squeezed your hands, looking deep into your eyes. “yes!” sanada grinned back at you and lost no time in pulling you into a hug. you held him tight, hearing his heart beat just as fast as yours, and breathed out a chuckle into his chest. “you struck out on this one, shunpei.” “i’m not the ace for nothing,” he laughed fondly and ruffled your hair

next time you came to watch yakushi play, sanada made sure that everyone could see him take your hand and plant a cheerful kiss on your cheek. his eyes were shining with pride

#sanada shunpei #sanada shunpei fanfiction #sanada shunpei x reader #ace of diamond fanfiction #ace of diamond x reader #ace of diamond #yakushi fanfiction #daiya no ace fanfiction #daiya no ace #my writing

[k0mfort]

"oh this?"

he shrugs, as though the cuts or his bruises do not hurt. as though you cannot see him flinch with every muscle flexed. as though his shirt is not torn in all places and some stupid fight had busted his lips wide open.

"this is nothing. you shoulda seen the other guy—"

"youichi."

your stern voice made him purse his lips, throwing his gaze away from you and onto the hard ground instead. he scowls.

he sits before your standing figure, not looking ashamed, but somewhat annoyed. a little bitterness blossoms in your heart. your eyes are welling up with tears that have made your cheeks wet over and over again.

is it the way he lets himself get hurt over and over again for some cheap thrill that comes and goes shortly? or is it how he ignores you, or whatever you tell him, and doesn't see how it hurts you seeing him like this?

you can't tell anymore.

"you never stop," you whisper, pressing your trembling lips hard against each other. you keep your gaze hard on the top of his head, waiting for him to look at you.

and when he does, he looks away almost immediately.

"don't cry," he mutters, closing his eyes while placing his palm against his forehead. "shit."

"you never stop," you repeat your words, letting the tears fall freely again.

he looks at you, grabbing you by the hand so that he can pull you closer. "hey," he whispers your name softly once. he then does it again when you still refuse to look at him. "look at me, hey."

you suck in a sharp breath, "what?"

"i'm..." you see him hesitate. "i'm sorry... alright?"

"no you aren't."

"i am," he pulls you in so that you are standing in between his knees, close enough for him to watch your crying face from under you. "i don't want to make you feel like this."

"you aren't even sorry for fighting," you whine, attempting to push him away. he stays still.

youichi examines the way you won't look at him—how you are trying to wipe away your tears only to have another wave of tears flow down your face.

"shit— okay, maybe i'm not," his voice shakes. he lets his fingers intertwine with yours, holding your hand tight. "but i really am sorry for making you cry. you gotta believe me."

"you have to stop—" you peek at him, opening one eyes. "you have to stop fighting. i can't keep seeing you like this anymore—"

the closer you are to him, the more clearly you can see his cut up eyebrows, the forming bruise under his eye, the dry blood on his lips.

"oh gosh," you close your eyes, sobbing even harder. "i can't see you anymore. not like this. i can't, youichi."

he pulls you in, wrapping his free arm around you. "okay okay. i'll try to stop, alright?"

you don't believe him. you shake your head and cry even harder to the back of your hand.

"i swear— hey," he tugs on your hand again, and when he doesn't see you look at him, he places his forehead on your torso, his mind racing in all different directions. "you can't leave me. i swear. i'll try to stop. no— i'll stop, i'll stop."

"you won't," you wail, "you don't know how to stop—"

"i will," he insists. "i swear to you, i will. don't leave me. just don't leave."

you don't know why, but his insistence made you cry harder.

you stand there as you sob to your hand, juggling between the choice of giving him his hundredth chance or finally letting go.

author's note: this is supposed to be a longer one but i can't form anything in my head... anyway. i know this sucks. But. consider this: i love him. i love kuramochi. and i also am very... interested... in bad boy tropes lately i KNOW this is so overused blablabla LET ME DREAM OK??? I WANT A BADBOY BOYFRIEND. TF. might make a longer version of this idk. prompt credit.

#kuramochi youichi #daiya no a #rambles #daiya #kuramochi youichi x reader #daiya no a x reader #ace of diamond #kuramochi #kuramochi x reader #ace of diamond x reader #daiya x reader

[mangoisms]

like the part of the song where it falls ━ miyuki kazuya

━ part six: dogfish / read part five

━ wc: 7k

━ warnings: none

━ masterpost

━ a/n: hi! this is the final part of this fic, thank you all for reading! i hope you enjoy <3

(21:31) Have an obligation with the team on saturday (21:31) fun! what kind? (21:31) Party at one of the guys’ house (21:31) Though it’s more of a gathering than a party which is a relief (21:32) It’s just that the guys have been bothering me to meet you (21:32) LOL (21:32) oh shit wait you’re being serious???????

“Is this really a good idea?”

“What are you so worried about?”

“It’s your team,” you stress, your eyes taking in the sprawling properties of Del Mar Heights. A neighbor to Carmel Valley, houses here are not houses, but mansions instead, perched on sloping ridges that overlook the ocean and the rest of San Diego. 

“Yeah,” he says. “You managed to become friends with me. So, you’ll have no problem with them.”

“Not what I meant… please tell me you aren’t getting a house here.”

You had to go through a gate to get here. A gate. Seriously. Your finances are in a better state now with your pay raise but it wasn’t too long ago you were struggling to buy fresh produce. 

“No way. Too stuffy.”

“Nice views of the ocean, though.”

“You and the water,” he says, shaking his head. Fond. 

You look away, glancing at your reflection in the window. The sun is starting to set. Today’s endeavor isn’t a party but you were instructed to dress a little more formally than usual. Kazuya looks heartachingly gorgeous in a deep blue long-sleeved button-up and jeans. 

You’re in your nicer stuff, too, in a warm ivory satin midi dress with a front tie at the bust and short fluttery sleeves. You traded your Docs for champagne velvet platform ankle-strap heels with bows. 

But just because you’re wearing lighter colors than usual doesn’t mean you’re trading in your standard dark lip look. Today’s lipstick is mulberry, with a glassy finish to it. Your nails are freshly painted a matching shade, dark enough to look black. 

You look… nice, Kazuya had said when he picked you up. 

Your heart had leapfrogged to your chest and you stammered out that he did, too, and barely managed to stop yourself from saying that he always looks nice. Gorgeous, really. Just unbearably gorgeous. So gorgeous, it should be illegal. 

Ugh.

Your sister’s advice from last week is still bouncing around inside your head. 

You don’t think she’s wrong. Not at all. But the days wear on. Your guilt increases. It’s wrong, maybe. Selfish, to just think about yourself. 

Like she said. 

What about him?

You aren’t kidding yourself. This is both the easiest and hardest decision you could ever make. 

All that you could want is sitting to your left, humming along to the radio idly, fingers tapping on the leather of the steering wheel. 

You don’t have time to think about it any longer as you come upon a busy section of the street, tons of cars parked in the driveway of a mansion and on the street. All of them are luxurious sports cars. Kazuya’s Audi is probably the least expensive here. 

He expertly parallel parks between a Maserati and an Aston Martin across the street from the mansion, which is two stories, done in the typical Spanish revival style of California. Low, pitched roofs covered in red tiles, adobe exterior walls, numerous oversized windows, carved entry doors, multiple balconies, and high arches. 

The inside is just as nice. Mosaic tiles, wood beams, arched doorways, and stucco walls. 

It is also busy. Very busy.

“How many people are on this team?” you whisper desperately as the two of you shuffle inside unnoticed (for a short period of time, you’re certain). 

“Gonzales probably invited some of the staff, too. But generally, this is how many we start out with. Spring training decides who ends up on the starting roster. Oh, look. There’s Wendy.”

“Tee, it’s good to see you,” she says, giving you a warm smile. 

“It’s good to see you, too.” More than good. You’re so glad she’s here. You aren’t sure if you can shadow Kazuya all night. Not with the eyes that are noticing you, no doubt dying for a piece of him. You at least have someone to fall back on if he gets pulled away. 

Though, truthfully, some part of you doesn’t want that to happen. Wants to keep him here with you. But you don’t get to do that.

“Kazuya!”

A tall, stocky older man shoulders his way through the people, grinning widely. Wendy moves out of the way. 

You know who this is — Raul Gonzales, the Padres’ star pitcher. Also one of the oldest among them, at thirty-nine. A true veteran of the game. He and Kazuya and a handful of the other pitchers helped take the Padres all the way through the playoffs to the World Series. There’s plenty of talk in the press about their battery, so you aren’t that surprised to hear him calling Kazuya by his first name. 

A heavy hand claps his shoulder. “It’s good to see you. You should answer your phone more often.”

“I’m busy.”

“Ha! I bet you are! With this little lady, I’m sure.”

“You —”

“As friends.” Gonzales holds up his hands, smirking. “Relax, man. Hey,” he turns to you, offering a big hand, smile lines deepening in russet skin, “it’s nice to finally meet you. We’ve heard a lot.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too. You have a beautiful home.”

His grin widens. “Thanks. Interior design is an offseason passion. My wife, Sandra, is around here somewhere. She’s in a blue dress. If I’m not around, you can ask her if you need anything.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“Yes, very kind, but we’ll be together most of the night,” Kazuya says. “Don’t want to leave her to the sharks.”

“No, I don’t imagine you do. Come on. Most of us are out back.”

“What do you mean, leave me to the sharks?” you whisper as the two of you follow him. Your voices are easily drowned out by the chatter and the Spanish music playing. 

He shoots you a wry look. “Like I said. You’re friends with me. Plus, with everything going on in the press… people areinterested in you, tomcat. But as you can tell… a lot of them think we’re together.”

“Oh.”

He misunderstands the smallness in your voice, shaking his head. “I told Raul to spread it around that we aren’t. But, well. You know how this stuff is.”

“Right. Yeah.”

The backyard is humongous, with a large pool on one end, then a grassy area beside it. The grill is going in the outdoor kitchen, several people manning it, with a large fire pit near it, helping to fight off the January chill. 

It’s a whirlwind of introductions from there. Lots of questions about you and Kazuya (that is, how you ‘deal with him,’ which quickly gets old), lots of questions about your head, whether you really are okay (you are, for the most part; remains to be seen whether you’ll suffer the effects as you get older), and then a few jokes about your relationship, too. Raul, despite his earlier tease, shuts them down. He’s one of the oldest on the team and he’s been on it for the past decade. You can tell his words hold weight. 

“Kind of your worst nightmare as a catcher,” Kazuya whispers to you in a brief moment of reprieve, a steadying hand on your back, trying to ease the tension in you. “To be significantly younger than him, for one, and for him to be seen as something like a captain. A real veteran.”

“But you two did it, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. Guess you can teach an old dog new tricks.”

You exhale a quiet laugh, shaking your head. 

He surveys the scene in front of you. The sun has set but the lights are on outside, the fire pit keeping you warm, the smoky scent of burning firewood pleasant. There’s food, too. Burgers, hot dogs, steak. He has a bottle of beer in his hand but hasn’t drank one sip of it. You stick with water. 

“You wanna step inside?” he asks, hand sliding to your shoulder blades. “Just take a sec. I can hold these guys off.”

Insane to realize that you are the hot commodity tonight, not him. 

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Thank you.”

“Don’t be there too long, though. I can be chivalrous for only so long.”

You smile. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

The look in his eyes is warm and so is the feeling in your chest. Heat from the fire whips at you. 

You turn. 

Most of the people have moved outside by now. A few younger kids play in the living room, with the older ones sprawled out on the cushioned sofa on their phones, earbuds in, a few of them dozing; the eighty-inch flat screen TV plays some movie you don’t recognize. 

Little footsteps reach your ears. 

“Excuse me?”

You turn forward, blink as you find air, then lower your eyes, where a little girl, no older than seven, stands. 

You soften quickly. “Yes?”

She lifts a plate with a thin slice of steak on it towards you. “Can you cut this please?”

“Well, sure.” 

You take the plate and she tugs you by hand around the couch, to the low coffee table where a few other plates are sitting. 

You kneel, careful of your dress, and start cutting it into smaller pieces. 

“Thank you,” she says. “Dad said to have Mom do it, since I don’t know how to use the big knives. But then Mom said she’s busy, so I should ask him. And I can’t ask my big brother because —” she nods to one of the sleeping teenagers. 

You smile. “I see your predicament. What’s your name?”

“Penelope. What’s yours?”

You tell her. “But you can call me Tee. Most people do.”

“Why?”

“Well, y’see, I run this show on the radio. Me and my friend, Jerry. You know Tom and Jerry?”

“Oh! You’re Tom.”

“Yep. Or Tee. And Jerry is Mouser.”

“Mouser?” she asks, wrinkling her nose with an incredulous smile on her mouth. 

“Tom’s the cat and Jerry’s the mouse.”

“So, shouldn’t you be called something else?”

“Well, one of my friends calls me tomcat.”

“Is it Miyuki?”

You blink, surprised. “Yes, it is.”

She nods. “That’s good. It’s better like that. That way you’re the cat and your other friend is the mouse.”

You smile. “I agree.”

She springs up from the fluffy carpet under the coffee table suddenly. “Wait here. Please.”

You let her do her thing, glancing down at your work to finish cutting it up into pieces suitable for her. 

Penelope returns a minute later with a Capri-Sun. “Can you open this, too, please? I can never get the straw in.”

“Sure thing. Is this okay?” You nod to the plate. 

She nods. “Yes. Thank you.”

“No problem.” You take the Capri-Sun, pulling the straw loose, pulling off the wrapper, then poking it into the hole. 

Penelope watches you. “I like your nails. And your lipstick.”

You smile. “Thank you. I like your shoes.”

“They light up.” 

She stomps one for demonstration. You ooh accordingly. 

You linger there, more relaxed now than you’ve felt for most of the evening. 

But, just to take the edge off a little further, you’ll try to find someplace else. A little more quiet, you think. 

“You know your way around here?” you ask. 

Penelope nods matter-of-factly. “The kitchen and movie theater is that way. The bathroom is this way.”

Jeez. Movie theater?

You shake your head a little. “I’ll be in the kitchen, then, if you need anything else. And don’t worry about it, either, alright?”

She nods. “‘Kay. Thanks.”

“Sure.”

You stand, smoothing down your dress, and head to where she said the kitchen was — to your right. Down a hall, where you pass a large and ornately decorated dining room, then you come upon the equally large kitchen. Really a beautiful piece of interior design. You’d want Raul to be your designer if you had the money to afford anything other than your little apartment. 

You pause in front of the empty kitchen, looking down the rest of the hall hesitantly before deciding you are curious about this home theater Raul has. 

You find it easily, a little sign above the door signaling it, and poke your head in. You are being very nosy, you know, sticking your nose into places you are probably not allowed but — home theater, man. Home theater. 

You find a light switch — it’s actually a touchscreen display embedded in the wall and a clumsy fumble of your fingers somehow manages to turn the lights on — which illuminates a large room. Bigger than your own bedroom, if you think about it. Large white screen at one end, with a few rows of plush loveseats facing it. You spy a popcorn maker and oodles of candy stocked on shelves in the wall. Even a… is that an Icee machine?

“If you want to hide in here for the rest of the night, I don’t mind.”

“Holy shit!”

You whirl around, a hand flying to your chest, but it’s just Raul, looking torn between guilt and amusement as he holds up his hands in a placating motion. 

“Sorry, sorry, I thought you heard me.”

“No — um, I should be apologizing, I was… snooping —”

He snorts, waving a hand. “Snooping. Don’t worry about it, kid. If Kazuya trusts you, I trust you. Snoop all you like. Well. Within reason.”

You laugh. “Still. I shouldn’t have —” you gesture to the theater, stepping away from the door. “It’s, um, really cool, though.”

“Kinda obnoxious, though, isn’t it?” he asks, chuckling and leaning in to look. “It’s mostly for the kids. Sandra and I still like going out to the movie theaters.”

“I would think you run less of a bill here.”

“True. But I also appreciate how movie theaters let total strangers come together to watch something. Something about collective action, don’t you think?”

“That… Yeah. Yeah. I agree. Like with concerts.”

Raul nods quickly. “Exactly. It’s nice. The kids just think it’s cheesy.”

You chuckle. “They’ll come around to it when they get older.”

“That’s what Sandra says, too.” He leans in to turn off the light and close the door. “So, I’m guessing you came in to escape.”

“Just a small break.”

The two of you start for the kitchen. Raul nods. “I get it. Kazuya had a penchant for doing that, too, when he first got traded. He still does it sometimes these days.”

“Sounds like Kazuya,” you chuckle. 

“He likes his space. Solitude. So, I was pretty surprised to keep hearing he was out and about this offseason.”

You wince. “I, uh, commandeered probably too much of his time.”

“I don’t know,” Raul says, stepping into the kitchen while you pause at the counter. “He probably wouldn’t agree with you. And I’m not sure I do, either. It’s good to see him getting out.”

He opens one of those fancy wine refrigerators under the island. “I try to convince him to hang out with me or Sandra, even if it’s just errands or something. Just to get him out. He’s much more willing with you, which is better. You’re a good influence on him.”

Something about that makes your heart ache. You try to brush it off. 

“Wine?” he asks, two glasses now in hand, along with a wine bottle. Something French. A rosé. 

“Just a little. Thanks.”

“Sure. It’s much preferable to beer, but some of the guys can be weird about it.” He rolls his eyes as he says that. 

You laugh. 

“Anyway, I just came in to check on you. Doing my host-ly duties. Plus Kazuya was a bit worried.”

“About —?”

“Who else?”

He passes you the glass and you take a sip. 

“Everything’s fine,” you say. It really is. You should be ready to head out soon. But you’re curious about something. 

“You know… I hadn’t realized you two were so close. I mean, they talk about it in the press but…” This is something different. 

“He’s a good kid. Spent a lot of time with us when he moved.”

“He never mentioned it.”

“I wouldn’t expect him to. It’s a casual thing. Meaningful but casual.” 

“That’s nice. I was worried he'd been alone this whole time.”

“We do what we can. Seems like you cracked the code, though.”

You smile and shrug. “All it takes is a baseball to the face.”

He laughs. “You’re funny. I can see why he likes you.”

“Huh?”

Raul raises a brow. “As a friend, kid.”

“Right.” 

An awkward silence takes hold. He takes a pointed sip of his wine. 

 You groan. “No, I just completely revealed myself, didn’t I?”

“Not now. Anyone with a pair of eyes can see it. But yes. It was an official confirmation.”

“So embarrassing,” you whisper. 

“I think it’s nice. The only thing I’m wondering is — why aren’t you two together?”

You smile tiredly. “You aren’t the first person to ask that question.”

He shakes his head. “I ask out of his interest. To protect him. You seem like a nice person but… Kazuya so rarely allows himself to feel these things. To let people in like that. I don’t want to see him get hurt.”

“I don’t want to hurt him.”

“I can tell. And truthfully, you do seem like a good person. You do. But sooner or later, we’re going to be packing in it to go to Arizona for spring training. And from there, it’s six months of baseball. Do you really want to wait that long?”

“I mean, I don’t… I wasn’t…”

“You should. They said that hit you got was real serious. Serious enough to kill you, if things had gone differently. Regrets are inevitable but is this one you want to keep, if you can do something about it?”

You don’t say anything, staring down at your wine glass, where your lipstick has left a mulberry mark on the rim. 

“That’s all I ask,” he says gently. “Just don’t hurt him. Please.”

“Hey, tomcat! There you are… Was worried you got lost in this place — oh, hey, Raul.”

“Oh, hey, Raul. So disrespectful of your elders.”

Kazuya laughs and you find yourself relaxing at the sound of it. 

“Not my fault I prefer to see her face over yours,” he says, smirking. 

Raul rolls his eyes and you smile, ducking your head as your face warms. 

“You two coming in here to sneak in the good stuff?” Kazuya asks next. “Seriously. This beer sucks. I mean, all beer sucks, but this one sucks extra.”

Raul laughs. 

“Shouldn’t have let yourself be peer pressured into it,” you say, scooting him your wine glass. “Finish it off. I’m good.”

“I’ll be outside,” Raul chuckles, picking up his wine glass. “Help yourselves. There are some wine coolers in the fridge.”

He steps out. Kazuya finishes your wine, then puts the glass in the sink, starting to wash it; now that you know he and Raul were closer than initially conveyed, you can see the ease with which he moves here. 

“So, what happened?” he asks.

“Well… I met one of the kids. Penelope. Nice girl.”

“Funny kid.”

You chuckle, only imagining what his and her interactions must be like. He isn’t… terrible with kids. You imagine with his profession, he can’t be. A tad awkward with the little ones but better with the older ones. 

“What else?”

At the sink, he sponges the inside of the glass, the soft side of the sponge squeaking a little against the glass; soapy bubbles spill over from his palm. 

You cross your arms as you lean back against the counter, giving him a bashful smile that makes him raise an eyebrow. 

“I snooped.”

“Can’t take you anywhere, can I.” 

You pout until he chuckles. “Alright, fine. What’d you snoop on?”

“The home theater.”

Kazuya starts laughing. 

“It’s crazy. I mean… What?”

“I know,” he laughs. “It’s ridiculous, right?”

“It’s… an interesting choice. Although I don’t know if I can judge. If I had the opportunity for, like, a free room…”

“You’d want a studio?”

“What? No, I’d make Batman and Robin a bedroom.”

He laughs, shutting off the water, setting the wine on a drying mat, and grabbing a dish towel to dry his hands. 

“Raul’s nice,” you say. 

“He’s not half bad.”

You smile and roll your eyes good-naturedly.

“He has a habit of making people introspective,” he adds. “He just can’t help himself. But I guess old people are just like that.”

“Old people. Please. He’s only thirty-nine. Besides… it’s not so bad.”

“No? Well, it did look like you two were having a pretty serious conversation,” he says casually, turning to lean against the counter beside you. The heat of his body is palpable in the few inches between your bodies. 

Serious is an understatement.

You’re still thinking about it. 

About everything you’ve been told.

By your sister, by Hector, by Raul. 

A few things stand out.

One. He deserves to know. By this point, it isn’t going to blow over, not since you know how he feels, too. There is a hole in your heart that he carved out and no one but him can fill it.

Two. He deserves to know now because in a little over a month from now, he will be heading to Arizona, not to return until March thirtieth. 

Three. You have the opportunity. The chance. Right in front of you. Why not take it? 

Maybe this will end in heartbreak. Maybe you’ll walk away with that hole in your heart and it’ll never be filled, not by anyone, not by him. But you said it before.

You can’t live your life closed off to protect yourself. And you can’t close off now, realizing how much he means to you. Scared at how much he means to you. But also in the position where you know you likely mean as much to him. 

Enough for him to say something.

“I was given the shovel talk,” you say at last. He let you stew in your silence for a minute. Maybe he can tell. 

He grimaces. “Sorry. He doesn’t — they don’t —”

“No, no… it’s okay. I’m glad you have people looking out for you like that.”

“Yeah, but you’re not…” he struggles for a second, lips pursing, a wrinkle appearing between his brows. “One. They worry too much. And two… you aren’t going to do that.”

But you did. But you will. But just because it might hurt right now, to know you didn’t say anything, doesn’t mean the rest of it will hurt, too.

It swells inside you with a hurricane force. You want to spill it all, tell him everything. 

“Can we talk? Somewhere… private? Please?” You’re this side of desperate.

He can tell, a little alarmed, a little… scared?

It flabbergasts you as he nods quickly and takes you by the hand. You can’t even enjoy the feel of his hand in yours because of the confusion.

It hits you quickly, though, as you climb the stairs to the second floor.

How must it sound — for you to mention your shovel talk, then for him to say he believes you won’t hurt him, and for you to ask to talk. Quite urgently. 

Does he think you want to go back on your agreement to be friends?

This is… it’s not that. It is, in a way, because you hope you can be more than friends but the core of you, that stays the same. 

He is one of your best friends. 

You’ll always want that. 

You don’t say anything until you find the both of you inside one of the many guest rooms — a spacious thing, with a four-poster King-sized bed not unlike his own, with a large set of windows that overlook the backyard and the ocean. 

“I still want to be friends,” you say as soon as the door shuts behind him. 

He turns, blinking at you.

“I mean… you don’t have to worry about that. But the truth is, I’ve made a mistake. Not about being friends with you after… after. You know. But more in that… I didn’t say anything when I should’ve.”

He tenses, saying your name.

“It’s true,” you say, words forming faster than you can say them. “It’s not just you, it was never just you because I… I really like you. I have for a while, I think.”

Miyuki Kazuya, you think, is speechless. His eyes are wide, too, looking at you like…

You look away. Keep talking. You can’t stop. You have to explain. He has to know why.

“You just caught me off-guard. You’ve never… I didn’t expect that to happen. Not from you and it’s not bad, it wasn’t, it still remains… one of the nicest moments I’ve ever had but I was… stupid. I didn’t say anything when I should’ve and then the time kept passing and I kept thinking you didn’t deserve for my words to just be some kind of afterthought when they should’ve been spoken there.

“But then I realized that kind of thinking was useless. The time keeps passing. It always will and for me, it hasn’t changed anything. My feelings are still as they are, maybe stronger, after everything. I was just so…” you slide a hand down your face, smiling faintly. “Surprised. I mean, in what universe…”

“In this one,” Kazuya says, looking determined then, a ferocious kind of passion you’ve only seen in clips of him playing, but never directed at you. As though you are something he is passionate about.

But you should know better. You are passionate about him. You know, then, that he is passionate about you, too.

Two-way street. 

What a stunning kind of absolute. 

It’s the kind that makes you want to reach for him, pull him into your arms. 

He takes a step toward you. Your heart speeds up.

He says your name. “It’s this universe. This one. And if my multiversal selves have any kind of common sense, they’d find you, too.”

“Kazuya…”

Another step. His face is a shade hesitant now. Uncertain. It makes him younger.

“Do you… You mean that.”

“Every word,” you whisper. “I understand if you’re… upset I held back this long.”

“I had a feeling,” he murmurs. “That you were feeling it, too. It… it gave me hope. I would’ve waited.” 

“You don’t need to.”

His hands cup your face. The brush of his warm calloused hands against the softness of your face is dizzying. The look in his eyes is tender. You feel like you might buckle from the weight of it.

“Can I ask you something else?”

A nod.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, and in the next moment, his lips are on yours. 

You turn into a puddle of goo in his hands, everything inside you shivering at the touch of his lips to yours, so warm and so soft. 

The first press is exploratory. A discovery in the making. 

Everything after that is so much more certain. A promise, a vow. 

His hands leave your face, one coming to your waist, the other sliding around to the back of your neck, keeping you there as he kisses you, pressing, insistent. Like he’s trying to take in as much of you as you can. 

You shiver, sliding your arms around his neck, one of your hands finding its place in his hair. Silky soft strands glide through your fingers. He tugs you closer. Closer and closer until there is no space between you, until your very atoms might be intermingling, too. 

The heat of him bleeds into you. The smell of his shampoo overwhelming. 

The fact that you’re here, that this is him. 

Your lips part. He shivers this time. 

A sound. 

“Miyuki, you can’t just hide — Jesus Christ!”

The two of you wrench apart, heads snapping to the source of the voice. 

Wendy stands in the doorway, her eyes wide. The shock leaves her quickly. “Oh my god, look at the state of you two! Stay here. Do not go back out. I’ll be back.” 

The door shuts before you two can say anything else. 

Look at the state of — you two can’t look that bad. You didn’t do much. Your hands did find their way to his hair but that’s —

You look at each other at the same time. 

“Oh, god,” you say. 

His lips are tinted mulberry, more smeared around his mouth. 

Kazuya starts laughing. “You, too!”

You join his laughter, listing into him. His body shakes with it. 

You laugh and laugh and laugh, arms wrapped around one another, and it’s like a puzzle piece sliding into place, the last one of the set, a masterpiece before your eyes. 

Considering you know a thing or two about puzzles… you know what you’re talking about. 

[Night Owl Transcript — 20:15 — 1/16/2023]

[Metric’s “Eclipse (All Yours)” plays] Tear me down, they can't take you out of my thoughts Under every scar, there’s a battle I’ve lost Will they stop when they see us again? I can’t stop, now I know who I am

Now I’m all yours, I’m not afraid And you're all mine, say what they may And all your love, I’ll take to the grave And all my life starts

[Off-air recording starts] Mouser: I guess that explains that? Tee: I love you, Mouser.  Mouser: [Laughing] I love you, too, Tee.

“Oh, but we have to get on Batman! Batman and Robin would want me to!”

Kazuya hoists the backpack with your belongings on his back, eyeing you. 

“You know, if they could talk, I don’t think that’s what they would say.”

Pop music plays faintly from the speakers. A Bastille song, you think. Dominating over it is the sound of thrilled screams and the mechanical rapid fire click of rollercoasters. 

Despite being late January — exactly three months since your concussion — Valencia, California is unusually warm, the sun shining down on you, a cooler breeze accompanying it. Nothing uncomfortable, though. You whipped out your jean shorts for it, along with a black t-shirt with the Batman symbol on the breast. Your crew socks match. You’re just wearing a pair of comfortable sneakers, though. No Docs. That’d probably kill your feet, with all the walking you’re going to do today. It’s finished with your usual black cherry lip lacquer. You’ve gotten several compliments on your outfit. You’re pleased. 

Six Flags Magic Mountain is busy but not as busy as it gets during the height of the summer. The warm temperatures teased out a few more people but it’s still an awkward time of the year and an awkward time of the week — a Wednesday. 

Not that it matters much to you. Kazuya bought both of you the FLASH Pass add-ons for your already-expensive tickets, that way you don’t have to wait in line for too long. You can’t say you disagree. Lines can be two hours long or more sometimes. It would be disappointing to walk away having only ridden, like, five rides because of that. 

No, the only way you’re walking out with such a low number is if your head starts bothering you. 

Which, several hours into this trip, a couple rides under your belt, is fine. 

Even Kazuya is a good sport about all of it. He resolutely refuses to open his eyes on any of the rides, as well as let go and generally make any noise, but that’s fine. You can tell he’s actually having some fun, even with that. 

“No,” you say, taking his hand and starting for Batman: the Ride. “They would say, like, thank you for everything you have done for us, Tee, we love you. And then they would say that.”

“Well, let’s still not pretend like going on Batman isn’t this trip’s primary purpose.”

“True!”

Valencia is only a three hour drive from San Diego. Well. Four with traffic. 

Still, you’d decided it would be best to spend the night here instead of making yourselves brave the drive back. 

Everything is perfect, regardless. He’ll be leaving soon, but you aren’t so worried about it anymore, now that you’ve talked and settled everything. Peoria is only about five and a half hours from San Diego. You don’t mind making the drive for a weekend trip or something. Plus, they have a Waffle House there, and you’ve always wanted to go. 

“So, you’re going for Waffle House. Not for me. You know. Your boyfriend,” Kazuya had said when you mentioned that. 

You’d just laughed and said, “I can go for both things! They are not mutually exclusive.”

And despite his blustering, he would never say no to you visiting him during the time that he’ll be gone, so, it’s settled. You’ll visit for Waffle House and your boyfriend. 

Even now, a few weeks after that night at the house, thinking that way about him sends a pleasant zing up your spine. Your hand tightens on his before you let go so you can hook your arm in his, sides pressed together. 

You lean your head on his shoulder, head tilted up with a smile as you pass the archway with DC UNIVERSE written at the top, marking your entrance into this themed sector of the park with all the superhero rides. 

You explore the themed buildings a bit, finding a statue of Batman at one point, which you need a picture with. 

“Hey, we passed a Wonder Woman one. You didn’t want to take one with her, too?”

“It would be a disservice to stand next to her with my Batman merch,” you say. “Make sure you get my socks, please!”

He backs up accordingly. “I thought Batman and Wonder Woman were friends.”

“As much as anyone can be friends with Batman,” you snort, then beam as he lifts his phone. 

“Batman and I have that in common,” he says. 

You laugh. 

“Don’t laugh!”

He pouts about it all the way to the entrance to the ride, which is an archway that says Gotham City Park. It should really be Robinson Park, if they wanted to be accurate, but you guess the notoriety of Gotham City needs to be emphasized more. The wall near it has a carved stone Batman emblem, with THE RIDE underneath. You make him take another picture of you in front of it, then enter the queue. 

“You know, it has me thinking,” he says. 

The queue is outside, snaking through a park. Since you’re in the FLASH pass line, you easily bypass the long lines of people. Soon enough, the queue enters into a fake sewer tunnel. 

“What has you thinking?”

You run into a small line near the stairs. Voices echo, bouncing off the cement walls. No one notices you two. Kazuya is ‘incognito’ with a black ballcap with the Wonder Woman logo on it. You bought it for him when you got here and he faithfully exchanged his Padres cap for it. 

Funnily enough, by the point you two realized you were not just going to be friends, the press had started to let go of those dating rumors, turning their eyes onto something else. 

It gave you some peace but it also meant you two had to be careful how you acted when going out. And that got tiring pretty quickly. 

Tomorrow, they’re planning on releasing a statement breaking the news about your relationship. So, today, you get to be as affectionate as you’d like. Any questions would soon be answered. 

“So… for you and Jerry, you say he’s the Donna Troy to your Dick Grayson.”

“Yeeees?”

He looks a tad petulant as he asks, “Well, what about us?”

You smile. “That’s easy. You’re the Lois Lane to my Clark Kent.”

“What about Batman and Catwoman? Talia?” He stresses the last name knowing how much you like her, and her and Bruce’s dynamic. 

“Bruce and Talia are more like a divorced couple. And Bruce and Selina aren’t much better.” You pat his shoulder. “Batman has no healthy romantic relationships. No healthy relationships, period, to be honest. That’s just how he is.”

Kazuya thinks about this for a second. “You know… yeah. Yeah. That’s fair. Why am I Lois Lane, though?”

“Do you really consider yourself Clark Kent?”

He laughs. “Fair enough, tomcat.”

[Night Owl Transcript — 20:04 — 1/27/2023]

Tee: Wheeew, the switchboard is going crazy. Guys, take a chill pill. Now, instead of hundreds of you asking questions about my love life, why don’t we focus on the fact that it’s romanticize-your-life Friday? Everyone, have a great evening. Let the romanticizing commence. 

[Florence + the Machine’s “Dog Days Are Over” plays] And I never wanted anything from you Except everything you had and what was left after that too, oh Happiness hit her like a bullet in the back Struck from a great height by someone who should know better than that

The dog days are over The dog days are done Can you hear the horses? 'Cause here they come

“You want to blindfold me? I’m not against the idea but we’ve barely gotten to third base. I feel like we should wait a little longer before we start exploring that stuff…”

The tips of his ears turn red. He pinches your cheek. “That’s not what this is for.”

“Okay, so, what is it for?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Well, you could’ve guessed that, considering you’re sitting in his car in front of your apartment and not, you know, in the bedroom. You’d just wanted to give him a little bit of hell. 

“Is this a Valentine's thing?” you ask as he wraps the blindfold over your eyes. 

Kazuya pauses. 

You grin. “You just realized it’s in three days, didn’t you?”

He coughs. “In Japan, men don’t do anything for Valentine’s. The women do. White Day, March fourteenth, is our time. So.”

“Well, we don’t have to do anything regardless. I know you’re leaving the day after.”

“No, it’s fine. This is… Yeah. Guess it’s a gift. Sort of.”

“Sort of. How romantic.”

He pinches your side. You laugh. 

“Brat,” he mutters, pressing a fleeting kiss to your mouth. 

Your hands come up to his shoulders. 

“Hm,” he says as he pulls away. “You know… maybe —”

“Don’t start. It’s too late for that. Show me the surprise.”

“Later?”

“Focus, Lane.”

“I’m very focused, Kent.”

You grin, grab his hand to press a kiss there, then sit back in your seat. 

“Let’s see what this is all about, then.”

“Right.”

A nervous kind of energy fills the car. You hear him shift back into drive, then you’re back on the road. One of your playlists you shared with him plays from the speakers. You hum along to it, tapping the beat on your thigh. 

You drive for some time. Twenty to twenty-five minutes. But eventually, he’s pulling the car into park, shutting it off, and telling you to wait. 

His door opens and closes. A second later, yours opens. 

You take his hand, carefully pulling yourself out of the car. Hard ground meets your Docs. He tugs you further away, then shuts the passenger door. A cool breeze skitters across your skin. A car passes somewhere behind you. You sniff the air. It smells like —

Fingers tug at the knot at the back of your head. The blindfold loosens. 

You blink the blurriness out of your eyes. The pink and orange sky greets you, the sun starting to set. In front of you is a two-story condo. The exterior is painted a soft shade of blue. More homes sit on either side.

He pulls you up the set of stairs that lead to a tiny porch, fishing out a key from his pocket. 

“Wait… is this yours?”

You knew he’d been house-hunting. He never said much about it, other than that he was still considering his options. 

The inside is open and spacious. A set of stairs lead up to the second floor. Everything looks new. 

“Needed to get a place eventually,” he says. “But, yeah. Had it furnished. Needs decorations, though, for the walls and stuff. Thought you could help with that…”

You smile, knowing he’s talking about the puzzles. “Of course.”

It’s a three bedroom, three bath. He doesn’t lead you upstairs, but further in. 

A dining room is set off beside the kitchen, which shares an open plan with the living room in front of it. A bay window sits near the dining room. A sliding glass door leads outside, to a —

The door opens. The saltiness of the ocean hits you immediately. 

You follow him out, shoes thumping against the wooden deck, which has an outdoor grilling area, a table, and then a pool. 

It overlooks South Mission Beach. Just sprawling sandy beaches and foamy tides, waves crashing against the shoreline. 

“Kazuya?”

You aren’t sure. Did he really…

He shrugs, smiling a little. “You said beachfront properties were the best, especially if they had a pool deck, since the ocean was cold most of the year. And if anything, you get nice sunsets. I thought about it for a while and I think you were right.”

So it isn’t a coincidence the sun is starting its descent right this moment. 

“Kazuya…”

His arms come around you, pulling you into his chest. “You can stay here while I’m gone. Enjoy this stuff since I won’t be here to. I’m not asking you to move in yet but… it’s yours, too.”

You duck your head, hiding your smile in his collar. “But do you like it?”

He rests his chin on your head, hand stroking up and down your back. 

He says your name, syllables wrapped in warmth. “Truthfully, at the risk of sounding cheesy, as long as you’re here, anywhere is fine. I would even be okay with your crappy little apartment.”

You laugh.  

“But I don’t know…” he presses his lips to your head. “Maybe next year, Batman and Robin will get to see their home.”

You smile. The two of you are swaying a little. Back and forth. Back and forth. You can hear the waves from here. 

“Hopeful for the future?”

“You already know the answer to that.”

Yeah. 

You do. 

[Hozier’s “All Things End” plays] And all things end All that we intend is built on sand Slips right through our hands And just knowing That everything will end Won't change our plans When we begin again

Dogfish ━ Mary Oliver

Some kind of relaxed and beautiful thing kept flickering in with the tide and looking around. Black as a fisherman’s boot, with a white belly.

If you asked for a picture I would have to draw a smile under the perfectly round eyes and above the chin, which was rough as a thousand sharpened nails.

And you know what a smile means, don’t you?

I wanted the past to go away, I wanted to leave it, like another country; I wanted my life to close, and open like a hinge, like a wing, like the part of the song     where it falls down over the rocks: an explosion, a discovery;     I wanted to hurry into the work of my life; I wanted to know, whoever I was, I was

alive for a little while.

It was evening, and no longer summer. Three small fish, I don’t know what they were, huddled in the highest ripples as it came swimming in again, effortless, the whole body one gesture, one black sleeve that could fit easily around the bodies of three small fish.

Also I wanted to be able to love. And we all know how that one goes, don’t we?

Slowly

the dogfish tore open the soft basins of water.

You don’t want to hear the story of my life, and anyway I don’t want to tell it, I want to listen

to the enormous waterfalls of the sun.

And anyway it’s the same old story-- a few people just trying, one way or another, to survive.

Mostly, I want to be kind. And nobody, of course, is kind, or mean, for a simple reason.

And nobody gets out of it, having to swim through the fires to stay in this world.

And look! look! look! I think those little fish better wake up and dash themselves away from the hopeless future that is bulging toward them.

And probably, if they don’t waste time looking for an easier world,

they can do it.

#daiya no ace #ace of diamond #miyuki kazuya #miyuki kazuya x reader #daiya no ace x reader #ace of diamond x reader #moss writes

[celandinee]

.0* ..

…ABDITORY

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ n. a place into which you can disappear.

—

word count - 900

featured - miyuki

warnings - none

note - the effort really just disappeared by the end😭 anyways miyuki is a fav so i just had to write about him

—

Lunch was chaos. The headache-inducing chatter of your classmates was enough to make you avoid the cafeteria all together; finding comfort in the abode you called the school roof.

Overlooking the entirety of the school grounds and watching those that strolled by was a pastime of yours. You would lean against the brick railing that prohibited you from tumbling over, eyes following each person who walked the pathways.

You found comfort in the simplicity. The way every student that walked by acted without inhibition, acting their natural selves.

One person chased a fallen leaf that was caught in the wind; another holding hands with her boyfriend, idly chatting with a grin plastered on her face. It was them in their own world, and you were the omniscient viewer.

It was nice to think solitude was your friend at times like this; that this rooftop was your domain alone to people-watch and eat your lunch in peace. You humored the idea— until the sound of a door swinging open totally stomped it out.

Now Miyuki Kazuya’s pastime was terrorizing you. His intrusion during lunch was one of the many ways he went about it, interrupting the silence you enjoyed with that cocky laugh and a snarky comment.

“What a surprise seeing you here,” Miyuki hummed while he took the place by your side. A lopsided smirk curled on his lips.

The boy had his white sleeves rolled to his elbows as he mimicked you, leaning against the railing casually. One of his hands tugged at the maroon tie around his neck and loosened the material until he felt like he could breath again.

The tilt of tone that hung in his words forced you to look him in the eye— his deep, amber gaze making you feel small as you retorted.

“Very funny, Miyuki. As if you don’t come up here and bother me every day,” your brows furrowed and lips pursed.

What was once your secret haven was now forsaken to the wrath of the second-year.

You couldn’t even remember when he first started sneaking out onto the rooftop; you simply remembered having the place to yourself one day, then Miyuki being there the next. You remembered there being silence once, then nonstop talking in your ear next.

“Do you really have nothing better to do?” you grumbled.

Miyuki stared past his glasses and down at you. The black rimmed specs always failed to hide the way his gaze shone with a gleam you couldn’t quite place, the dancing of gold and brown flecks in his pupils.

He leaned his side closer towards your own, tipping his chin down to be at your eye level, “Not really.”

You found it impossible to look away from him, to break the eye contact. Why were you frozen? You looked like a fool staring at him with wide eyes and parted lips, air resisting to enter your lungs.

Your hands balled into fists, still resting atop the cement, scraping slightly as you turned towards the inconvenience.

“You surely have something to do. Why don’t you eat with your teammates? Aren’t you in the same class as Kuramochi?”

Miyuki remained silent for a moment, merely staring down at you with a relaxed air to him— a more genuine smile growing on his face. Before he spoke, he turned away from you and bent down, hands digging through the backpack that he had tossed at his feet earlier.

Returning back to his normal stance, he revealed what was hidden away in his bag. Two strawberry milk cartons.

Miyuki placed one of them on the railing in front of you, and the other in front of him. The act was so simple, yet so sincere.

“Kuramochi is too loud, my team is too loud,” he answered in a subdued tone. His hands fiddled with the top of the carton, bending the thick layer.

His mood hadn’t totally changed, per se, it seemed to have shifted. The cheeky grin and confident aura moved to a tender smile and comfortable sense.

Only now did you observe the specimen in front of you. The sun caught on his glasses—the gentle breeze played with his thick, ruffled hair. Tanned skin from baseball tried to hide the mild blush that dusted his cheeks.

You snapped out of your musing to grab the milk he gave you. “So you assumed I like strawberry?” you playfully nudged his shoulder with your own.

Maybe you shouldn’t be too hard on Miyuki. Yes, his presence often made you bite your tongue, but he also made little efforts that had you second-guessing your opinion on him.

“I saw you drinking this the other day,” he opened his own drink, tearing the miniature straw’s packaging.

Miyuki Kazuya, the ever observant, calculated catcher he was, of course saw you drinking this.

Perhaps lunches wouldn’t be that terrible with the second-year at your side. Sharing your rooftop wouldn’t be too difficult.

You rolled your eyes as you felt your face heat up, opening the milk as well.

“You’re such a stalker.”

A smooth laugh escaped his lips. His shoulders shook with amusement and leaned down to prod your own as you had done before.

“Maybe.”

—

#ace of diamond #daiya no ace #diamond no ace #ace of diamond x reader #daiya no ace x reader #diamond no ace x reader #ace of diamond x you #daiya no ace imagines #daiya no ace scenario #celandinee #ace of diamond scenarios #daiya no ace x you #daiya no ace scenarios #daiya x reader #diamond no ace x you #dna #dna x you #dna x reader #miyuki kazuya #miyuki kazuya x reader #miyuki kazuya x you

[prettyiwa]

Prince!Miyuki Kazuya x Knight!F!Reader Summary: An invitation to a royal wedding in the south demands your presence alongside your prince. Before the trek, Prince Kazuya thought of you as a friend and a knight and little else—you were his dedicated Foxglove Knight. A conversation earlier in the week centered around the concept of love, a concept which Kazuya has not been able to stop thinking of, it seems. Words: 1830 a/n: @owoasis has been talking to me about BLL again and I miss it dearly. Here's a scene I wrote like, a year back.

You’ve been taking too long—much longer than Kazuya would have anticipated. On occasion, you’ve taken longer to prepare yourself, but you’ve never made him wait more than a few minutes. It’s erring on rude. If you don’t hurry, you’ll both be late to the feast.

Is it like this for Omae? Outside of Nao’s soon-to-be wife, you and Princess Omae are some of the only women in formal attendance. He’s seen your taste in garments for formal events, and he can’t imagine what would make tonight different. Watching as not one but two different attendants leave your quarters worries him.

Perhaps you’ve fallen ill? Everyone’s feeling the exhaustion from the games, so perhaps the end of the hunt meant the end of your strength. Perhaps you’re more human than you care to admit, and perhaps you need a rest, too.

The door slides open and he’s prepared a remark for you and—

Oh.

The air rushes out of his lungs and there’s an unfamiliar itch in his palms, a tingle he doesn’t know how to control. His face is noticeably warmer and he definitely feels hot where the collar of his coat sits on his neck. 

He wants—

That he wants anything astounds him, but here he is, wanting.

It makes sense why you needed the additional time and why you needed the assistance of attendants, why you didn’t come to him for help.

He cannot imagine a scenario wherein you would have asked the royal seamstresses to craft you such an elegant gown, one that doesn’t allow for protective layers whatsoever. If anything, this seems an elaborate set up by Isashiki and a private commission to manufacture a romantic scenario to rival those he reads. The bodice clings to you, velvet highlighting your natural figure to the sash tied around your waist. And you, in his royal blue.

You look otherworldly, a lady fit for court rather than plate armor. It’s difficult to believe only hours ago, you were by his side, covered in mud with that look in your eye as the boar charged you both. And yet…

Shuffling uncomfortably, you rub your hands together before intertwining your fingers in a rare display of—well, he doesn’t know what to call it. He’s never seen you so… out of your element. But, for being out of your element, you look incredible.

“My prince. Surely there isn’t time for you to gawk at me. I believe we’re close to impropriety with our tardiness.”

“Gawk— I’m not—gawk?!”

“Come now.” Your smile is sheepish as you say it, eyes briefly meeting his before looking away.

It’s unusual to hear such a command from you in such a state, voice wrapping around the words with an eagerness for the night to be done. He’s suddenly wishing the night would continue. Will you wear something similar for the wedding tomorrow?

“I believe I should be escorting you tonight, not the other way around,” he says, half in jest, half with the desire to reach out and touch. His smile grows as he extends his arm, watching as you look at it before resigning yourself to his offer. 

If only for tonight, you look uncomfortable with his attention.

You fit into his side easily, if not entirely too stiff. Tonight is unfamiliar for you, enough that it has him biting his tongue, stopping most jokes as they come to mind, wishing instead to distract you and set you at ease.

“Have you seen how garish Mei’s regalia is? It seems he’s forgotten that he’s a guest tonight,” Kazuya starts, leading you towards the Lodge, remembering the white fabric with red and gold accents. Startling attire in most formal settings, much less a regal wedding in the middle of wetlands. You smile and breathe out a laugh, but it’s not quite there yet. “If that’s what he wears to the wedding of a friend, I’m curious as to what he would wear at his own wedding.”

“It’s quite the shame that you would never find out.”

“That it is. Not unless relations between our nations evolved that I would be safe attending, but I doubt that we’ll see such an outcome in my lifetime.”

“I made mention of this to Archduke Hongou—”

“When did you speak to the archduke?” Mention of the leader in the northern islands sets him on edge, though he cannot place why.

“My prince, you watched—”

“Watched?” Beside him, you laugh at his incredulous tone. “What, pray tell, did I watch? I cannot recall such a time you spoke to him. You don’t mean during the duels?”

Relaxed, you feel loose by his side. Pliable, he would venture, though he cannot know for certain. This exchange, this needling, remains much more comfortable for you than the rest of what this night holds.

You aren’t given a chance to answer, not when reaching the Great Lodge, not when everyone turns to see the last to arrive, eyes lingering. Lingering on you or him, he doesn’t know, nor does he know whether they linger because of the attire or the timing. Their attention undoes what he’s spent the last couple minutes doing in a matter of seconds, but he won’t give you time to dwell on that.

Conversations start again, though a few pairs of eyes follow you, it seems. He guides you to the seats, the table next to the first, a sign of the effort he put forth in procuring tonight’s second dish. It’s charming, in an inelegant sort of way, the way you pause as he pulls out your chair, the way you look at him with novel apprehension. But you take your seat beside him, shifting closer once he sits beside you.

This is the comfort of familiarity, nothing more.

You’ve had no more to drink than the first, inescapable for it is a custom of this land’s weddings, but it’s given you enough liquid courage that you’re comfortable moving without him as you are in full gear. The feasting is done and the gifts have been brought out—at least, those consisting of alcohol.

Mei, Shunshin, and Amahisa are speaking around him, but for the life of him, he cannot repeat a word they’ve said in the last five minutes. He can, however, name those who still watch you, now with hungry eyes where there was once only polite interest.

Perhaps not. Perhaps the only hunger is his.

Why does he hunger? It cannot be more than a side effect of visiting these lands. It used to be like this in the past, too, but—

“I told you, he’s not listening.” 

“You clearly know him better than I, Narumiya,” Amahisa says, voice pleading. “Do you believe he would mind?”

“Mind?”

“If I asked his companion—”

“His knight?” Mei laughs, uninhibited and not because of the alcohol. “What was her title? ‘Foxglove?’”

It’s the mention of your knightly title that earns Kazuya’s attention, forcing his attention away from you for but a moment. “What about my Foxglove Knight?”

Mei smiles with a single brow raised, smug and triumphant, his expression unchanging as he returns his gaze to Amahisa. “Kazuya doesn’t have a say in this. If you wish to dance with her, you must ask her. He cannot determine autonomy for her.”

“I’m aware of that, but I don’t wish to step on any toes—”

“You won’t be,” Kazuya says, standing with surprising fluidity given how the room spins as he does. Even as he speaks, he cannot look away from you, cannot miss the smile you give Harada or the way you turn to look at the archduke. All he knows is that he cannot bear another moment with this ugly twisting, clawing heat, eager to burst from behind his rib cage.

Amahisa’s words fade away, as does Mei’s sharp laugh, and the archduke is the first to take notice of Kazuya’s approach, excusing himself and returning to Renji’s side. Harada looks between you and Kazuya, eyes catching on something over Kazuya’s shoulders before sighing, deep and exasperated, as he does when following Mei.

“If you’ll excuse me.”

You’re the last one to notice, eyes following the hulking form of what should be your rival. When you take notice of Kazuya, you do so without a single drop of admonishment. No hint of self-rebuke for not noticing sooner. No change in expression, either. Except—

Ah.

You smile.

You smile and the musicians change the tempo and the song is much more… subtle. Encouraging, whereas the last was overtly jovial.

“My prince?”

“You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“Well, yes. Sir Harada promised to share with me the secret to his flaming sword.”

“Did he now?”

“He did. The archduke was quite curious, too, and Sir Harada seemed to have no qualms about sharing the information.”

“You don’t say.”

Your smile falters, dropping almost imperceptibly. 

“Is there something you wish from me?” you ask, stepping closer, brows stitching together only slightly, concern starting to interrupt your pleasance.

“Dance with me.”

His request startles you as much as it does him. “My… my prince?”

He doesn’t even like dancing. Why did he say that? More pressing, why does he feel this way?

“I asked you to dance with me.”

Why does he want to dance at all?

“You most certainly did not ask.”

No, that’s not right. He doesn’t want to dance.

“I did.”

Not by himself, anyway. And not, it would seem, with anyone else.

“My prince,” you breathe with a grin. Comfortable, familiar. “That was a command. You’re attempting to command me to dance with you.”

But he wishes to dance with you.

“I did not mean it as such.”

At least once tonight.

“You may not mean it as such, but you tried nonetheless.”

Please.

“Then how’s this,” he starts, taking your hand in his before he bows, a proper request. “Will you dance with me, my lady?”

“Lady? That’s a bit strong.” You look away from him, unable to keep his gaze, though he looks not away. Despite this, you do not remove your hand from his.

“Is it?”

“Since when have I been a ‘lady?’” When you face him again, your smile drops. He remembers the comments the others made throughout the week, questioning your lack of nobility and wondering aloud how you obtained your appointment as his personal guard.

“Since tonight. Tonight, you are not my knight. You are my companion. My lady.” His words don’t change much for you—they never have—but you’re so dangerously close to giving him what he desires. “Please dance with me.”

“My prince…” You pull at his hand, bidding him to stand and face you properly. 

“I wish to dance with you, Foxglove.”

He doesn’t need to hear it, but his heart nearly stops when you adjust your hand in his, stepping closer so he may hold you for a waltz. Your smile reflects none of the uncertainties you felt a moment before, achingly soft and just for him.

“As you wish.”

Daiya no Ace Masterlist

#✒.ix writes #daiya.✒ #daiya no ace x reader #miyuki kazuya x reader #miyuki x reader #ace of diamond x reader #✒.bll #daiya no ace fluff #miyuki kazuya fluff #rereading all my notes to see if i can't find the groove for this story again

[kunikame]

daiya fandom are u guys alive i just finished a 3.5k word kuramochi fic (pls say yes)

comment if u wanna be tagged btw

#! natsume stfu #ace of diamond x reader #daiya no ace x reader #kuramochi youichi x reader #kuramochi youichi #ace of diamond #daiya no ace

[no1frogfan]

For love of the game

Takigawa Chris Yuu x gn reader

Word count: ~800

Tags & warnings: very vaguely suggestive language? (there are some good names in baseball), baseball lmao

Note: Been feeling unmotivated to write, so I decided to tap into my love of Chris and of irl baseball to do some dialogue practice. Thank u to the daiya server for motivating me and to @paleokarst for talking over the ending :*

“What’s that?” You give Chris a quizzical look as he steps through the front door carrying a large plastic storage box in his arms.

“Hello to you too.”

You pad over to give him the usual greeting kiss. “Yeah, yeah, welcome home or whatever. Now tell me what this is.”

“My parents found it while cleaning out their basement and I thought you might want to look through it together.” He sets it down in front of the couch. Reaching inside, he pulls out one of many smaller cardboard boxes and opens it to reveal a neatly-packed row of cards. “They’re my old baseball cards.”

“Seriously?” The box is in your hands in an instant and you immediately begin rifling through its contents.

There's a few minutes of focused silence until, “OH MY GOD,” you exclaim, brandishing a card at him. “This can’t be his real name. Dick Pole?! Dick. Pole.”

“Sadly, it is,” Chris chuckles before holding out a card of his own. “Here, I found one for you.”

“NO. His name is not Rusty Kuntz?!”

He snorts. “Actually, it’s pronounced KOON-tz.”

You erupt in cackles. “I mean…if my name were Rusty Kuntz, I would also insist that it’s pronounced KOON-tz.”

“What else do we have here— hello, what’s this?”

Glancing over, he sees you reach for a small leather binder. “Oh that’s where I kept my special cards.”

“Your special cards?” You tease, “god little Chris was such a little nerd.”

He rolls his eyes, pulling you closer to give you a peck on the head. “Well you’re the one dating me so what’s that say about you?”

“That apparently I like nerds,” and pointing to one of the cards, you urge, “now come on nerd, tell me what’s so special about this guy.”

“Ah, that’s Bob Gibson. He’s a Hall of Famer, probably the best right-handed pitcher in St. Louis history. He was good at fielding too, which is rare for a pitcher. He worked hard and led the team to two World Series wins.”

You flip through a few more pages. “Wow you have a lot of this Iván Rodríguez guy too.”

“Well, he was my favorite player growing up and maybe the best catcher of all time.”

“What makes him the best?”

“He’s a solid hitter and his defensive play is exceptional. He’s got unparalleled game sense and a great strategic mind. Um, he’s caught for some of the best pitchers of the era and he caught nine no-hitters. The only way you can have a no-hitter is if the battery works perfectly, so that means he was able to bring out the best in a lot of different pitchers. Plus, he was always fun to watch.”

“Is he why you became a catcher?”

“You know…” Chris contemplates for a moment, “that’s honestly never occurred to me. My dad was obviously the reason I started, but I played a lot of different positions before deciding on catcher. Dad was the one who suggested I try it — he thought I had a good understanding of the game — but you might be right, maybe I stuck with it because I wanted to be like Iván.”

You hum in response. “Makes sense. The way you described him…he clearly has a lot of qualities that you value as a player.”

It’s long past dinner time when the two of you finally tire of strolling down memory lane and begin to tidy up the mess of cards now littered across the couch cushions and coffee table.

“What are you gonna do with all of these?”

“Well right now I’m going to put them away. Then I’ll probably give some away and throw away the rest.”

“You’re not keeping any?”

“Nah. It’s not like they’re worth anything.”

“Well in that case, I’m gonna keep these.” You swipe the leather binder from the box before he carries the rest off into the storage closet down the hall.

“What do you think?” You gesture toward the refrigerator when Chris returns.

Some of the precious real estate on the fridge door has been tidied up, and a cleaned-up Rangers magnet now holds his signed Iván Rodríguez card front and center, nestled between memories. To its left is a picture of him with his parents and Coach Kataoka after his first game with Seidou. Below it is another picture of him and the coach, this time graduating from Seidou alongside the rest of his teammates. To its right is a picture of the two of you at his MLB debut game, your smile toothy and gleeful as you hold up the ball from his first major league hit.

A lump forms in his throat.

It’s just a baseball card, one fleeting snapshot in the collage of moments that make him, the values that shape him, and the people that support him.

It's just a baseball card, but he can barely get the words out. “It’s perfect.”

#daiya no ace #daiya no ace x reader #ace of diamond x reader #takigawa chris yuu #takigawa chris yuu x reader #froggy scribbles