the tigers + s1?
in my head hiroto, zion, and ren were all good friends that met in college and signed up for the ilb together!
Ultimately, it isn’t something that takes too much thought or discussion. Hiroto’s the most suited for managing the team, and none of the others particularly want to, so she’ll do it. It’s just paperwork and press releases at the end of the day, and on top of that, the captaincy is an informal role, Hiroto’s not really worried.
She’s got an office, though, which is new. It’s nothing special, but when she goes to check it out, Ren and Zion tagging along, it’s nicer than she expected. It’s got potential, Zion says, and Ren agrees, tracing a dick into the dust on one of the shelves and snorting to himself.
They show up the next day, all three of them with dusters and lemon-scented wood polish and determination, to get it clean, and Hiroto finds herself unimaginably glad they’d all gotten drafted to the same team, that they’re there to make fun of her and help her clean decades-old offices.
“Dude,” Zion says, pulling open one of the drawers at the desk and squinting at it. “Do you think we could make a false bottom in this or something? Like in the movies.”
“What would I need a false bottom for?” Hiroto asks, setting up the file cabinet. “For more forms, but secret this time?”
“For weed, obviously,” Zion shoots back. “Can’t have our dear captain smoking the devil’s lettuce be common knowledge, can we?”
“If she hotboxes this place right after we finish, she’s got bigger problems,” Ren says, in the kind of voice that means he’s planning on being her biggest problem if she makes the whole place smell. “We bought fuckin’ candles.”
“Those aren’t—” Hiroto starts, breaking off into a short laugh when Ren glares at her. “No, I mean, they’re definitely candles. Definitely not Flebreze odor-eliminating—”
“Oh, Hiroto, give him that,” Zion says, batting their eyelashes at Ren. “He was so excited.”
“Fuck off,” Ren says, going slightly red and flipping Zion off. They just laugh, and Hiroto grins too, shaking her head.
It’s not quick work, really, but it feels like it, and when they finish, Ren sits on the rug, leaning back against the desk. Hiroto and Zion share a glance, and each find other places to sit for a minute before they go home; Zion sits with their back to the door, and Hiroto sits sideways in the chair opposite the desk.
Zion closes their eyes, tilts their head back to thunk against the door. “Do you think,” they start, pausing.
Hiroto makes a curious noise.
“Well, I mean, we’re gonna be good, right?”
“Of course we are,” Ren replies, and Hiroto’s got to admire the complete certainty there, at least. “Yeah. Obviously we’ll be good.”
“Not that we have any way of knowing that,” Hiroto adds, ignoring Ren’s look. “But I’ve got a good feeling about it. Zion, you can run, and Ren—”
“—you don’t have to sugarcoat it, we know I’m not great—”
“—is a solid mid-lineup batter,” Hiroto finishes. “And I’m decent at pitching too. It’s gonna be good.”
Zion blinks one eye open, cracks a smile. “It had better be. Can’t have you captain of a shitty-ass team, you know. What that would do to your reputation.”
“Your shining, spotless, amazing reputation,” Ren adds, with a snort.
Hiroto just waves a vaguely dismissive hand at them both, curling in on herself in the chair. They can go home in a few minutes, she tells herself, but the season starts tomorrow and they do need to get some sleep, so they can’t just fall asleep here and fuck up their backs just in time for the game.
But a few more minutes like this can’t hurt.
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