Signups for the 2015 Daiya Winter Holiday Exchange are currently open!
This is a low-key fanworks exchange where fans of the Daiya anime and manga can come together during the coming winter season. Signups will close October 25th! Please have a look at the links below for more info and important dates.
Hello! This is the Tumblr for the 2015 Daiya Winter Holidays Exchange, where fans of the Daiya anime and manga can interact and create fanworks for one another during the coming holiday season.
Signups are currently open!
As this exchange will include fic and art, as well as mixes and edits, it will be hosted here on Tumblr. Please fill out this application and submit it to this blog. Signups will close October 25, 11:59PM EST!
Please have a look at our info page for more details and rules and our schedule for important dates.
Our ask box is open to all questions, and you can also email us at [email protected].
Thank you! Please reblog this post to spread the word!
hello! we’ve received some interest as to whether or not we’ll host an exchange this year as well, and we will!
the blog will move from here to daiyawinterhols. if you’d like, you can follow that blog now, but please be aware we probably won’t make any posts until september. if you have any questions or concerns about last year’s exchange or this year’s, feel free to send them through our ask! (we’d prefer that they be sent to daiyawinterhols, but we’ll check this blog periodically too.)
message: mil perdões pela demora!!!!! sério ;-; enfim, espero que você curta esse humilde presente e que seu ano novo seja ótimo!
Furuya chega no campo um dia às quatro horas da manhã e encontra Sawamura, arrastando dois pneus atrás de si. Naturalmente Furuya começa a correr com ele, carregando três pneus.
- Ei, Furuya! Três pneus é esculacho! - Sawamura grita quando Furuya o ultrapassa.
- Eu não vou perder pra você. - retruca Furuya, sereno.
Sawamura grita alguma coisa, exclamações sem sentido algum. Segundos depois, ele está correndo ao lado de Furuya. Furuya o ultrapassa. Sawamura o alcança. Furuya o ultrapassa.
Eles ficam nisso até Haruichi chegar, pouco antes do sol nascer.
- Vocês nem estão se exercitando direito. - Haruichi diz, mãos na cintura. - Se ficarem só correndo tentando ganhar um do outro vão acabar se machucando.
Furuya e Sawamura abaixam a cabeça, indefesos ante a expressão carrancuda de Haruichi.
- Ele que começou. - ambos sussurram ao mesmo tempo.
- Não interessa quem começou. - Haruichi diz, antes que eles possam começar a brigar de novo. Então ele sorri, a voz mais macia quando diz: - Vem, vamos tomar café da manhã. Como vocês vão ser artilheiros sem nem comer?
E eles vão.
*
Eles estão no quarto de Haruichi, só os três. Haruichi está tentando explicar Biologia, mas a mente de Furuya vai longe; ele pensa no campo, na sensação da bola tocando seu pé. Pensa em Miyuki, o príncipe da aba reta, talvez o único goleiro no estado de São Paulo capaz de pegar seus chutes. Pensa nos times que já enfrentou, nos times que vai enfrentar, Yakushi semana que vem, Inashiro na próxima.
Sawamura emite um som, um gemido de desolação que parece saído do mais profundo do seu ser.
- To com saudades de casa. - ele diz. Furuya olha pra ele, deitado na cama da Haruichi, rosto contorcido como quem tenta não chorar. - Quero ir pra praia.
- A gente pode ir pra Santos sábado que vem. - Haruichi diz.
Sawamura suspira.
- Não é a mesma coisa.
- Ok, então. - Haruichi marca a página do livro de Biologia, fecha-o. Vira a cadeira em que está sentado na direção de Sawamura, e Furuya faz o mesmo. - Fala pra gente como é Arraial.
- De novo. - Furuya diz, e não soa sarcástico ou debochado.
Sawamura abre um sorriso enorme, senta-se na cama imediatamente para falar sobre sua cidade natal com as mãos, os joelhos, os dedos do pé.
Haruichi e Furuya escutam.
*
Foi Sawamura quem começou com o apelido, uma maneira não muito sutil de se vingar por todas as vezes que Miyuki e Kuramochi o prendiam no vestiário, chamando-o de carioca e fazendo cócegas em seus pés até Sawamura falar coisas tipo esquistossomose, futebol, esqueci o isqueiro na esquina da escola. E pegou: logo as pessoas começaram a chamar Miyuki de príncipe da aba reta, apontar para seu boné sempre presente e cochichar, escondendo sorrisos atrás das mãos. Miyuki, goleiro muito digno, sorria amarelo e fingia que nada estava acontecendo.
- Ei. - Sawamura diz numa terça, os três num canto isolado do pátio no intervalo da escola. - Que tal rato de academia pro Kuramochi?
Haruichi considera.
- Não, tá faltando alguma coisa… - ele diz, e prende o queixo entre os dedos, pensativo.
- Mamãe sou forte. - Furuya diz.
Sawamura e Haruichi o encaram. Ele encara de volta.
- Furuya! Você tá dando sugestão agora? - Sawamura grita.
Furuya encolhe os ombros.
- Mamãe sou forte é bom. - ele diz.
- Eu gostei. - Haruichi sorri.
- Harucchi!
Sawamura continua a fazer escândalo e resmungar até o intervalo acabar, mas quando estão voltando para suas salas de aula ele sorri, passa o braço em volta dos ombros de Furuya.
- Muito bom, Furuya. Agora vou poder zoar o Miyuki e o Kuramochi até a morte, como eles fazem comigo. - Sawamura diz, um brilho vingativo porém inofensivo em seus olhos. - É isso aí!
Furuya suspira.
*
Na aula de educação física, eles jogam baseball.
Furuya tem conhecimento e experiência zero, preocupado em ter uma chuteira e uma bola no pé e mais nada desde os seis anos de idade. Mas Haruichi diz “por que você não tenta ser arremessador?”, então Furuya tenta.
É simples, tudo o que ele tem que fazer é jogar a bola na luva do receptor. Ele faz isso, várias e várias vezes, e a única pessoa não chocada com sua força e velocidade é Haruichi.
O time deles ganha, porque Haruichi tem pernas rápidas na segunda base e Furuya não deixa nenhum rebatedor acertar a bola na última entrada.
- Ei! - Sawamura grita quando eles saem da quadra, balançando os braços freneticamente atrás da grade de segurança.
- Oi, Eijun. - Haruichi sorri.
- Eu vi o final do jogo. - Sawamura diz, encarando Furuya com intensidade. - O que foi aquilo que você fez, hein, Furuya?
Furuya encolhe os ombros.
- Eu só joguei a bola. - ele diz.
- Gah! - Sawamura exclama, e aponta o dedo indicador para Furuya. - Vamos disputar quem é o melhor arremessador! Não vou perder pra você.
Furuya suspira, põe-se a caminhar para o vestiário.
Haruichi ri, e o som que chega aos ouvidos de Furuya é parecido com pérolas.
*
Chove num sábado, o céu escuro e carregado de nuvens. Eles têm uma partida em três horas, mas parece que São Pedro não vai dar trégua a tarde inteira, ensopando o campo, enlameando tudo.
- Hah! - Sawamura grita, sorrindo desafiador para a chuva que molha a janela. - Até parece que eu vou deixar.
Ele vai até a porta do quarto de Furuya, põe a mão na maçaneta. Vira-se, encarando Furuya e Haruichi com a boca aberta num sorriso.
Furuya sente a respiração parar por um segundo, e ao seu lado Haruichi treme as pernas e cai sentado na cama.
- Não se preocupem. - Sawamura diz. - Eu vou trazer a sol!
Então Sawamura sai, rindo e gritando na chuva, e os dois não duvidam dele por um segundo.
as you've probably noticed the queue is now empty! what this means is:
the vast majority of you should have your gift & the gift you created should be posted
there are still a handful of gifts we're waiting on so we'll be posting those as we get them (and we're sorry for those who haven't yet received those gifts ;;)
again, thank you to everyone who participated! we hope you enjoyed and that the process wasn't too bumpy. happy holidays!
[FIC] Track 1: Worst Album Ever (Shirasu and Miyuki)
to: ash (@kazooyas)
from: gusty (gusty-stuff)
I hope you had a wonderful Christmas! I was very inspired by your choice of Shirasu x Miyuki as a pairing, but unfortunately I couldn’t get the boys to play nicely and this ended up gen, instead. Maybe we could call this pre-slash?
SPOILERS FOR RECENT CHAPTERS IN FIC BELOW!
Track 1: Worst Album Ever
According to Rolling Stone, the worst album ever released is ‘The Philosophy of the World’ by The Shaggs. An all-female American rock group from the 60s, The Shaggs consisted of three sisters whose sure-fire fame and fortune as a trio was foretold to their father by a fortune teller.
In a traditional sense, Kenjirou doesn’t think that the Rolling Stone’s editor got is wrong. There is nothing deeper hidden in lines such as ‘the skinny people want what the fat peoples got’, and Dot and Betty know maybe two cords between them. You can’t sing along, because there is no melody or in-key note to latch onto.
It’s a cluttered mess of an album, on that both Kenjirou and Nori agree.
It’s what you get when you strip away experience and skill, structure and talent.
He’s listening to ‘My Pal Foot Foot’ on his iPhone when he meets Miyuki Kazuya for the first time. It’s the second best song from ‘The Philosophy of the World’, although I was never released as a single. The discord notes and combating beats have no discernible rhythm that he can tap his feet to, and sometimes the voices slur together into a mash of syllables that test even Kenjirou’s usually strong grip on English.
It’s a hot spring afternoon, and the entrance ceremony has been going on for hours. Kenjirou’s parents stand at the back of the hall. His father is dressed in his finest work suit, while his mother is practically swallowed up by large video camera that she is hovering behind. Kenjirou is a good boy, responsible. As a result, he waits until the fourth speech before he mentally tunes out the drone of voices and quietly slips his earphones in. No one – not even Rolling Stone – has ever argued that The Shaggs are boring.
‘My Pal Foot Foot’ has rotated around for the third time when there is a kick to the back of Kenjirou’s knees. Kenjirou stiffens in response, not allowing for any obvious sign of movement that might get him in trouble with his mother later. When he’s sure that no-one is paying attention, Kenjirou slowly dips his head down and sneaks a peak at the boy behind him. He finds himself unexpectedly caught in large brown eyes that sparkle with humour.
“It’s about to finish,” the boy mouths with exaggerated movements. He taps his right ear with his middle and index fingers, his mouth splitting into a wide, knowing grin.
Kenjirou nods, slipping one of his earphones out and tucking it into his jacket. He leaves the other one in, a constant, background soundtrack that grounds Kenjirou in something other than his mess of nerves and uncertainty.
The speeches do end, then. The boy with the wide smile isn’t in his class, and so they split into different lines. Kenjirou’s parents follow behind proudly, and Kenjirou just knows that everyone his parents have ever known are going to watch this video at some point.
They meet again that afternoon at their first baseball practise, and it’s only then that Kenjirou learns that the boy from the entrance ceremony is Miyuki Kazuya. It’s probably a good thing that they’re not in the same class, Kenjirou thinks when Miyuki steps forward confidently during line call and introduces himself as Seidou’s next catcher. They’re both only 15, but Miyuki is already the Beatles, The Who, The Breaking Dawn. Miyuki is a rock star amongst the first years that everyone already knows by his reputation alone, while Kenjirou is a three-piece indie rock band making albums in his father’s basement.
Beat 2: Beatles: Best to Worst.
Everyone in the music industry has tried to rate the Beatles albums’ from best to worst at some point. This is an impossible task, because what is one man’s ‘A Hard Day’s Night’ is another man’s ‘The White Room’.
Kenjirou has to revise his initial impression of Miyuki once he gets to know him a little better. The other boy is definitely Beatles-brilliant, but it’s a ‘Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band’ kind of brilliance instead of the more conventional awesomeness of, say, ‘Abbey Road’. Miyuki is clever and talented, silver tongued and confident. He’s also weirdly distant, in a way Kenjirou can’t put his finger on. His humour fluctuates between ridiculously funny and absolutely terrifying, and sometimes Kenjirou isn’t sure if he’s even sharing the same physical plane as the other boy.
Miyuki Kazuya is more than a little odd. He has also just lost a very important bet. It means that the other first years get to decide his walk out song, and so far the suggestions have ranged from the terribly ridiculous to the awesomely ridiculous. Kenjirou is so very tempted to recommend something from The Shaggs, but the song really does have to be something that the crowd can sing along to. There’s no doubt that people will want to sing whatever song plays Miyuki in.
Nori’s made some brilliant suggestions, but a smile blossoms on Kenjirou’s lips as the most perfect song comes to mind for their very odd catcher. Miyuki threatens him with a glare, but it does Miyuki no good.
“Neraiuchi,” Kenjirou says simply. Kuramochi cackles loudly and Nori’s eyes widen in appreciation.
Miyuki just looks blank.
Beat 3: Best Selling Single of All Time
The Guinness Book of World Records states that ‘White Christmas’ by Bing Crosby is the biggest selling single of all time. It’s hard for Kenjirou to argue with those statistics, although he would like to point out that these are only estimates. Official records weren’t kept until the 1950s, a good 8 years after ‘White Christmas’ debuted. Nori goes a step further, stating that the song shouldn’t be included on the biggest selling list at all. It’s a Christmas single, Nori argues. And that? Is cheating. Christmas music isn’t really music at all, and should never be defined as such.
Nori has very strong feelings on this. December is not a good time to be around his usually placid best friend.
Kenjirou doesn’t have White Christmas on his iPhone, but it’s playing in the small music shop he’s currently browsing through. Bing’s voice is deep and rich, a lullaby that promises snow.
Why the song is currently playing in the middle of May, Kenjirou has no idea.
“So, what do you think?” Miyuki shrugs nonchalantly down into the pockets of his jacket, his gaze never quite meeting Kenjirou’s. Miyuki seems out of place here, surrounded by CDs and records and weirdly dressed teens. Miyuki is definitely one of those people who only seems to work within in their own natural habitat, and seeing him outside of that is about as natural as seeing a polar bear vacationing in Australia.
They’re here in this tiny little shop that is playing Christmas music to try and find a birthday present for Kuramochi. Miyuki’s awkward request for help had come as a surprise, and Kenjirou can still envision Miyuki’s horrified expression as he tried to backtrack immediately. It would have been easier for Miyuki to get Kuramochi something baseball related (if anything at all), but Kenjirou has a sneaking suspicion that’s the point. Even though Miyuki will never admit it, he wants to get Kuramochi something a little bit special.
Once Kenjirou realises that, there is no way he can turn Miyuki down.
Still, this is turning out to be harder than Kenjirou thought. Miyuki has no knowledge of what Kuramochi does and doesn’t like, and Kenjirou is pretty clueless himself. He closes his eyes and tries to imagine Kuramochi in his head, calmly ignoring Miyuki’s barely suppressed snicker.
Hmm.
His eyes snap open, and Kenjirou moves back a couple of rows, his fingers running over the tops of the CDs as he looks for one in particular. He lets out a triumphant snort when he finds the CD he’s looking for. He pulls it out and hands it to Miyuki.
“Here. It’s Plain White T’s latest album.” Grunge rock without being obnoxious, clever in a subtle way that leaves a lasting impression that lingers throughout the day. Kenjirou thinks it suits both Kuramochi and Miyuki well.
Miyuki takes the CD slowly
“Thanks,” Miyuki says, and then Kenjirou is suddenly finding it difficult to breathe because Miyuki is smiling the most ridiculously sweet smile Kenjirou thinks he has ever seen. The smile is gone in an instant, swallowed up by a wholly more evil smirk. “Now, I think I should get him something a bit ‘special’ as well.” His gaze invites Kenjirou into his evilness, and Kenjirou finds himself grinning back.
If Kuramochi finds out that he had anything to do with whatever Miyuki has planned, Kenjirou is a dead man.
It may just be worth it.
Beat 4: Elevator Song.
According to the blog www.elevatorworld.com, the second most played elevator song in the world is ‘When You Wish upon a Star’ (citation needed). It’s a nice enough song, Kenjirou thinks. There are some instrumental versions that are particularly lovely, although Kenjirou has always been partial to Takahiro Sakurai’s version in particular. There is something a little haunting about the voice actor’s voice when he sings that song, a vulnerability that leaves Kenjirou raw.
It’s not Sakurai’s version that is playing on loop in the elevator Kenjirou is in now, but a tinny new version released by the latest pop group to hit the streets of Tokyo. The vocals are strong enough, but there is no story behind the lyrics, no well of pain and experience for the words to bleed forth from. Miyuki is singing along under his breath, his foot tapping almost in time with the beat.
It’s the most musical Kenjirou has ever seen him. He’s about to ask which version it is that Miyuki is familiar with (Classical, Instrumental, Voice Actor, or Pop Tart), when Kuramochi cackles something about Miyuki giving up baseball for a music career. Miyuki glowers at him, and the singing ceases.
Kenjirou misses it instantly.
The rest of the team are already up at the food court, surely surrounded by shoe boxes and bags and bags of sport socks. It’s rare for them to go shopping together as a group, especially as they all champion particular brands. It’s all their ex-captain’s fault. Yuuki-san had idly said it might be a good idea, and within hours Miyuki had the trip organised.
It’s-
Kenjirou loses his train of thought when the elevator shudders unexpectedly, then stops. The doors remained closed and Kenjirou’s sure that the elevator isn’t actually lined up with a floor.
Kuramochi frowns, punching random buttons with his fingers. Nothing happens.
Ha.
When Kenjirou was six, his older sister liked to play Jack-in-a-box within him. She would empty out her toy chest and place Kenjirou inside. Then, she would sing. Whenever she stopped, Kenjirou would throw open the lid and jiggle up and down.
One day, Suki thought it would be fun to put him in the chest and sit on the lid. She sat there for the full 2 hours and twenty minutes it took her to watch Kenjirou’s favourite movie, providing running commentary the whole time.
It wasn’t fun. It so wasn’t fun. Those two hours and twenty minutes traumatised Kenjirou far more than the make-up his sister painted onto his cheeks or the frilly collar she made for him out of her pillowcase.
Therefore, it’s not that Kenjirou doesn’t like small spaces, exactly, and more that he doesn’t like getting stuck in them. The walls start to close in a bit and the air thins, and Kenjirou starts to doubt his sanity in a way he doesn’t normally do. They may be here for hours. Ha. They may be here for days. Zono told him once about a guy who spent three weeks stuck in an elevator, with nothing but a box of white day chocolate to eat. Kenjirou doesn’t have anything like that, just some anti-blister gel that isn’t going to sound appetising for at least another three days.
It’s ok though, he’s ok, just breathing maybe a little bit heavier than is socially acceptable. It’s a terrible breech of elevator etiquette, Kenjirou knows, but it’s unlikely that either Kuramochi or Miyuki have noticed. He’s Mr Dependable, after all. He can be depended on to remain calm and professional at all times.
Yeah, they’ve both noticed. Kuramochi is eying him up as he speaks into the voice box, demanding to know what is going on. Miyuki is looking at him as though he’s grown two heads, which is totally plausible. Kenjirou has never been stuck in an elevator before; he doesn’t know how these things work.
He blinks, just once – he’s sure it’s just once – and then Miyuki is standing right in front of him, magically transported from the other side of the small space in one blink (he is never getting into another elevator again). Kenjirou smiles up at him, because really, what else is there for him to do?
Miyuki raises a hand and presses it high against Kenjirou’s chest. Kenjirou blinks again, his gaze sliding downwards before back up to Miyuki.
“I want you to focus on my hand,” Miyuki says, his voice is low and serious but his eyes are like knives. “Forget Kuramochi, forget the music. Tune it all out.” Kenjirou nods. “Now, I want you to lift my hand slowly by exhaling your chest. Slower!” Miyuki snaps when Kenjirou tries to exhale all his breaths at once. Miyuki’s voice is softer but no less steady when he speaks again. “Exhale,” he repeats, and Kenjirou does. He breaths out to lift Miyuki’s hand, remains locked in Miyuki’s commanding gaze. Kenjirou feels an odd calmness roll over him, and he realises that this must be how the pitchers fell. It’s hard not to feel safe when wrapped so completely in Miyuki’s intensity.
“They’re going to be 10 minutes,” Kuramochi says roughly as he comes to stand beside Miyuki. “Probably only 5.” He pauses for a second before continuing. “Keep listening to the idiot. He knows what he’s doing.”
Kenjirou never considers doing anything else.
It takes the maintenance crew 8 minutes and 10 seconds to get the elevator moving again. Not that Kenjirou is counting seconds.
He’s counting breaths.
“You were actually pretty calm, you know.” Kuramochi sucks the last of his drink up his straw before dumping his cup back down on the table. “For a moment there I thought you were going to go all ‘Ringu’ on us.” Kuramochi groans dramatically for emphasis. Kenjirou snorts, smiling around his straw as he takes a sip of his iced tea. Now that he’s free of that death box, his heartbeat has settled into a more natural rhythm. He starts to drift away as Kuramochi tells Nori the story of their dramatic rescue for the third time, his gaze falling on a table further down from where they are sitting.
Miyuki is harassing the first year pitchers, having separated from Kenjirou and Kuramochi almost immediately after their release.
The feel of Miyuki’s hand on his chest, the steadying weight of his gaze, however, remain.
Beat 5: Most Misinterpreted Song.
User FUNKADELICIOUS argues that ‘Born in the US’ by Bruce Springsteen is undoubtedly the most misunderstood song of all time. User ALLOURB@SES disagrees, if only because it’s such an incredibly cliché response. If they’re limiting their options to English language songs, then ALLOURB@SES would like to nominate “The One I Love” by REM. Not since Sting’s “Every Breath You Take” has love and romance been found in such completely inappropriate lyrics. ALLOURB@SES cousin walked down the aisle to that song. It’s no surprise that her marriage only lasted a year.
(ALLOURB@SES may be Kenjirou, but that is neither here or there)
He’s humming the song beneath his breath as he does arm curls, sweat trailing down his back. The Fall final is so close and Kenjirou can practically taste Koshien on his tongue. He has to close his eyes and force himself to relax, the sudden rush of anticipation throwing his rhythm off.
“Shirasu, can we talk?” Kuramochi’s voice cuts through Kenjirou’s concentration. He puts down his weights and turns around, expecting –
Well. Kenjirou doesn’t know exactly what he’s expecting. He likes Kuramochi well enough, enjoys playing with him and talking occasionally about music. But they’re not exactly close, and Kenjirou doesn’t know quite what to do with Kuramochi’s unexpectedly heavy gaze.
“Of course,” he says, reaching for a shirt. It’s hot inside Kenjirou’s room, and so they step outside.
Kuramochi wants to talk about Miyuki, and how he may have injured himself in the last game. Kuramochi’s concern – his anger – is palpable, and tension is coiled tightly in Kuramochi’s shoulders and ripples down his back. Kuramochi is taking this threat to the team and Miyuki’s health seriously, and so Kenjirou does as well.
Still. A smile comes to Kenjirou’s mouth as he remembers how Miyuki asked for help hunting for Kuramochi’s present, how deceptively kind he was in the elevator when Kenjirou started to lose it just a little. Miyuki takes his responsibilities as captain seriously. He must know that he can trust them with something like this, right?
-dedicated to the one I love.
Beat 5: Nothing but Static.
October, 2014. iTunes accidently releases 8 seconds of static instead of the third track from Taylor Swift’s new album. It goes straight to number 1 in the Canadian charts.
8 seconds is as long as it takes for the light to fade from Miyuki’s eyes after the game ends.
Kenjirou has gotten it wrong. He has gotten it so, so wrong.
Kuramochi is barking orders and Zono is the definition of grim anger, but all Kenjirou can hear is static.
Beat 6: The best album of all time.
Rolling Stone states that the best album ever is ‘Sgt Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band’ by The Beatles.
They’re wrong. The best album ever is The Philosophy of the World by The Shaggs. An all-female American rock group from the 60s, The Shaggs consisted of three sisters and their rambling interpretation of this thing called music.
Kenjirou wipes clean one of his small workout mp3 players and loads their album onto it. The dorms themselves don’t have internet connection, and so he has to stand outside the school library with his laptop balanced on his knee as he fiddles with the wireless connection on the player.
Once done, he walks back to the dorms, up to Miyuki’s room.
Kenjirou has avoided visiting Miyuki since the catcher returned from hospital. He’s seen Miyuki occasionally in the dining hall, bookmarked by Zono and Kuramochi and surrounded by concern and well wishes. Miyuki always smiles at those around him, smirking when it’s particularly inappropriate.
Kenjirou trusted Miyuki’s smiles, once. Now …
Now, he doesn’t know.
It’s too late.
Kenjirou should have seen that there was so much more going on with Miyuki below the surface, and Kenjirou hates himself for missing all the signs. The guilt twists in his gut, but it helps reaffirm that Kenjirou has to help now however he can, even if there is so little he can do.
Kenjirou knocks once, twice, on Miyuki’s door. He hears a scuffling from the room, although it takes a couple of minutes before the door handle twists and Miyuki pulls the door inwards. It’s been three days since the game and Miyuki is looking better than he did in those last few minutes, back when he was so grey that even his eyes seemed to be nothing more than ash.
Still, it’s not easy seeing his teammate like this. Bruised shadows linger beneath Miyuki’s eyes and his small smile is drawn painfully tight. Miyuki leans against the doorframe with casual inelegance, but Kenjirou can pick up the weariness in Miyuki’s drooped shoulders.
“Shirasu.” Miyuki seems almost please to see him. “You just missed Kuramochi.” Miyuki’s tired smile twists into a grin. “I wish I had your luck. That idiot thinks I need a live in babysitter.” Miyuki shakes his head, but it’s hard to miss the fondness in his gaze. “Shouldn’t you be at evening practise?” Miyuki adds, his voice deceptively even. It doesn’t work as well as it usually does, because Kenjirou can pick up some of the brittle jealousy that underpins his words.
“I just wanted to give you this.” Kenjirou pulls out the mp3 player, noting the way Miyuki’s eyes widen just a little. Miyuki takes it carefully, his body movements deliberately minimal. “I downloaded an album I thought you might enjoy.” Kenjirou doesn’t add that there isn’t much else Miyuki can do at the moment but listen to music, watch TV and read, but there is a wry twist to Miyuki’s mouth that suggests Miyuki is thinking something similar.
Kenjirou thinks that Miyuki is going to disappear back into his room, but instead he slips a bud into his ear and presses play. Kenjirou’s earphones are good, and so no sound leaks out. It doesn’t need to. Miyuki’s face contorts from curious to disbelieving to amusement and then right back to disbelief by the time the first few beats have played through.
Track one: Philosophy of the World. It’s one of Kenjirou’s favourite songs ever.
Miyuki is able to listen to all of 10 seconds of the song before he rips the earbud out incredulously.
“Seriously?” Miyuki asks in bewilderment. Kenjirou grins. Confusion suits Miyuki, even if he does seem to be unfairly questioning Kenjirou’s sanity right now.
“Curt Cobain said it was his 5th favourite album ever.” A part of Kenjirou’s soul dies when Miyuki’s gaze remains blank with incomprehension. One day, he is going to have to give Miyuki a full music intervention. “Just promise me you’ll listen to the whole thing once.”
“Will I lose my mind in the process?” Miyuki asks dubiously, his thumb stroking over the play button. “According to Sawamura, that last match might have knocked a few brain cells loose.”
“If you’re taking neurological advice from Sawamura, he might be right.”
Miyuki cracks up at that, but only briefly. Kenjirou’s eyes widen in horror when Miyuki’s laughter cuts off abruptly, his free hand wrapping around his ribs. Kenjirou feels useless as Miyuki drops his head down, his shoulder pressed against the doorframe and his gaze unseeing. Kenjirou fumbles, unsure how to help, what to do. There is always this distance – this space – between them. It’s a polite space, one that Kenjirou respects because this is Miyuki and Miyuki has always needed-
Oh, screw it.
He moves forward and places a hand on Miyuki’s shoulder. The muscles beneath his fingers clench into knots, and for a second Kenjirou thinks he’s got this so wrong once again. But then Miyuki’s weight shifts away from the doorframe and in towards Kenjirou, and Miyuki soaks in Kenjirou’s offer of support as his torn, ragged breaths slowly return to normal.
When Miyuki gaze darts back up again through his bangs, it’s with that wild, childish grin that Kenjirou remembers from the match. It makes as much sense now as it did then, but it’s just as hypnotic.
“See what your terrible music is doing to me? And that’s just after a few bars.” Miyuki slowly straightens, his smile giving way to a pained grimace. “You seriously want me to listen to the whole thing? Are you trying to kill me?”
“If it’s assisted suicide you’re after, my sister sent me an album that will do nicely,” Kenjirou replies with a concerned grin of his own. He’s not concerned for his sister’s terrible taste in music, although that is definitely something he is going to have to address some time soon.
He’s concerned about Miyuki, and Kenjirou finds he’s actually ok with that.
In fact, he’s even a little pleased. Concern is something friends have for each other.
“You really should get to practise, the team won’t know which way is up if the consummate professional is late.” Miyuki knows just how to ruin the mood, although naturally he’s correct. It’s one of those things that makes Miyuki so annoying. “I’ll try and fit the album into my busy schedule,” Miyuki adds dryly. “Just promise me one thing. If I don’t make it, don’t let Kuramochi write my obituary.”
“Deal.”
Beat 7: Hidden tracks.
One of the criminally sad things about the decline in CD sales is how hidden tracks have disappeared along with them. A well done hidden track is the perfect coda to a quality album. Just when you think everything has been said and all emotions exhausted, along comes a hidden track to remind you that there is always more.
Kenjirou is listening to one such hidden track when he returns from practise to find Miyuki sitting cross legged on Jun-san’s old bed. Kenjirou’s mp3 player sits on the bed in front of him.
“Touju let me in before he went off to the dining hall,” Miyuki says, and it’s only then that Kenjirou notices that his roommate isn’t there. “The first years are trying to rescue Sawamura and Furuya’s grades again.”
Kenjirou smiles at that, being mindful as he sits down across from Miyuki. His gaze drops deliberately to the mp3 player between them.
“I’ve been listening to it on repeat for hours,” Miyuki admits shamelessly. There is an accusation laced into his words, as if this is all somehow Kenjirou’s fault.
(It is, it really is)
“Their father was an absolute fanatic, he never let them listen to music growing up. It was after a fortune teller told him that he was destined to produce a famous girl band that he decided that his daughters had to become musicians.” Kenjirou’s eyes lighten a little as he tries to shape in his mind the world from which The Shaggs emerged.
“Can you imagine what it must have been like to never have really heard music, to not know what it feels like for a beat to thrum up through your veins?” Kenjirou relaxes back against the wall, folding his legs beneath him. “To be given instruments you can’t play and music you are never going to be able to read? It must have been weird and terrifying and just completely amazing. They didn’t have anything to fall back on, no knowledge of what music should be like – or at least, what society thought music should sound like.” Unlike the musicians who pre and post-dated them, The Shaggs had never been shackled by the conventional wisdom of what music was, how it should be shaped. They never knew those shackles existed in the first place. Kenjirou smiles across at Miyuki, his eyes bright. “They created music from the ground up. Listening to them play is like witnessing the big bang.”
Nori’s right. The album lacks any hint of meaning or substance, but that’s part of the beauty. Because there is no meaning there, you have to find it within yourself.
Kenjirou wonders what meaning Miyuki found, knowing only that it brought Miyuki here. That pleases Kenjirou, perhaps more than it should.
Miyuki’s watching him with an unreadable expression. It’s not deliberately unreadable, like it sometimes is. Miyuki is unreadable now in a different way. There are emotions there – real ones – but Kenjirou isn’t talented enough yet to interpret what they means.
“I never thought I’d say this,” Miyuki says with a deliberate drawl, breaking the comfortable silence that has fallen between them. “But, Shirasu? You are really, seriously weird.”
Kenjirou blinks, then grins.
“Thank you.”
Miyuki grins back, before biting down uncharacteristically on his bottom lip. His gaze weighs Kenjirou up, and for a moment Kenjirou is terrified that he is going to be found wanting.
“Is … there anything else you would recommend?”
It’s almost midnight when Kuramochi bursts into the room. Toujou is working tirelessly at his desk while Kenjirou is stretched on his bunk, L’arc streaming through his earphones. Wild eyes scan the room in an almost-panic before settling on the bottom bunk across from Kenjirou’s.
Kuramochi flops down on the floor with a grunt, legs folding beneath him.
“You could have let me know,” Kuramochi says testily. “I’ve been trying to find that bastard for almost an hour.” Kuramochi scowl deepens when Miyuki chooses that moment to smile serenely in his sleep. Miyuki has always had the worst timing, and Kuramochi presses his fisted hand into the floor in silent retaliation. Kenjirou grins down at him, thinking it’s probably best to not point out how much Kuramochi looks like a grumpy guard dog right now. It’s a pity that Yuuki-san isn’t here. Their ex-captain would be able to capture the entire scene perfectly in one shot: Miyuki, angelic in sleep. Kuramochi, demonic in his concern.
“He didn’t want to tackle the stairs,” Kenjirou explains, turning off his player and rolling onto his side so that it’s easier to talk to Kuramochi. “I told him he could bunk here for the night.”
“He doesn’t snore, so he’s already a better roommate than Isashiki-sempai ever was,” Toujou says without looking out from his work. “Although he looks kind of creepy without his glasses.”
Creepy is probably too harsh, but it does take time to adjust to how young Miyuki looks when he is asleep, the tension washed from his features and his glasses placed neatly on the floor.
Kuramochi lets out a puff of air and pushes up from the floor. He thumbs a finger in Miyuki’s direction, not even bothering to glance over at Miyuki now that he knows that he’s safe.
“Can you make sure he makes it to breakfast? It’s a mission to get him to eat properly at the moment.” Kuramochi’s scowl makes a brief comeback. “I’m not sure if that’s because he has no appetite or because he just likes all the attention.” Kuramochi pauses at the door, turning back to Kenjirou. “He probably won’t say it himself, but thanks.”
Kenjirou nods, waiting until Kuramochi is gone to turn his music back on.
If Kuramochi had any ability to understand the being that was Miyuki Kazuya, he wouldn’t be surprised by what he finds upon walking into their apartment after a tiring day at work. He’s first assaulted by a glaringly loud christmas song on their speakers, some tune he knows, but the singer is almost shrieking with their attempt to hit some high note, and it’s terrible. Terrible. Kuramochi scrunches his forehead, turns into the kitchen to shut off the speaker they keep in there, and stops dead in his tracks. Their kitchen is a mess. A complete fucking mess. The stove is on. There’s some white substance boiling over in a pot on one of the burners, which Kuramochi immediately pulls onto an unheated eye, and shuts off the stove. There’s brown powder all over the counters and familiar handprints throughout the mess.
“What the fuck, Kazuya?” Kuramochi barks, not loud enough to be heard over the Christmas music, walking through the kitchen doorway to the living room, yanking Miyuki’s phone from the speaker as he goes, and down the hall into their living room. “Are you an id-” but he stops short when he sees Miyuki’s mess of brown hair amidst a pile of garbage.
Literally, Miyuki is laying in a pile of garbage.
Occasionally, and unfortunately, Kuramochi has moments of pure insanity where those stupid little things that make up Miyuki Kazuya, (his dumb hair, his always slightly crooked hat, his almost evil smile, the stunts he pulls that Kuramochi let’s him get away with) get to him and make him feel like a teenage girl with a stupid crush.
And this is one of those times.
There Miyuki is, laying in the middle of the living room, covered in bows and wrapping paper remnants, as he sleeps with his head pillowed in his arms. His glasses are skewed, almost falling sideways off the bridge of his nose, and he’s drooling onto his sweatshirt.
What a wreck.
Kuramochi feels his stomach twist slightly, flipping minutely, he chops it down to not having eaten dinner yet, and walks towards Miyuki, trying to step around the wrapping paper bits that litter their previously spotless floor. As Kuramochi walks around the large chair in the living room, he sees the mass of presents that are now underneath their christmas tree, could it even be called a tree? An abomination seemed more fitting, it was about 4 feet tall and had baseballs all over it. Baseballs.
“I saw it on ESPN’s website,” Miyuki had cackled, hanging up the last baseball ornament, the last of sixty of them that he had ordered from some sketchy website. He was probably going to get his credit card number stolen. “You’re supposed to pick a theme for your tree,Youichi,” He’d said with his back to Kuramochi as he crouched low looking for the best spot for the ornament, sounding all pompous about his knowledge of decorating a fucking tree, “ And some guy on their website did basketball, so I picked baseball. Now help me look for the perfect spot.”
Kuramochi had almost told him to shove it up his ass as the perfect spot but before the words could connect to his mouth Miyuki had turned around, pivoting himself in his crouch to grab Kuramochi’s hand, Miyuki’s hand warm and always familiar, and pull him closer. He stood up, pressed his lips against the crease between Kuramochi’s eyebrows and pushed the ornament into his palm.
“Pick a spot.” He’d said, pulling back from him and grinning, always fucking grinning, “But don’t pick a shitty spot.”
“It’s one goddamn ornament you asshole.” Kuramochi had grumbled, leaving his one hand wrapped around Miyuki’s and reaching forward to stick the ornament somewhere without really even looking.
“There.”
“It’s perfect.” Miyuki said, the light from the tree reflecting off his glasses.
“Well at least you didn’t fuck it up, Kazuya.” Kuramochi said, not wanting to bolster his ego anymore than he needed to.
Kuramochi watched as the grin curled itself on to Miyuki’s face, so he braced himself for the stupidity that was about to pour out of his boyfriend’s mouth, “Now buy me presents so we can fill up the tree.”
Of all the things Kuramochi did in life, he was sure falling in love with Miyuki Kazuya was the dumbest decision he’d ever made. He ruins everything, makes jokes at the most inopportune moments, does everything according to his own rules, and infuriates Kuramochi like no one has any business to.
But he also made it all infinitely better.
Like this stupid baseball tree.
It was probably the dumbest Christmas tree Kuramochi had ever seen but….it was perfect.
Kuramochi sighs, mentally smacking himself out of all this sappy shit, and steps over the scissors and a roll of wrapping paper with glitter all over it to squat down next to Miyuki’s sleeping form.
Kuramochi rubs his hand up the line of Miyuki’s waist to his chest, slides his hand up the soft skin of his neck, up along the side of his jaw, brushes the mess of hair out of his face, and rips the chunk of packing tape that’s on his forehead off quickly.
“Fuck, OW!” Miyuki yelps, his hand coming up to smack against his forehead as Kuramochi looms over him a laugh building in his chest.
Miyuki glares up at him, his fingers rubbing at the spot on his forehead where the tape used to be and Kuramochi can’t help but laugh, loudly, because as Miyuki sits up, there’s wrapping paper pieces in his hair and glitter all over his shirt and pants.
“God, shut up,” Miyuki says, his voice thick with sleep, his cheek red from sleeping on it. Miyuki rubs his sweatshirt sleeve across his face, probably having felt the drool, and looks up at Kuramochi, glitter now swiped across his mouth, his eyes still heavy from sleep.
”When did you get ho-what time is? Why am I?” Miyuki questions, running a hand through his mop of hair, his eyebrows coming together in confusion, a small frown on his lips.
Kuramochi’s laughter dies in his throat, but his smiles still pulling at his lips at the sight of Miyuki. Kuramochi likes when Miyuki’s sleepy. Likes when his thoughts are jumbled and his normal facade of arrogance is gone, he’s vulnerable, and sweet, and fuck it, he’s cute like this.
Kuramochi’s so screwed. He’s so fuckign screwed. He has been since his third year in highschool when Miyuki kissed him against the wall of the batting cages.
Kuramochi leans down and presses his lips to Miyuki’s. He hears the little noise in the back of Miyuki’s throat, surprise, he thinks, as Miyuki finally responds to him and kisses him back. He feels Miyuki’s hands come up to grasp the side of his face, while the other slides into the back of his hair. He feels Miyuki’s tongue slide across his lips and Kuramochi pulls back slightly, only pressing his forehead to Miyuki’s as he stares at him, both his cheeks red now, his eyes still heavy, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips that are a bit swollen.
“How about you clean up this fucking mess,” Kuramochi says, sliding his hand up Miyuki’s back, “and then I’ll try to salvage the hot chocolate you were attempting to burn down the house with.”
Miyuki pulls back, eyes going wide as his hands grip tighter in Kuramochi’s hair, “Goddamnit!” He hisses, bending his neck to lay his head on Kuramochi’s shoulder. “That was supposed to be a present for you.” He says, his voice muffled by Kuramochi’s shirt.
“Well you can make me some more,” Kuramochi says, pushing Miyuki away from him and standing up, “but first you’re cleaning up this fucking living room you slob.”
A full fledged grin slides across Miyuki’s mouth and Kuramochi’s stomach flips and settles somewhere near his heart. Yeah he definitely needed to eat, his stomach was doing weird things.
❄ Hope you have a happy holiday & a wonderful new year~!!
OF CHRISTMAS MOVIES
Winter break is warmly welcomed at the Seido dorms, though Miyuki admits that he could do without the—
“Jingle bells! Deck the halls!!”
Noise.
However, Miyuki feels the corners of his mouth tug upwards despite himself as he enters his room.
“Eijun, you’re mixing up the carols,” Haruichi points out, to which Sawamura laughs sheepishly.
“Oh, sorry sorry, I just love Christmas,” the pitcher beams, hugging his knees close to his chest.
“Can you go love it somewhere else?” Miyuki says, noticing that there’s a fuckton of people in in his room right now, and at the same time telling himself to ignore how goddamn cute…
He smirks when Sawamura jumps at his voice but the first year regains composure in an instant.
“Hyaha, what a grinch,” Kuramochi snickers, and Miyuki trains his eyes his fellow classmate who’s fiddling with the television.
“What’s everyone doing in here anyway,” Miyuki mutters - rhetorical since everyone’s always in his room for one thing or another.
Sawamura takes it upon himself to answer. “I GATHERED EVERYONE HERE TO—”
“YOU!!” Kuramochi whips around, arm extended, his hand making contact with Sawamura’s face, squishing his cheeks together, effectively cutting him off. “YOU NEED TO SPEAK QUIETER!”
“UH-BFF! FFT!!?”
“NUH-UH.” Kuramochi moves Sawamura’s head side to side, leaning in close. “I’VE HAD IT WITH YOUR CHRISTMAS SINGING—“
“Carolling,” Ryou-san corrects.
“—CHRISTMAS CAROLLING, AND ALL OF US JUST AGREED TO WATCH CHRISTMAS MOVIES SO THAT YOU’D BE QUIET.”
Kuramochi releases his roommate and Sawamura’s hands fly up to his pained cheeks.
“REGARDLESS…” Sawamura doesn’t lower his voice any, “WE’RE STILL GONNA BE WATCHING MOVIES ALL NIGHT.”
Jun-san throws a pillow at Sawamura’s head (“SHUT UP”) and Haruichi holds Sawamura’s arms back to keep him from retaliating. Miyuki has to bite back a chuckle.
“Okay, I’ve set a bunch of Christmas movies on continuous stream,” Kuramochi announces and everyone settles down right away.
Miyuki sits on the floor, beside Sawamura, the action not going unnoticed by the lefty who grimaces and audibly hopes Miyuki wouldn’t make any sarcastic comments throughout the night while Haruichi takes the spot on Sawamura’s other side. Ryou-san pats the space between him and his brother, and Kuramochi plunks himself down before tossing the remote to Tetsu.
“Were you being serious when you said ‘all night’?” Miyuki says to Sawamura when the opening credits of the first movie begin to play.
“You bet,” Sawamura replies, not even looking away from the screen, already absorbed.
Miyuki bites the inside of his cheek. It’ll definitely be a long night… especially if he couldn’t just concentrate on the movies rather than watch Sawamura’s facial expressions out of the corner of his eyes…
*
“Harucchi, this is my favourite part,” Sawamura whispers, nudging his friend. When there’s no response, he takes his eyes off the TV and sees that the pink haired boy is fast asleep with his head resting on Kuramochi’s shoulder. The shortstop is also in a deep sleep, and Oni-chan-senpai has his head on Kuramochi’s other shoulder, all three of them breathing evenly.
Sawamura sweeps his gaze further down the line and sees that even asleep, Leader’s face is stiff, as if concentrating on the act of sleeping. Spitz-senpai is pressed against Leader’s side, mouth agape as he breathes deeply, his eyes only half-shut.
Furuya was probably the first one to doze off, though Sawamura expected that of him, but Chris-senpai?! The third year was alseep, back straight, head back against the wall with his arms folded across his chest, expression as stiff as Leader’s.
In fact, EVERYONE was asleep! Zono, Tanba, Kawakami, Miyauchi, Masuko… all of them!
“How can they fall asleep..?! This is the best Christmas movie ever,” Sawamura seethes. He draws in a breath and opens his mouth to yell at everyone to wake up, but he feels a weight on this left shoulder. “Huh?”
Soft brown hair tickles his ear as he tries to angle his head away. His shoulders tense up automatically and he almost shakes off the dozing catcher on impulse.
What stops him though, is the expression on Miyuki’s face. Sawamura curiously observes the second year; his face is… calm… relaxed in sleep… He has never noticed how thick Miyuki’s eyelashes are, perhaps magnified behind his glasses, or maybe it’s because he’s so close to Miyuki… so close that he can see faint lines underneath his eyes - marks from his sport glasses? From fatigue? Stress?
Sawamura’s thoughts screech to a halt when a hazel eye pops open.
“You’re awake?!” he blurts out in surprise, caught.
A hand comes up to his other shoulder, preventing him from jumping up. “You’re loud,” is the hushed reply. “Mmm… don’t move… it’s comfortable.”
“C-Comfortable??” He feels Miyuki nuzzle his neck and his heart rate triples instantly.
“Yeah,” Miyuki replies simply, his voice low, his eyes closing.
“Hey, don’t sleep!” Sawamura says, trying to whisper.
He gulps when those eyes flutter back open. He’ll probably never get used to it.
“It’s fine, isn’t it? Everyone else is sleeping,” Miyuki points out after a quick survey of the room of sleeping baseball players. He exhales slowly, and Sawamura feels his breath against his neck, sending shivers shooting up his spine.
“Actually I’m going to wake everybody up right now,” Sawamura tells him adamantly. “Missing out on these Christmas classics is shameful!”
“Hey.”
“Don’t even try to stop me! I’m gonna do it right n-”
“Mistletoe.”
Sawamura freezes, eyes widening at Miyuki’s finger pointed towards the ceiling. He looks up and snorts.
“Are you dumb? There’s no-”
He feels Miyuki grab the back of his head as he pulls him in for a kiss. He’s slow to respond to the surprise kiss, but he closes his eyes and lets the familiar feeling warm his core.
“Like I was saying,” Sawamura says when he gets the chance, “there’s no mistletoe. Are your glasses just for fashion??”
Miyuki snickers. “What, are you telling me that I need mistletoe to kiss you?”
From the flickering light of the TV, he can see the blush in Sawamura’s cheeks.
He smiles when he kisses Sawamura again, not just because he was about to go on some loud nonsensical tangent and wanted to shut him up, but because he can.
He’s still smiling when Sawamura pushes his face away, swollen lips and all, complaining, “YOU MADE ME MISS MY FAVOURITE PART OF THIS MOVIE!!”
"Happy Christmas."
"It’s not even Christmas yet! And I’m not happy! Anymore! Hey, stop laughing!"
****
{ Bonus scenes }
It’s the laughing that wakes Haruichi from his sleep and he lifts his head from Kuramochi’s shoulder to inquire about it, but when he casts an eye to his left he quickly presses his face into the groove of Kuramochi’s neck.
"I definitely did not need to see any of that," he mumbles meekly. It’s difficult for him to fall back asleep.
❄
Furuya was actually the last one to fall asleep. He was fascinated by the claymation polar bears and the wintery landscapes. Naturally, he’s also the last one to wake up in the morning.
❄
The next day, Tetsu shows everyone the pictures he had taken from the movie night. Pictures of all them asleep to be exact.
Kuramochi asks him to send him the picture of him and the Kominatos right away, as soon as possible, pronto.
Ryou-san jokes about getting Tetsu to crop out Haruichi.
Jun wants him to delete the picture of him drooling on his shoulder.
Sawamura insists that it wasn’t him letting Miyuki sleep on his shoulder; he had a stunt double take his place, duh.
Miyuki wants a copy of that picture, but it takes him a whole two days to finally ask for one. (Sawamura asks for a copy the day before).
Message: Merry Christmas Shouri! Although judging from your location details you probably don't celebrate Christmas, so Happy Hanukkah? I hope I got that right and I hope you like your gift! I'd like to thank you especially for joining the DaiyA secret santa exchange since judging from your work you like a bunch of different series and most of the main sports ones. I know DaiyA has one of the smaller fanbases compared to those so I just really appreciate those that contribute to the fanbase! I like several different series too (we actually have a lot of those in common!) but DaiyA is definitely my main one right now. :) I also really like your artwork! This is my first time drawing anything ship-y so I tried to do something nsfw but it was just too much to jump right into sorry LOL (and sorry if you find anime tentacle stuff but I like to ironically like it if that makes any sense? ;;) Anyway, thanks again and happy holidays!
to: thanh (richardharington)
from: abe (@tetsuyayuki)
message: ahhh hello there !!! merry christmas and happy holidays ! i gave (what i think is a poor) attempt at chrismiyu, which i want to apologize for in case i… butchered it. i’m sorry it’s nothing special and my writing is *angry fart noises), but i did love writing it for you so i sincerely hope you enjoy it because you deserve some happy chrismiyu to end the year ! anyway, happy holidays once again and i hope your new year is as wonderful as you !!! <:
His words always met him with purpose—when Chris spoke, there was an undeniable air of life, of power, of a conviction that tended to wane at his side, one he failed to muster on his own tongue. They were a home he generally found himself lingering in off the field, clinging to each syllable with an outstretched hand, soaking in every sound as they reverberated within him, echoing within his inner walls with a force strong enough to shift mountains. With each sentence, he grew, he learned, sustaining his restless mind with one sip from Chris’ knowledge, a wisdom that blossomed with the changing seasons, each word falling from his lips like a flower petal he’d damn near try to catch, yet somehow always missed.
Miyuki Kazuya knew he always missed.
So it was in the beginning silence of the night he found himself once again delving in the verses of his counterpart, verbalized notions of feelings, emotions, he’d only hope to one day grasp. Because it was something he unwillingly liked to admit—his leadership skills paled in comparison to Chris’, and it’d take a fool’s luck for him to ever come close. His emotions were housed inside a thick wall of ruin, garish opinions playing as mirrors to reflect anything that attempted to escape. Miyuki’s words were fashioned for victory, embellished with compliments and curt statements one might confuse with sincerity. His generosity was taken as foolhardy advice, his understanding as arrogance, his dominance as manipulation—it was as cold as he appeared heartless.
As captain, catcher, and the illustrious fourth hole batter, as the team’s pillar, the pitchers’ shoulder, as the very heart of Seidou, Miyuki was everything, yet surfaced as nothing. He was mind, body, and soul, yet was unable to portray himself as anything more than a troublesome kid with a tongue too sharp and an attitude too reckless to be taken seriously. He lined his pockets with verses to win, lips drenched in faith to keep teammates’ emotions at bay, to raise morale if need be—but as the heart who beats so loud, so passionate, he often found himself silenced by Chris, an impervious opponent, one whose blood ran redder than his in the face of baseball. Unlike him, Miyuki failed to captivate an audience, whether with words or his chaotic plays, because even though the crowd was watching him, he couldn’t help but feel as if they were waiting for the main event, he couldn’t help but feel as if—
“There you go again,” he heard, “Thinking too hard.”
He turned his head, finding Chris immersed in the shadows, only to emerge with a water bottle in hand and a white towel tapered over broad shoulders. From the looks of him, Miyuki could only assume he had finished with another physical therapy session, on his way back to the dorms when he unfortunately found him instead.
“What gives you that idea?” he questioned, tone creased with a fake jeering he only used when he knew the other was right—and yet Miyuki still sat there, insisting.
“You have the same face you did after the Inashiro match,” Chris began, taking a sip from the bottle as he joined the younger male on the steps, “The one that asks ‘What more can I do?’”
He’s silent, gaze averted to the night sky, illuminated by clusters of bright stars, shining only as bright as their neighbor would allow. Chris’ words melt into the passing wind, brushing over Miyuki’s hair like a melody he’s heard too many times before. The sound is deafening, his perception unreal, as he can feel the light in his eyes dim next to Chris’ glow. Miyuki feels vulnerable, naked, at his side, as Chris’ experience with peering through his underlying walls excelled past his own ability to build them. So he’s quiet, the glare on his glasses a pale fog, hands clasped together on bent knees, his barrier in shambles.
“I don’t know what you’re talking ab—”
“Miyuki,” his tone is abrupt, precise, severing the blatant denial in the other’s words as quick as it arose, “You’re too hard on yourself. Here…—come with me.”
With his hand suddenly linked with Chris’, he found himself being pulled forward, body heavy as he trudged along behind, the rough beat of his footsteps eventually falling in sync with his. From the hovering lights ahead, their two shadows danced along the pavement, distinct frames casting looming outlines on their surroundings—one silhouette following the other, trailing behind, yet not out of reach. The night air held a crisp glow, a chilling breeze tailing their every step, the heat of his breath evaporating from parted lips as he was dragged by the boy before him. Had he known what Chris was up to, Miyuki would have tagged along more keenly than he had, rather than finding frustration in his current state—staring into the abyss without knowing what was looking back.
His feet came to a halt, the two now on a patch of grass Miyuki remembered occupying with Kuramochi the night they teased Sawamura and Furuya after one of their early matches. Chris had turned his attention to the sky, his head slowly turning to connect with the other male’s gaze, but all he discovered was a view lost in a sea of stars. Miyuki could feel his fingers instinctively tighten around Chris’, intent eyes curiously following his friend’s arm, as he observed him point towards the sky, an index finger humbly directing him to the brightest star, the most prominent constellation.
“Think of yourself as a galaxy,” Chris spoke quietly, a subtle grin budding from his thin lips, “And each of your teammates as a star. They all shine so bright that sometimes you forget where they are.”
“I don’t understand,” he grinned warily, confused, head turning to face him, “Why am I not a star when I’m just like everyone else? How am I different?”
“Because your skill is vast, touching all,” he replied, openly, “Your talent is so large that sometimes you forget just how much you shine when you’re next to others. As a captain, it’s your job to unite those as one cohesive unit. That’s why you’re a galaxy…—that’s why you’re in charge of a group of kids who just want to shine as bright as you do.”
There is a warm smile that glides over the surface of his lips, sparkling beneath the perched moonlight, his head shaking in disbelief. “Where’d you get something so ridiculous?” Miyuki almost whispered, to himself, his heart bursting, overjoyed, his body rushing to contain this foreign… sensation he was not trained in handling. Was this… praise? Admiration? Had he received Chris’ approval, had he been placed on an equal footing, had he—
“My father’s book,” Chris admitted willingly, a shrug rolling off his shoulders as smoothly as a laugh entered the air, “I’m not the philosophical type.” He squeezed their hands, his warmth fading into Miyuki’s, his deep gaze now fixated on the one before him, the doubtful, the weary—Miyuki could feel his intensity cleanse the demons from his very soul. He didn’t care at that point, didn’t care how the others saw him, didn’t care how much he found himself unfit for the job, because right here, right now, his uncertainty had subsided long enough for him to discover a flame the two shared between them. Chris had once again led him into the light, into the truth, by his words alone, guiding him through inner obstacles he knowingly placed upon himself. He had brought him to his senses, easing his mind, and all Miyuki could do was smile—smile as big and as sincere and as uncharacteristic as his face would allow.
Because he was whole with Chris, he was complete.
“Well,” Miyuki began, playing along as he offered him a small nudge with his shoulder, “If I’m a galaxy, then I’m glad you’re the universe.”
Being the main catcher in a powerhouse like Inashiro could be extremely tiring, but so gratifying when results started showing - and things really did start looking good recently, Itsuki mused while absent-mindedly chewing his dinner. Practice always left him tired and breathless, limbs aching and stomach growling, but every time the coach praised one of his calls he felt like all that effort had been worth it. Most importantly, his partnership with Mei-san had slowly started coming together, and Itsuki was determined to keep getting better and better.
He was so deep in thought that it took him quite some time to notice someone had been watching him. He turned his head and gazed around the cafeteria, only to find Mei quickly averting his gaze, engaging in an intense staring contest with the omurice that was originally supposed to be his dinner. Itsuki frowned, perplexed. He wouldn’t go as far as to say he could understand his senpai well (far from it, most of the time his reactions were absolutely impossible to interpret) but he had been acting strange for days, constantly trying to sneak glances without being seen, looking at him like he was trying to solve a particularly mysterious riddle, and Itsuki couldn’t help but worry. Did he do something inconvenient, did he unintentionally hurt Mei-san? If he did, he had to clear the air between them: a quarrel right when things had started looking good was the last thing they needed, both as a battery and as…Whatever they were off the field.
.
"Senpai, can I ask you a personal question?"
Shirakawa lifted his gaze from the book he was reading, eyebrows raised and lips pursed in a way that seemed to say “I hope you have a good enough reason for interrupting me”.
“It’s about Mei-san. I figured I’d ask someone close to him”
That got Shirakawa’s attention, although he didn’t seem pleased about being considered “someone close to Mei”. Itsuki had a hard time holding back his laughter - he’d noticed a long time ago most people on his team fit the standard definition of tsundere, so that reaction wasn’t at all surprising. Still funny.
“What about him?”
“I was wondering…Did he talk about me recently? Like, did he mention something I did, did he whine about my performance, anything?”
“Nothing of the sort. Not that I know of” Shirakawa shrugged, then “why do you ask?”
“He’s kinda…been staring at me a lot recently. Looking angry. I wonder if I offended him in some way…”
Shirakawa raised his eyebrows, a knowing look on his face, but he didn’t offer any explanation. Instead, “you know, you should talk about this kind of thing directly with that guy. Aren’t you two dating? Communication is important in a relationship.”
Itsuki could practically feel the heat radiating off his cheeks as he vehemently yelled that no, of course they weren’t dating, Mei-san made that quite clear, and yes, he was going to talk about this with him eventually, but he just thought he’d try asking Shirakawa senpai first, that was all. Shirakawa looked at him, pretty unimpressed. “What’s going on between you two is not really my business, but winter break does start in 2 days, so you’d better clear things up before we have to leave the dorms. We wouldn’t want this tension to affect your performance as a battery, right?”
Shirakawa went back to his book, a clear sign that the conversation was over for him, leaving Itsuki to reflect. He knew his senpai was right, of course. He had to confront Mei-san directly about this, even at the risk of acting paranoid and getting it all wrong. Heading back to his room he tried to think of a way to approach his senpai, find an appropriate moment to face him and talk things out. He definitely didn’t expect that opportunity to come so soon, but when he opened his room’s door he was faced with the vision of none other than Narumiya Mei, staring at him like a deer caught in the headlights, trying and miserably failing to hide something behind his back.
"…Mei-san? What are you doing in my room?"
“What are you doing in your room! Isn’t this your usual bath time?”
“I was gonna head to the bath now, I just need a change of clothes”
Mei didn’t seem pleased with his answer and just scowled at him, still trying his best to hide something from his view - some kind of package, from what Itsuki could see.
“You’re not going to tell me why you’re in my room?”
“As your senpai I’m under no obligation to answer this question!”
“…And you’re not going to tell me what you’re hiding either?”
A pout, low grumbling, then Mei gestured towards Itsuki’s bed, inviting him to sit. Itsuki sighed, already resigned to following Mei’s weird demands - he didn’t mind, and his curiosity was already piqued anyway.
“This was supposed to be a surprise, but of course you just had to forget your change of clothes and ruin it! My plan was absolutely perfect: sneak into your room while you were in the bath, leave it in your bag and then run away. But I guess I’ll let you open it now, so be grateful!”
Mei grinned from ear to ear and handed him the package he was so busy hiding moments before. Itsuki studied it, trying to fight back the stupid grin he knew he was sporting in that moment. A gift from Mei-san! He was so happy he momentarily forgot his worries and just hurriedly ripped the package open.
“I don’t get what’s so great about those idols of yours, but I had Shirakawa help me pick up the album. You like this artist, right?” Mei looked far too pleased with himself for someone who just admitted he had to ask for help to pick the right gift, but Itsuki was just too happy to make him notice.
“This was really sweet of you, Mei-san, thank you” Itsuki started, eyes bright and earnest, and Mei scoffed, saying “there’s no need to get so stupidly excited over a gift, you idiot!”
“But I’m happy! Actually, I’m relieved. I thought you were angry with me for some reason, but you even went and got me a gift!”
“…And what made you think I was angry with you, exactly?”
“You were always staring at me recently! And you looked scary!”
“I was just trying to figure out the perfect gift for you! You’re surprisingly hard to read for a cheeky kouhai. I wasted a whole week for this, be grateful!”
Even though he complained about it so much Mei really did think about his gift with care, and that made Itsuki’s heart swell with a feeling that he couldn’t quite name. Before he could change his mind and think better of it he got closer and planted a kiss on Mei’s overheated cheek, whispering another thank you in his ear…Of course, that only earned him a yell and loud complaints about cheeky disrespectful kouhai knowing no shame. But when Mei casually slipped his hand into Itsuki’s, trademark pout in place and blushing to the tip of his ears, Itsuki knew that moment meant a lot to them both, and he felt like that was the best gift he could ask for.
Sara Bareilles . King of Anything |Panic! At The Disco . Nicotine | Marina and the Diamonds . Starring Role | Britney Spears . Toxic | All Time Low . A Love Like War | Simple Plan . Addicted | The Human League . Don’t You Want Me | Marianas Trench . All To Myself | Ke$ha . Disgusting | Pat Benatar . Hit Me With Your Best Shot | Green Day . Stray Heart | Demi Lovato . Give Your Heart A Break | You Me At Six . Loverboy | P!nk . True Love | The Cab . Temporary Bliss | Cinema Bizarre . My Obsession
message: merry christmas! i hope you enjoy this (◞ꈍ∇ꈍ)◞⋆**✚⃞ྉ
1.
Sometimes Kazuya would close his eyes and he would see a hot summer day and Eijun staring back at him from the pitcher’s mound.
Kazuya’s eleven years old and he knew almost nothing of the world. But he could’ve sworn the sight of Eijun with his leg raised up high was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever see.
-
2.
Kazuya had a blanket pulled over his head and his face was buried against a pillow when his phone vibrated once, then twice.
That was his alert for text messages.
He groped for his mobile, flipped it open, and blearily stared at the screen.
He had to read the text thrice before he could make sense out of it.
-
3.
It’s a message from an unknown number, composed of a mere four words: Eijun’s going to Seidou.
-
4.
The first time Kazuya met Eijun, he’s innocently standing by the coach’s box when something hit him hard from the side.
The next thing he knew he was lying on the ground, groping for his glasses.
“I’m so sorry!”
Then there were hands on his elbows, pulling him up, clumsily brushing the dirt off of his clothes.
He blinked.
It was a bit blurry but he could see the sheepish grin directed at him.
“I’m really sorry! I didn’t mean—!”
“Sawamura!” The assistant coach roared out. Kobayashi-san had a grandfatherly air about him and gentle, calloused hands. Before this day, Kazuya had never heard him raise his voice. “Get back here!”
“Ack! Sorry! I have to go! Here!”
His glasses were unceremoniously placed in his hands.
And Kazuya could do nothing but watch the boy run away, kicking up a cloud of dust in his wake.
-
5.
Kazuya knew staying up late to watch all those videos was a bad idea. But he only really started regretting his decision a few hours later. He’s thirty minutes late to morning practice and the threat of running god knew how many extra laps was starting to become a very real possibility.
He was on all fours trying to quietly crawl his way into the line when his head bumped against something hard—something human.
“Ouch!” He rubbed tenderly at his forehead.
And when he looked up, a face he hadn’t seen in years was staring back at him.
-
6.
He supposed a minor degree of pain was characteristic of his each and every meeting with Eijun.
-
7.
“I can’t believe you’re late on your first day,” Kazuya said with a shake of his head.
But maybe he shouldn’t be so surprised. Eijun was taller, older, the planes of his cheeks sharper, but his eyes were just as wide as he remembered and he could easily detect the shadow of a mischievous smile in the curve of his lips.
“AH! MIYUKI KAZU—!”
Kazuya had to immediately clamp a hand over his mouth.
He was also as loud as he remembered.
“Don’t scream like that you idiot!” he hissed.
Eijun pried his fingers away. “Sorry! Sorry! I just didn’t think I’d meet you again like this!”
He had so many things he wanted to ask and so many things he wanted to say. But these weren’t meant to be discussed when one was huddled behind a shed with a fearsome coach waiting on the other side of it.
So instead he settled for, “Didn’t you say you were going to Inashiro?”
Eijun crossed his arms in front of him. “I said no such thing!”
“Ah really?” Kazuya propped his chin on his hand, trying to hide an amused smirk behind his fingers. “I could’ve sworn you said—”
“—Did not! Never! I’ve never said anything like that!”
-
8.
Kazuya was leaning against a chain-link fence with his legs folded beneath him when Eijun said, “Takashima-san was the one who scouted me.”
He was supposed to be checking his form but his gaze was focused on his hands. He picked at the label of his sports drink, trying to rip it off. From the corner of his eye he could see Eijun adjust his footing.
“Yeah, she did mention that,” Kazuya answered distractedly.
Eijun took a practice swing, then another. “I turned her down at first! Did she tell you that? I thought it was a joke or something.”
Kazuya tightened his grip around his drink, the plastic giving under the pressure he exerted.
“But I was really glad! I’m really glad she scouted me.”
Eijun rolled his left shoulder and swung his bat thrice in succession.
“I didn’t think anyone wanted me anymore.”
-
9.
Kazuya felt the slightest bit guilty when the coach told Eijun to run for the rest of afternoon practice.
Luckily for him, his guilt was quickly replaced by something else.
“WAIT!” screamed Eijun at the coach’s retreating back.
Memories were such unreliable things—especially the fond ones—because how the hell could have he forgotten the most important detail?
Eijun’s chin was raised and his shoulders thrown back when he declared, “I can’t end it like this! Because I’m going to be this team’s cleanup hitter!”
Kazuya suppressed the urge to drop to his knees and bury his face in his hands.
He honestly couldn’t believe that he’d forgotten the fact that Sawamura Eijun was a walking, talking human disaster.
-
10.
A name flashed through the screen of his phone and he automatically pressed the receive button.
He’d been expecting (dreading) this call for days.
“Kazuya-kun?” There was nothing but a soft, lilting voice in the other end of the line. But that voice brought with it the image of large, brown eyes that always trailed after Eijun, a throwing arm that rivalled guys twice her size and small hands that expertly split ice popsicles.
“Wakana-chan,” he greeted.
“How’s Eijun-kun?”
Kazuya had to shake his head at her constancy. “He’s doing fine.” Teasingly he continued, “Aren’t you going to ask about me?”
The Wakana he remembered always had a witty comeback ready for him. This Wakana—the one that’s merely voice and static, the one that he hadn’t seen for years—only had worried sighs and tragedies to recount.
-
11.
Kazuya watched Eijun finish another lap.
Thirty seven, he counted silently.
The sun was going to come down soon enough but Eijun didn’t show any signs of stopping.
-
12.
“You weren’t there,” Wakana says softly, evenly.
It’s not an accusation. Merely facts stated as truth.
“He tried pitching even after the pain made him keel over. Coach had to drag him away from the mound.”
Kazuya’s grip tightened around his mobile. A dozen words flashed through his mind. A majority of them were unprintable.
There’s a long-suffering sigh on the other end of the line. “Did you know? He started running again before he even had his cast removed. His grandpa almost had a heart attack when he found out.”
They both laughed humorlessly at that. Only Eijun could’ve possibly been stupid enough to even attempt that feat.
“So can you watch over Eijun while he’s there? Can you please do that, Kazuya-kun?”
-
13.
Kazuya had only heard Wakana plead once.
That was when she asked permission to leave practice early because her cat died.
He remembered that day clearly because Eijun started crying when she broke the news to him and he had to rub at the space between his shoulders to console him.
-
14.
Kazuya honestly didn’t know how he was supposed to start. Every morning he woke up telling himself that today was the day. He was going to finally have a proper conversation with Eijun.
And every evening he went to bed telling himself that he was going to do it tomorrow.
He agonized over this dilemma for about a week until Eijun knocked on his door one evening, a bat slung over his right shoulder.
His grin was wide, but its corners were strained, when he said, “Hey! Wanna help me with my batting practice?”
-
15.
Eijun crowded him. There was more than enough space on the bench but he chose to sit right next to him. He was close enough that he could smell the scent of sweat against his skin. He could feel the warmth he was emitting and he could count every inhale and exhale.
Eijun had his gaze directed at the stars when he said, “Cracks in the basement of the supri—suprapa… No!”
He furrowed his brows in concentration.
“Su. Pra. Spi. Na. Tus! It’s supraspinatus! Anyway they say there was a crack on that tendon and that there were abnormalities in the e-pi-phy-sis of the humeral bone.”
Kazuya swallowed the lump in his throat.
It’s a struggle but he managed to keep his tone light, “Don’t use complicated words. You might strain your brain! Do you even know what that means?”
He was expecting an offended shout and hands around the collar of his shirt in return for that.
Instead, Eijun’s tone was low and soft, his lips curled into a worn smile, when he replied, “It means I can’t pitch anymore.”
-
16.
“Here.”
Eijun blinked at the gloves he held towards him.
“What’s that?”
Kazuya snorted. “They’re batting gloves.” He added as an afterthought: “Idiot.”
Eijun fumed. “I knew that! Why are you giving them to me?!”
Kazuya took his wrist and pressed the gloves against his open palm.
“Because you’re going to need it.”
-
17.
Kazuya narrowed his eyes at the jagged red line that sat on the skin between Eijun’s elbow and wrist. “What’s that?”
“I dived after the ball during fielding practice earlier,” he said around a mouthful of rice.
“Dumbass,” Kazuya sighed out. “Just how clumsy are you?”
Eijun huffed. “I’m not clumsy!” He stretched out his arm in front of him, showing off the wound. “And this would turn into something cool like a battle scar! A battle scar!”
-
18.
He remembered that Eijun always had dirt under his fingernails and scratches all over his legs and his knees. He frequently tripped over his untied shoelaces and there was even that one time when he ran headfirst into a glass door. He needed stitches in his forehead and he cried uncontrollably for hours.
He fell over and over again.
-
19.
But he also stood back up, over and over again.
-
20.
Kazuya was used to having several feet between him and Eijun. So he found the few inches that separated the batter’s box and the catcher’s box uncomfortably close.
Eijun quickly threw him a backward glance. “It feels really good to have you look up at me! I could get the hang of this!”
For a moment he forgot that the coach was standing behind him as the umpire. There was unbridled fondness in his tone when he said, “I can’t actually see your face though, stupid.”
-
21.
Kazuya was sixteen years old and he still knew almost nothing of the world.
There was nothing especially smooth or graceful about Eijun’s batting. Hell, half the time he simply hacked at the ball.
But he could’ve sworn the sight of Eijun with a bat between his hands—the pure desire in every swing, the poetry in his follow through—was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever see.
-
22.
The ball arced through the air.
Kazuya followed its trajectory with wide eyes beneath his catcher’s mask
It’s a beautiful summer afternoon and the sky was a brilliant shade of blue.
And for a moment, the ball blended into the white, swirling clouds before making its descent.
-
23.
Eijun was ten years old and absolutely hopeless.
“I don’t understand, how can you not hit the ball?” taunted Kazuya.
A batting cage separated them but he could clearly make out the frustration on Eijun’s face.
“One day,” he promised, eyes narrowed and fixed on the pitching machine. “One day, I’m gonna hit a home run and you’re going to regret it!”
Kazuya laughed. “I’ll look forward to that then. But in the meantime why don’t you just bunt for all your at bats?”
-
24.
Eijun dropped his bat and ran.
His laughter rang throughout the field.
He was running so fast that his helmet had flown off before he reached first base.
He was still laughing when he rounded second base.
His cleats hit third base hard and it made a joyous sound.
Then he’s finally heading towards the home plate—towards him.
He had too much energy, too much speed, and too much momentum. If he kept it up he would’ve ran straight to the dugout. Eijun had to do an awkward bunny hop to decelerate.
He set both feet on home plate and he spread his arms wide open.
The smile that he flashed at Kazuya was all teeth and way too bright.
-
25.
“I told you I’d do it someday!”
Kazuya shook his head. There were tears at the corner of his eyes and his jaw and cheeks ached from laughing too much.
Eijun pressed his fist right at the center of his chest.
“That was amazing, wasn’t it?!”
Their grins were matching, identical, when Kazuya wrapped his fingers around his wrist.
“It was.”
-
Note: This was loosely based on Shinyaku “Kyojin no Hoshi” Hanagata. It’s one of the most memorable baseball manga for me even though there are only like a dozen chapters translated.
Merry Christmas again to Sora ( ﾟ∀ﾟ)っ由 Happy holidays~
