#Seto Takuma | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

musicprincess655 · 2 years ago

Text

Integral

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43549263

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: ダイヤのA | Daiya no A | Ace of Diamond Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Okumura Koushuu/Seto Takuma Summary:

Koushuu expects to have Taku forever. What happens when he might lose him?

“First practice game of the year,” Taku says, arms in the air and grin on his face. Koushuu follows him at a slower pace to the field, even if he’s just as excited.

Excited. For a game. He’s gone soft.

“It’s early this year,” Koushuu says. “It’s barely April.”

“Quit complaining, you’d go crazy if you had to wait any longer,” Taku shoves his shoulder. “Hope you haven’t slacked off during break. Coach’ll make us run laps ‘til we puke if we lose because we don’t have stamina.”

“That’s because this team is full of musclehead idiots and he knows it.”

“That’s a very mean thing to say about Masashi.”

“You two are the worst,” comes a complaint from behind them. Yui kicks them both in the ankle as he comes to stand in between them. “Could you behave for like, a month before you start scaring off the first years?”

“This is when you want them scared,” Taku says. “How else do you expect to get them to listen to you?”

“I can’t believe anyone thinks you’re the nice one.”

“Incredibly, he’s still the nice one if you’re talking about him and Kou-chan,” Kuki cuts in. “I mean, Taku-chan is just sassy. Kou-chan wants people dead.”

“And those first year pitchers will learn that quickly if they know what’s good for them,” Koushuu agrees.

So he doesn’t really want the first years to fear him. Much. It’s good for efficiency in small doses but terrible if they’re so scared they can’t be around him. He learned that with Asada first year and he thinks he’s learned balance well over the years.

They’re about to see how right he is.

Luckily, this first match is just for returning players. Most of the first years can’t even keep their three bowls of rice down yet, let alone make it through a whole match. Not that Koushuu is great at eating, either, but he and Asada have come to enjoy their little slowpoke squad.

There’s still a lingering bite of winter in the air, no matter that it’s already April, and Koushuu is grateful for it. No reason to start overheating just yet. They’ll have the whole summer for that.

The match is nothing special. It’s the first match of the year, which means they’re getting their feet under them again, learning to play without starters they relied on, and so are their opponents. Yui plays the first half of the game, and Koushuu is switched in from the sixth inning on. They win, but not in any kind of brilliant way, which is why Koushuu is so surprised that a scout wants to talk to him when they’re done.

He's walking off the field, pushing sweat-slick hair out of his face, already beelining for Kuki because what the fuck did you throw in that last inning I will earn my reputation if I see you do that again when he hears his name.

“Okumura-kun?”

The voice belongs to a man no taller than him, thin as a rail and glasses perched on his face. Koushuu looks in the direction of the dugout, but no one is paying him any attention. Looks like he’s on his own to try and behave for the next five minutes.

“Yes?” he answers.

“I’m Tanaka from Hosei University,” the man says. “I’m wondering what your plans are after high school.”

“Isn’t it a little early for scouts?” Koushuu asks, and immediately winces internally. He’s already fucking up this plan to behave.

“It is,” Tanaka agrees. “It’s getting competitive out here for us scouts. Universities are searching earlier and earlier, and the professional league is starting to take kids straight from high school. We have to get in early if we want someone.”

“And you want me?”

Hosei is a member of the Tokyo Big6 league. They’re one of the most competitive schools in the country. This scout is trying to recruit Koushuu this early?

“Both of our main catchers are going to age out soon,” Tanaka says. “We want someone in now who can replace them in a few years. Our coach prefers catchers with your style. Smart, cautious, soft touch, but not afraid to make big plays.”

“Thank you,” Koushuu says, even though Tanaka said it less like a compliment and more like a statement of fact.

“Just keep us in mind when you’re making your decision,” Tanaka says. “Hosei is interested.”

Koushuu walks away in a bit of a daze. He’d received a few overtures from scouts last year, but nobody had indicated such blatant interest before. He’s still turning Tanaka’s words over in his head when Taku gets to him.

“Who was that?” he asks.

“Scout,” Koushuu tells him. “He’s from Hosei.”

“Oooo, now you’re attracting attention from schools like Hosei,” Taku says, happiness splitting his face in two. “You’ll have to study hard to keep up.”

Koushuu feels his chest go cold. If he’d have to study hard to keep up with a baseball scholarship, how hard would Taku have to study to get in?

Pretty damn hard, he finds as he looks it up later that night. It has one of the hardest entrance exams in the country. Even for a private school, it’s difficult.

Taku isn’t dumb by any means. He’s certainly always done better than Koushuu in school, although that has more to do with Koushuu’s lack of ability to prioritize. Well. Koushuu can prioritize just fine. He’s just never picked school.

Still, this would be a stretch for Taku. Out of curiosity, Koushuu clicks around to other universities in the Big6, just to see what the others are like. Todai is difficult, Rikkyo is difficult, Meiji is definitely difficult.

Then Koushuu clicks on Waseda.

He physically winces when he checks the stats for admission into Waseda. If he thought the others were rough, he should’ve been living in fear of Waseda. It’s not arguably the best school in the country for nothing, and the difficulty of getting in proves it. Hosei is just popular. Waseda is insurmountable.

It’s not impossible that Taku could get into Waseda or any of the other Big6 on a baseball scholarship, is it? He’s fast, and he’s clever, and he has a higher batting average than most boys on the team. He can light up the field when he wants to, and surely someone at these prestigious universities has the good sense to see it?

Just sometimes isn’t good enough, though. Taku needs to be the best of the best to be assured of a scholarship, needs to shine every single time a scout so much as breathes in his general direction. Koushuu, even with the ferocious loyalty he feels for his best friend, knows better than to claim that’s true of Taku now.

And it’s very humbling, all of a sudden, to realize that Koushuu has no idea how to help. It’s not that he doesn’t understand what a second baseman does – he’s not that bad a friend, he listens when Taku talks – but he has no idea what makes a second baseman great, how to make a second baseman better. Taku is, in his less-than-unbiased opinion, the best second baseman on the team now, so there’s no one else he can ask, and he doesn’t want to bring this to the coach if he can help it. Koushuu has a lot of freedom to do as he pleases as vice-captain, but blatant favoritism probably isn’t such a good idea, especially for a position he’s not supposed to be that interested in.

There is someone Koushuu thinks could help him out, but they’ve never been that close, and Koushuu doesn’t have any contact information to follow through on this idea. Fortunately – or unfortunately, depending on which angle Koushuu looks at it – the degrees of separation in his life are basically nonexistent.

Koushuu dithers on the subject for a full two weeks before he finally caves and calls a number he very begrudgingly saved in his phone two years ago before he can chicken out.

“Hello?” Miyuki Kazuya’s voice comes through the line. “Is this really Okumura? The same Okumura who swore I would never lay eyes on him again except across the field?”

Koushuu almost hangs up instantly.

“Hello, senpai,” he says, as politely as possible. He’s calling to ask for a favor. He can’t be rude before he gets what he wants. “I need some help.”

“New pitchers giving you trouble?” Miyuki asks, just a hint of a smirk in his voice. Koushuu has gotten better at not seeing things that aren’t there over the years, and while Miyuki is still a shit, Koushuu has to acknowledge that he’s probably not trying to be condescending. “I figured you would’ve had them handled by summer. Did something change?”

“Actually, it’s not about the pitchers,” Koushuu says. “I need Kominato Haruichi’s number.”

There’s a full thirty seconds of silence, so long that Koushuu pulls the phone away from his ear to check that the call hasn’t been dropped.

“Kominato…Haruichi?” Miyuki repeats.

“I would also take Kominato Ryousuke, actually,” Koushuu says, suddenly remembering they both played second baseman.

Haruichi is his first choice, of course. They actually played together, and Haruichi is still playing while Ryousuke dropped baseball as soon as high school ended. In fairness, though, that might have more to do with Ryousuke wanting to do something other than baseball.

Maybe Koushuu doesn’t want to talk to him after all.

“Wow, you really do still have balls of steel,” Miyuki says. “I’ll admit, you have me intrigued. Why do you want to talk to Haruichi?”

“None of your business,” Koushuu snaps before he can stop himself, and then he sighs. “I want his help for training a second baseman.”

“You’ve never had any interest in them before,” Miyuki says. “What first year is so special?”

“He’s not a first year.”

Miyuki goes silent again. Did he always do this? Maybe he was just so intense in person Koushuu never noticed. Miyuki didn’t make eye contact often, but when he did, you paid attention.

“Is something wrong with Seto?” Miyuki asks. Koushuu doesn’t bother asking how Miyuki figured it out.

“He’s not good enough to guarantee a baseball scholarship to a university and I want to help,” Koushuu says.

“Mm,” Miyuki hums, which Koushuu finds both unhelpful and annoying. “Ei, gimme your phone.”

“Why?” Sawamura’s voice is loud enough to travel through the phone to Koushuu.

“Need a number,” Miyuki says. He goes silent for another beat. “Okay, here’s Haruichi’s number.”

Koushuu scrambles for a pen to write while Miyuki starts listing off digits.

“Why were you with Sawamura, anyway?” he asks, not quite ready to say thank you yet.

“We go to the same university and we’re on the same baseball team. Sometimes we see each other,” Miyuki says.

It’s an innocent enough explanation, but Miyuki’s voice has just enough of an edge that Koushuu doesn’t think it’s the whole truth. Still, Miyuki has given him what he wants with minimal pain, so Koushuu lets it slide.

“Thanks, senpai,” Koushuu says, only a little grudging.

“Hey, you should be careful,” Miyuki says. “Catchers are already known for having control issues, but you and I both have the capacity to be particularly bad. Most people don’t appreciate it if you take it too far.”

“I’m not being controlling,” Koushuu snaps. “I’m just trying to help.”

“I know,” Miyuki says. “Just make sure he actually wants your help.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Alright, alright,” Miyuki says. “Good luck, brat.”

Koushuu stares at his phone, Miyuki’s number glaring from his recent calls screen. That had sounded…fond? Koushuu is struck with the realization that Miyuki might, in his strange Miyuki way, actually like Koushuu. Which is…weird, and would have maybe been nice a few years ago when Koushuu decided he was done having a weird crush on Miyuki and that he’d take the knowledge of it to the grave.

He’s on a roll, though, so he dials Haruichi while he’s still got enough nerve left to make phone calls.

“Hello?” Haruichi’s voice is wary but not rude. Koushuu steels himself. He and Haruichi weren’t exactly close, but Haruichi was always kind to him the few times they spoke.

“Kominato-senpai? This is Okumura Koushuu,” Koushuu says. He resists the urge to add from Seidou because Haruichi definitely already knows.

“Oh! Okumura-kun,” Haruichi says, voice softening into something warmer. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m trying to help a second baseman get good enough to attract college scout attention,” Koushuu says.

“Is this about Seto-kun?” Haruichi asks.

Koushuu tries not to feel a kind of way about multiple people realizing he’s calling about Taku. He cares deeply about five to ten people total, depending on how they’re counted, and only one of them plays second baseman.

“He’s good, but scouts only take players that wow them,” Koushuu says.

“That’s true,” Haruichi says. “I can offer some general tips, but I haven’t been able to come back in a while, so I don’t really know how Seto-kun plays right now. If you email me some recent tapes, I can give you better advice.”

“I can, that would be perfect, thank you,” Koushuu says, writing down Haruichi’s email and already mentally picking clips to send, a mix of Taku’s shining moments and his mistakes.

“I’m a little surprised you’re the one calling me instead of him,” Haruichi says.

Right. Because Taku is the social butterfly, and Koushuu is the goblin introvert Taku somehow trained to behave like a person.

“I just want to help him,” Koushuu says. “I’ll send you those clips as soon as I can.”

“No rush,” Haruichi says. “If you want my advice, I think if you focus on getting as far as you can this summer, the scouts will come.”

“Thanks, senpai,” Koushuu says.

They exchange a few more pleasantries before hanging up, and Koushuu mentally replaces Miyuki with Haruichi in his hierarchy of People to Call if Shit Hits The Fan. He’s significantly more helpful than Miyuki ever was and didn’t even ask for anything in return.

If he was a catcher or pitcher, he might have even been perfect.

One sleepless night of combing through every tape available again and again, Koushuu has the perfect compilation to send to Haruichi. It highlights both Taku’s brilliance, the glimpses of genius hidden in someone who would otherwise be just a pretty good second baseman, and also mistakes, errors, places for improvement. At least, Koushuu thinks so. Haruichi will have a better idea.

It's just a little over fifteen minutes long, and Koushuu doesn’t examine too deeply how that makes him feel, that everything Taku is on the field can be boiled down to less than half an hour.

He’s sure the same could be said of him, if he were in the same situation.

Practice on a sleepless night is brutal, but it’s hardly the first Koushuu has ever done. He’s a little sluggish on his runs, sure, but that’s sometimes true of him on days where he gets a perfect amount of sleep. His batchmates don’t miss the opportunity to give him hell for it, though.

“Hey, Kou-chan!” Kuki jeers, hooking his arm over Koushuu’s shoulders. Koushuu doesn’t even have the energy or the heart to push him off. He knows he’s gone soft since first year, but he usually tries not to be this soft in public. “What’s got you losing sleep?”

“Probably overachieving on analyzing games like always,” Yui teases, but Koushuu doesn’t miss the hint of gratitude in his voice. And maybe Koushuu feels a little guilty, because Yui relies on him for that more than either of them admit, and Koushuu does not deserve to accept the credit.

“Overanalyzing what exactly?” Kuki asks. “We haven’t had a practice match in over two weeks. You can’t possibly still be going over that.”

“I wasn’t going over a match,” Koushuu says.

“You don’t expect me to believe you were up late studying?” Taku says, shit-eating grin growing. “How are you gonna fail your exams at this rate?”

“That was one time, Taku,” Koushuu growls. He’s still a tiny bit embarrassed about it, and Taku knows this, which means this is about as much shit as he’ll have to take.

“Maybe he’s just thinking about some girl,” Kuki suggests, and that makes the smile slide right off Taku’s face.

Koushuu maybe takes a mean little bit of joy in that and refuses to examine it deeper.

Short attention spans that they have, though, the attention isn’t on Koushuu for very much longer until they find something else to focus on (read: the pretty first year manager who’s still to shy to speak to anyone who isn’t Anna or Akane). Taku stays quieter throughout dinner, which for once suits Koushuu just fine, because he kind of blew all his concentration on practice and his brain feels like TV static.

“You’re not really staying up late thinking about some girl, are you?” Taku asks as they walk back from the bath. Koushuu twists to try and see Taku’s expression, because his voice is offering absolutely nothing. “You already stay up too late thinking about baseball. How will you ever get any sleep?”

“So you’re allowed to get a girlfriend and I’m not?” Koushuu asks.

Taku had dated a girl last year, a pretty little thing half his size named Momoko. She had straight black hair and the tiniest waist Koushuu had ever seen, coupled with a gentle, soft-spoken voice and shy demeanor. She was, in every way, the perfect girlfriend, and Koushuu hated her guts for reasons he’s never tried to voice but that look a lot like jealously.

He was so relieved when Taku broke up with her because he felt bad for devoting all his time to baseball.

“That’s not what I said,” Taku protests. “I just wanna know. If you got a girlfriend, I’d be happy for you.”

It’s not the whole truth, and Koushuu’s stomach twists weirdly. This isn’t how his relationship with Taku has ever worked. They don’t keep secrets from each other. But here he is, hiding his conversation with Haruichi from Taku, and he’s pretty sure Taku’s hiding something too, but he has no idea what it could be.

“It’s not about a girl,” Koushuu says. “I just got caught up doing something, you know how I get.”

Not a lie, but also not the whole truth. He thinks Taku knows it.

“Then get plenty of rest tonight,” Taku says, slowing as they approach Koushuu’s room. “If you’re as dead tomorrow as you were today, Coach might actually kill you.”

Koushuu shudders, because Kataoka is many things, but merciful is not one.

“Goodnight,” Taku says softly after Koushuu is already inside.

“Night,” Koushuu says.

He expects to spend a few hours obsessively checking his phone for a reply from Haruichi, but he must already be getting too old to pull all-nighters, because he passes out the second his head hits the pillow. It doesn’t matter, anyway, because Haruichi doesn’t get back to him for a few days, long enough that Koushuu starts to worry Haruichi is leaving him hanging, but it turns out Haruichi was just taking his time to do it right.

He sends Koushuu back an essay of notes – like, seriously, Koushuu doesn’t even write this much for school assignments when it’s actually required – and caps it off with a phone call.

“I have more specific advice in there, but basically, it boils down to polishing technique,” Haruichi says. “Seto-kun is fast, and he’s very good at knowing when to steal bases, so clearly he knows how to work on technique. His biggest weakness, at least in the clips you sent me, is what he does after he gets to the ball.”

“How do you mean?” Koushuu asks.

“So one of the biggest mistakes second basemen make is hesitating too long to throw the ball after they get to it,” Haruichi says. “It’s fast-paced, there’s not really time to think. Seto-kun has the opposite problem. It’s almost like he moves too fast for his brain to catch up, and by the time it does, he’s already thrown wide or made a bad choice. Not always, but it’s what’s holding him back the most.”

“How do you fix that?” Koushuu asks.

“Drill it,” Haruichi says. “Fielding drills, over and over and over until it’s muscle memory. At that point, you can think while you’re running, and the muscle memory takes over.”

“Makes sense,” Koushuu says. Doesn’t help him, though, because he’s pretty sure he can’t just drag Taku out for fielding practice.

“He could also stand to think about his starting position more,” Haruichi continues. “If you know what the pitcher’s gonna throw, you can predict where the ball will probably go. Does Seto-kun know all your signs?”

Koushuu breathes a loud sigh of relief, because this, this he can work with.

“I’ll ask him about it,” Koushuu says. “Maybe get him to sit on a few of my training sessions with the first years for practice. Or Asada, maybe, get some practice with a batter standing in.”

“That’ll help,” Haruichi says. “You can call me again if you have any follow-up questions, too. This wasn’t a one-off.”

“Really?” Haruichi has always been kind, but this is still more kindness than Koushuu expected. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“Truth be told, I feel kinda bad about not coming back to help,” Haruichi admits. “Eijun-kun is really excited about the team you’re building this year, Furuya-kun thinks you have a real shot at Koshien again, and almost all my other batchmates have come back as well.”

“It’s a longer distance for you, though, right?” Koushuu offers awkwardly.

Unlike Miyuki and Sawamura, who are gearing up to take the Big6 by storm, Haruichi had been recruited by a professional team directly from high school. Furuya had as well, but he’s still in the Tokyo area and had come at the beginning of spring to offer what words of wisdom he had – more than Koushuu expected, if he’s being fair, even if that all went out the window as soon as Sawamura showed up.

Haruichi, though, is all the way in Fukuoka, and between what must be a grueling training regimen and a long train ride, he hasn’t come to visit, the only one of his generation that hasn’t.

“It is, but I still…I owe a lot to that team, and Coach Kataoka,” Haruichi says. “I’ll definitely find a way to come cheer you on for Koshien, so make sure you have something to show me.”

“I will,” Koushuu promises. “Thank you for your help, senpai.”

“Good luck,” Haruichi says.

Well. That’s an actionable goal, and Koushuu has always functioned best when he knows what he needs to do. He’ll talk to Taku tomorrow about learning signs, and they’ll go from there.

Koushuu is early to breakfast, mind racing too fast to oversleep. He’s been turning over in his mind what the best approach would be. This is a subject that, for all their years of friendship, requires a bit of subtlety, which is why the second Taku walks into the room, Koushuu is immediately in his face.

“Sit in on pitcher training today,” he says. Taku, bless him, barely flinches.

“Koushuu, we’ve worked so hard to get you past a third grade socialization level,” he says, words still thick with sleep. “Surely you can behave around the pitchers for an hour.”

“Not for me,” Koushuu says, not bothering to temper the offense out of his voice. “You should make sure you know all our signs. It would benefit you too.”

Taku cocks his head, nodding slowly.

“Just me?”

“Yes?”

“I’m not the only second baseman on the team.”

He’s right. Taku has been right about an annoying number of things in the time they’ve known each other. Koushuu tries not to groan.

“Can I just…start with you?” Koushuu asks.

Taku seems to consider. Koushuu is ready to ask again, maybe even divulge why he really wants Taku to sit in, even if it might embarrass both of them, when he answers.

“Sure,” Taku says. “I’ll pass the info along to the other basemen and shortstops. That way they won’t be behind when you’re ready to include them too.”

It’s said without anything behind it, so Taku must really think he’s accommodating Koushuu’s introverted ways. Koushuu really couldn’t ask for a better friend.

And the meeting goes well. Taku picks up the signs quickly, clever as always, and Koushuu catches him showing a first year baseman later that week, hands twisting as he goes through the signs in sequence. Koushuu is eventually persuaded to allow the other basemen and shortstops to join, and while it kind of sucks, it’s also good.

Koushuu is able to swing more fielding practice with his tendency to analyze games for Yui. He doesn’t lie, not exactly, but he plays up the fielding errors when he gives Yui a rundown of a practice game, and Yui, like the good captain he is, goes directly to Kataoka to ask about increasing their fielding drills. It benefits the whole team, but Koushuu is mostly proud of how much more efficient Taku looks, how sharp compared to even just the beginning of the year.

He even ropes Taku into analyzing the games with him. Taku is perfectly capable of using a scorebook, but it’s not something he does often, and Koushuu gives him the rundown from his perspective, an overall look unique to catchers. It’s his hope that Taku can improve his field awareness by seeing the game as Koushuu sees it, and that will play nicely with his improved reflexes from the fielding drills.

He thinks he’s done a wonderful, even subtle job of improving Taku’s skills, and that makes it all the worse when he’s informed that he’s not nearly as slick as he thinks he is.

“Hey, can you put down the scorebook for a second?” Taku asks. His voice sounds weird, but for some reason, Koushuu can’t identify why. “I wanna talk to you.”

“We are talking,” Koushuu says, but he obediently puts the scorebook to the side. They’ve covered most of what he wants to talk about, anyway.

“No,” Taku says. “You’re coaching. That’s basically the only way you speak to me anymore. You’ve never felt the need to do that before this year. I know you feel a lot of pressure to perform because it’s our last year, but we’re doing well, so you can back down a little bit, okay?”

“It’s not about the summer tournament,” Koushuu says. “It’s about you.”

“Me?”

“You’re a good second baseman,” Koushuu says in a hurry, because he realizes how insulting that sounded. “You just need a little polish, and scouts will be lining up to talk to you. You’ll have your pick of Big6 university teams.”

Taku’s eyes are wide by the time he’s done, lip caught between his teeth.

“Koushuu,” he starts hesitantly. “I don’t want to play for a Big6 team.”

“They’re the best in the country,” Koushuu argues. “Why wouldn’t you want to play for them?”

“I don’t…want to play baseball at all in college,” Taku says.

Koushuu, to put it simply, does not compute.

“Look, baseball has been fun, I love it, you know that,” Taku continues. “But it’s not a forever thing for me. I won’t do it as my job.”

Koushuu can’t remember ever feeling so blindsided by Taku before. Part of the reason he likes Taku so much is because he understands Taku beyond a need for speaking.

“What do you mean you don’t want to play anymore?” Koushuu asks. “I know I’m hard on you, but you’re a good player, there’s no reason to quit, I know you could make it.”

“It’s not about that,” Taku says. “It’s just that there’s other things I want to do with my life.”

The spiky thing growing in Koushuu’s chest presses into his stomach. It’s hurt. He’s hurt, and Taku is the one that made him feel this way.

“What other things?” Koushuu asks, and it comes out as a growl. “I thought you loved baseball. You’re the one who’s always calling it fun, you’re the one who convinced me to stick at it and find it fun. You love baseball more than I do.”

“I still don’t want to play baseball for the rest of my life,” Taku says.

“What, so you’ll just leave?” Koushuu asks. “When were you even planning on telling me?”

“Koushuu, it’s not even summer yet, I was gonna tell you after the tournament,” Taku says, but there’s just enough guilt in his eyes that Koushuu knows it for a lie.

“No you weren’t,” he accuses. “You were just gonna leave without saying anything. I thought we were friends.”

“What? We are, what are you talking about?”

Taku looks panicked, hands reaching out for Koushuu’s shoulders, and Koushuu doesn’t even think to avoid them, too numb to feel the touch. Taku is going to leave him behind, and the best friend he’s ever had, someone who’s been in his life so long he can read Koushuu without thought, one of the few people Koushuu truly loves, will be gone forever.

“Koushuu, please, I know this isn’t what you wanted, but we’ll still be friends, alright?” Taku tries, and Koushuu zones back in with a vengeance.

“Fuck you,” he snarls, pushing Taku’s hands off his shoulders. “You want to quit baseball so bad? You want to go do something else? Go do something else. Might as well quit baseball right now.”

“Koushuu, I’m not gonna do that,” Taku says, voice edging higher in desperation. “I’m still here this year, that’s never gonna change. We’ll crush this summer, you’ll see, we could really win it all.”

“Tell it to someone who gives a fuck.”

Koushuu refuses to label what he’s doing as running away, but he sure does move with purpose back to the baseball field. It’s almost deserted, so dark with most of the lights out, but Koushuu does have to growl at one terrified first year to get lost. He’s worked so hard to have the patience to deal with underclassmen, but he just can’t summon any today.

He swings a bat viciously, aggressively, with frankly terrible form, not practicing but venting his anger into his body and the air around him. He doesn’t quit until the early hours of the morning, back and shoulders aching.

Kataoka bitches him out for it the next day when he rolls into practice, arms so stiff he can’t lift them above his shoulders and good for nothing but sitting in the bullpen and watching. It’s fine by him, though. This way, he doesn’t have to feel the twist of anger and betrayal when he sees Taku.

He gets all of one day of grace before his friends descend upon him. Frankly, he should be grateful he got even that much. He’s not, but he should be.

“What did you do to Taku-chan?” Kuki attacks first, always the boldest of all of them.

“Who says I did anything to him?” Koushuu growls. He doesn’t appreciate the implication that this is all his fault. Sure, he was the one who let his temper get the best of him, but Taku is the one who was apparently going to lie to him as long as he could.

“Are you saying he did something to you?” Kuki asks.

Yes, Koushuu wants to say but doesn’t. He can’t imagine anything will be helped by involving Kuki in the finer points of this…fight? Wouldn’t a fight be more…fight-y? This feels more like one blowup and the subsequent fallout than a continuing fight.

Koushuu must take too long to answer, because Kuki apparently takes his silence as an admission of guilt.

“Just apologize,” he says, laying a hand on Koushuu’s shoulder. Koushuu shakes it off. “Taku-chan will forgive you.”

But will I forgive him?

The vitriol behind that thought surprises even Koushuu. He knows he feels angry and betrayed, but that speaks to a much deeper hurt. Something more like…

“He looks so heartbroken.” Yui is the next to approach him, and like Kuki, he makes the assumption that Koushuu is in the wrong. For this reason, Koushuu has already started to tune him out. “Seriously, I’ve never seen you two fight like this. Whatever you did, just say you’re sorry.”

“Back off,” Koushuu says, and then he sees the dark circles under Yui’s eyes. It’s not even properly summer yet, and Yui already looks so tired, and Koushuu, as his vice, is supposed to be making it better, not worse. “I’ll get some data to you tomorrow.”

“I don’t care about the damn game data, Koushuu!” Yui snarls, suddenly so furious that it takes Koushuu aback. “I care that my vice-captain is fighting with one of my starters and is refusing to fix it!”

“Maybe I’m not the one who has to fix it!” Koushuu snaps back, storming off before Yui has a chance to respond.

Masashi approaches him next, although Koushuu suspects the others must have put him up to it, because he just sits in silence next to Koushuu for the better part of an evening, watching as Koushuu furiously watches tapes over and over. They don’t speak at all, but Masashi doesn’t have the same air of recrimination that everyone else has had so far. And maybe Koushuu needed that, just one person who doesn’t treat him like the bad guy, because the next day he’s softened enough to not take Asada’s head off.

“So what even happened?” Asada asks, obviously nervous.

“He…” Koushuu trails off. If he would be willing to tell anyone, it would be Asada, but he’s not feeling willing to tell anyone.

“It’s…you know it’s okay to talk about it, right?” Asada says. “I know we all jumped to conclusions, but neither of you is telling us anything, and it’s scary to watch you two fight. None of us know what to do.”

“Maybe there’s nothing to be done,” Koushuu says. He certainly can’t think of a way to get the spiky ball of hurt to stop pressing on the wall of his chest.

“There’s always something to be done,” Asada says firmly. “If you won’t talk to any of us, you have to talk to him.”

Koushuu doesn’t take that for the threat it is.

In the wake of not speaking to Taku, which is its own special kind of pain, the basemen and shortstops have stopped joining in on meetings between catchers and pitchers. That’s why, as Koushuu cleans up his notes while everyone else leaves, he’s so surprised to see Taku there, arm firmly held in Masashi’s grip. Yui stands next to them, eyes on fire in determination.

“No.”

“You don’t get to tell me no,” Yui snaps. “I am your captain and I have had enough. You two are going to talk and you are going to do it before you are allowed to leave this room. I want you two at least cordial before I open the door.”

“You can’t lock us in,” Taku protests, starting to look panicked. Clearly, even if he was in on part of this, he’s not in on all of it.

“Watch me.”

And Yui and Masashi do just that.

Koushuu looks down at his hands. For all that he could’ve approached the situation better from the start, Taku is still the one that started it. He was the one that didn’t tell Koushuu he wants to leave him behind, the one that would’ve kept that to himself until he disappeared forever. Koushuu isn’t going first, that’s for damn sure.

Taku creeps closer, seeming to decide that across the desk is an appropriate distance. He sits, fiddles with his hands in the corner of Koushuu’s vision, and lets the silence ride for a second. Then he sighs.

“Koushuu, can you look at me?”

It startles Koushuu just enough that he actually does it. The raw relief in Taku’s eyes soothes some edge off the hurt.

“You haven’t looked at me since the fight,” Taku says. “You’ve never done that before.”

“Getting used to it,” Koushuu replies.

“Used to what?”

“You not being here.”

Taku looks like Koushuu slapped him, or like it might have been kinder if Koushuu had.

“I’m not going anywhere, and you’d know that if you actually listened to me,” Taku snaps. “I know I didn’t handle that as well as I could’ve, but as soon as you got mad it was like talking to a brick wall.”

“Sorry I didn’t take the news well,” Koushuu snarls right back. “I was operating under the assumption that you don’t keep secrets from me.”

“Oh, because you’ve been the poster child of sharing lately,” Taku says. “Where did all the second baseman advice come from anyway? I know you didn’t ask anyone here.”

“I called Kominato-senpai, and it helped more than just you.”

“Yeah, but that wasn’t your goal, was it?” Taku sighs. “You didn’t even ask me what I want.”

Miyuki’s words echo in the back of Koushuu’s mind, but he’s not quite ready to relent just yet.

“What you want is to leave,” Koushuu says.

“Do you think our friendship is just about baseball?” Taku asks. “Is that all we’re worth to you?”

Koushuu was ready to fire right back, but he pauses.

Is that all they’re worth to him?

He and Taku became friends before either of them knew about baseball. They lived in the same neighborhood, and outgoing Taku had worn introverted Koushuu down until they were joined at the hip. They even got fake-married on the playground when they were seven, and Koushuu had kept the flower ring Taku made for him until it fell apart.

In the last several years, yes, their lives have been focused on baseball, but Koushuu and Taku have always existed outside of that.

“No,” Koushuu says. “I don’t think that.”

Taku visibly slumps in relief.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay.”

They just sit with that for a moment before Taku continues.

“I’m not leaving you,” he says. “I never was. We won’t play baseball together after this year, but I’m not going anywhere. I mean, I don’t even wanna leave Tokyo, we’ll still live in the same city.”

“So what do you want?” Koushuu asks.

“I want to go into social work,” Taku says. “I’ve been looking at programs and trying to get my grades up enough for one that’s a little harder. Baseball will still be my focus until the end of summer, though. We’ve won Koshien before and I want to do it again.”

“And you’re…sure?” Koushuu asks, aware that he’s being an ass. Luckily, Taku knows him better than that.

“I’m sure,” Taku says. “And I’m also sure that, whatever school you end up choosing, I’ll be at your games cheering you on.”

“I chose Seidou for you,” Koushuu says. “I mean. I chose it for me too. But I wanted to win for you, and I thought Seidou was the best place to do that.”

��You can still want to win for me,” Taku says, and his voice is a little more choked up. “Now you just have to want to win when I’m not on the field. And you can want to win for yourself too. Since baseball is so much fun.”

“So you say,” Koushuu says, but that spiky ball of hurt has finally dissolved, leaving nothing but relief in its place. He knows better than to think everything is fixed now, but he believes it can be, and that makes all the difference.

“We have to be done keeping secrets, though,” Taku says. “Both of us. This fucking sucked and I’m never doing it again.”

“Agreed.”

Koushuu expected, with all those threats, for the door to be locked, but it swings open when he and Taku make to leave. Yui is in their faces immediately.

“Well?”

“Tell me you weren’t listening,” Taku whines.

“Of course not,” Yui says, blushing.

“I wouldn’t let him,” Masashi says.

“Shut up!”

“We’re fine,” Koushuu says. “You can go worry about something else now.”

“Are you really?” Yui asks, looking to Taku for confirmation.

“We will be.”

It’s not immediately okay. For the next few weeks, their friendship feels like a bruise, smarting if they poke at it. But like any wound, it heals and they fall back into their normal rhythm. Koushuu still worries, sometimes, what next year will look like, what they will be without baseball tying them together. They still have summer to worry about, though, and Taku wasn’t kidding when he said it is still his focus.

And when summer comes and the tournament begins, Koushuu walks on the field with Taku and knows that it might be the beginning of the end of this part of their lives, but it is not the end of them.

***

“What exactly was that last pitch supposed to be?” Taku jeers as Koushuu exits the locker room, pushing his lazily-dried hair out of his face.

“My pitcher going rogue, that’s what that was,” Koushuu growls. He’ll let that pitcher have it later, no matter that he’s a senpai, because they could’ve won the game. “Idiot.”

“It was still a good game,” Taku says, wrapping arms around Koushuu’s neck. “Glad I actually got to see you play this time.”

Koushuu pulls Taku out of sight of everyone else. He’s not ashamed of their relationship, but he keeps it close to his chest, like a carefully guarded treasure. Taku is usually good about letting him.

“I knew I wouldn’t get much game time the first few years,” Koushuu says, and tries not to let it bother him. “One senpai graduates next year. I’ll get more then.”

He’d ended up choosing Hosei, the offer of building up a new bullpen too much to pass up. It’s good, challenging in ways the game hasn’t been before, and Koushuu knows it’s improving him in all manner of ways.

“You’ll kill it,” Taku says, leaning forward to peck Koushuu on the lips. “I really missed watching you in a game.”

Taku may be at a different university, but he’s still so close that he can come watch the odd practice after he finishes his classes for the day. It’s usually so he can drag Koushuu out to see their friends, who Taku insists they stay in touch with, and Koushuu agrees less begrudgingly than he would’ve expected.

Koushuu still misses playing with him. He thinks he always will. But he doesn’t regret the time they spent playing together, and in time he hopes it settles into a happy memory.

For now, though, he still gets to hold Taku close to him, and that’s enough.

“Let’s go eat,” Taku says. “It’s your turn to pay, and I want meat.”

Koushuu groans at the imminent hit to his bank account, but doesn’t protest beyond that. He’s too weak to Taku’s face-splitting grin as he pulls Koushuu out onto the street in search of something delicious.

They’re okay. They’re going to stay okay. Koushuu will make sure of it. He’s feared losing Taku before, and he never wants to do it again. He lets Taku lace their fingers together as they head for the subway, and is content with how they move through the world.

#kouseto #okuseto #daiya no a #ace of diamond #dna #dnaoneshot #my writing

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