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wannabepoeticischiya · 16 days ago

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if it can't be you, then let it be no one at all

ao3: if it can't be you, then let it be no one at all pairing: pro-mlb! miyuki kazuya x f! reader genre: romance wc: 3.7k status: one shot

Miyuki couldn’t put it into words, because even if he tried to—the mirror of her smile showed up in his head, the sound of her laughter echoing in the once desolate meadow of his heart, the warmth of her gazes melting the frost he never noticed had encased his soul.

And when he conjures the image of the one who holds his heart—it was no longer the field domed by the azure skies, no longer the sweltering heat that came from the glaring sun… it was her, at the center of it all, holding it together, colored with all the shades of happiness the universe could offer.

There was something in summer that had Miyuki Kazuya feel iffy like there was an itch in the back of his head only the change of seasons could scratch.

It's not like he totally detested summer (he did) or wished for it to go away faster (he does). He used to love summer—the heat, the burning sensation of the sun as he played in the field, the warm air as he ran from one base to another... he loved it, thrived in it even. Back then he was sure he could never hold even an atom of resentment for the season when baseball was played at its peak.

Well, that was what he thought back in high school.

Back when Miyuki was only chasing after the girl from band club, the girl he saw at orientation day, and unknowingly, all too suddenly—Miyuki found himself barreling through the atmosphere like an asteroid catching fire and fell in love… which was annoying for her, and very embarrassing for him.

The girl he sat next to during tests and would discreetly stare at. When he would take the most ridiculous routes back to his dorm just so he could see her. The girl who led his batting song... the girl who said yes to going out with him after a year and a half of courting her along with the occasional begging.

[Name], whom he is now married to.

“Miyuki, how does it feel to once again step onto the world stage this coming tournament?” The interviewer’s question brought him back to where he was at the moment, sitting in this unnervingly comfortable chair, wearing clothes his publicity team had pressed into perfection, the glaring lights illuminating the stage.

It always made him think that he should feel comfortable, be more confident in his own skin, and not feel as if he was giving off this… ‘stiff as a board looking like he wanted to get out of this place and run back home vibe’—which he would’ve done if he wasn’t so shackled by his professionalism.

He is reminded of the wires, of the cameras, and the dozens of eyes staring at him from the rows of people occupying the seats. The red sign that read ‘On Air’ glared right at him from the far end of the studio.

“Pretty great,” Miyuki inwardly winced at his lackluster reply. Great? Really? Is that the best you got?

Miyuki always told himself that he should be used to this. That he shouldn’t be so jittery and jumpy and lose all the words he knew whenever someone asked him a question. After being invited to countless talk shows, interviews, press conferences, and all the publicity needed to promote the team—he should be used to it. But when he’s shattered out of his daydreams, he finds it difficult to quickly gather the fragments of his thoughts.

He cleared his throat, plastering the well-practiced professional smile he spent so long trying to perfect in front of the mirror (and with his wife—duct taped on the mouth because she was always laughing—who gave him an approving nod and thumbs up as her shoulders shook from her giggles).

“We have an amazing lineup of players, and we’ll definitely be reaching for the World Series title this year.”

Even if the words were something his PR manager told him to say, Miyuki—for all his charm and ego—knew it was the truth, and he would have said it even if no one told him to.

The interviewer chuckled, liking the way Miyuki's energy took on a much lighter form. “Confidence! We love seeing that in promising young players. And when has Miyuki Kazuya ever turned down a challenge?”

Miyuki smirked, leaning back and crossing his legs, draping an arm over the couch—something less than a force of habit. “Wouldn’t be here if I did.”

The interviewer laughed, flipping through his cue cards. “Alright! Let’s switch things up a little. We have here some fan-submitted questions, and—” He glanced up from the cards, heaving a breath, and gave Miyuki a knowing look. “—well, they are very interested in your life outside the field.”

Miyuki sighed, the smile still very much present on his face—but if he could, he wouldn’t tell the world anything beyond what he shows in baseball.

“Of course they are,” he laughs quietly, shaking his head like he expected this to happen—which he did considering [Name] showed him the form a few weeks earlier informing the fans that their questions had the chance to be answered by Pro Baseball Player Miyuki Kazuya.

“Okay let’s get right into it!” The interviewer cheered, shuffling the cards as the lights of the studio were set to scatter to increase the tension.

“What is Miyuki Kazuya’s favorite season?”

Miyuki tilted his head in thought. If he were to be asked that question ten years ago, he’d say summer right off the bat (pun intended). No one would ask him why—not when the answer was written all over him.

Already painted on his sunfire-kissed skin, tan lines that never faded no matter the shift in seasons. It was printed on the school roster that bore his name year after year, in the tournament highlights played under the searing sun. Even stared right back at them through his sports glasses as he crouched behind the home plate.

Summer was baseball. Summer was his season.

But here, underneath the artificial lights of the studio, wrapped in layers of designer-approved clothes, in the center of all these curious eyes, he couldn’t say the same.

Not because he fell out of love for summer—heaven knew he still loved the feeling of warmth covering his skin, of the hot zephyrs hitting his face as he ran across the field, the way everything would settle into silence… he adored that, it was still living within him.

But one day, somewhere along the way, Miyuki found something—someone—he loved more.

And suddenly summer paled when put next to her.

No summer sky could match the glow on her face when she smiled. No sun could rival the gleam of her eyes when she looked at him with all the gentleness in the universe. No warmth of the season could mirror the way her arms felt around him—when she actually let him hug her, or even get close enough to try to.

He remembers it clearly. The moment he had experienced the sheer cruelty that came with the season of summer. It wasn’t shrouded in daylight, not even on the field where he believed should’ve been the only answer, and—as horrible as it was to say it—he would’ve chosen losing a game underneath the sweltering heat than be subjected to this torture. It was in the dead of night, when silver light flooded the darkened room, and he was banished to the other side of the bed.

“Dude, get away from me.”

A hand—her hand—was planted on the hill of his cheek, pushing him away.

Miyuki groaned but did not budge, still trying to cling onto her despite her efforts to shove him away. “You’re so mean.”

“You're too hot,” she fans herself with her other hand, not giving him the chance to glomp her with his torrid temperature. “Why are you even here? There's literally so much space over there!”

He props himself up on an elbow, resting his head on his fist, staring at her unimpressed. “Well, I wouldn't be here if someone didn't spill chocolate over my side of the bed.”

Miyuki was lucky enough to have that excuse because if he didn’t, he would still try to get into her personal space—only he would have less of a chance to actually succeed.

She huffed, turning away from him. “I already said I was sorry!”

“Sorry isn't gonna magically get us clean sheets overnight.”

That was a lie of course, he did see some bed sheets in the cabinets earlier—choosing to hide them underneath a pile of hello kitty blankets so she wouldn’t think to look for it there.

Realizing she wasn’t gonna win this one, not when she was close to passing out, most certainly not when the heat of the season was beginning to test how far her patience can reach, she relented—albeit reluctantly.

“Fine, just—just stay away from me.” She sneaks a glance at him from over her shoulder, staring at him pointedly; a warning. Don’t you dare.

Miyuki barely moved before she snapped again.

“Kazuya! Stop it!” She pushed him away, giving him one of the nastiest glares he had ever received in his life. “I told you, it's too hot so move away!”

He sighed dramatically, willing his body to move a fraction away from her. “I literally just tried to find a better position to sleep.”

“You can do that without inching close to me.”

Miyuki only agreed, finding that she wouldn’t relent no matter how he tried. It was summer vs him. It’s not like he could force his body temperature down in the snap of a finger. If she didn’t want him near, then it’s fine. He would behave.

At least… until she falls asleep.

When the world was shrouded in stillness, the midnight sun crossing the center of the sky, and the only sound she could hear was the steady hum of the AC—which she had so stubbornly set to the lowest power setting—she woke up feeling the same problem she desperately tried to avoid earlier.

It was too hot.

And this time, she couldn’t move.

Amidst the haze of slumber clouding her vision, it took her a solid ten seconds to figure out why.

Kazuya had locked her into a bear hug, one arm draped over her waist, the other curling over the expanse of her collarbone. His breath was warm against her nape, legs tangled with hers like she was some human-sized plush toy.

The more she tried to pry his hold away from her, the tighter he held on. She knew he was completely knocked out, and she knew there was no changing anything about the situation when clearly Kazuya was unwilling to let go—even in his unconscious state.

She could only sigh, defeated—silently berating herself why she was stupid enough to sleep next to him on one of the hottest days of summer. Then again, if she were to sleep on the couch, Kazuya would still find his way next to her and she would still be faced with the same dilemma.

Left with no other choice, she slept feeling like she was pressed up against a literal furnace.

Miyuki let out a breath, dragging himself back to the present. He smiled fondly at the memory, it felt like he was reliving the moment all over again but in reality, he knew he was up in la la land for no less than ten seconds.

The interviewer raised a brow at Miyuki. “You’re really considering your answer carefully, huh?”

Miyuki let out a chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah,” he playfully agrees. “Had to go through a whole mental debate for a while.”

“So?” The interviewer prompted, nodding encouragingly. “What’s the verdict?”

Miyuki tilted his head, the corner of his lips curling to a boyish smirk. “Winter.”

There was a beat of silence. Miyuki didn’t even have to look anywhere to know that everyone expected a different answer. He was Miyuki Kazuya, someone who lived for the season of summer, for the sun, the thrill of baseball underneath the sapphire skies.

The interviewer gathered his thoughts faster than anyone else, flashing a grin. “Yuletide! Well, it looks to me that the audience is just as shocked as I am! Any special reason why winter takes the crown?”

Miyuki smiled, if only they knew just how lucky he was during winter.

When the cold made her clingy, lingering around him like a shadow because the warmth of the heater wasn’t enough. When she would abandon her side of the bed to come near him—because all too suddenly, no amount of blankets could replicate the feeling when it was his arms curled around her.

When she curled into him effortlessly, like winter sun: slowly, effortlessly… as though it was always meant to be; slotting herself to all the spaces between them, pressing her cold feet against his legs without warning. He would flinch, caught off guard, and she always laughed—always.

When she would rise first during the slow, snow-ridden mornings, tugging his sweatshirt over her head, sleeves reaching past the horizons of her fingertips, before walking the hallways in her fluffy wool socks to go and make warm drinks for the both of them. When she would find herself beside him, holding the cup between her hands, leaning against his side because he was abundant in warmth—because Kazuya ran hot and she liked it.

When she let him pull her close—without complaint, with no hesitation… nothing but the infinite vastness of adoration lingering in the spaces they couldn’t take for themselves. When she would bask in the feeling of his warmth, without shoving him away, without calling him a human furnace and declaring war on him at the ungodliest hours of the morning.

Winter meant the return of stolen hoodies, when his clothes weren’t enough for the two of them because she would refuse to use any of hers with the excuse of ‘they aren’t as warm as yours’. It meant waking up to find her draped over him like a cat. Winter meant pulling her in for a hug any time he wanted… it meant lazy mornings spent under thick blankets where it’s just the two of them—and nothing in the world could ever matter.

Winter meant her.

Miyuki blinked, realizing he got lost in thought once more. He lets out a breath, half expecting a cloud of white to form where his lips meet the air—only to find it nowhere. Thinking about winter made him wish for it to arrive faster.

He tilts his head with a knowing smile. “Well…” he began, “it’s closer to my birthday.”

The host couldn’t hide the chuckles that left his lips as he shook his head in amusement. “Ahh, we really cannot argue with that folks! No one can beat birthdays.”

Miyuki joined in on the laughter, shifting where he sat—inwardly grinning like a fool, if only they knew. “What can I say? I like the season that treats me well.”

The audience collectively laughed, though anyone with half a brain working could figure out that there was so much more to what the athlete was saying. But Miyuki wasn’t about to spell it out for the world to hear.

The interviewer, ever the professional, let the moment simmer before he once again shuffled through the cards for the next question. “Alright, moving on—next question, and this one… oh, this one’s interesting.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Miyuki, as the latter just smiled the best he could.

“Is Miyuki Kazuya single?”

The question nearly had him choking on air… literally.

Was that… a serious question?

Wasn’t it already obvious? Wait. Hold on. Did I never—?

A mental recap of the past year rolled in his head at lightning speed. He remembers getting married, of course—highlight of his life. He remembers wanting to tell the world and he believes he was close to doing so before his name slips past the borders of his wife’s lips, beckoning him to come over. But even after that, he could’ve sworn he posted a picture of their anniversary earlier this year… or did he just think about posting it? Surely he mentioned it elsewhere, right?

Snapping out of his thoughts, he did the one thing he was good at even after all these years—he laughed it off. Miyuki quickly looked at the camera and smiled proudly. “Nope,” he chuckles, raising his left hand to show the silver band on his ring finger. “Haven’t been single since second-year high school.”

The audience reacted immediately. Some in laughter, a mix of impressed murmurs, the others in absolute shock.

Miyuki let out an amused laugh, although he, himself, was also quite lost. “Really?” he blurted out before he could hold his tongue—he was so gonna get grilled for this. “Did I never explicitly say I was married?”

The interviewer whistled and leaned forward, seemingly intrigued. “Many fans speculated that you were off the market even before your teammates posted Instagram stories of a wedding where the groom looked quite similar to you.”

And it hit him.

Miyuki had never actually announced it.

Miyuki put a hand against his mouth, trying to fight off the laughter that wanted to break free from the back of his throat.

“Oh,” he breathes out, voice dying in the tunnels of his throat at the realization. “Oh, that’s—wow. That’s on me. Sorry.”

Laughter filled the studio, and Miyuki could do nothing but card a hand through his hair. So… he never actually announced that he was married. Perhaps the excitement got to him too much that he only imagined telling the world all about it but in reality, he became far too preoccupied living the dream of a married life to even say a thing about it.

“Now you heard it here first, folks. Pro Athlete Miyuki Kazuya is a happily married man! So happy he forgot to announce it.”

The interviewer relished in the audience’s amusement, giving Miyuki a grin of his own. “Well, now that we know you’re hitched this brings us back to the fact that you married a high school sweetheart. Now that’s rare! How did that happen?”

Miyuki found himself smiling softly at the reminder of her, rubbing the silver band on his finger—the only anchor he had left to this moment so he wouldn’t ascend to the clouds and drift in the ocean of every thought he harbored for her. “It wasn’t easy, I’ll tell you that.”

“You had to work for it?” The interviewer looked like his eyes were about to pop out of their sockets. Was it really that surprising? It wasn’t just the host who looked bewildered, from the corner of his eyes, he could see a few cameramen and staff and the audience staring at him eagerly waiting for him to continue.

“The words of my wife were, ‘Work for it like a cow, Kazuya. Maybe, I’ll consider it after a year or so’ and she considered me after a year and a half.” He grins proudly.

“A year and a half?” Now the interviewer practically had his soul escaping from his open mouth.

The memories made Miyuki smile. How his stare constantly gravitated towards her. The feeling of absolute euphoria when he stood in the batter’s box knowing she led the theme song to his play. When he would come in late to PE because he knew her name was last on the list and she would be left with no choice but to pair up with him.

Miyuki chuckled, he found it peaceful to talk about her—that he could finally tell the world why he was so happy. “She didn’t like me at first. But I had the biggest crush on her—downright ridiculous. Took the longest, most unnecessary routes back to my dorm just so I could ‘casually’ run into her. I swung hard enough to make the ball go out of bounds so I’d have the excuse to go get it because she was there. This is kinda embarrassing to admit.”

The interviewer grinned. “That’s some strategic planning, Miyuki,” He playfully salutes the athlete.

“What can I say? I have baseball to thank for that.”

Miyuki wouldn’t have it any other way. If she told him to work hard for her to agree for the next ten years he would do it in a heartbeat.

He wouldn’t even hesitate. He wouldn’t falter.

As strange as it sounded, back then he couldn’t pray for love. It was kind of pathetic to hear, true. To dare to dream about it beyond the fields of baseball was ridiculous, and to want it with her? Even more so. But there he was, choosing to look at her instead of the team practicing, his gaze drifting from Kuramochi ranting about the pitcher’s haste to watch as she led the band to the tune she wanted to play, his heart slowly but surely finding its way to orbit around her.

So how could he give that up so easily? How could he never find a reason to stay? When all that he has ever loved and more was her?

And if it wasn’t her, then he would rather have no one at all.

There was something about it; knowing—learning all that she was passionate about. Carving into his very being the engraving decorating her soul just to feel a tad bit closer to her than he already was, delve a little deeper into her mind, to see for himself the meadows of her desires.

There was something about it… when he does that. As though there was no greater thing to exist other than to love her slowly… intimately. To catch her form as she joyfully hops the last step of the stairs, wait as she ties her shoelaces, hold his hand out for her to take when she's walking slow—ready to receive her once she catches up, wait for her to finish her meal—to be awarded the rarity of the moment of basking in the light of her vulnerability.

He found greatness in loving her softly… slowly. Like letting the stars simmer and cool before they're ready to burst forth and burn for all the eternities.

Miyuki would find himself telling her the words, if it can’t be you… then let it be no one at all.

It is so ridiculously hot where I live (around 42C here) and when I go out my sweat drips like a faucet that can’t be shut off (;´A｀) The original title for this was supposed to be written in Filipino ‘Kung hindi lang din ikaw, ‘di bale nalang’ which would literally mean: if it’s not you, then nevermind. I have a serious issue with Miyuki because I burst into tears when I see him (��ᯅㅠ) I'm such a loser and I don't even know the reason why.

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