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❧
"And that's the game!" the special guest announcer says as Miyuki stands up after catching strike three to record the final out. "The Seidou Alumni team holds on to complete an amazing comeback with a 9-7 win!"
This is the first time Miyuki has stood on the diamond at Seidou since he graduated three years ago. The game they just played is the centerpiece of Alumni Weekend, a new tradition some of the players Miyuki went to school with are trying to start. Tetsu is one of the organizers and when he extended a personal invitation, of course Miyuki said yes. It seemed like a fun if frivolous idea.
Then when he saw the Yuuki brothers standing on the field together in Seidou uniforms for the first time, he realized it wasn't trivial to everyone. Which isn't to say it was an overly serious affair without humor. In fact, intentionally or not, one of those same brothers had provided a moment of hilarity.
Whoever was in charge of assigning uniform numbers had given Masahi #15, even though he'd earned the #3 uniform in his second year. Tetsu had been given alumni jersey #3, of course. When Masahi, who had been relegated to designated hitter, came to the plate in the top of the first inning, a wave of laughter rolled through both dugouts and around the field: he'd completely obliterated the "15" on the back of his jersey with an enormous "3" made of black athletic tape.
Miyuki grins as he takes another step towards the mound now, already opening his arms and bracing himself for the jump he's positive Sawamura is going to take into them—as soon as he disentangles from Kuramochi, who was playing shallow the last at-bat and made it to Sawamura before he could launch himself off the mound. Miyuki almost wonders if Kuramochi played there not so he could rush a potential bunt (although the kid at bat did bunt himself on board twice, which is a talent and a speed to be reckoned with), but in order to distract Sawamura from the victory leap.
Or maybe it's nothing more or less than what it looks like: a hug between two old roommates, former teammates and current friends. Maybe Miyuki is the only one who thinks such an overt celebration might be too much. It's not like this was a tournament game or even a regular season competition—but maybe the loss will be motivation for the current players as they prepare to start their season.
The guest announcer is talking about opening day now, encouraging "the fans," who are mostly family members and friends of the players, to turn out in support of Seidou as they begin their journey towards Koushien. Miyuki doesn't recognize the announcer but guesses he's also a Seidou alum, an old-timer not young enough to take the field anymore but whose love of the game and his high school team still runs deep.
As he turns his head to scan the stands, Miyuki wonders what he'll be like at that age, if he'll still be so in love with baseball that he'll come to Seidou for the alumni game even when he can no longer play. It's hard to imagine it any other way.
His breath puffs out with Sawamura's sudden impact and he takes a step back to steady them as he comes to a stop. He glances up but of course there's no eye contact, because Sawamura's head is tipped up to the sky as he vocalizes his inarticulate elation. This is definitely rubbing it in the faces of the Seidou first string team, but Miyuki doesn't stop him. Even though Sawamura is an NPB pro who, like Miyuki, has played in much bigger games, there's no doubt of his genuine joy; he's been like this ever since he first arrived for the weekend.
Sawamura has stopped laughing into the clouds, so Miyuki relinquishes his hold. "How do you like being a closer?" Miyuki grins at him as Sawamura's feet touch the ground again.
"I'm still an ace," Sawamura says. "Even in the middle of the rotation"—like he is with his current team—"I'm still an ace. Not everyone knows it yet, but they will."
Miyuki grins. "I don't doubt it." He can't help being surprised and even a little proud that Sawamura didn't take the bait and fly off the handle. He pats Sawamura on the back as they turn and start walking to the locker room.
"But I did like sealing the victory," Sawamura says after another step. "I really had my stuff today." Before Miyuki can compliment him on the wicked drop he's mastered with his slurve, Sawamura adds, "So did you. That at-bat in the top of the eighth!"
Miyuki shrugs as he turns to the crowd again. It's breaking up but a lot of people are still seated. He spots his dad, who lifts a hand in return when Miyuki waves before continuing to look through unrecognized faces. The man still isn't a perfect father but he's trying; they both are.
"For real," Sawamura says as Miyuki twists to look at another section of bleachers. "Earning that walk after a nineteen pitch at-bat was." He hears Sawamura make a chef kiss sound before continuing, "I mean, I've seen long at bats before, but never that long in person. It was the spark we needed. Miyuki—" Sawamura pokes him in the side and Miyuki turns to him. "Miyuki," Sawamura says again, "you were the spark we needed." His expression is as serious as his tone, and Miyuki doesn't think he's joking.
But he also doesn't think Sawamura is right. Not entirely. He may have been the spark for the team in the game they just played, but someone else was the spark for him. "Thanks, I try." He cracks a grin as he scours the crowd again.
Some of the other alumni players come over to congratulate Sawamura, going so far as to lift him on their shoulders and start parading around. This is absolutely beyond the pale...but it's also pretty funny, and a glance at the current players shows they're taking it well; in fact, they're encouraging it now as they start belting out Sawamura's song.
Just before Miyuki gets to the top of the dugout steps, he slows to a stop and looks through what's left of the thinning crowd, but his dad has departed and he doesn't see anyone else he'd wave to.
He turns back towards the dugout and exhales with enough force to expel all the anticipation he doesn't need to hold onto anymore—and then the next breath catches as, just behind him, a recognizable voice says his name.
He turns, already smiling at the recognizable face. "Hey, Chris. I'm surprised to see you: this is a long way to come for a high school baseball game."
"I wouldn't have missed it for the world." Chris smiles back.
Miyuki doesn't want to break eye contact but he can't help glancing down at Chris's feet.
After finishing university last year, Chris got drafted by the Los Angeles Dodgers. From what Tetsu said, it seems he's living in America full-time now. In any case he's started working his way up through the Dodgers' farm system. After a strong rookie season in the minor leagues, Miyuki read that Chris has been assigned to the Loons this year, a High A team in somewhere called Michigan. High A is one of the lowest levels in MiLB and Miyuki was insulted on his behalf.
At least Michigan is shaped sort of like a catcher's mitt.
Miyuki got an online subscription so he'd be able to watch some of Chris's games this season. As a bonus when he signed up, he got access to the MLB Spring Training games—which had turned out to be perfect, when it was announced that Takigawa Chris Yuu was one of the Dodgers' non-roster invitees. Miyuki would have paid extra for that anyhow.
MLB Spring Training started last week and there was a play in one of the streamed games Chris was in. Miyuki has seen him make that play before, turning even as he popped out of his crouch and racing back, going to one knee as he slid into the backstop to make an inning-ending catch. It was dramatic and the crowd loved it—but it looked like Chris was limping as he returned to the dugout. He came out for the next inning and played the rest of the game, but he wasn't in the lineup the next day, or in any game since.
When Miyuki looks up now, there's a playful curve to Chris's smile. He lifts an eyebrow when their eyes meet again. "Couldn't resist giving me a once over?"
"No—I was looking at your right foot." Miyuki realizes he may be missing a chance to flirt (just what has his new U.S. lifestyle done to Chris, anyhow?), but this is more important. "I thought maybe you'd be in a walking boot."
"Oh, you saw that?" Wryness has taken the place of flirtation in Chris's tone and smile. Miyuki isn't smiling at all as he nods. Chris drops the grin as he takes in the way Miyuki is looking at him. "It's just a sprain. A case of turf toe."
Miyuki hates the term "just a sprain." A sprain is a ligament tear. So during that play, it seems Chris tore a ligament in his big toe. Sprains take time to heal; weeks or even months, depending on the severity, even when treated properly. And if you ignore the injury—
"What grade?" Miyuki inquires politely.
Chris shrugs. "The doctors say it's a Grade 2 sprain."
Miyuki feels relief wash through him. A partial tear is better than a full tear. So much better. Surgery won't be necessary and Chris will still be able to play this season, even if he misses the start of it.
Still, a partial tear is not nothing. "Shouldn't you be in a walking boot, though?" he persists. "Didn't the team doctor give you one?"
"He did," Chris says. "I just thought..."
When he trails off, Miyuki presses, "You just thought what?" At his sides, his hands curl and uncurl. If Chris says he just thought he could push through this injury, Miyuki is not above jabbing him in the right shoulder.
Chris looks down. Miyuki can't tell if he's looking at the ground or his foot. Then he looks up again and says, "I just thought it looked stupid."
Miyuki feels his mouth sort of spasm, caught between laughing and continuing to be angry.
"I'm wearing the carbon graphite orthotic they gave me, though. And the toe is taped." Chris's brows lift as he attempts to defend himself with another smile, almost a picture of innocence.
Miyuki doesn't think he's seen this expression on Chris's face before, and he lets himself be charmed by it enough that he yields to the smile his own lips have been trying for.
But he doesn't let it go entirely. "I'd rather see a stupid-looking Chris than one sitting out the season on the Injury List."
Chris looks down again and Miyuki sighs inwardly. Maybe he should have just smiled back.
"You're right," Chris says when he looks at Miyuki again. "I have the walking boot back at my hotel."
It's strange to think of Chris having a hotel room in Tokyo; even Miyuki is staying at his childhood home this weekend. Then he wonders if maybe Animal moved to the U.S. when his son did.
He refocuses on what's actually important. "Okay, good." He even nods for emphasis. He just—they're not teammates anymore, except that the way Tetsu put it when he first told Miyuki about the Alumni Game, they'll all always be teammates. And Miyuki doesn't like seeing his teammates neglect themselves when they're hurt. "Maybe I'll see you before you go back to the U.S.?"
"Oh," Chris says. "I was wondering what you're doing right now?"
Miyuki looks over his shoulder and gestures in the general direction of Field B. "I think there's a thing? Like a meet-and-greet for the fans who came? With food and maybe music and..." And he doesn't know what else. Seeing friends and former teammates. Who all live in Japan. Who he could see any time in the off-season.
"You should definitely go to that," Chris says, his face modeling a perfect picture of sincerity. "That seems like exactly your sort of thing."
"Okay, shut up." Miyuki quirks his mouth to the side, then grins. "Let's go get your walking boot and then see if we can find something more my style." He suddenly wishes he'd said our instead of my, but Chris is smiling anyhow. "I just need to get changed, then I'll meet you back here?" As soon as the words leave him, he has another thought: "Or do you want to come say hi to whoever's still in the locker room?"
"I'll see everyone tomorrow," Chris says. "I'll just go say goodbye to Zaizen."
"Zaizen..." The name is familiar enough that Miyuki runs through his mental database of players, focusing on the years he was at Seidou. He can't come up with a first name but he gets a uniform. "From Kokushikan?" When Chris nods, Miyuki says, "I didn't know you're friends with him," although that's the only possible explanation for Zaizen's presence at the alumni game of a school he didn't attend.
"We keep in touch." Chris says it lightly but the words hit Miyuki kind of hard anyhow.
"Cool," he says with a nod as he turns for the locker room.
He only gets a step before Chris says his name. Miyuki has this weird feeling that Chris is about to come out to him and in the same breath tell him he has a boyfriend who's here today, and Miyuki is going to smile when it happens.
The edges are in place and he's filling in the smile even as he turns to Chris.
For a moment Chris just looks at him.
To say it's just a look is like saying it's just a sprain. Miyuki can't tell whether the way Chris is looking at him is good or bad, but he feels studied in the moment. He has enough respect for Chris that he drops his ersatz smile and lets Chris contemplate.
Then Chris says, "I'm really happy to see you."
"Oh." That's not what Miyuki was expecting. He grins as much at himself as at Chris. "I'm happy too."
He feels like that's not what he meant to say or what he should have said, but Chris's smile looks real, so Miyuki only smiles more too and nods as Chris points to where he'll be waiting when Miyuki is ready.
Miyuki goes to the Seidou locker room, which looks mostly the same as when he went here, and takes a quick shower, toweling off and only giving his hair a cursory rub before pulling on his unremarkable street clothes—jeans and a plain black t-shirt—and then grabbing his bag.
As he's going towards the dugout tunnel, Kuramochi calls out, "Hey, wrong way, Captain! The thing is this way." He points at the exit on the other side.
The organizers had named Miyuki one of the co-captains of the alumni team, though he guesses Kuramochi is actually recalling their high school days. He greets Kuramochi in kind: "Actually, I'm not going to the thing today, Vice-Captain. But I'll be at the thing tomorrow."
The alumni weekend committee probably put a lot of thought into naming each event—but if it's not a game, it's just a thing. Kuramochi nods. "Tomorrow, then."
Miyuki acknowledges a few other players as he's leaving but he doesn't stop for any conversations; he'll see them all tomorrow.
He emerges into the dugout and climbs the steps to the field. No one is left but the grounds crew, and a lone figure facing centerfield as he stands in the catcher's box. Miyuki wonders if he's reminiscing or perhaps wishing he'd been able to play in the game. He doesn't want to interrupt a fond moment—but he also doesn't want Chris to turn and see Miyuki just standing there watching him, so Miyuki calls an easy, "Hey," as he walks over.
Whatever Chris was thinking doesn't seem to have put him in a dark place. He smiles as Miyuki gets to him, then reaches up and actually tousles Miyuki's wet hair. Because Miyuki's instinct to duck out of reach fails to kick in, he feels Chris's fingers run through his hair, fingertips barely grazing along his scalp. As the touch drifts away, he's sure Chris is going to remonstrate with him about being out with wet hair in cold weather.
"Is this your new look?" Chris says instead. He cocks his head as he assesses it. "It's not bad," he says, apparently unbothered by Miyuki's lack of verbal response. "But I saw a blow dryer in the closet at my hotel, if you're feeling nostalgic for your old flow." He grins.
Miyuki grins too. "Maybe you're the one nostalgic for it," he jokes back.
The corners of Chris's smile quirk up before he says, "Maybe I am." Then he looks down as he takes out his phone. "Should I order us a rideshare?
"No need," Miyuki says. "I have a car."
"Nice," Chris says with a smile to match.
They go to the parking lot and walk by a Toyota Century and an Acura Legend before Miyuki presses the button of his key fob to unlock an unassuming white Honda N-Box minicar. He braces for a joke about his ride, but Chris's smile as he goes around to the passenger side looks genuine.
It suddenly occurs to Miyuki that his little N-Box might seem like a luxury to Chris. Despite winning a recent lawsuit, minor league players in the U.S. still don't make very much money. As he starts the car, Miyuki tries to think of some cool but inexpensive options for the evening; he wouldn't mind paying for both of them, but he doesn't want Chris to be self-conscious about the difference in their financial situations.
"Where are we going?" he says as he pulls out of the parking spot. Chris tells him the name of the hotel. Miyuki inputs it into the car's GPS and a moment later voice navigation begins giving him directions.
As they start the route, Chris remarks on the relatively small turnout for the game today. "We were so late to the game I didn't get to see the new kids taking infield." Chris's words are threaded with the first notes of regret Miyuki has heard in his voice today, but the disappointment has faded by the time he says, "I thought it might be standing room only, but there were plenty of bleacher seats open."
"Yeah," Miyuki acknowledges as he follows navigation instructions and turns left at the light, "the organizing committee didn't advertise it anywhere and it just sort of stayed on the downlow by itself." Even Sawamura hadn't posted about it. "We'll probably have to move it to a bigger capacity field if we do it again next year. That, or have a closed field with ticketing and security. Once the word gets out, fans will be lining up to see Sawamura and me and," he pauses, "others."
"By 'others', do you mean Azuma?"
"He plays in Korea now," Miyuki says with the hint of a grin, his tone matching the subtle tease of Chris's. "So: no."
"Ah," Chris says. "So it's just you two, then." His laugh is low and clear. Miyuki glances over with a grin and a shrug. Voice navigation interrupts with the next instruction. When Chris speaks again, his tone is serious. "What do you think Yuuki's chances are of moving up?"
Miyuki knows which Yuuki he means. "I don't know. Tetsu is a really good player, both offensively and defensively...but I honestly don't know." Miyuki wants him to make it, even if they wouldn't be playing together on the same team again. But. "The competition is on a whole other level."
In his peripheral vision he sees Chris nod. He wonders if Chris is thinking of himself too in this moment. If he asks, Miyuki will tell him honestly how sure he is that Chris will make it to The Show.
But Chris doesn't ask, so instead Miyuki says, "You probably won't be able to play in next year's alumni game either, right? Because it's probably against your contract?"
"Not specifically, but it's not exactly encouraged," Chris says. "I'll come watch again, though. And I'll bring Shohei with me."
That makes Miyuki laugh. Then: "Wait, have you actually met him?" Of course Chris has met him; they're in the same organization, even if they're at different levels for the moment and even if they're both currently on the IL. "Are you really on a first name basis?" He doesn't know why he asked that and pushes on to something that really matters. "Is he throwing bullpen sessions yet?" Ohtani is at Spring Training too, after all, even if he's not participating in any games after his off-season surgery. "Have you caught for him?"
He looks over at Chris, who mimics zipping his lips closed and actually cracks the window open to toss the pretend key out it.
Miyuki gets it; he wouldn't tell anyone anything Chris were to share with him, but he respects Chris keeping his club's secrets. "Anyhow, I can't wait for the first game you do catch for him."
"Me either." An electric current thrills quietly through Chris's words.
A particle of heat jumps to Miyuki and hums through him as he looks at Chris now, hearing the thwack of that first caught pitch as he pictures Chris's mitt closing around it. For a moment they just grin at each other.
Then Chris says, "But if you don't pay attention to the road, the headlines will read, 'Ohtani's Future Catcher Tragically Rendered Comatose in Traffic Mishap'."
Miyuki allows himself another moment to return Chris's grin before he looks straight out through the windshield and turns up the volume of the voice navigation, though it isn't loud enough to drown out Chris's laugh.
They make it to the hotel without news-causing incident and leave Miyuki's N-Box with the valet. As they walk across the lobby, Miyuki surreptitiously tries to get a look at Chris's stride to see if he's limping.
"I wouldn't mind going a little more slowly."
Miyuki comes to a stop as he looks up and meets Chris's gaze evenly. He could've just asked how Chris is doing, but he's not embarrassed by the glances he stole just now. Chris doesn't seem embarrassed either as they stand there looking at one another.
"Let's go slowly, then." Miyuki offers a smile and falls into step as Chris sets the new tempo.
When they get to his room, Chris goes straight to the closet. "As promised," he says, handing Miyuki a compact blow dryer.
"Thanks." Miyuki's gaze drifts from Chris's eyes up to his hairline. It's not receding or anything, it's just—"If it's not untoward to say, I think I miss your forelocks." He flashes a grin to temper the unintentional intimacy of his words.
"Ah." Chris reaches up and pulls a thick spray of strands forward, then winds them around his finger; he slides his finger free from the first curled forelock before creating the other.
After looking at them maybe a moment too long, Miyuki says, "You must use a lot of product."
"Enough to get me voted 'Best Flow' in the Arizona Complex League last year."
The curve of Chris's mouth now is a challenge to read; Miyuki honestly can't tell if he's serious or kidding, so he just grins and says, "Seems about right." He raises the hand holding the blow dryer. "I guess it's my turn to show what I can do."
"Looking forward to it."
There's only one other door in the room, so Miyuki heads there as Chris turns back to the closet, presumably to get his walking boot.
There's an outlet next to the light switch in here and the blow dryer roars to life with a blast of heat when he plugs it in. Miyuki adjusts the settings and then, using the brush he finds on the counter, gets to work.
After ten minutes or so he's satisfied with the sleek volume and placement of each strand, and the overall "effortless" effect he's achieved with a little help from Chris's hair products, which were laid out with the brush. Miyuki thinks—he knows the two of them have been flirting, and he thinks maybe they've been flirting seriously. So as he turns the knob to go back out to the main room, he allows himself to wonder if he might find Chris in the walking boot and nothing else.
Instead he finds Chris sitting by the window, fully dressed except for his right foot, which is elevated. He has an ice pack on and Miyuki can see that the big toe is, indeed, taped.
Abandoning fantasies for reality and not bothering to disguise the concern on his face, Miyuki crosses to him. "Did you just start icing?"
Chris shakes his head. "I started as soon as you went in."
Even though the ice will feel great for longer, the benefits don't increase after ten minutes. Miyuki watches Chris unwrap the ice pack. Though the kinesetiology tape looks like it's still in place, it's ragged around the edges and dull compared to the pristine white almost shining from the new roll on the table.
The tape isn't alone: next to it sit a pair of small scissors, a spray that helps remove adhesive, one that's antibacterial, and another that has analgesic properties.
It's pretty obvious what he means to do. Miyuki points to the tape on Chris's foot, fraying and stained now but put in place by a medical professional. "Are you actually allowed to change that?"
Chris nods. "They gave me video instructions." He picks up the tablet in his lap to show Miyuki.
The video Chris is watching looks like it's from a legit medical site, but Miyuki is still dubious that Chris was authorized to change the tape. But if Chris is determined, as it seems he is, he'll do it anyhow; better that Miyuki is here for it. "Do you want help?"
"Actually." Chris pauses, a shade of uncertainty to his smile. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd appreciate it."
"Of course." Miyuki has an idea of how hard that must have been for Chris to say. He indicates the bed. "Do you need help moving to the examining table?"
A grin flashes on Chris's face. "I think I can make it, Doc." He keeps the weight of his right foot on his heel, toes hovering above the floor as he makes his way over and sits at the edge of the bed. He swings his legs up one after the other, then takes one of the pillows from the other side of the bed and puts it under his foot before he leans back.
Miyuki uses the anti-adhesive spray and then rolls the tape off, careful not to tear Chris's skin by pulling too fast or hard. There's still swelling in the big toe and forefoot, but the bruising has started to change from what must have been purple and blue at first, the discoloration settling into greens and yellows with only a few spots still a darker blue. It looks better than he was expecting and he sighs at the visual confirmation that Chris really is okay, just a little worn out at the moment.
After he cleans and preps Chris's foot, which is easy enough to figure out, Miyuki says, "Can you pull up that video for me?" Chris does and Miyuki follows each step, asking Chris to pause the video and even skip back when necessary.
As he works, he periodically checks Chris's expression to make sure Chris is okay and not trying to swallow any additional pain. Each time, Chris meets his glance with a smile, so Miyuki keeps going.
When the last strip of tape is in place, Miyuki says, "Done, I think." His hand rests lightly on Chris's foot up by the ankle. "How does that feel?"
"Good," Chris says. "Better than before."
He leans forward like he's going to get up, but Miyuki puts a hand on his shoulder. "Not yet, buddy. If you're going to go walking around, you should at least rest a while longer first." Somewhat to his surprise, Chris nods instead of arguing with him. "And from now on wear your walking boot, no matter how stupid you think it makes you look."
He grins—but Chris looks away.
Miyuki isn't sure what he said wrong. He doesn't know if he should apologize or if he should change the subject or what he should say.
He doesn't say anything, but he also doesn't look away. So their eyes meet when Chris looks back and says, "Actually, I don't care how I look." Miyuki could raise an eyebrow to that, but he doesn't want to interrupt, even wordlessly. "I didn't wear the boot today because I didn't want everyone to see it and then look at my shoulder." Chris takes an audible breath. "I didn't want anyone to see it, and then see only my shoulder when they looked at me."
"No one would do that, Chris."
"No one?" There's something knowing in the downbeat smile Chris gives him.
"Okay, yeah," Miyuki concedes, "some people would look at the boot and see your shoulder. But not just your shoulder. And only because they care about you." He maintains the sincere gaze and the serious line of his mouth as he adds, "Only because they want to watch you catch for Ohtani one day."
Chris laughs, light and low. A smile curves his lips.
Miyuki smiles too.
When Chris leans forward now, Miyuki figures the pillow he's been leaning back against must need adjusting and he starts to offer to do it.
But before he gets the first word out, just as his lips have parted, Chris comes that little bit more and kisses him.
When they shift apart some moments later, Miyuki says, "I didn't know if you wanted this."
Chris smiles. "Did you think I crossed an ocean just to watch you play a baseball game?"
Miyuki would. He would cross the universe to watch Chris play. But he can't say that.
"Say it."
Miyuki inhales quick and deep, as if reaching to bring back words of his own he didn't know he'd let out.
Then Chris says, "I can see you're thinking something, but I don't know what."
Miyuki meets his gaze as steadily as possible. He takes a new breath, and it feels easier than he thought it would. "I would cross continents and oceans and solar systems to watch you play."
His mouth quirks to the side, though he's not sure if it resembles anything like a smile.
Chris's lips part and something that might be only breath, or might be something more, slips out.
Then he says, "Someday I want to play baseball with you on the moon."
Miyuki wants that too. Oh, how he wants that...
Until then: he leans in as Chris does, meeting him in the next kiss, sinking into it as Chris does, drinking in Chris's breath as he sinks~
And then, as his breath is taken in turn, floating~
Someday they'll play baseball together on the moon. Miyuki feels the certainty at an atomic, molecular level.
But in the now, in the moment, with every shared breath, they float.