"What are you doing out here, Mei?" Masatoshi asks. "Haven't you retired?"
"Me?" Mei asks, rolling his head back to look up at Masatoshi. "What about you? You don't even go here any more!"
Masatoshi moves around the bench where Mei is sitting, coming to claim the space next to him. They're both left staring off across the baseball field, staring at the expanse of dirt and grass that stretches off toward the horizon, toward where the sun is just then sinking low in the sky. Orange and red light slants out toward them, a last hurrah before the sky descends into gloom.
Mei has retired from the Inashiro team, his third summer at the school come to an end. He feels good about it — he dedicated three long years to baseball, giving it his all and carrying his team ever toward Koshien. Now he's ready to give baseball so much more. He's always had scouts looking at him, ever since he was a first year. The possibility of his going pro was always more of a foregone conclusion.
"I came to visit you," Masatoshi admits, softly into the gathering dusk.
"I thought so," Mei says. The words come out less smugly than he thought he was intending.
For a moment they're both silent, Masatoshi watching the horizon, Mei sneakily watching Masatoshi from underneath his chin. He's still the same guy he always was — a broad body with a familiar bulk, always with that pensive look on his face which makes him seem like he's brooding even when he isn't. He looks that way when Mei peeks up at him, eyebrows drawn up at an angle that means even his resting face appears intent, like he's listening.
"I got a pro offer," Mei says, into that waiting silence.
Masatoshi doesn't ask him who it's with. They both know that if it was the same team Masatoshi plays for, Mei would have led with that, eager to gloat that he's still just as good as Masa-san, that soon Masatoshi will be his catcher once again, isn't that great? Instead they're going to be rivals, playing against each other from opposite sides of the pitch. Mei isn't quite sure how to feel about that. He thinks, maybe, that he's excited.
"Congratulations," Masatoshi does say, after a bit too much of a pause. "So you'll take it?"
"Of course I'll take it," Mei scoffs. "What better future is there than playing baseball?"
Masatoshi laughs at that, low and amused. "There wouldn't be one, for you."
"Exactly," Mei says. "So there was never really any reason for you to ask in the first place."
Silence falls between them again, warm and waiting. Mei has missed Masatoshi's moments of quiet, since he graduated the year before and left Mei to fend for himself on his own. It's a uniquely Masatoshi way of solving problems — giving Mei the space and the rope to hang himself with, and only fishing him out once he's done it. Sometimes Mei manages to hang Masatoshi instead, dragging him into all sorts of trouble. Either way, Masatoshi takes it all in stride.
Mei leans to the side, slumping over until he's pressed against Masatoshi's arm, his cheek fitted to the shape of Masatoshi's bicep. Masatoshi glances down at him, an easily placed "what are you doing?" look which is never worth clarifying through words voiced aloud. Mei burrows closer in against Masatoshi's side, and Masatoshi puts the look away.
"I'll fight you down," Mei says, words a little bit muffled by Masatoshi's skin. "When we play each other."
"I didn't expect anything less," Masatoshi says.
"Good," Mei says. "I want it to be a good game."
"Whenever it happens," Masatoshi says, "I'm sure it will be."
They end up sitting out by the field until the sun sinks all the way beneath the horizon, staying where they are until the last of its light fades from the sky and everything around them dulls to the dusky purple of evening. Even once that happens, Masatoshi is kind enough to walk Mei back to his dorm room, allowing Mei to quiz him on the stats of his pro team with a far, far too indulgent air. It's like old times; Mei couldn't have asked for more.
FILL: TEAM MIYUKI KAZUYA/MIYUKI KAZUYA, G
Word Count: 716
"What are you doing out here, Mei?" Masatoshi asks. "Haven't you retired?"
"Me?" Mei asks, rolling his head back to look up at Masatoshi. "What about you? You don't even go here any more!"
Masatoshi moves around the bench where Mei is sitting, coming to claim the space next to him. They're both left staring off across the baseball field, staring at the expanse of dirt and grass that stretches off toward the horizon, toward where the sun is just then sinking low in the sky. Orange and red light slants out toward them, a last hurrah before the sky descends into gloom.
Mei has retired from the Inashiro team, his third summer at the school come to an end. He feels good about it — he dedicated three long years to baseball, giving it his all and carrying his team ever toward Koshien. Now he's ready to give baseball so much more. He's always had scouts looking at him, ever since he was a first year. The possibility of his going pro was always more of a foregone conclusion.
"I came to visit you," Masatoshi admits, softly into the gathering dusk.
"I thought so," Mei says. The words come out less smugly than he thought he was intending.
For a moment they're both silent, Masatoshi watching the horizon, Mei sneakily watching Masatoshi from underneath his chin. He's still the same guy he always was — a broad body with a familiar bulk, always with that pensive look on his face which makes him seem like he's brooding even when he isn't. He looks that way when Mei peeks up at him, eyebrows drawn up at an angle that means even his resting face appears intent, like he's listening.
"I got a pro offer," Mei says, into that waiting silence.
Masatoshi doesn't ask him who it's with. They both know that if it was the same team Masatoshi plays for, Mei would have led with that, eager to gloat that he's still just as good as Masa-san, that soon Masatoshi will be his catcher once again, isn't that great? Instead they're going to be rivals, playing against each other from opposite sides of the pitch. Mei isn't quite sure how to feel about that. He thinks, maybe, that he's excited.
"Congratulations," Masatoshi does say, after a bit too much of a pause. "So you'll take it?"
"Of course I'll take it," Mei scoffs. "What better future is there than playing baseball?"
Masatoshi laughs at that, low and amused. "There wouldn't be one, for you."
"Exactly," Mei says. "So there was never really any reason for you to ask in the first place."
Silence falls between them again, warm and waiting. Mei has missed Masatoshi's moments of quiet, since he graduated the year before and left Mei to fend for himself on his own. It's a uniquely Masatoshi way of solving problems — giving Mei the space and the rope to hang himself with, and only fishing him out once he's done it. Sometimes Mei manages to hang Masatoshi instead, dragging him into all sorts of trouble. Either way, Masatoshi takes it all in stride.
Mei leans to the side, slumping over until he's pressed against Masatoshi's arm, his cheek fitted to the shape of Masatoshi's bicep. Masatoshi glances down at him, an easily placed "what are you doing?" look which is never worth clarifying through words voiced aloud. Mei burrows closer in against Masatoshi's side, and Masatoshi puts the look away.
"I'll fight you down," Mei says, words a little bit muffled by Masatoshi's skin. "When we play each other."
"I didn't expect anything less," Masatoshi says.
"Good," Mei says. "I want it to be a good game."
"Whenever it happens," Masatoshi says, "I'm sure it will be."
They end up sitting out by the field until the sun sinks all the way beneath the horizon, staying where they are until the last of its light fades from the sky and everything around them dulls to the dusky purple of evening. Even once that happens, Masatoshi is kind enough to walk Mei back to his dorm room, allowing Mei to quiz him on the stats of his pro team with a far, far too indulgent air. It's like old times; Mei couldn't have asked for more.