Ship:Miyuki Kazuya/Sawamura Eijun Fandom: daiya no ace Major Tags: none Other Tags: none Word Count: 520
crawls out of my grave, chucks words at you, thanks mel for the umpteenth time in my life
***
Even if Miyuki hates this, there is a sentiment of comfort, disguised gaudily with floral patterned gloves and cheap tools, with a hat that smells of dog and a sun that never quits. It’s half past noon and it’s been that time for three hours now, but Sawamura insists it’s been fifteen minutes and perhaps it has but Miyuki’s hands hurt as if he’s been catching for the pitching machine set to max for weeks on end; he’s sure there is something to be said about a baseball player and their hands but the joke would fall short on a pitcher who didn’t worry about his hands enough so Miyuki grinds his teeth and keeps at it all the same, meticulously digging while Sawamura pulls bulbs out of a woven basket, narrowing his eyes as he inspects each one for imperfections. He mumbles while he works, tossing out a few that look a bit bruised or lackluster compared to others but is soon satisfied and places the basket between them. Miyuki glares.
‘Come on,’ Sawamura encourages, bumping his knee against Miyuki. It’s redundant to resist and Miyuki knows this – there’s a glimmer to Sawamura’s gaze that weakens him, that finds the hardest part of him and makes it soft, turns Miyuki vulnerable to things like ‘gardening’ and ‘moms’.
Avoiding Sawamura’s stare, he works at digging a hole deep enough for the soon to be flowers. The trowel is heavy in his hands and not as cheap as Miyuki had previously thought. It lifts the soil from the ground cleanly, each scoop of earth light. Sawamura nods approvingly and Miyuki hides a smile, grateful for his old smelling hat. Most of the soil is loose but Miyuki strikes at a tough spot eventually. He scrapes uselessly at the mound of dirt until Sawamura tosses a tool in his direction, one that resembles an odd-looking fork. After a few silly attempts at stabbing the ground, Miyuki rakes the fork across the rock, pleased when it crumbles after a little pressure.
‘Wait ‘till I tell Kuramochi,’ Sawamura snickers, his shoulders shaking. ‘I never would of thought – ‘
It’s not the first time Miyuki has seen dirt smeared across Sawamura’s face, but there’s something altogether too rewarding about being the one to put there. He sputters for a moment, choking up a few lung fulls of soil while Miyuki cackles and begins to pack his bulb into the ground. Using the trowel again, he packs the dirt around it tightly, trying to keep it firm. Sawamura intervenes after recovering, gently prying the tool from his hands.
‘Just enough to stand straight,’ he mutters, undoing some of the work Miyuki has done. He loosens the dirt around the bulb a little bit, careful not to bother the small roots and branches jutting from the plant. ‘It only needs a little help. The rest it will do on its own.’
The irony does not escape Miyuki – he has own experiences with sprouts that only need a little bit of care and guidance, and now he supposes Sawamura does too, albeit with a different kind of plant.
fill: team grandstand, g
Fandom: daiya no ace
Major Tags: none
Other Tags: none
Word Count: 520
crawls out of my grave, chucks words at you, thanks mel for the umpteenth time in my life
***
Even if Miyuki hates this, there is a sentiment of comfort, disguised gaudily with floral patterned gloves and cheap tools, with a hat that smells of dog and a sun that never quits. It’s half past noon and it’s been that time for three hours now, but Sawamura insists it’s been fifteen minutes and perhaps it has but Miyuki’s hands hurt as if he’s been catching for the pitching machine set to max for weeks on end; he’s sure there is something to be said about a baseball player and their hands but the joke would fall short on a pitcher who didn’t worry about his hands enough so Miyuki grinds his teeth and keeps at it all the same, meticulously digging while Sawamura pulls bulbs out of a woven basket, narrowing his eyes as he inspects each one for imperfections. He mumbles while he works, tossing out a few that look a bit bruised or lackluster compared to others but is soon satisfied and places the basket between them. Miyuki glares.
‘Come on,’ Sawamura encourages, bumping his knee against Miyuki. It’s redundant to resist and Miyuki knows this – there’s a glimmer to Sawamura’s gaze that weakens him, that finds the hardest part of him and makes it soft, turns Miyuki vulnerable to things like ‘gardening’ and ‘moms’.
Avoiding Sawamura’s stare, he works at digging a hole deep enough for the soon to be flowers. The trowel is heavy in his hands and not as cheap as Miyuki had previously thought. It lifts the soil from the ground cleanly, each scoop of earth light. Sawamura nods approvingly and Miyuki hides a smile, grateful for his old smelling hat. Most of the soil is loose but Miyuki strikes at a tough spot eventually. He scrapes uselessly at the mound of dirt until Sawamura tosses a tool in his direction, one that resembles an odd-looking fork. After a few silly attempts at stabbing the ground, Miyuki rakes the fork across the rock, pleased when it crumbles after a little pressure.
‘Wait ‘till I tell Kuramochi,’ Sawamura snickers, his shoulders shaking. ‘I never would of thought – ‘
It’s not the first time Miyuki has seen dirt smeared across Sawamura’s face, but there’s something altogether too rewarding about being the one to put there. He sputters for a moment, choking up a few lung fulls of soil while Miyuki cackles and begins to pack his bulb into the ground. Using the trowel again, he packs the dirt around it tightly, trying to keep it firm. Sawamura intervenes after recovering, gently prying the tool from his hands.
‘Just enough to stand straight,’ he mutters, undoing some of the work Miyuki has done. He loosens the dirt around the bulb a little bit, careful not to bother the small roots and branches jutting from the plant. ‘It only needs a little help. The rest it will do on its own.’
The irony does not escape Miyuki – he has own experiences with sprouts that only need a little bit of care and guidance, and now he supposes Sawamura does too, albeit with a different kind of plant.