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“tiddies warm,” mei mumbles, his face buried in his boyfriend’s chest, nose completely mushed without a single care in the world about it. “i am never breaking up with you, kazuya!”
kazuya laughs and mei feels the vibrations—the wavering is a welcome oscillation—the only wavering mei could ever accept from kazuya. “okay,” kazuya responds.
✧
they break up. as it turns out, tiddies aren’t enough to sustain a relationship. they couldn’t make up for the necessary compromises mei and kazuya forget to make, for the necessary qualities mei and kazuya forget to have.
after all—pride and stubbornness have never been two meant for a happy ending.
when the news goes public, it isn’t the breakup that comes as a surprise. it’s the details that do. no one thought it’d be narumiya mei who calls it off—it’s not like anyone else overestimates how much they can achieve through sheer strength of their will like narumiya mei does. on the diamond, tenacious as he is—his talent and his hard work back him up on everything. on the diamond, he rules. not in a relationship though, there mei couldn’t be the ace.
and when he couldn’t be the ace, he fell.
it’s not a unique situation. narumiya mei has flown close to the sun before. he has fallen before.
unlike icarus, however, mei knows how to swim. he has learned how to ride the brutal crests of the sea designed to drown him. he will survive and then he will conquer. again.
it would be repetitive, yet challenging all the same. like a game. and for mei, there's nothing better than a game.
✧
“so you two broke up huh?”
“carlos is 2000 yen richer now.” a pause, silence capsizes over the waves of a rueful smile etched on kazuya’s lips. “with the drafts happening soon, it’s probably for the best.”
kuramochi looks unimpressed. “miyuki—”
“it’s nothing. it meant nothing at all to me.”
✧
“gazenols is looking for an ambassador,” ruksana says, her voice piercing through the stupor mei had put himself into. the sweaty baseball in his hands is the only indication of how long he’s been out of it. ruksana’s dry tone is an unwelcome intrusion—mei grimaces, but that’s all he does—the fondness he feels for her somehow resurfacing every time he’s about to auto-pilot into his bratty self.
“yeah? think it’d look good for me?” he replies and turns his revolving chair around to take a proper look at his manager. she looks as small as ever and her glasses are a size too big on her tiny face as she holds a thick file in her arms.
this is gonna take me a while.
“that’s what the team thinks.” the smile she offers him is polite—which always means she’s about to tell him something he is not going to like very much. “but word is that gazenols has yet to decide who to make the offer to. they’re torn between you and miyuki kazuya.”
no fucking way, mei’s mouth twitches. “kazuya? he’s got the charms of a dead slug.”
ruksana nods, this time her smile is broad, crooked around the corners. “we are banking on that to give you the edge.” she walks over to the couch near mei’s chair and sits down, pushing the file she's been holding towards him. “here’s how the strategy team thinks we should go about this.”
the sun is a dark brown shade on the orange walls of mei’s gaming room when ruksana leaves, satisfaction clear in the lines of her shoulders. mei waves her off happily. his manager is only a little less sly and spiteful than mei can be at times and he believes in her. he knows she is not going to leave any stone unturned to land him the deal but mei is a creature of habit; his hands itch for some meddling of his own. he pulls out his phone quickly.
his fingers are still sweaty when he types clumsily to put in the number he has had memorized since he was 15 and had laughed himself silly over the hideously green button phone kazuya had gotten himself. kazuya still keeps it at the back of his closet drawer.
reject it. i know you couldn’t care less for commercials.
the reply comes just as quick. mei smiles.
kazoo without the ya:
awfully confident for someone who’s been claiming to not know me.
the reply takes mei only a glance of his eye. just as expected, he rolls his eyes. if kazuya were here, he might have told mei how beautiful he looks—even when sneering, his canine teeth glinting slightly in the dimmed light of a setting sun. but he’s not here.
so mei makes do with just picturing it. picturing kazuya—picturing them in their own mundanity—picturing them when it was good.
it’s another game—mei has yet to tire of it.
✧
“you’re really gonna plaster your stupid face all over the country holding a stupid bottle of fragrance just to fuck with me?” mei is exasperated—it's nothing new in the presence of kazuya these days. he leans forward, putting his elbows on the bar counter, and closes his eyes. the high-intensity bright lights have been hurting them and kazuya is as migraine-shaped as ever.
they’re at one of the post-season league parties with the sponsors and committee heads—all the important people relevant to managing and owning the teams. it’s a dull affair as always. mei only ever shows up because his management team makes him and he's always expected to behave for some reason. not kazuya though—as much as he’s the kind to spend a night in, poring through baseball plays and scorebooks—he looks right at home in the middle of whatever party he has to attend, usually in some of the ugliest fits mei has ever laid eyes upon.
tonight, at least, his hair looks better. a couple of stray fringes falling in soft strands around his face while the rest of them are gelled back. although, mei believes he could still do with a new haircut. his hair was short and cropped in the back when they were still dating, now it’s almost at his shoulders.
“nothing has me waking up in the morning like the idea of fucking with you, mei,” kazuya answers, with a grace he usually doesn't possess, and then adds, “aside from baseball obviously.” to mei's chagrin, he finishes with a wink. a wink! ugh.
mei gives kazuya a pointed look—his expression is fashioned into a scowl. he doesn’t really care about some brand advertisement, baseball keeps him in the spotlight plenty. he knows kazuya doesn’t either. mei just hates losing, and kazuya hates missing out on opportunities to dump on mei. he curls his lips, even more, his brows in a frown.
“stop pretending to be as obsessed with me as i believe you are!” he snaps.
kazuya presses his lips together, his eyes widening a little. he looks like he’s desperately trying to suppress a laugh, shaking his head and pressing his lips harder, but then he breaks, laughing out loud and his eyes crinkling like he can’t believe he’s laughing, actually laughing . he starts snorting halfway through, trying to muffle the sound. but it’s useless.
mei gawks. “you're laughing.”
“yes, that's what people do when something funny happens.”
“you don't usually laugh like that.” mei squints his eyes at kazuya. he’s always suspicious when it’s kazuya on the other side.
“okay, how do i usually laugh like?” kazuya shoots, the laughter still etched on his lips. mei doesn’t enjoy how it feels like kazuya is only humoring him. he crosses his arm, his nose taking a position high in the air.
“like a demon from hell.”
kazuya edges close, closer , his brown eyes gleaming under the sparkling wine-colored lights. “and how am i laughing now?”
mei stares, dipping his finger into his cold wine. he tries to convince himself that the sensations he has been starting to feel from it—so far he’s not happy about the results. “like you are just as surprised about it,” he answers, honestly after a beat. he can’t lie, not even to spite him—not with the way kazuya is looking at him. “you were laughing your genuine laugh—” it softens out your edges like you’re not just a sharp prick anymore, mei quietly concludes in his head. if he can't lie, then at least, he can withhold. and because he can’t help it, he adds, “it’s creepy as fuck.”
“well, at least now you can't complain that you don't know me anymore.” kazuya puts his hands up a little in placation before moving away to his original distance, his lips still curved in a self-satisfied smirk.
how many more times is he gonna remind me of the reason i gave for breaking up?
“well,” mei starts, replicating the same tone kazuya had, “fuck you kazuya!”
kazuya chortles, cheeky and intent. “at least let me get you a drink first, then. wouldn’t want you to be put off by my bad manners this time around.” he signals for a waiter to come by and mei feels rage simmering in the marrow of his bones.
he leans forward, not caring that he might be invading into kazuya’s space. rightful fury fits right into the narrows of mei’s eyes when he opens his mouth. “is this what i think this is? you went ahead and got yourself the flirting skills of a horny 13 years old to spite me?”
kazuya shakes his head enthusiastically, loose strands falling around his face. he mumbles a low “of course not, i wouldn’t dare,” under his breath. anyone can tell there's no sincerity to it but mei, who has spent years looking at kazuya, knows from the crinkles around his eyes just how much the catcher is enjoying this. mei huffs, indignant and irritated.
i am going to bury his bones in some stinky seidou alumni’s house.
“don’t you two seem like you’re in your honeymoon phase, still ,” carlos says from behind miyuki, swift and fast to slide in whenever he sees an opening. it’s an admirable and highly payable quality in the baseball they play together, pissing mei off everywhere else all the same. mei sighs and schools his face to look amiable even though he can feel steam coming out of his ears. he watches kazuya do the same, turning around to look at the handsome intruder.
“haha carlos, laugh away. did kuramochi skip another federation party because of you?” mei manages to keep his voice saccharine sweet. in his book, that earns him a small fist pump celebration.
carlos’ smile is back up as soon as it drops and mei swears privately—the fucker is quick just about anything. “all you’re doing mei,” carlos says slowly—standing close enough to kazuya that the movement of his lips seems to ghost over the catcher’s ear, “is telling me how hard i am to get over.”
voices start blurring themselves out—mei suddenly isn’t sure if he’s paying attention to carlos gloat. all he can fixate on is how magnificent carlos must look to kazuya while at it and how kazuya seems to revel in the proximity between them, his gentle smile a clear indication of it. signal flares start going off in mei’s head and mei wants to turn up the air conditioner a little to assuage the heat of it—he refuses to have a designer suit ruined from sweat on kazuya’s behalf.
carlos—the ever-observant fucker notices, of course, he’s had quite the practice at reading mei through the years—waves a hand in front of mei and makes a show out of stepping away from kazuya; his lips curved into a predatory grin. “those eyes must be adding insult to the injury,” he coos, his voice disturbingly high pitched. mei wants to use his body for pitching practice.
carlos moves to stand between them, his eyes finding their mark at kazuya. “do they not, miyuki?”
“ha?!” kazuya splutters, swallows, and then follows it with strangled, non-human noises as he tries to regain his composure.
mei had been asked, told not to cause a scene—it's a routine before every public appearance. but oh well, he thinks as he screams at carlos to shut up, his eyes darting back and forth between kazuya and him. carlos only laughs a laugh that would put kuramochi youichi to shame and the rest of the party starts to turn their attention on them.
•••
it starts with a whisper of “do you wanna get out of here?” it ends with kazuya and mei in a dirty alley just a couple blocks down the party venue, bodies pressed against each other.
yellow light curtains them while kazuya has his clever hands and wandering mouth all over mei—trying to smoothen out a curve that’s never been meant for anything but a flat geometric sphere. it’s an ugly glow the street lamp is casting over them, any other time mei wouldn’t be caught committng such a fashion suicide. but alcohol and pent-up frustration make a heady cocktail and mei forgoes all of his sensibility—his senses narrowed down entirely to the feel of kazuya instead.
yellow lights curtain them once again when kazuya has mei pressed against the door to mei’s apartment. his skin itches for kazuya’s touch and his lips are jutted out—an invitation and a challenge even this late in the game.
kazuya rises to it by leaning down to meet mei’s lips and using his free hand to twist the knob to the door, pushing himself and mei inside the flat.
“this is just hate fucking right?” kazuya asks, his leg quickly closing the door. mei pulls his jacket off, his fingers are just as quick to unbutton his shirt. kazuya copies mei, pulling his own clothes off and putting his hands on mei’s pant zippers.
“just hate fucking,” mei confirms as he helps kazuya pull his pants down.
“all right, repeat it loudly again,” kazuya commands, his eyes leaving mei and searching for something else through the house. “i want to make sure that hideous demon you raise knows it too.”
mei frowns before understanding makes its way to him and he shoots the catcher a dirty look, his brows knitting themselves together like kazuya has just wronged his mother. “tooru is the sweetest little cat in the world,” he responds indignantly. “—and he’s with my sister for the week. so the only one scratching you out tonight will be me,” he adds, hot and shameless.
“don’t you look eager,” kazuya cackles, a shit-eating grin adorning his handsome face. mei kisses it off of kazuya. tonight, he tastes like resentment simmered for too long with a healthy dash of desire. he bites at kazuya’s lower lip harshly before pushing him away . “get your mouth on me now, kazuya.”
kazuya gives him a thumbs up, smiling. dork! mei thinks before he has his breath is knocked out of him because kazuya whips him around, flattening him against his foyer wall. “give a guy a little warning, would you?” he huffs but perks his ass up in the air anyway, widening his legs to give kazuya full access.
kazuya takes full advantage, he gets on his knees, his deft fingers quickly parting mei’s ass cheeks. a spectrum of color spreads across his face and his heart—his surprise quickly abating at the feel of kazuya’s hand on his hole instead of his cock like he had been expecting.
he smiles a little before it’s replaced with an embarrassing jolt and a loud moan—he clicks his tongue at himself. kazuya has only been thumbing at his hole, pushing it in a little.
“don’t hold back on my account.” kazuya follows it by pressing his face against mei’s ass, his tongue curling to lick a long stripe from the perineal body to the hole he was previously thumbing at. mei gets increasingly harder as his knees buckle a little. kazuya presses his hand at the back of mei’s thigh harder while flattening his tongue. mei bucks back, hole fluttering, breathless sounds falling from his lips. his muscles are tight with tension and kazuya generously presses his hands harder still, trying to anchor mei and leaving bruises to show for it.
kazuya is here, on his knees—mei tries to remember how cocky kazuya had managed to sound even like this, with his face up mei’s ass and lets it drive him further to the edge. “bastard,” mei whines, his entire body reduced to a tingling nerve when kazuya pushes his tongue in. mei lets go, completely, moaning loud and overwhelmed. kazuya only swirls his tongue, pushing in deeper.
kazuya releases his grip on mei’s thighs and instead holds at his hips, holds mei steady and fucks mei deeper still. “yeah,” kazuya agrees from earlier—mei can feel the curl of kazuya’s lips into a smile against the ring of muscles up his hole—and a warning bell goes off in mei’s head, only about a quarter of this feels like a quick hate fuck.
he doesn’t budge though, he wraps his hand around his own cock—so hard that it aches—and pumps it as kazuya moves his thumb, thrusts it in together with his tongue, all the way up to his knuckle. he presses and curls his finger with every push in, skilled and knowing. mei presses himself against the wall further, swiping and stroking at his cock and rocks up, up, up .
•••
the water is warm when mei gets in, already relaxed and sated well from his earlier activities. the warmth being only a cherry on top. mei closes his eyes, ready to delve into a world of peace when kazuya noisily pokes his head in. of course, the menace hasn’t left yet. mei makes an unpleasant sound in response. “you still got this?” kazuya questions.
mei begrudgingly opens his eyes, straining his neck to look at kazuya. he’s holding a blue scarf, his scarf. mei looks away, eyes focusing on the bath bombs he has lined up on the corner of his tub. he doesn’t know which one to pick. “you're still here?”
kazuya grimaces. “i was just putting the clothes you got lying all around back in the closet.”
“i am not saying thank you. now put that scarf where it was and leave.”
“what?” mei asks when he notices kazuya standing there, just looking at him like he has no intention to leave this be and get out. “you said it matched my eyes and it does. i have got just the perfect complexion for it.” he sounds haughty to his own ears.
kazuya presses the heel of his palms against his eyes, shaking his head a little. mei takes in the state kazuya is in and holds his hand out. kazuya walks the short steps and hands mei the scarf, his brows furrowed in confusion.
“not the scarf. well,” mei makes a sound of disapproval and snatches the scarf, dropping it in the basket at the back of the bathtub. he then tugs at kazuya’s hand with intent.
“sit,” he orders when kazuya pulls at his hand in protest. “your hair's a mess. i will braid it just like onee-san taught me.”
“i can't have you caught getting out of my apartment looking like that,” mei reasons when kazuya just stares.
he’s close enough to hear the little exhale kazuya gives. there’s a split second of hesitation before he nods. “right, of course,” kazuya breathes, meeting mei in the eye and picking up the hairbrush from the rack behind. he tries to sit in between mei's legs but the bathtub isn’t built for two people, two sturdy athletic people. and so mei pushes kazuya around and kazuya retaliates by pulling at mei—soon they are just shoving at each other until their giggles fill the bathroom and the bathtub becomes familiarized with their bodies once again, fitting their curves and edges in all the right ways. they don’t have to settle, they just have to give themselves and the container holding them enough time to show them the way to comfort. mei almost wants to scoff at it.
the water is still warm, but mei's skin against kazuya's back is warmer. mei is a couple of inches shorter than kazuya is. he is tall enough to make for a fairground for him to reach kazuya’s head though, his long hair sticky and knotted out from their earlier messing around.
mei pulls at the knots with his fingers instead of brushing them out, the hairbrush has fallen somewhere far in their scuffle anyway. kazuya lets out a pleased hum. “will you kick me out if i tell you it feels better to have you pull at my hair?”
mei halts his hands on kazuya’s head for a fraction before resuming. “i am feeling quite generous tonight.”
“do you do this with everyone you get into your bed?”
mei pulls harder. “i didn't get you into my bed.”
he didn't. the foyer wall was their reliable companion tonight. he’s gonna have to wipe their prints off of it sometime later. tch, just like kazuya to have him do more work than the other.
“your loss, mei. you know just how good i am on it.” kazuya leans back further, reducing the space between the curve of his back and the flat of mei’s chest more. he lifts his hand and pats mei’s hand in mock assurance. bastard, mei thinks as he arranges his expression in pure irritation. he’s about to slap kazuya’s hand away when kazuya turns around, his eyes looking just as honest as his hand on top of mei’s does. yet there’s a surprising forbearance to it all. mei hates it.
this gentleness kazuya allows him—the reluctant sincerity that's burned within it—feels like a manufactured product at best. but the heat and the desire that it’s born from—mei realizes with a thump of his heart—has been raw and true.
it makes mei want to believe maybe kazuya is worth losing at whatever game they have been playing.
something in mei splinters at the realization and he shakes his head violently, shoving kazuya’s hand away and slapping his neck to get him to sit straight and look ahead instead of looking back. “get a proper shower when you go home, you stink!”
•••
mei is sitting on the edge of the bathtub, his legs softly hitting the edges as he lightly swings them back and forth. kazuya is putting on a show of toweling himself off and mei watches like a hawk—the catcher looks ridiculous; his edges all hazed out and satisfied. something about this—about watching kazuya naked, skin glistening and doing something so mundane—feels somewhat more intimate than anything they have done tonight. which is so painfully backward that mei wants to push kazuya out of the bathroom, hand him his clothes and just kick him out.
his eyes fall on the blue scarf—kazuya's scarf—and he spies what looks like a thread coming loose. mei feels a sudden urge to reach out, pick the scarf and tug on it, unravel the scarf.
unraveling the scarf might even mean unraveling kazuya. after all, it was his mother's. mei wants to see him get angry, really angry, mei wants to hear talk about how much the scarf—his mother—meant to him. to just open up.
but then mei looks back at kazuya buttoning up his dress shirt, closing up the smooth expanse of his chest and it seems to come to him as something more damning than the simple act itself. it comes as a realization that people aren’t scarves and kazuya is his mother's son. that some things just aren't allowed to be unraveled, no matter how much mei might try otherwise.
so he stops trying to think of all the fraying threads he could have grabbed at, tells himself that it won’t matter if he’s lost a battle when he still has all the opportunities to win a war.
“all right now get out,” he says once kazuya is finished pulling on his pants, looking just proper enough to not cause a scandal if he does get papped.
kazuya puckers his lips, his eyes crinkling. “no goodbye kisses?”
mei turns to him in mock disgust, standing up from the edge of the tub. “you couldn't handle it, kazuya,” he says, throwing a bath bomb in the water and pulling out an eye mask from the rack beside the tub. he waves kazuya bye out of the bathroom who keeps giving him a thumbs up like an imbecile until disappearing out of mei’s line of sight.
mei huffs, sitting down in the now cold water. there’s nothing more to have , he reminds himself as he takes stock of their exile, this has to be our epilogue.
✧
kazuya goes home. mei goes back to bed.
it was a good fuck—they are both more than pleased. but then weeks pass—mei keeps demanding his bed warmers bruise him in the same places kazuya had—his thighs, the small of his back, his heart. he tries to convince himself that it's the same for kazuya too. he doesn't have to try very hard, he knows kazuya keeps pressing on the bruises mei has left him with just to make sure it lasts longer too.
they are both miserable—they are and they both refuse to admit it.
✧
“why the fuck is it so cold?” mei curses under his breath as a gust of air hits him in the face. he tries to tighten his jacket around himself and rub his hands together, blowing into them afterward—anything to warm himself. he really should have gotten out of the bar once the uber was already here. he thinks of leaning against the wall to the club as he waits for his ride but chooses not when he inspects it and finds it dirty. he looks around, trying to find ways to kill the 10 minutes it will take for his uber to arrive and sees that the bouncer at the entrance is already shooting curious looks his way. he gives a small wave, he isn’t in a good mood but he’s a celebrity. he refuses to be the kind that doesn’t smile and wave at the commoners.
he hears the door open before he sees the bouncer turn his attention away from mei and give a small bow of his head to shirakawa katsuyuki.
great, a hateful ball of energy is just what i needed. he rolls his eyes in greetings. shirakawa returns it with a judgemental tilt of his head and an eye roll of his own.
“you shouldn’t have left that way, the guy was interested in you.”
mei pouts. “he’s not up to my standards.”
“miyuki kazuya hardly sets unachievable standards. besides, kuroo tetsuro is all the good bits of miyuki,” shirakawa points out rather blandly.
mei wants to defend kazuya—only slightly. however small, the desire is there. but he doesn’t. now, out of high school and a child no more, he knows which battles to pick when it comes to shirakawa. he knows which games he can win. and for mei, it’s always about winning. so he just keeps quiet, his face schooled into a handsome sneer as his only response to shirakawa’s unrelenting meddling.
silence falls upon them soon enough. it’s a comforting one, mei isn’t surprised. they do get along better when they’re not speaking.
“i am a fucking cliche,” shirakawa breaks peace just as mei is getting used to it. mei groans. “i am the best friend telling the main character to go to the bratty lead who he is in love with for some unfathomable reason.”
“you’re not my best friend,” he replies flatly. mei doesn’t dwell on the fact that shirakawa called him the main character. or that he’s in love with kazuya. because dwelling on facts would be all too redundant after all this time.
“good. for a second there, i was worried i might have to kill myself after this conversation.”
mei tilts his head in dry judgment and moves to go stand on the curb—anything to get out of this conversation, anything to keep shirakawa from pointing out things he’s already noticed by himself years ago.
the redheaded menace blocks his way. mei grits his teeth.
“you could say your thanks by getting out of my way,” he hisses.
“you have gotten so used to that number 1 on your back. so used to having the crowd stare at your back as you take on the world, as you shake off the signs in front of you that you are looking at—you forget miyuki isn't the rest of the crowd. he isn't looking at your back, mei. for once, he’s the one looking—,” shirakawa pauses, there’s faint disgust in the lines of his lips, his fingers moving in front of mei’s face until it stops in front of his forehead, flicking him there. “right at you.”
“you’ve some big fucking nerve to be talking to me like this.”
“mei—”
“no shut the fuck up. i don't want to hear it anymore. especially not from you.”
not looking at kazuya? not looking at kazuya?! all he's been doing his entire life is looking at kazuya—wanting him at every turn, hoping to kiss the insides of the wrists that support the hand that can catch anything thrown at it. mei’s own hands have always been outstretched at every opportunity to grab whatever chance he can get to make kazuya look back. it’s not like he fails. it’s not like kazuya hasn’t ever looked back; he always does, but always a little too late. never to let mei in, never to bare himself open and let mei make a home out of it. it’s only to leave him hungering for more.
it’s ironic, mei thinks, being the stamina monster and still being so, so exhausted. he’s tired, bone deep; his hands learning to let go of things that can break his heart just as he had learnt to let go of the hardball at its highest speed all those years ago.
•••
mei kicks the door open when the key clicks in the lock, closing it behind him harshly. he’s probably going to hear about it from the neighbors tomorrow, he is just going to pin it all on ruksana.
his shoes fly off his feet and gather haphazardly in the genkan. he sees the light in the foyer is on, when he’s sure he had left it turned off before he went out. ruksana was probably here. good! nothing like a person who’s gonna make it easier for me to pin blame on.
he takes out a bottle of cold milk from the fridge and walks to his gaming room. he might be a little tipsy from the drinks he has had, and the bright orange of his walls under the fluorescent lights only hurt his eyes. he rubs at them, moving to sit down and almost misses it—the stack of papers—lying on the small center table. mei picks it up, squinting. there’s a note on top, ruksana’s neat handwriting adorns it.
mei narrows his eyes, frowning.
mei,
you could at least cut my calls to let me know you don't wanna pick them up and not make me worry.
gazenols amended their offer.
they want both you and miyuki kazuya on it and the hot news is that he's already accepted. nabe has yet to put out an official announcement though.
i went ahead and got two responses ready, already. sign on the one you wanna go with. i went full poet on the refusal letter. for once, i hope my efforts are a waste!!! i will pick it up tomorrow morning. have it ready.
P.S you slide up the red button when you don't want to take a call.
mei reads through the note once, twice. kazuya accepted? this...this is a sign.
shirakawa's voice rings in his head, loud and unwelcome. he's looking at you.
mei flushes in the neck. there's just no way he got rightfully intervened by shirakawa. he can't have anything of that sort. he shakes his head but it's futile—he can already hear shirakawa's unbecoming chortles.
he skims through ruksana's writing again. gazenols wants them both . kazuya already accepted. it hurts, his head and his eyes. he's looking right at you—and it's not a baseball game. you don't have to shake his signs and you don't have to take him out. you just have to look back.
mei grits his teeth, crumbling the note in his hands. they’re far more honest than any of the unbidden hope rearing its ugly head in mei’s chest.
he throws the note at the trashcan situated in the corner of the room. it goes in perfectly. good , he thinks as he picks up the stack of paper next , i don’t want to look back.
✧
“halt!”
miyuki curses under his breath, stopping in his tracks and raising his arms over his head. he doesn’t want trouble, and to fight what he guesses are five soldiers pointing their swords at him to flee would be bringing him exactly that. he turns around slowly.
he was right, there are five of them. “who are you? identify yourself!” one of them asks.
he bows. “i am a gladiator—a challenger if you will. i mean no harm, i was just crossing the land.”
the soldiers snicker, laughing. “a gladiator eh?” miyuki nods. “you fight for show?”
miyuki grins, all teeth and mischief. “something like that, yeah.”
the soldiers all grin back. “good, our king will be happy.”
fighting boneheads for the entertainment of pompous kings and their equally obnoxious wards wasn’t something that topped miyuki’s career list when he had first started out. but the fates have their own plans, leading him to earn his bread this way. so he smiles, looking grateful even though he only feels half of it for the upcoming challenges and asks them to lead the way.
• • •
the arena boo’s as miyuki kazuya spares yet another life—their disapproving yells thundering down at him like storms in the summer. miyuki withstands—stubborn and heedless, just as he had the other two times.
the soldiers had brought him to narumiya mei, the king of inashiro. his highness had promised to forgive his trespass— at which point miyuki had snorted, trying to bite his tongue—in exchange for a show. cut down their finest warrior, he had been told. well, he cut down three of them.
“alright calm down,” the king says after a minute, raising his palm up to tranquilize the screaming crowd. the crowd seems to want to protest as miyuki looks around, bewildered and feeling a little out of his element. there’s a simultaneous dying groan from the crowd before it obliges its king’s order and quietens down. miyuki starts feeling like a furnace underneath all the armor and chainmail, sweat lining its way through his cropped hairline.
narumiya eyes miyuki at once, pulling out his gauntlet in one swift motion. “enough with the expendables. how about you face me, challenger ?” he throws it to the ground, the thud of the gauntlet matching itself with the exciting thud of miyuki’s own heart.
even sneering, miyuki thinks, narumiya looks beautiful. his lip curls up slightly. “i can’t refuse you without having my head on a pike, can i?”
narumiya’s eyes flash, upper lip twitching. “why would you even want to?”
they circle each other, it’s like a dance. only miyuki could actually stand to lose his life from it. he supposes there are far more boring dances he could be participating in right now, if his father had his way. so he smiles from ear to ear and pays attention to getting the rhythm in his favor.
but minutes pass and all that happens are the king’s bluff attacks. enough, he’s the challenger so he takes the first action, springing to strike at narumiya. the king is quick to block it with his own sword, graceful and ethereal and equally brutal when he redirects miyuki’s momentum back on him. the gladiator stumbles back, his feet almost tripping him.
he bares his teeth, it’s finally getting exciting. narumiya doesn’t give him time to stand back up and regain himself. he comes, viciously, as a king would—the white wolf in a dark forest— and makes for a jab at miyuki’s ribs.
miyuki frowns, quick to dodge the strike and clashing his sword with narumiya’s while at it. is he going easy on me without making it obvious to the audience?
miyuki is about to open his mouth—to do what he isn’t sure yet. possibly to taunt him, to goad him when someone intervenes.
“oh stop—stop!” a dark-haired man—royal from the looks of him—exclaims. miyuki jumps back, not wanting to be the cause for collateral damage. the king growls.
miyuki blinks at the intruder, he seems familiar. that sigil—it’s princess mukai of the kingdom of teitou. miyuki had fought in their arena last year for his father.
“what a stink!” eurghs princess mukai, holding his nose.
miyuki sniffs at his armpits in a self-conscious manner. no, it’s not the commoner’s blood stench, he really just reeks. this is not on him, he’s fighting his fourth fight of the day. why does the king smell bad? he raises an eyebrow as he curiously looks between the royals.
“who allowed you in here?” king narumiya grumbles.
“the bad smell, of course. both of you and those three the gladiator defeated—” princess mukai points at the heap of three unconscious warriors miyuki had dealt with. he looks utterly distressed. “i could hardly survive standing in the stands.”
he brings out a contraption and points it at them. “what the hell is that?” king narumiya is enraged.
“it’s perfume, you oaf! all of you badly need it.”
the princess presses at the nozzle attached and starts spraying at them, spraying all around. miyuki instinctively brings his arms around to shield himself, not trusting the foreign substance. a positively peculiar and sweet smell covers his senses soon enough and miyuki lowers his shield when he realizes it’s a watery substance that could be potentially harmless. the backdrop of the scene starts softening, diffusing into something bright and vibrant. miyuki looks around as flowers start blooming at the edges and he starts blushing, exhilarated by the smell.
beside him, king narumiya does the same—looking like helium has filled out his veins and his cheeks, tinting them red. miyuki eagerly whiffs his nose at the substance that was sprayed and multiple things come to him at once—the smell of hot springs in winter, of earth, and moss, and leaf green grass blowing in the wind beneath the starry night sky. and of something morbid. of the blood of fallen knights, and silver foxes running through the woods.
the princess twirls around, positively delighted at the results. “now you are all ready to kill each other with swords and not with disgusting body odor, the audience will be safer and happier too,” he adds sagely as he starts to retreat from the fighting arena.
miyuki moves to assume his stance while king narumiya does the same. somehow they both look much more relaxed and oddly giddy—like they are on some kind of sugar high. the sky above them turns from a pale blue into the royalest of blues, coloring the king’s eyes into something softer and shinier. miyuki waits for the arena master to give them his go.
this time,when they start, the king makes the first attack. it’s an easy setup the king is going for—miyuki blocks easily, the clanking sound of their swords clashing filling up the arena. it comes as music to miyuki’s ears.
the challenger stares into the king, not making a move to pull away and watches him do the same. in some ways miyuki feels a unique thrill he hadn’t before. he can tell narumiya feels it too—because before he knows it, the king pushes his sword in at miyuki more, making it look like a perfect cross shape; a manufactured stalemate.
miyuki kazuya bares his teeth, smiling unguardedly. narumiya mei returns it with a crooked grin of his own.
“cut!” yells director takeda, clapping his hands gleefully. “and that’s a wrap.” he looks pink with excitement as mei and kazuya spring apart. kazuya shoots him a curious look, waggling his eyebrows for added irritation. mei pretends not to notice.
he's still busy trying to convince himself that this—working with kazuya, being partners— is about the good press.
“brilliant job guys! cannot believe we got this done within just two days,” takeda beams as the production team starts shuffling around.
mei had changed his mind and accepted the gazenols offer after a restless night’s sleep. of course, he had. aside from the good money and press, he thoroughly enjoyed watching ruksana's attempt at being articulate instead of a blunt mess go to waste. he's a fantastic client like that.
“i am great at everything i do.” mei answers takeda, trying for his politest smile.
mukai snorts, coming closer to mei and looking thoroughly affronted. “you're childish in everything you do, and you're like 23.”
mei's nostrils flare, his eyes narrowing. he spies kazuya wheezing in the background out of the corner of his eye and his breath catches. “you're mediocre in just about everything,” he shoots back. “except for sucking. you're extremely good at sucking!”
he's yelling at this point, with no remorse, and mukai seems like he wants to yell too. but ruksana intervenes, blocking mei with one arm and pushing up her glasses. “i apologize, mr mukai,” she says, perfectly serene. mei wants to protest. “mr. narumiya doesn't have enough practice at talking with people who don't make playoffs given he sees them very less. i will see to it and make sure he squeezes some time in between his packed schedule to learn.”
steam seems to come out of mukai's ears, his cheeks bright red and face contorted into an ugly expression. mei bursts out laughing, holding his stomach in.
“you—”
“no, that's enough,” yuu-san—mukai's manager—cuts in. managers are such meddlesome creatures. “no protests, mr. teiyou. we are done for today.”
yuu-san puts a hand on mukai’s shoulders and leads him out of the set. mukai goes with him unwillingly, growling unflattering words under his breath. mei watches with a pleased smile.
“why don't you go to your green room and change out?” ruksana suggests. her tone is sterile—she's not happy about the scene with mukai. well tough shit.
“miyuki-kun said he will see you there, and that you two need to talk.”
mei's eyebrows go up to his hairline, face flushing. “and you're allowing it?!” he squawks.
“he makes a very good case in his favor.”
“bullshit! you just want to set me up because you're pissed.”
“i assure you setting up an event that can potentially cause a huge upset is the last thing i want. but there's significant merit to it,” ruksana glances at mei under her lashes. something in mei's chest tightens at it, waiting, for her next words. “you added to it the moment you accepted the brand commercial. and you know i always want the very best for you, mei .”
mei eyes ruksana. he's not suspicious—not really. ruksana has been working with his agent as an intern since college, and then taking over as manager once he joined the pros. she’s never let him down before. if anything, this is ruksana saying she approves of whatever mei and kazuya have or yet to have.
he twinkles his eyes at her, beaming. “i am pinning the whole thing on you when it goes up in flames.”
ruksana looks at him blandly. “you always do.”
• • •
you have to be ready to know people. you have to be willing to hear them, to read between the lines. because chances are they won't hand you a diary detailing their life before you, their days that still don’t have you in them.
instead, they will wrap a scarf around your neck, tell you the blue complements your eyes just as it did their mother’s. they'll take you to the park and tell you about the first mitt they've ever broken in. and then they will tell you that you know them by letting you order for them when you go out to eat; by letting you pick out their favorite baseball rerun to watch after an exhausting week. they will have you know it all by going to bed afterward and not pulling down their eye mask, because they are aware you know they cannot sleep without a tuck-in kiss to the cheek, and that you'll pull down their eye mask for them.
because knowing people isn't demanding answers all the time. it's looking back when they're looking at you.
and so mei looks back. because he realizes now that he hasn’t been before. not really. kazuya is standing behind him, at the foot of the door but it's okay—mei doesn't have to turn his head around. he can look kazuya in the eye, just by looking ahead of him in the body-length mirror he’s standing in front of.
kazuya has cut his hair—mei had noticed it yesterday. he hadn’t let himself mull over what it might mean though. he still doesn’t. he does think kazuya looks cuter with longer hair. it leaves him with more adorable braids options too.
mei’s green room is a non-descript mess, clothes and accessories thrown all around, everywhere. kazuya only nods at it knowingly, tentatively walking towards mei and putting the stupid shield he was still holding onto at the corner of mei's dresser. mei resolves not to turn around yet. he keeps his eyes ahead, tracking all of kazuya's movements in the mirror in front.
kazuya exhales softly and then drops his chin on top of mei's shoulder. “you know i was exiled from my kingdom. mostly my fault, really.”
mei stands up straighter, a crease appearing between his eyebrows. “another thing to add to the pile of things shirakawa is infuriatingly right about,” he crosses his arms.
“why? does he do that a lot?” kazuya asks, batting his eyelashes, they almost brush the back of mei's ear, his voice is irritatingly honey sweet. mei grits his teeth at his physical reaction to it—the hair in his neck rising—and palms kazuya in the face to shove him away.
“i am not match-making you two. i will commit arson and grand larceny before i do that.”
kazuya laughs but it lacks mirth. mei bites his lip, turning around to look to kazuya. this is it, he braces himself.
“you never looked,” kazuya accuses.
“you never asked,” mei defends.
“and you never tried to—”
“i am looking at you now,” mei interrupts. he would love to see how this plays out–just throwing around blame at each other and finding out which ones stick; he would love to defend himself from all the ways their roles have been reversed—kazuya being the one who has been looking while the pitcher remained blind to it. but mei wants to do better now, so he continues, “i took the sign, looked at it for what it was when you accepted the gazenols commercial. i should have looked before too.”
kazuya blinks, momentarily and then sighs. he looks burnt out. “yes, you should have.” kazuya is still so close mei can see how his lips tremble. “it really fucking sucked how you gave me all that crap about me not opening up to you, but you never really listened. you just decided it was time to cut your losses. how could you do that, babe? ”
mei flinches, his gaze skittering away. he remembers the morning he broke up with kazuya like yesterday—not that he replayed it in his mind countless times.
maybe once. or twice. okay, multiple times.
if he tried hard enough, maybe he could still feel the blank stare kazuya had offered him when he had said, voice condensed with artificial sweetener, ‘this isn't working out, babe. i am calling it off.’
if he had bothered enough then, maybe he would have asked himself how he knew that blank stare was kazuya's perfected expression of open surprise—that he knew to translate kazuya in ways others did not. instead, he had taken it to criticize kazuya for not seeing this coming.
he groans, low and guttural down his throat and runs a hand through his gel greased hair. he refuses to regret the breakup. he needed it to learn, they needed it. because it’s not like they weren’t looking at each other. they were just looking all wrong. “i don’t like losing. breaking up with you when i did, it felt like winning at that time. it had felt the same during my last fall in high school and we both know how that turned out.”
kazuya, who had been patient through mei's personal time-out, smiles like a cheshire cat. mei misses tooru. “you took the ugliest defeat of your career.”
mei splutters, agitated. “don’t look too pleased, high school is 5 years in the past.”
kazuya wraps his arms around mei—just as he had wrapped his mother's scarf around his neck that fateful day, had told him about the scarf itself. they were in college then—during winter break and it was the first time miyuki kazuya had decided to share a piece of himself that he keeps away from those who don't know it already. “and what about 5 years in the future? do you think i could have something to be pleased about?” kazuya asks, studying mei’s face.
standing here, under the warmth of kazuya’s arms around him, mei notices kazuya still hasn’t switched out contacts for glasses yet. he looks hopeful and bare and vulnerable in ways he had rarely allowed himself to be back when they were dating. it feels like being let in for the first time again. this time, mei promises, he will not be blind to it.
with that promise comes an epiphany. he had been drawing metaphors all this time to not hold onto kazuya—to not hold onto what he thought was just him trying to grab at frays. maybe he should have seen it in a way shirakawa would barf at, and itsuki would be proud of—that people are like scarves. that you meet and pick people up the same way you pick up a scarf. you do it to look for warmth and shelter. you take a leap of faith to see if it’s made from the kind that itches your skin or protects it.
and maybe he finds that there's not a lot of difference between the blue scarf that has seen him through his bad days, and the arms that are wrapped around him now.
“maybe,” mei swallows around a lump in his throat. he pauses just for a moment, and kazuya latches onto it, waiting with bated breath for mei’s response. mei’s lips turn to a pleased little smile at that. “maybe in 5 years, we will learn to look at each other in all the right ways. but don't get too ahead of yourself.”
“wouldn’t want to offend the crown now, would i?” miyuki says in a mock bow, his eyes gleaming. mei pouts but it’s dull, there’s none of the contentions he usually possesses behind it.
“you’re my crown, kazuya!” mei declares as he pulls kazuya closer. kazuya lets him. he knocks their foreheads together softly, trying to hide his face in kazuya's. he doesn't enjoy how corny he has come to sound but decides to press on when he can feel kazuya's features soften against him, can feel his smile—broad and honest and happy. “no more exiles,” he says.
kazuya says nothing for a moment, letting silence stretch on. but it's alright, mei can take a minute to enjoy kazuya—here, and now with all of his sharpness.
"hey,” kazuya breaks the silence faintly, placing his hand on mei's nape and pulling away. he sounds serious and mei perks up, anxiety making its way through his chest. “this is a favor i am doing you. do you wanna get back together?"
mei shoots him a dirty look, which kazuya returns with a grin—his obviously practiced don't-you-wish-you-had-me grin—mei cringes. he looks like he's low on fiber and has constipation.
he hits kazuya in the head, he's so, so infuriated. "no,” he replies. kazuya looks at him incredulously, rubbing gingerly at the spot mei struck. “because i am the one doing you a favor,” he adds haughtily.
kazuya gapes. “you are so—”
“—generous,” mei finishes for him, childlike mischief sewn in the curve of his lips when he tugs at kazuya’s face and places a kiss on his nose. he follows it with a kiss to kazuya's jaw to his throat and then comes back up to press their lips together. he’s missed this—missed kazuya. so very much.
kazuya pulls back for just a little—surprising mei. he dramatically sighs and mumbles a low “brat,” before meeting mei halfway again. this time, he lets mei push his tongue in. mei grins against kazuya’s mouth, his teeth scraping against kazuya’s and his heart fluttering against his chest.
mei feels the soft oscillation of his heart—as it flutters and recalls the expectations he had from kazuya. this time around, he swears, the fluttering of his heart is the only wavering he would accept from himself.
✧—finished.