-It could be wrong, it could be wrong-
When Furuya approaches him after dinner in the hall one day, Kuramochi immediately says, "Miyuki is with the coach, it seems like it'll take a while before he comes back."
The first year, to his surprise, blinks slowly. "I'm not looking for Miyuki-senpai."
"Oh," Kuramochi blinks back, sounding equally confused. "Okay. What's up, then?"
It's not often—or rather, maybe this is the first time—that Furuya has approached him; Kuramochi is sure he's patted the other on the back and such during matches, but the pitcher has never initiated any sort of small talk with him. Furuya is quiet and he accepts that; one Sawamura in the team is enough for them all. So this is a special…occasion…that Furuya is seeking him out, which makes him suspicious, because Furuya only seeks Miyuki out. That he knows of, at least. Sometimes it's like Miyuki has Furuya on a hypothetical leash being the pitcher's favourite catcher and all.
Furuya hesitates for a moment, as if unsure with himself—that, is a little new to Kuramochi—before opening his mouth. "…What does Miyuki-senpai like?"
There are a lot of things Kuramochi could've predicted what Furuya might say to him—all along the lines of baseball—but this throws him off completely. "Huh?"
Furuya just looks at him in silence while Kuramochi stares back, brows furrowing. "What does Miyuki…like?" he repeats, and Furuya nods. "Uh," his frown deepens. "Why are you asking me?"
Sure Miyuki is a…friend—maybe, sometimes, when Miyuki's not being an ass—but Kuramochi doesn't think he's particularly close to the pitcher.
"Miyuki-senpai spends a lot of time with you," is Furuya's simple explanation.
That's because they're classmates and he can't really avoid that, can he? Kuramochi sighs eventually and leans forward with his cheek on his palm. "Okay," he breathes out, not wanting to get into specifics about friendship and the like. "But…what do you mean by what Miyuki 'likes'? Are you planning on getting him a present or something? His birthday isn't for a while, you know."
Furuya fidgets a bit, and shakes his head eventually. "Not a present," he says, and looks down while he takes something out of his pocket.
It's a folded slip of paper, one that the other unfolds and stares at some writing on it before diverting his attention back to Kuramochi.
Kuramochi raises an eyebrow. "Movies?" he barks a laugh, teasingly. "What, you want to take Miyuki out on a date?"
Of course the first year doesn't laugh at his joke—Kuramochi grumbles on the inside, but hey, this is Furuya so he doesn't expect much, but then Furuya actually nods once while he's chuckling to himself and he promptly chokes on his saliva.
"Wait—I. I was—joking," Kuramochi coughs, leaning forward to stare at the pitcher who doesn't seem fazed in the slightest. "You. You're serious," he concludes eventually when Furuya just looks at him. He stares, agape for a few seconds. "What the fuck, are you serious?" he demands, voice loud enough to catch the attention of a couple of people still hanging about.
Furuya's hands tighten under the table.
"Senpai—" he starts, but Kuramochi stands up and grabs him by the arm, pulling him out of the dinner hall away from the curious eyes.
"Furuya," Kuramochi begins once he thinks he's moved them to a more secluded corner. "What did Miyuki do to you?"
The first year blinks uncomprehendingly, and Kuramochi sighs, ruffling the back of his hair in exasperation.
"Nevermind. But let me get this straight; you…like…Miyuki?"
"And you want to ask him out on a…date?" Kuramochi inwardly cringes.
Kuramochi's sure he's living in some alternate reality here, because what the hell, he has sharp eyesight and he knows that the slightly pink complexion on Furuya is not because of the heat. Should he have seen this coming? Perhaps he should've—from the way Furuya is constantly seeking out Miyuki but then he's always been assuming that it's pitching that Furuya is in love with—not the catcher. He didn't even think Furuya was capable of liking people; perhaps that was harsh, but, Furuya's always been fixated on the ball…of which Miyuki catches.
Oh fuck, Kuramochi swallows faintly, a sudden memory from today's afternoon's practice where he had glanced at Miyuki petting Furuya's head smirking with a compliment, and that same pink flush that he now realises wasn't the exertion from practice—oh my fucking god, Miyuki, Kuramochi growls.
Furuya's gaze darts briefly to his shoes before meeting Kuramochi's eyes firmly. "Can senpai help me?"
What is Kuramochi supposed to say to something like that?
What the fuck, Miyuki.
"What the fuck, Miyuki," is the first thing Kuramochi says when Miyuki opens his door after an incessant knocking session on the door.
Miyuki stifles his yawn into his shoulder, face devoid of his spectacles. "What do you want? I was going to sleep."
"I told you not to do it!" Kuramochi hisses, jabbing a finger towards his face.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Miyuki says blandly as he turns and walks back towards his bed, though he leaves the door open.
Kuramochi huffs and steps in, closing the door behind him. It's really odd that Miyuki's roommates are never in the room; he isn't even sure if they exist, to be honest. But that's the least of his priorities, not when he's just spent the past hour awkwardly trying to think of…ideas…for Furuya because he's a good and responsible senpai unlike the other one currently lying back on his own damn bed. Kuramochi scowls and kicks Miyuki in the side.
"I can't believe you, asshole," Kuramochi says dreadfully, sitting himself down at the foot of Miyuki's bed. "Oh my god, I can't believe myself," he mutters, head knocking into his knees.
"I still don't know what you're talking about," Miyuki supplies helpfully, voice lazy.
"I'm talking about you and your puppy in obedience training," Kuramochi states, leaning his head back to stare at Miyuki, dead serious. "Miyuki. You should stop doing that to him."
There is a lengthy pause before there are some rustling of the sheets, and Miyuki slides down to sit by him on the floor. Miyuki yawns again, but he sounds more awake in his next sentence.
"It's just a bit of fun, Kuramochi," Miyuki answers, as he searches the ground blindly for his glasses—Kuramochi shoves the pair into his hand eventually. "No harm done."
"That's where you're wrong," Kuramochi retorts. "There's a lot of harm done. A lot."
"Like what? When Furuya listens to me, he pitches better. The team scores better. It's a win-win," Miyuki says, and even if the tone isn't full out smug, Kuramochi kind of wants to punch him anyway.
Kuramochi sees no other way to explain the deep shit that they're in except to say plainly, "Furuya likes you."
"…Okay," Miyuki looks back at him. "I like me too—"
"You asshole, you know what I mean," Kuramochi growls, elbowing the other in the stomach. "You know what the fuck I was doing for the past hour? I was thinking of date plans, because Furuya," he emphasises, "wants to take you on a date, like, a fucking date, what the actual hell," he rants. "This is going too far, you need to stop whatever you're doing to him, right now."
Miyuki doesn't meet his eyes, only to rub the back of his neck. "Huh, it's nice to know Furuya has more interests than pitching," the catcher says casually, and Kuramochi pauses in flat out shock.
"…Y-you're going to let him take you on that date? Are you fucking with me, Miyuki?"
Miyuki shrugs. "What's the harm? Hey, free food, right?"
"The harm," Kuramochi growls, exasperated. "Is you breaking his poor fragile heart. The kid is serious. About you. Ew. Fuck. The hell."
"Furuya isn't as fragile as you think he is," Miyuki replies absentmindedly, and immediately inwardly braces himself for the onslaught that is to follow.
"Y-you—" Kuramochi breathes out, irritation clear on his expression when he grabs the front of Miyuki's shirt. "You knew."
"Fuck, Miyuki, when?" he demands.
Miyuki scowls a bit and scratches his nape, pushing Kuramochi away from his face. "About four months ago."
"Four—" Kuramochi breaks off with a broken frustrated noise. "Why the fuck are you leading him on, then?" he seethes, whacking the other in the chest. "Unless…" he trails off, eyes going wide as he releases the front of Miyuki's shirt. "Oi, captain. Are you fucking serious."
"It's. It's…complicated, alright," Miyuki says eventually, but of course Kuramochi won't take that for an answer.
"I never thought you'd crush on Furuya."
Miyuki frowns. "I don't have a crush on Furuya."
"Then what do you call…whatever you're doing, huh?"
"Like I said," Miyuki scowls and crosses his arms. "It's complicated."
Kuramochi makes some sort of a noise crossed between and scoff and a snort, but he grumbles and sits back, crosslegged. He doesn't get Miyuki sometimes—this is probably why he doesn't think he's particularly close to the other, not when he doesn't understand jack shit what Miyuki does, not the Miyuki that everyone sees on a daily basis, but this Miyuki, this clueless fumbling idiot who makes the worst choices in the history of forever.
"I think you're making it complicated," Kuramochi states plainly, lips pressed together. "I," he starts, then stops. "Actually, I don't want to know what you're doing with Furuya, but if he can't pitch properly because of you and we lose our shot at the Nationals…" he threatens lowly, cracking his knuckles for effect.
"Oh please, he pitches better because of me and you know it," Miyuki snorts, grinning.
"You cocky bastard."
Furuya wanting to ask him out on a date is actually a new revelation. It's been two months since Furuya held his hand in his room, and nothing has happened in that two months. Mostly because it has been a hectic crazy season of losing to Inashiro by a hair width, the changes in their new team line up, Miyuki being saddled with the title of captain (what a joke, really)—there hasn't been much time for…other things. Furuya still seeks him out regularly for pitching practice but that's something they've always had since the beginning, it's been burnt into their schedule, and Miyuki casually remarks on the improvement in his form and ball control in return.
So. Miyuki has come to accept that he likes the attention that Furuya gives him and Furuya eagerly delivers that—they've reached a comfortable status quo that hasn't been pushed for more, and Miyuki is fine with that.
A date, though? That's definitely a forward move to throw the ball into his court.
Miyuki has to admit he doesn't have much experience with dates and the such; he goes for mixers with his classmates on the rarity. Sure he's been confessed to in Seido, but he's too invested in baseball to make time for any sort of romantic relationship, which he learns from the sparing few girls he went out with in middle school. There isn't time for something like that, not when he's busy watching baseball matches to analyse the play or catching pitches till late.
But a date coming from Furuya? That's a bit different, maybe because Miyuki can't actually imagine Furuya asking him out on a date—he chuckles, idly wondering the kind of words Furuya will use, or the kind of plans the other had made; hey, didn't Kuramochi help Furuya with those plans? Miyuki is curious about that but Kuramochi refuses to talk to him anything relating to it, so all he can do is to wait.
And wait, he does, for at least three weeks in which he thinks Furuya is going to pop the question, but it always ends up being a request to catch his pitch. Miyuki almost hates himself by the end of the third week—because shit, he's actually anticipating getting asked out and it's disconcerting to look forward to something like that, especially when he still isn't exactly sure how he should tackle Furuya's feelings about him.
It's on this particular train of thought that when he's walking slowly back to his room from the communal baths that he sees Furuya outside his door for him. The pitcher is holding something in his hands though Miyuki can't see what it is, dressed down into his sleepwear.
Miyuki raises an eyebrow as he approaches the other. "Furuya. Do you need something?"
Furuya faces him solemnly and Miyuki thinks this is it—except, Furuya unclenches his hand and shows Miyuki the nail polish bottle. Miyuki viciously shoves the disappointment in his gut away—he's not upset about it, he's just. He shouldn't be feeling…well. Whatever.
"When I said find somebody to do it for you I didn't mean me," Miyuki remarks dryly, but he does unlock his door to let Furuya in.
Furuya enters and sits on the floor—same spot as last time—and Miyuki joins him after tossing his towel over his chair. He gestures for the other's hand and inspects it under the light; Furuya's nails are polish-free and cut neatly, and there are no signs of cracking.
"Very good, keep this up," he nods approvingly.
He doesn't have to look up to feel Furuya brightening up at his comment. He reigns in the involuntary smirk.
"Leave your hand there and don't move," he instructs instead, as he puts the other's hand on his knee and opens the polish bottle.
The ethanol scent hits his nose immediately when he flicks the first stroke down Furuya's nail, continuing the quick strokes down the number of fingers. The first hand is done and he gestures for the next hand—nail painting is a fast and easy business once you get the hang of it, and Miyuki has enough experience to make it quick. Furuya is silent all throughout and Miyuki doesn't expect any less, which is why he startles and paints a line up Furuya's fourth finger when the other speaks.
"Are you free this Sunday, Miyuki-senpai?"
Miyuki reaches backward for the box of tissue on his table and snags one piece to wipe rather futilely at the polish coat on Furuya's skin—ah well, it's transparent and it'll wash off anyway.
"What do you need me on Sunday for?" he asks calmly, painting the last pinky nail.
Furuya doesn't answer him in that time; Miyuki looks up when he screws the polish bottle shut and sees the first year flushing faintly pink. Miyuki knows there's a special place in hell for him for doing this to Furuya, but god, it's incredibly fascinating to watch the normally stoic pitcher bite his bottom lip nervously and dart his eyes around.
"A…movie. And cake," Furuya answers, slightly hesitant.
A movie, Miyuki understands, but, "Cake?"
"It's sweet," the pitcher replies. "Does Miyuki-senpai not like sweet things?"
Miyuki is partial to sweet stuff, but he doesn't eat cake very often—is this some effort by Kuramochi in the date plans? "I'm fine with sweet things," he says. "What kind of movie are you talking about?"
"Whatever senpai wants."
"Well," Miyuki hums in thought. "There isn't anything in particular that I want to watch at the moment. I'd rather sleep in on Sunday, since we have that practice match on Saturday and all."
There is a deep deep place in hell for him—
Furuya pauses and swallows, shifting to sit on his knees. When the first year clenches his hands, Miyuki vaguely mourns the still wet nails before realising that the other is looking at him in that way again—
"Please go on a date with me this Sunday, Miyuki-senpai."
Hearing the exact words from Furuya's mouth makes Miyuki freeze, for some reason. His jaw is stiff when he unclenches it to find the words to reply Furuya. It's like déjà vu all over again—him, deliberately flippantly brushing off the intentions that Furuya tries to portray just to see how far the other will go, and Furuya meets him head on, time and time again.
Miyuki looks away briefly as silence settles, knowing that Furuya has seen through him yet again. His lips part to form the word 'no', with Kuramochi's voice ringing sharp: This is going too far, you need to stop whatever you're doing to him, right now—and Miyuki knows that but when Furuya scoots a little closer and Miyuki can see the resolute focus in Furuya's stare at him, at him, he just, can't…
"If," he starts, with carefully placed lazy grin on the lips. "If you pitch without giving up a single run for all your innings during the practice game on Saturday, I'll consider it," he allows, as though magnanimous.
He takes the polish bottle and hands it back to Furuya. "Impress me, monster-rookie."
Furuya's early game is usually weak, but even Miyuki has to be surprised when Furuya allows a run within the first ten minutes of the game. Well, there goes the date, Miyuki thinks wryly, tossing the ball in his hands once before throwing it over to Furuya.
"Don't mind!" he calls, squatting down again.
The current team they have is, unfortunately, weak due to the loss of the third years so Miyuki doesn't expect much, but he still thinks they have a decent shot at winning if they just do as they always have in practice. But first, their ace has to grant them some sort of morale, not doing something like giving up a run within the first ten minutes of the game.
Relax, Furuya, Miyuki stares, moving his glove into position. Keep the pitch low.
Furuya breathes in deep, and pivots to let the ball fly. Miyuki's eyes widen when he realises the ball isn't coming towards where he's led Furuya to throw towards, and quickly reaches up to catch it before it flies to hit the fence behind them.
Miyuki frowns and tosses it back. He positions his glove back into place, meeting Furuya's eyes firmly. Here. With another breath, Furuya swings his right arm back and lets it fly forward. This time, the ball comes in the correct trajectory that it should, except, it's much slower than usual, like a lousy simple toss—and the batter hits it clean into the air.
Miyuki grinds his teeth when he sees Furuya standing still watching the ball in the air. "Furuya, cover base!" he shouts.
The batter steps past first base and Miyuki tenses as Kuramochi finally snags the ball after a bounce on the field to fling it back towards second base. Haruichi is in place, his glove up and wide to receive it just as the runner comes charging, and everyone holds their breath for that split second.
Seido groans from the sidelines. Miyuki looks toward the dugout where coach Kataoka is just staring thoughtfully at Furuya standing as though blank on the field.
"Time," Miyuki gestures to the umpire urgently, taking off his helmet to storm towards the mound. "Furuya. What are you doing?" he keeps his voice down low, but even he can hear the impatience behind it.
Furuya has a weak early game, sure, but this is just crossing the line.
Furuya stares at the ground. "I…I thought I…"
Miyuki watches the pitcher carefully as those sparse words tumble out of the other's mouth without much elaboration. Furuya lifts his head to meet Miyuki's gaze after a few seconds of silence, and suddenly Miyuki is hit with the distress that Furuya shows plainly in those steel eyes.
"I just wanted…Miyuki-senpai to…"
Miyuki glances around briefly before breathing out slowly. He ignores the sour taste in his mouth when he whacks Furuya on the head lightly.
"Are you playing because of me, or are you playing because you want to be on the mound?" he asks lowly, sending Furuya a glare. "If you don't care about the game, I will ask coach to switch Sawamura or Kawakami in."
That seems to jolt Furuya into attention, and the air around the first year tenses dramatically. "I'm staying on the mound."
Miyuki eyes him and nods, but before he leaves to get back to the home plate, he pauses. "I didn't ask you to do anything different from what you've always been doing. You pitch best with your strength. Don't think so much. Just pitch, and leave the rest to me."
Furuya looks at him without so much a smile, but Miyuki knows better.
He leans in and whispers, "Impress me with that, Furuya, and I'll give you something later."
Miyuki walks back to the home plate with the intensity from Furuya burning strong behind him. It's a good thing that Kuramochi is far out in the field—he doesn't think he needs to hear what exactly is wrong with him doing this to Furuya, but he can't stop. The next batter gets into position and Miyuki opens his arms wide with a small smirk on his lips.
Give me your best pitch, Furuya.
Furuya adjusts his cap, takes a slow breath, and swings his arm forward.
It's on the end of the seventh inning that Furuya gets switched out—Furuya is breathing heavily, lungs winded out of air and arm muscles sore as he drags himself back to base, but Maezono comes to pat his back with a lot more force than he expects, and Kuramochi slings him around by the shoulder, grinning.
"Furuya! Nice pitch!"
"Furuya, you monster!" Kuramochi laughs, messing up his hair playfully.
Furuya relaxes into the warm compliments sent his way for a job well done—he had successfully held off the next six innings after the first one without giving up any runs. His pitches had been mostly strikes too—settled with power and aimed low. The sound of his ball caught by Miyuki's mitt resonated nicely within his chest, again and again.
Sawamura beams brightly at him and holds out his glove. "The ball, Furuya."
Furuya tightens his hold on the ball—it's irrational, he knows, but he hates giving the ball up. He experimentally rotates his shoulder. "I still can pitch."
"You can't stand by yourself," Haruichi quips, hiding a smile behind his hand.
Furuya vaguely realises that Miyuki is holding him up by the other side of Kuramochi. Miyuki rolls his eyes but he does have a smirk on his lips. "It's your own fault your stamina is pathetic. You didn't have to go all out the whole way."
Furuya glooms and reluctantly places the ball into the other pitcher's mitt, ignoring the excited whoop of the privilege of getting to the mound where he's been kicked out of. Miyuki hauls him to the nearest bench and someone comes to wrap the cold compress over his shoulder, but soon enough everyone's attention is back on the field, with Haruichi stepping first up first to bat. It's a nice clean hit and run, and Furuya looks up when Miyuki pats his shoulder and stands up to get ready for his turn.
"You did well," Miyuki says, cocking his head back with a gentle smile before he's gone to take his bat.
Furuya stares after him quietly, cheeks warm with his hands curling in his lap.
Miyuki actually forgets that he had promised to give Furuya something until the pitcher trails after him from the dinner hall back to the dorms. He scratches the back of his head for a few seconds of consideration before deciding it'll be better if they talk in his room without disruptions, and so he continues walking. Furuya follows his lead, but Miyuki doesn't expect the pitcher to speak along the way.
"Hmm?" Miyuki glances at him.
He sees Furuya swallow, but it's not of nervousness or hesitance—it's hard and firm.
"The next game. I won't give up a single pitch."
The declaration isn't loud but it's clear and more importantly, it's clear about what Furuya means with it—Miyuki weighs the options of brushing it off with a casual comment or to take it as it is, as he knows what it means. He's vaguely aware that they've stopped in the middle of the corridor, with him staring levelly at Furuya, and Furuya meeting that gaze, direct and honest.
Miyuki holds his breath. I can't say no to that look in your eyes, can I.
He takes the first step to break the still air between them, moving them onward to his door. "We'll see next week," he replies.
As always, his room is empty—and Furuya looks at him with slight confusion when he just holds his door open. Miyuki cocks his head slightly and the pitcher shuffles in to sit on the floor by the foot of his bed. He joins the other with a heavy sigh as the muscles sore from today's game burn when he squats down to sit.
It's quiet with just the two of them. Miyuki savours this silence, the silence he doesn't get when the third years like to occupy his room with bustle and noise. With Furuya, the first year just sits and waits for his direction at his own time; it's…it's nice, having no rush to collect his thoughts or actions. Miyuki leans back his head on the bed mattress, turning slightly to face Furuya.
"Your first inning was terrible," he states bluntly, and ignoring the sulking gloom over the pitcher. "What were you thinking when you threw the ball?"
Furuya stares at his feet. "…Ball control," Furuya says eventually. "Pace. Stamina."
"Which you should remember," Miyuki nods. "But don't focus on that and ignore everything else. You have to bring your arm fully down to pitch low. Especially with your strength, when you release too early, it flies even higher," he elaborates, though he's sure he's said this before at some point. "Also," he pauses thoughtfully. "It doesn't help to be impatient. There's always next time."
At that, Furuya lifts his face to glance at him.
Miyuki quirks his lips slightly. "Anyway, the later innings…it was a little bit impressive," he allows, watching Furuya simmer in a pleased warmth.
He leans forward, enough that he's obviously encroaching into Furuya's personal space.
"I did say I was going to give you something, didn't I?" he murmurs.
Furuya looks right into his eyes, but when he licks his bottom lip the pitcher's gaze flickers down and back up again. He waits for a few tense seconds to see if Furuya will do anything, but the other doesn't, soft exhales quivering. Miyuki allows a twitch of his lips when he sits back, watching Furuya flush nicely in the quiet without a hint of complaint. Miyuki lifts his hand instead and settles it atop Furuya's head, giving it a gentle pat as Furuya ducks his head down, accepting the gesture.
That's all Miyuki really plans to give Furuya, as cruel as he is—but when Furuya turns his head to peek at Miyuki through his eyelashes while Miyuki ruffles his hair, the pitcher's cheeks go darker in colour, and the gaze goes shyer. Miyuki's heart unexpectedly jumps and his mouth turns a little dry; shit, that look is really cute, and the alarm bells in his head blare loudly—do not, do not, do not—
But of course, he does.
He trails his hand down to Furuya's jaw, and with a simple nudge of his knuckles, he turns the other head just easy enough to press their mouths together. Furuya's lips are equally soft and chapped, and he presses just a little bit more before pulling back, a tingling touch lingering on his own mouth.
Furuya gazes at him dazed and flushed brilliantly, hands useless at his sides.
Miyuki is vaguely aware of his own heavier breathing and the heat burning at the bridge of his nose—he turns away, adjusting his shirt collar just for his hands to do something; ah fuck, that, that was pretty…
Furuya reaches for his hand, fingers curling over his palm gently, and Miyuki realises that it's his hand that's trembling.
"One more," Furuya says quietly, voice wavering slightly, but their eyes meet, and Miyuki knows shouldn't, he really shouldn't, but he does. "One more, please."
This time he dips his head down and meets their mouths, other hand coming up to pull Furuya closer by the nape. Miyuki can't say that he has a lot of experience with kissing but he probably does know a little bit more than Furuya who freezes still, but clutches his hand tighter. Miyuki moves his lips a little, parting them to lick at Furuya's mouth, breathing shakily and awkwardly moving when Miyuki presses against him harder. It's direly clumsy between them; Furuya refuses to let go of his hand, while Miyuki holds him still by the grip on his neck, mouths bumping and the slow brush of tongue. Furuya's lips move where he moulds them to, breath warm. It curls the heat up Miyuki's neck, and Miyuki kisses him deeper.
Impress me, Furuya, Miyuki thinks blindly into the kiss. Impress me.
It sinks in, suddenly, how he wants Furuya to give him a reason to do this. It's been three months since he knows he likes the fact of Furuya being in love with him, likes the fact of the consequence of Furuya being in love with him, the near dead-set dedication and constant attention—but has it always only been just that? It's too easy how he lets himself kiss Furuya first, too easy how he indulges the request for one more, always one more—
I think you're making it complicated, Kuramochi had said, and maybe, maybe he has.
When Miyuki pulls back, Furuya blinks his eyes open, looking more vulnerable than he has ever seen. Miyuki carefully keeps the eye contact as he sits back, allowing himself to breathe while he affixes glasses properly back on the bridge of his nose.
"What exactly do you want me to be, Furuya?" he asks after a while of silence, expression neutral.
"Don't be cocky," Miyuki whacks the other's head half-heartedly, but it seems that Furuya is entirely serious about that—the other just looks at him with no intention to say anything else.
Miyuki takes a deliberate breath.
"You know," he starts, "I'm not as amazing as you think I am." A pause. "…I won't be good to you," he smiles, almost deprecating. "You know I haven't. Been."
"…You haven't disappointed me, Miyuki-senpai," Furuya says eventually. "Even with your twisted personality."
Miyuki grins slowly at that, and laughs.
-Let our hearts ignite-