Chapter Text
In the spring before he turned seven, Kazuha met Tomo. He was merely two centimetres taller than Kazuha, his blond hair dishevelled from running around the park with the other kids. With a wide grin reaching his eyes that shimmered purple from the sun peeking through the clouds, the taller boy extended his hand and asked Kazuha a question that would end up changing the trajectory of his whole life: “do you wanna play?”
At the age of nine, Kazuha became the catcher for the neighbourhood baseball team. Out of all the kids, he was the weakest at the bat, learning to go for bunts if anything, even if it meant sacrificing himself for the team. Pitching was something he was better at, but after managing to throw a handful of balls at batters, Kazuha began to dread getting up on the mound. Fielding was a step in the better direction, but it didn’t excite him as much as it tired him.
Catching, on the other hand, was everything to Kazuha; it offered him a full, precise view of the field - all his teammates and opponents alike. It allowed him to be in control, and whilst it did require him to work on his thigh strength, he didn’t have to run around like his friends further out.
And most importantly of all, playing catcher meant Kazuha could catch for Tomo.
Tomo’s pitches were something special; even at the age of eleven, everyone could tell that Tomo had the potential to go far. Being able to catch every ball he threw his way, feeling it make a clean impact against his mitt became a sensation Kazuha could never get enough of.
Kazuha followed Tomo into middle school, being able to play on the school’s baseball team with the older boy for two years before Tomo graduated. They would still play together when they met up, but that time was limited with their school and club activities.
Still, they did their best to spend as much time as they could together. At times, the two would sneak out of their houses at night to play catch in the grassy nook hidden away in between a side road and Kazuha’s house. They’d play and laugh and lay in the grass together, pointing at the stars and trying to guess the constellations scattered across the dark canvas to no avail.
Some nights they would never play, spending their time sitting shoulder to shoulder, talking about anything and everything two teenage boys could possibly talk about. Sneaking back into his room at times was near to impossible, but Kazuha found it worth it if it meant being able to spend time with Tomo. Even if they had all the time in the world, it never felt like enough. Kazuha wished that those nights together would never end, and only when he turned fourteen did he figure out why his heart ached as much as it did when they parted ways.
Valentine’s day in the year Kazuha turned sixteen was the day Tomo threw the signature pitch he had been perfecting since he entered high-school. The cutter completely caught Kazuha off guard, missing his glove before he could fully comprehend the movement of the ball.
Beaming, Tomo looked at Kazuha and pointed to himself. “Did you see that? I did it!” Tomo was surrounded by a halo of light as he spoke, overly excited like a Golden Retriever overcome with sheer joy. He was so proud of himself - and rightfully so, Kazuha thought - that Kazuha couldn’t look away from the older boy’s bright smile, his heart caught in a tight grip at the sight.
He didn’t notice that Tomo had stopped parading in glee, going to pick up the ball instead, until the blond boy was bending over beside him. They were so close - close enough for Kazuha to feel the heat radiating off his skin, a thin layer of sweat shining under the soft sunlight.
The year he spent pining for the older came crashing into him like a ball pitched right into his heart. He was hit, the impact shooting a jolt of electricity through his entire body until it reached his fingertips, causing him to grab onto the fabric of Tomo’s shirt, clutching onto it for dear life.
Tomo wasn’t the only one to achieve something truly wonderful on that day.
Though it felt like they were worlds apart once Tomo finally graduated, not much had changed for them; they would still meet whenever they could, playing catch at any given opportunity and talking about anything they could possibly think of to pass the time. However, unlike when they were kids, they shared kisses, hiding behind trees and buildings to avoid the gazes of anyone who could possibly have seen them. There were a few close calls, but in the end no one ever saw a thing.
In the last year of high-school, Kazuha was scouted by multiple universities willing to put him in their baseball team roster, offering him the world if he accepted. And of course, Kazuha accepted once he received a proposal from the same university Tomo attended.
This was the big leagues now. All eyes were on Tomo with numerous professional teams keeping a watchful eye on the shining star that could easily strike out the top players of any team he played. With his perfected cutter and an array of stunning pitches that got everyone's hearts racing, he was the man everyone wanted to have on their team.
Offers came pouring in, one after another until it seemed like every team in the country had contacted him at least once.
Kazuha would listen to Tomo any time someone would contact him, helping him decide on what the best course of action was. But Tomo being Tomo, he didn’t respond to anyone.
“I’m waiting for you to start getting offers,” he would say casually, an arm slung over Kazuha’s shoulder as they watched an old game of their next opponent. “I’ll go there and we’ll still play together. We’re a battery after all. Forever, no matter what.”
“You’re an idiot,” Kazuha said, his words missing any bite.
Tomo laughed, bringing Kazuha’s hand up to his lips to place a soft kiss. “Yeah, but I’m your idiot.”
On September 3rd their team had a friendly match with their biggest rivals, ending in a game where neither team managed to score a single run. It was a battle of the pitchers and Tomo came out of it exhausted, his shoulder aching more than usual even with his ice sleeve. In the end, it was decided that he would be taken to the hospital to get it checked out.
Tomo assured that everything was fine and that he was good to go back home together with the rest of the team, and even whilst everyone on the team ushered him to go, he wouldn’t budge.
At that point it was already a commonly known fact that the only person Tomo would listen to was Kazuha, so of course the catcher was tasked with persuading him to go with their manager to the hospital, no matter what he had to do or said to make him leave. Granted, it did take quite a bit of persuading, mainly because Tomo thought it was a hassle and a waste of time, but in the end it worked.
“Fine,” Tomo folded with a sigh. “I’ll go.”
“Thank you,” Kazuha said, exasperated by how much it took. Tomo was truly as stubborn as a mule at times. Maybe that’s why it felt so much more rewarding when Kazuha managed to sway him to do what he wanted.
Now that Tomo was convinced to get checked up, the rest of the team filed into the coach, taking their places as Kazuha stayed with Tomo for a bit longer.
“Don’t start the new episode without me,” Tomo pleaded, grabbing onto the sleeve of Kazuha’s coat. “Or I’ll be very annoying when I get home. I'll make you regret it.”
“I know. I won’t start it until you get back,” Kazuha promised. “Now get going! I don’t want to hear you whine about your shoulder pain anymore.”
Tomo sighed. “Fine, but give me a kiss first.”
“Seriously?”
“For good luck! Your kisses ward off injuries,” Tomo stated. “It’s true. Have I ever been injured after you gave me a kiss? No. Exactly.”
“That’s some solid reasoning skills you’ve got there.”
“I know right? Now come on! I need a kiss before I go.”
And so Kazuha kissed his boyfriend on the cheek. That caused Tomo to whine about how that wasn’t a proper kiss, but with how many people there were around, Kazuha preferred to keep their level of PDA low. Besides, it was beginning to rain and Kazuha really didn't want to get drenched because Tomo wanted more and more kisses from him.
“I’ll kiss you properly later,” Kazuha said. “Now go before I kick your ass!” He practically shoved Tomo into their manager’s car, closing the door before Tomo could weasel his way out somehow. “I’ll see you at home,” he said one more time before the car finally drove off.
Kazuha didn’t think much about Tomo’s trip to the hospital, but for some reason he truly regretted not kissing the older boy’s lips before they parted ways.
The more time passed, the deeper the pit in his stomach grew. He should have kissed Tomo. He should have given him the good luck he believed Kazuha's kisses provided.
He shouldn't have let him go.
Hours passed one by one.
Tomo never came home.
After his check up at the hospital, on their way back to the university, Tomo and their team manager got into a car accident. Both were pronounced dead on the scene.
On that day, a part of Kazuha died too.
The days leading up to Tomo’s funeral were torturous, yet Kazuha couldn’t remember a second moment of them. Everything was cold and dark and empty, like it was him that died instead of Tomo. There was no warmth by his side, nor was there any light that would fill the entire room in the way Tomo did.
For the first time in a decade, Kazuha felt truly alone, the silver ring Tomo gave him heavy around his neck - a cruel reminder of what he lost.
Winter came and then spring. Life went on, but not for Kazuha. He was unable to focus at school, only going through the motions as the life he had planned with Tomo came crumbling down, all of the supports giving out now that Tomo was gone forever.
There would be no future together - no more stargazing, no more kissing under a tree, no more talking through the night, no more battery. There would never be a future for the both of them.
Kazuha quit baseball for good in April.
The first offer he received ended up in the trash. There was no use for it after all - not if Tomo wasn’t there to join him.
***
After graduating, Kazuha ended up working in a bookstore that rarely got more than a dozen customers a day. It was pleasant, a quaint little store located in a refurbished building from a handful of centuries ago. The owner kept as much as he could of the old structure, giving the feeling of travelling back in time whenever anyone entered the shop.
Though he didn’t have much to do, working there kept Kazuha occupied. He put any stray books away, wrote little notes with a book recommendation every week, and chatted with any customer who came in and felt like discussing a particular book with a like minded individual.
It was good - it kept him occupied and entertained. When there was nothing else to do, he would pick out one of the books on the shelf and read, going through multiple books in a week from every genre imaginable.
Kazuha found reading enjoyable, and he truly forgot the sheer joy of picking up a good novel and getting stuck in it after he dedicated his life to baseball. But now that he had abandoned the sport, closing the doors on it for good, Kazuha was once more able to enjoy the vast and vivid worlds hidden away within the pages of a book.
Sometimes he would get so engrossed in a story that he was able to miss customers trying to talk to him, inherently putting the responsibility on his two other co-workers that would just let him be.
Currently, Kazuha was in the process of reading through a fantasy novel he picked out with his standard method of eenie-meenie-miney-moe. The plot was somewhat lack-lustre and predictable, but the characters and worldbuilding had him hooked, his eyes glued to the page with acute focus.
He missed the small chime of the bell hung above the door. He also missed the new customer walking inside and moving around the store, looking over all the shelves lined with fiction and children’s books.
However, he didn’t miss the way the book - a children’s picture book with finger puppets - was placed down at the counter.
“Your taste in books fascinates me,” Kazuha uttered, placing a bookmark into the novel he was reading to put it away. “I thought you knew how to read.”
“It’s a birthday gift,” Gorou stated defensively as Kazuha grabbed the book to scan it.
“For Itto? He might not be the sharpest tool in the shed but this is rather offensive,” Kazuha mused, lips twisting up in a sly smile at the sight of his best friend’s face going red - in shame or anger or god only knows what.
“N-no! It’s for my niece,” the brunette stated.
“Well that’s sweet. Aren’t you a great uncle?” Kazuha packed the book in a paper bag, taking the right amount of money from Gorou before picking his book up again. “See you later,” he said, fully expecting Gorou to be on his way.
One second passed and then another, but Gorou remained standing in the same spot. He looked unsure, his brows furrowed in thought as he stared at Kazuha behind the counter. He definitely wasn’t out of place in the store; afterall, Gorou was quite the frequent visitor, always picking a novel on a whim in quite a similar fashion to Kazuha himself, though he had a clear preference for cheesy romance novellas that would make any other person gag.
“Can I help you?” Kazuha offered, peering over the top of his book. “I’m sure you can find the way to the bathroom yourself,” he then added after giving Gorou another scrutinising look. “Don’t be shy, help yourself.”
“It’s not that,” Gorou said.
There was another silence.
Kazuha raised his brow to question his friend, but as Gorou said nothing else all he could do was sigh and put his book down again. “What?”
“So umm…” Gorou looked around, hesitant to speak any more. But alas, he took a step closer towards the counter, getting a bit closer to Kazuha. “So basically I was wondering if maybe you would like to consider the possibility of maybe being able to go to a possible baseball game with me?” Gorou never got to the point when he felt uneasy, resulting in some of the most bizarre sentences weaved together by a human being such as the former one.
“Huh?”
“Yoimiya cancelled at the last minute and I have a spare ticket,” Gorou explained. “And I know you don’t really… you know… so I don’t know if you’d want it.”
Gorou was the only person Kazuha knew from university; they were both on the same team with Gorou getting a spot on the starting roster as a shortstop in the same year as Kazuha. They were both first years at the time and became close that way, though later on they developed a strong bond outside of the sport as well.
That also meant that Gorou was there when Tomo died. He was there when Kazuha grieved and shut himself off. He was there when Kazuha tossed his mitt away and walked away from the sport, avoiding it at any cost to spare himself the memories and what ifs flooding his mind.
Due to that, Gorou was weary to mention the sport around Kazuha, always on edge and fearing that one wrong turn and he’d cause Kazuha anguish. Hence, he only ever mentioned the sport in passing, never lingering on it too much. Yet here he was, asking Kazuha to join him to watch a game. It definitely was a new and strange turn of events.
“I was going to ask Itto but he has to redo his driving exam,” Gorou added, causing kazuha to snort. Maybe that was a sign from the universe that Itto should never sit behind the wheel. “I don’t have anyone to go with and I don’t want the ticket to go to waste so I… yeah. You don’t have to though! It’s totally fine if you-”
“Sure,” Kazuha replied. “I’ll go.”
Baffled, Gorou stared at Kazuha, eyes wide in shock. “Seriously?”
Kazuha nodded. “Yeah. I don’t see why not. I still enjoy baseball, even if I don’t play anymore,” he explained. That much was true; Kazuha had given baseball over a decade of his life so saying that he hated it would have been a massive lie.
However, that didn’t mean he didn’t avoid it whenever he could. Sometimes he would get reminded of his youth watching a game - maybe it was the situation the teams were in, or maybe it was the pitch thrown that made Kazuha’s heart clench and throat tighten uncomfortably. At times, it was best to look away.
But this was his best friend asking. Denying him this would have been too harsh. Besides, it was just one match.
“Who’s playing anyway?”
The question snapped Gorou out of his daze. He straightened himself up and answered “it’s the Harbingers vs Favonius Knights. The Harbingers bought a southpaw from a foreign league and this is gonna be his debut game on the team.”
Kazuha couldn’t say he had no idea about either teams. The Harbingers were known for their cruel tactics and offensive plays whilst the Knights were more known for their strong defences and reliable batting. This would definitely be an interesting game.
“Sounds fun,” Kazuha mused.
“Oh, cool… it’s on Friday so I’ll come here and pick you up?”
Kazuha nodded.
With that, Gorou finally left. In the end, Kazuha didn’t think much about Friday, focusing instead on the story he was reading. It would only be one game - a few hours out of his life that he’d spend with his friend. It didn’t have to be all bad.
He could have fun.
***
Friday rolled around faster than Kazuha expected it to. One moment he was opening the store up on Monday and the next minute he found himself sitting down next to Gorou at the baseball stadium, throngs of people chatting loudly around them.
Kazuha stayed away from places this crowded when he could, but he had to admit that the atmosphere surrounding him was something he couldn’t ever get sick of. Everyone was excited, talking about their favourite players and making bets on who would win and who would end up the MVP of the game. Countless names were thrown around, some of which Kazuha recognised instantly and some which took him a few seconds to remember.
Watching through a screen could never replicate this feeling - the buzzing in his ears and the thrumming coursing through his body.
Beside him, Gorou was grinning ear to ear. Unlike Kazuha, he was still very much in love with the sport. Though he stopped playing after a nasty knee injury in his final year on the team, he never stopped loving the sport. He attended any game he could make and he helped out coaching middle school kids in spring and summer. Kazuha admired that about him - he always had such a positive outlook of his situation, even when most would lament their loss.
“Who are you rooting for?” Kazuha asked, leaning back in his seat. There was still fifteen minutes before the game was scheduled to start so he might as well kill some time until then.
“No one, really,” Gorou replied honestly. “Both teams are good so I’m fine with either. Though I really wanna see the new player for the Harbingers. Apparently he made multiple batters cry with his pitching.”
“Was it that bad?”
Gorou nodded. “There aren’t many videos of him, but the ones I saw were insane. His form is amazing.”
“Well, I’ll have to see that for myself.”
With the seats Gorou managed to get for them - low and close to the home plate - the view was ideal for Kazuha to observe the pitcher’s mound. It almost felt like being at the home plate himself, catcher gear on and glove out and ready for the pitcher.
Soon enough, both teams went on the field and Gorou had no nudge Kazuha to wake up because apparently he managed to doze off in the few minutes before the start. Who could blame him though; the sun was out and the warmth lulled him to sleep like a cat, able to fall asleep absolutely anywhere.
“That’s him,” Gorou pointed to one of the players, the number one visible on his shirt. “That’s the new player.”
He was quite short, roughly the same height as Kazuha himself. His hair was covered by his cap, the Harbinger logo etched into it, though a few streaks of indigo were visible underneath, distinct enough to be seen from where Kazuha was sat. Just like the rest of the team he was clad in a navy, black and gold uniform, a stark contrast to the opposing team dressed in clean white and blue kits.
At least it was clear who was who.
The Knights were first to bat, donning their helmets and preparing to tackle the first obstacle of the day.
The moment the Harbinger pitcher stepped on the mound, the crowd cheered. The sheer volume of it gave Kazuha a fright, his heart jolting in shock.
“He sure is popular,” Kazuha muttered.
“I told you, he’s good.”
The pitcher prepped at the mound, kicking at the dirt as he tossed the rosin bag up a few times. He looked casual as he did so, completely unfazed by the batter coming up to the plate. He didn’t even spare him a glance before he tossed the rosin aside and got ready for the first pitch of the game.
The first batter tightened the grip on his bat, fixing his stance as he awaited for the throw.
“It’s coming,” one of the people in the row behind Kazuha said. “The opening fastball.”
Another voice then added “he’s gonna break their spirits with the first pitch. That’s brutal.”
“You think we’ll get to see someone cry today?” The first voice asked, chuckling afterwards.
“That’s not impossible. It’s Scaramouche after all.”
So that was his name: Scaramouche.
After avoiding any eye contact with the batter, Scaramouche finally looked at the man standing at the plate. He smirked, his eyes glistening with mischief as he raised his right leg up. Like a flash of lightning, Scaramouche threw the ball, his arm moving like a whip, too fast to see clearly.
It seemed instantaneous when the catcher caught the pitch, the sound of the ball cleanly hitting the glove sent a shiver up Kazuha’s spine. It was so clear, like there was no other noise he could have possibly made out in such a busy stadium.
“Strike!”
The crowd cheered and the catcher threw the ball back to Scaramouche. The pitcher glanced over at the first batter, a teasing smirk splayed across his lips. You think you stand a chance?
Scaramouche was cocky - that much was clear from the way he carried himself on the mound. If he could so freely taunt the batters then he must have had the skills to back it up.
The next pitch passed through the batter with ease, earning them another strike. If Kazuha was up he feared that he would have been shut out instantly. The speed at which the ball came flying up to the plate was astounding, missing the line of sight of the batter and leaving them dumbfounded as they lost another chance to advance on base.
On the third pitch, the batter was able to graze the ball with his bat but that only resulted in a foul ball. However, that did manage to tick Scaramouche off. It was obvious that his ego was wounded by the fact the batter actually got his bat to the ball on time.
Scaramouche scowled, adjusting the grip he had on the ball. He glared over at the man standing ready at the plate, shooting daggers his way.
Try hitting this.
There was no chance that the batter could have gotten that ball, going out with a strikeout swinging.
“Strike! Batter out!”
The top of the first inning went by swimmingly for the Harbingers; Scaramouche struck out the first three batters without a hassle, his teammates cheering him on for a brilliant opening. But the man didn’t celebrate. Despite his cockiness, Scaramouche weaved his way out from the onslaught of his teammates and hurried away. It didn’t look like he wanted to be around them for longer than necessary.
“I wouldn’t want to be batting against him,” Gorou said, looking down at the field where both teams were in the process of switching sides. “Can you imagine trying to hit that? That was only the first inning as well.”
“He’s definitely got a nasty pitch,” Kazuha agreed. “But we haven’t seen how the Knights’ cleanup fares with it.”
The bottom of the first inning came to an end with no runs and a runner on second, solidifying the team’s reputation of a strong defence with the fielders leaving no holes to exploit by the opposing team.
Up until the bottom of the fourth inning, neither team had scored a run. Whilst there were a few close calls for both teams, the opportunity was thwarted as soon as it arose. However, that changed when Tartaglia - the old pitcher who was now positioned as a left fielder - landed a clean hit on the fastball thrown his way. The ball landed in the gap between centre and left field, leaving enough time for the runner on second to advance to third and then home at a speed that seemed to come natural to the Harbingers.
The inning ended with two runs for the Harbingers after an impressive swing from their cleanup, bringing Tartaglia home before the next batter was struck out.
From that point onwards, things got a whole lot more intense.
Scaramouche was dead set on not allowing a single hit off any of his pitches. He picked up the pace, switching between his arsenal of pitches as he saw fit. The catcher was unable to get Scaramouche to throw anything he saw fit. The pitcher would shake his head at any suggestions, standing his ground until he got what he wanted like a stubborn child. No matter how many times the catcher tried, he couldn’t get through to Scaramouche, and in the end he left the choices up to the pitcher to make.
And maybe Scaramouche was right in his choices. Maybe his decisions were the right ones, but that didn’t mean he had to be so stubborn about it.
Just seeing the exchange between the battery soured his mood. If only Scaramouche wasn’t so bratty - if only he didn’t act like he was above everyone else - then maybe he could have been the perfect player. But as it was now, Scaramouche was being swallowed up by his massive ego, and if he didn’t get that sorted out then it would be a miracle if anyone would ever want to catch for him.
The game concluded with the Harbingers taking victory with a score of 4-0.
“They were so good,” Gorou commented, shaking his hands dry after leaving the bathroom. “No wonder so many teams were after Scaramouche. He’s got the potential to pitch a perfect game.”
Kazuha shrugged. “Maybe he does, but that depends on whether he’s able to get the catcher to stay on his side.”
“Why wouldn’t he?” Gorou slung his jacket over his shoulders, following after Kazuha who was already making his way down the corridor, making his way over to the exit. “They seemed to work well.”
Kazuha snorted. “Yeah right. The catcher had no say in anything,” he pointed out. “Sure, Scaramouche made all the right calls - I’ll give him that. But he could have at least given his catcher a chance to have a say. They’re supposed to be a battery - like a married couple in harmony. There has to be trust . I saw none of that.”
Gorou hummed, pursing his lips in thought. “Maybe they just haven’t gotten the chance to practice together as much as they need,” he suggested. “That’s a possibility, right?”
“It is,” Kazuha agreed. “But I’m sure the fault lies with the pitcher; he’s too arrogant. I’d never want to catch for someone like him.”
“Well you never-”
Gorou was interrupted when someone pushed right through Kazuha, causing the man to stumble into his best friend. “What the hell?” Kazuha looked at the perpetrator with an offended scowl. “You could have at least said excuse me.”
The man who barged past him stopped. He was dressed in a navy tracksuit, his hair obscured by a black hood - one which, upon closer inspection, had the Harbinger logo embroidered into it.
Kazuha was about to say something else but that course of action was quickly abandoned when the man in front of him looked over his shoulder. Right there stood Scaramouche, deep indigo eyes glowering at him, a look of distaste written all over his face.
“Excuse me,” the pitcher said in a mocking tone.
He turned back around and stormed off, an untouchable aura hanging heavily around him.
“Oh yikes… do you think he heard you talking shit about him?” Gorou asked, his hand clutching onto Kazuha’s arm.
“Probably. But I said what I said.”
“He probably hates you now.”
Kazuha laughed. “And I really don’t care.”
***
After the match, Kazuha didn’t think much about what happened. He went on with his life, business as usual. He went to work, he spent his weekends either at home or with his friends if they were free as well.
Gorou was too busy to go to any games and hence Kazuha wasn’t asked out, even if he was the last person Gorou would even ask out of an underlying fear of making the wrong move. Hence, Kazuha was as out of the loop as he has been for a while now.
That was until he passed by a magazine as he was on his weekly shopping trip. The image on the cover was none other than the Harbingers’ ace. The picture of Scaramouche was of him in his wind up stance, sharp eyes piercing through the batter in an overwhelming display of dominance and concentration.
It was mesmerising seeing the man in the zone from such a close up. Even though he himself had been on the receiving end of Scaramouche’s snide glare, it couldn’t compare to the strong gaze captured in the photograph.
Kazuha couldn’t stop himself from picking up the baseball magazine and adding it to his cart. He didn’t care about anything that was written inside, but he simply couldn’t force himself to look away from the photo of Scaramouche on the front.
He didn’t touch it until he got back home, tossing it down onto his coffee table, the striking image of the pitcher standing out against the dark wood.
Whilst he unpacked his groceries, Kazuha couldn’t stop thinking about the magazine. So, once he was finally done, he quickly grabbed it and stared at the cover, taking in the form of the man. There truly was something that had Kazuha’s eyes glued to the pitcher; maybe it was his form or his eyes or the knowledge of what he was capable of, but Kazuha was completely drawn in, even if he knew the man wasn’t the nicest person he has ever met.
The magazine had a whole section dedicated to him so Kazuha flipped through the glossy pages until he landed on what he wanted to see the most.
Lo and behold, the two page spread was covered in numerous photographs of Scaramouche. Majority were of him in the midsts of a game, though there was also his official team photo off to the side.
Anything and everything Kazuha could have possibly wanted to know was written down for him to read. His height, weight, age, and favourite food were all listed, but Kazuha wasn’t interested in that if he was being honest. This wasn’t a dating profile - he only wanted to see if there was more to the man on field than what he got to see in person.
Kazuha skimmed the pages to find what interested him the most.
Scaramouche really did have quite the arsenal of pitches - more than what Kazuha got to witness himself.
It made him want to see them all. He wanted to see just how much they could break, how fast they could go, how loud they’d sound once his pitch finally reached the catcher’s mitt.
Doing something he hadn’t done in what felt like a lifetime, Kazuha bought himself tickets to watch a game, finding the next one the Harbingers would play.
The magazine was put aside with some of the older ones he still kept - the ones which contained some history he still clung onto.
***
Scaramouche pitched with a fervour that left Kazuha breathless. It was overwhelming; seeing him pitch one ball after another, so ruthless and determined was enough to get Kazuha’s blood pumping.
The feeling was familiar though muted with age. His muscles ached and his heart pounded like a drum, all of his focus directed on the pitcher’s mound, never taking his eyes off the ball. It was so easy to miss it once Scaramouche hid behind his lifted leg, but Kazuha’s eyes adjusted, just like when he was crouched at the plate, glove open and ready to catch whatever was thrown at him.
He saw it perfectly - the moment Scaramouche’s fingertips parted with the ball, adding that last little push to propel it forward and catch the batter off guard. He saw the exact moment his pitches broke at the plate - the exact moment the batters, already swinging, realised their mistake.
It was exhilarating.
So Kazuha came back for more. One game turned into two and then three, and the more that he came the deeper his interest grew. Just what would it feel like to catch one of those pitches? How heavy would it feel? What sound would it make? Could he get to see some of the best pitches up close and personal?
Unfortunately, the answers would forever remain a mystery. Sure, maybe Scaramouche didn’t remember him - some random guy who was simply pointing out how disagreeable he was with his catcher - but that didn’t make the chances of them meeting again any higher. Even then, the chances of being able to catch for the player was highly unlikely.
Speaking of Scaramouche and his lack of chemistry with the catcher: that was still the case. It was less noticeable now, but Kazuha could see it; Scaramouche made all the calls, disagreeing with the man behind the plate whenever he didn’t get his way. Honestly, Kazuha felt sorry for the catcher. If it was him in that position, he would have whipped Scaramouche into place, no matter how tedious that might have been.
But alas, he wasn’t the one on the diamond. All he could do was observe.
Well, at least it was interesting.
Kazuha headed over to buy himself a drink from one of the vending machines scattered around the stadium. He would probably stop by the store to buy something for dinner so it would be a while before he got home so grabbing a bottle of water now wasn’t a bad idea, especially since summer was now in full throttle.
He manoeuvred his way through the remaining crowds of people. Most left already since the game ended at least half an hour ago. Kazuha just liked lingering around, staying in his seat and observing the field until he had to leave. It brought back memories of being on the field himself - the thrill of it all - even if mildly.
Before he reached the vending machine, Kazuha spotted some of the Harbingers standing around with reporters around them. The star of the game was there as well despite the dark aura emanating from him. It was quite hilarious to look at.
Kazuha turned his attention and grabbed a drink, only to get startled by a booming voice calling his name.
“Kazuha! Kaedehara Kazuha!” The loud voice called out for him.
Kazuha whipped his head around to see where the commotion was coming from, only to be greeted with a familiar face. “Beidou?” He asked, testing the name on his lips. It had been quite some time since he last saw the woman, let alone spoke to her. Yet there she was, pushing her way through the interviewers to rush towards him.
Some of the interviewers turned to look at one another, exchanging glances. Some whispered whilst some spoke up louder. “The catcher?” One of them asked, diverting their attention from the baseball team in front of them. “The one that quit before joining the league?”
The chatter continued but Kazuha wasn’t able to pay it any more attention - not when Beidou practically threw herself over him.
“Kazuha!” Beidou exclaimed gleefully. “It’s been so long! I thought you dropped off the surface of the earth.”
The man chuckled, shaking his head. “Nothing like that,” he said, a soft smile finding its way onto his lips. “But it has been a while. I see you’re still a reporter.”
“I’m actually the chief editor of the sports column,” Beidou corrected.
“Oh wow. In that case, congratulations.”
“Thanks kid.” Beidou patted Kazuha’s back, smiling brightly at him.
It truly had been quite a while since they last saw each other. When Kazuha was still a player, Beidou would do interviews with him and the rest of the team ever since he was in high-school. She wrote many pieces singing praises of him, stating it was because she saw great potential in him. She also was behind the majority of the pieces about Tomo, putting him in the spotlight at all the right times, ensuring that the young and promising pitcher experienced the limelight he rightfully deserved.
“How have you been holding up anyway?” She asked, head tilted slightly to the side.
“I’m doing fine,” he replied. “I graduated. I have a good job. I’m doing good,” he concluded with a nod.
“Then I’m glad. I was kinda worried about you, you know? I know how hard it was for you.”
“Yeah…” Kazuha glanced down at his shoes, letting out a soft exhale. “Well, life goes on. We have to keep going.”
“You’re right,” Beidou agreed. “In that case, I have to get going. But it was nice to see you again.”
“It sure was.”
“See you around, kid.”
Kazuha nodded, watching as Beidou rushed back to the crowd of reporters. She wasn’t asking any questions but it seemed as if she was helping out someone - probably a new member of staff.
He was about to go and grab the drink he came for in the first place, however his eyes caught something unexpected.
Scaramouche was staring at him.
As soon as Kazuha locked eyes with him, the pitcher looked away.
Odd.
***
Another week passed by and Kazuha once more found himself slouched in the chair behind the bookstore's checkout, a new book in his hold. This time it was one of the cheesy romance stories that Gorou loved so dearly - though this one was a bit on the spicier side of things. It wasn't the greatest piece of literature known to man, but Kazuha definitely saw the appeal.
There was still an hour left before his shift ended and looking at how many pages he had left, it was a good bet to say he would be able to finish the book before then. Gorou would probably be more than happy to discuss it when they met up over the weekend.
The store was empty bar Kazuha and two customers were currently rummaging through the school textbook section. They had been there for quite some time but Kazuha simply didn't care enough to check up on them; if they needed help then they would have come to him already, and if they were up to something then that wasn't his business. Though, if they didn't leave by the time Kazuha had to close up then that would be a problem; after all, Kazuha wasn't fond of kicking people out - his coworker Xingqiu was much better in that department.
When the clock placed on the counter indicated he had half an hour left, the doors to the store swung open. The small bell resonated throughout the open space, causing Kazuha to glance up.
Standing in the door frame was a figure dressed in black from head to toe, face covered by a hood, snapback, sunglasses and a face mask. The sight made Kazuha shiver. It was far too hot for such an outfit.
Kazuha just hoped that the person wasn't looking for trouble.
The black clad figure looked around, not moving out of the entrance until they found what they were looking for.
Kazuha watched as the individual approached him, steps sure and quick. It was ominous, especially since whoever it was that was coming for him looked like a modern grim reaper.
Once they stopped at the till, Kazuha raised his eyebrows and put his book aside. "Can I help you?"
"You're Kaedehara Kazuha," the stranger said - not a question but a sure declaration.
"I sure am. And you are?"
At that, the stranger pulled down their hood and took off their glasses.
Kazuha could recognise that shade of purple anywhere.
"Now that's unexpected," Kazuha mused. "Are you here to take me to my early grave? You know, with the whole grim reaper get up and the fact you looked like you wanted to kill me the first time we- you bumped into me."
Scaramouche scoffed, putting his sunglasses back on. Only a douche would wear those inside and it seemed that the pitcher was one of them.
"You're a catcher," the man said.
That took Kazuha off guard because how did he know? How did he even know his name in the first place?
"Correction: I was a catcher," Kazuha stated, sitting a bit more upright in his seat. "I quit a few years back."
"I don't care. Catch for me."
"Then why did you- wait, what?" Kazuha abruptly stopped, brows raised in confusion. "What did you just say?"
Scaramouche groaned. "Are you deaf? I told you to catch for me."
Kazuha was silent, staring at the man in front of him as if he just said he was the queen or that the earth was actually the shape of a doughnut.
"Why are you staring at me like that?"
"Because I thought I heard you say you want me to catch for you."
The pitcher groaned, throwing his head back in annoyance. "Because that's what I said!"
Still, Kazuha was puzzled. "Why? Don't you have a catcher on your team you could ask? Or let me guess: there's trouble in paradise."
Judging by the way Scaramouche folded his arms over his chest, Kazuha knew he was spot on.
“Bingo,” the cashier laughed. “But anyway, I can’t exactly leave right now. You see, I’m working.”
“I doubt reading smutty novellas counts as working,” Scaramouche grumbled.
“How’d you know it’s smutty, huh?”
Scaramouche froze in place, body going stiff. If it wasn’t for the glasses and mask, Kazuha guessed he would see the man’s face turn right red. “I- I just guessed,” he explained.
“Mhm, I’m sure,” Kazuha mused, smirking at Scaramouche’s defensive state. “But moving on, I for one don’t have my gear with me. Two, I’m still working.”
“I can wait,” Scaramouche declared. “Plus I have gear in my car.”
“You sure came prepared, huh?” Kazuha laughed. “You won’t take no for an answer, will you?”
Scaramouche nodded.
Kazuha sighed. Truth be told, he did want to catch for Scaramouche; wasting an opportunity as rare as this would be a sin, and if Gorou found out that Kazuha skipped out on the chance to catch for arguably one of the best pitchers currently playing, he would probably strangle him, his respect for Kazuha’s refusal to participate in the sport be damned.
So sure, why not? If only to see just how good Scaramouche was, up close and personal.
“Sure,” Kazuha said. “I’ll catch for you. Just give me forty minutes and I’ll be done.”
It was unclear what expression the pitcher was making under his mask, but Kazuha wouldn’t be surprised if there was a smug grin plastered across his face. “Honestly, I thought this would be harder,” the pitcher spoke, an air of arrogance surrounding him. “What was it that you said? Oh right, I’d never want to catch for someone like him.”
“So you do hold a grudge,” Kazuha muttered. “Noted. But just so you know, I do still hold that belief. In a game I’d never want to catch for you, but I can’t deny I don’t want to catch your pitches. You’re good at what you do; I’ll never deny that much.”
All the pride was zapped out of Scaramouche at that. Still, he didn’t seem to be wounded for too long. Instead he focused on that last part because the compliment clearly mattered more to him than Kazuha pointing out his horrendous personality on the field.
“Now, how about you make yourself useful and check on the two customers by the school textbook section,” Kazuha ordered, pointing over in the general direction of where he wanted Scaramouche to go.
The pitcher scoffed. “And why should I do that?”
“It’s the least you could do after stalking me,” Kazuha replied, offering the indigo haired man an overly sweet smile. “You know, that’s really fucking creepy.”
“It’s not that hard to find you,” Scaramouche argued. “All your accounts are public.”
“Yeah, but how did you even know my name in the first place?”
“The game,” Scaramouche replied as if that was supposed to answer all of Kazuha’s questions. However, when Kazuha made no sign of understanding what he meant, the pitcher groaned and elaborated. “During the interview. One of the reporters called your name and then everyone started whispering about you and how you were some hot shot catcher.”
“Well that’s a boost to my ego” Kazuha said dryly. “So what, you searched me up and figured out where I work and where? Creepy - though impressive.”
“You posted a story an hour ago with this place tagged,” Scaramouche pointed out.
“Oh… yeah, I did do that, didn’t I? Silly me. I guess this is a lesson learnt: never do that again or a random person can stalk me.”
“I’m not a random person,” Scaramouche pointed out.
“Sure you aren’t,” Kazuha said, smiling at him. “Now how about you do what I asked you to do, hmm? And if by any chance they’re up to something they shouldn’t be, do scare them off with that terrifying glare of yours.”
Despite his grumbling and over all grouchy demeanour, Scaramouche did as he was told. So, in the end, Kazuha found out that Scaramouche could listen to others.
What a shocking discovery.
***
At the end of his shift and after closing up for the day, Kazuha was led to where Scaramouche had parked his car. The pitcher wasn’t kind enough to say just where exactly he was going to take Kazuha, so out of precaution he took a picture of the licence plate and sent it to Gorou, following that up with a just in case I get abducted here’s the car plate.
“What the hell are you doing?” Scaramouche asked, sounding offended by Kazuha’s actions. As he looked at Kazuha, eyes twitching in annoyance, Kazuha snapped another photo and sent that to Gorou as well.
And here’s the perpetrator, just in case <3
“The hell?”
“A safety measure,” was all Kazuha said before pulling the passenger side doors open and stepping inside. He buckled himself in and waited for Scaramouche to get in as well.
No words were exchanged throughout the entirety of the ride, the radio filling the awkward silence around them.
After a ten minute drive, the two men reached an empty parking lot. Kazuha could see the tall fence of a baseball field over the trees surrounding the car park. He knew exactly where he was, and though it shouldn’t have affected him as much as it did, Kazuha felt a knot tie in his stomach. How could he not recognise this place? After all the days and nights he and Tomo spent there, practising without their team and cheering on the kids that used to have games there every so often.
“We’re here,” Scaramouche announced, undoing his seatbelt and opening the door. However, when he saw Kazuha made no move to leave, he paused, one foot already outside of the vehicle. “Hello? Earth to Kazuha?”
Kazuha slowly looked over at the pitcher, his eyes dulled over and face pale.
“Umm… you good?”
“Yeah just- it’s nothing,” Kazuha assured, pushing down the heavy lump weaving its way up his throat. This shouldn’t hurt as much as it did.
“Good. Now get out.” Scaramouche left the car and slammed the doors shut, taking Kazuha’s words at face value - either because he didn’t care or he genuinely couldn’t see through Kazuha’s horrendous acting.
Either way, Kazuha stepped out after taking in a few deep breaths to calm himself. Scaramouche had managed to grab all the gear needed for them out of the trunk in the time it took Kazuha to relax, which either meant he was extremely quick or Kazuha spent much longer in the car than he thought.
Kazuha eyed the equipment, noticing that something pivotal was missing.
“Where’s the protective gear?” Kazuha asked, looking around in hope that he would find it somewhere.
“I’ve got perfect control over my pitches,” Scaramouche said.
“Which is exactly why I need it,” Kazuha pointed out. “I don’t trust you enough to not hurl a projectile at my face because you’re salty over the comment I made before.”
Scaramouche huffed. “Didn’t you say a battery needs trust?”
Kazuha clicked his tongue. “Nothing gets past you, does it?”
The pitcher shrugged, slinging a large sports bag over his shoulder.
Kazuha didn’t need to be told to follow after him. The two walked over to the field - empty despite the great weather; it made Kazuha wonder if Scaramouche had anything to do with it, possibly booking the place out ahead of time, but that would mean he was absolutely sure that he could force Kazuha to come.
Scaramouche dropped his bag to the side of the home plate, unzipping it to pull out a catcher’s mitt he proceeded to toss at Kazuha.
“Gee, thanks,” Kazuha muttered, catching the thing before it hit him on the face.
The pitcher promptly took off his hoodie, revealing a black long-sleeve compression shirt underneath. He did a few stretches that showed off his flexibility, but that wasn’t what Kazuha was staring at.
“How are you not boiling alive?” Kazuha asked, part bewilderment and part horror.
In response, Scaramouche shrugged. He fixed his baseball cap and grabbed another glove from the bag as well as a ball and a rosin bag which he carried over to the mound. He said nothing else, getting to his spot like it was completely natural to him.
“No, but are you serious? Not even a helmet?” Kazuha asked, voice laced with a tinge of nerves.
“There should be one in the bag,” the pitcher grumbled. “But hurry up, I wanna pitch already.”
“Of course you do.”
Kazuha walked over to the bag, looking inside to find that there actually was a proper protective mask for him to wear. Sure, there were no leg guards nor a chest piece but he could live with that. What was a broken bone in comparison to irreversible brain damage?
He quickly redid his ponytail, tying it lower so that it wouldn’t annoy him under the helmet. Once that was done he slipped the guard and mitt on and walked to the home plate.
“You ready now?”
“Sure am,” Kazuha replied, getting down into position. It was a good thing he still did squats in the morning otherwise this would have been painful. And even then, Kazuha doubted he would be able to stay low for as long as he used to when he still played. “Come at me,” he said once he got comfortable. “Let’s see your four-seamer first.”
Scaramouche grinned. “Ask and you shall receive.”
Tossing the rosin aside, Scaramouche kicked the dirt on the mound to his liking. Once he was satisfied, the air around him completely switched like a snap of the fingers. It was overwhelming, even for Kazuha who had his fair share of experience with multiple pitchers, not just Tomo.
It was as if the man was surrounded by a dark cloud, obscuring him almost entirely. All that was left was the challenging glint in his eyes - an ominous sign of what was about to come - and that devilish smirk that caused Kazuha’s throat to tighten.
If Tomo was a shining star, blinding to look at when in his element, then Scaramouche was the complete opposite. He was a black hole, swallowing Kazuha up entirely. It was hypnotising - albeit frightening.
Kazuha gulped, his muscles tightening once Scaramouche shifted. All that he could see was the man’s mauve eyes glowing with resolve, obscuring the rest of his body. If Kazuha was in the position of the batter he would be unable to do anything; by the time he’d see the ball coming it would have been far too late. When Scaramouche was winding up, it was impossible to tell when he’d throw his pitch - he held his stance for what felt like eaons, only to have the ball come flying towards Kazuha’s glove in the blink of an eye.
The ball made contact with Kazuha’s mitt, landing perfectly inside with a heavy smack. The sound was music to Kazuha’s ears and the weight which he felt in his hand sent a shiver down his spine.
Now that was a pitch.
“I know, it’s great,” Scaramouche gloated.
Kazuha looked down at the ball caught in his mitt, feeling an odd sense of comfort in the sight. There was a faint buzz in his palm from the sheer force of the impact, and it wasn’t until then that he realised just how much he had missed this.
“Yeah, it was good,” Kazuha agreed. He grabbed the ball and threw it back to the pitcher. “But that wasn’t the same pitch you start games off with,” he added. He knew he was right; after watching enough Harbinger games, Kazuha was sure that the fastball he reserved for his first pitch of the game was something different.
Judging by the smile on Scaramouche’s lips, Kazuha was spot on.
“So you noticed?”
“How could I not? It’s quite the scene,” Kazuha commented, readjusting his squat. The force of that pitch made his stance falter so he ensured to plant his feet into the ground to not have that happen again. “It’s like you add an extra push with your fingertips.”
The pitcher tossed the ball up a few times, a pleased smirk spreading across his face. “I find that it’s the most effective way to make batters cry,” he stated.
Kazuha chuckled, opening his glove to indicate he was ready. “This time make it your opener,” he ordered.
Scaramouche, being the type of person who loved to show off, happily obliged.
Just like previously, the air he exuded entranced Kazuha. Even though he knew what to expect, it was difficult even for him to ignore that dark cloud encircling the pitcher. Maybe he would adjust after a while, but a batter surely wouldn’t have the chance to dispel the veil around him.
The ball forced its way snuggly into Kazuha’s open glove, landing exactly where he had it open. Kazuha didn’t even have to move in the slightest - Scaramouche simply had that much control over the ball, even if it seemed impossible.
“So?”
“I wouldn’t have had the chance to even think about swinging,” Kazuha replied. “But then again, I was always terrible at bat.”
“I know,” Scaramouche said.
“Oh? Did you look at footage of my old games?”
“They showed up when I searched you up,” the pitcher explained, lifting his glove for Kazuha to throw the ball back. “You even managed to miss the easiest hits. It almost seemed like you were doing that on purpose.”
“Nope, that was all real,” Kazuha assured. “As embarrassing as that may be.”
The pitcher hummed.
“Okay, let me see your two-seamer now.”
“Do you plan on going through the whole roster of my pitches?”
“Since I’m given the opportunity: yes,” the catcher answered honestly. “Let me see what you’ve got and then I’ll happily catch anything you wanna throw.”
“Fine by me. But let’s do this quickly, I have something I wanna work on.”
“And you decide to work on it with me and not, you know, your actual catcher,” Kazuha questioned. It really was ridiculous. “That’s not very smart of you.”
“He and I don’t work well together,” the pitcher declared.
“At least you acknowledged that,” Kazuha hummed. “Though you should probably work with him. You’re on the same team after all.”
“I know.” Scaramouche sounded fed up. He kicked at the dirt and clenched his jaw, looking like he wanted to drop the topic for one reason or another.
Kazuha felt like maybe it would be a good idea to not push the man any further.
“Okay, come at me.”
Together the men went through all the pitches in Scaramouche’s arsenal - and there were quite a few. From fastballs to breaking balls to changeups, the pitcher had many weapons hidden in his sleeve. He threw each one a few times just so Kazuha could appreciate them all fully, meaning that by the time Scaramouche had gone through everything he had to take a short break.
It was a good thing actually considering Kazuha’s thighs felt like they were set on fire.
As Scaramouche drank some water and relaxed his shoulder, Kazuha sat down in the bleachers. He brought his phone with him, not at all surprised when he unlocked it to see multiple messages and missed calls from Gorou.
There were a lot of question marks, exclamations and confused and frantic texts.
Kazuha decided it would be a good idea to update his friend, especially considering he did joke about getting abducted by none other than a very mean looking professional athlete.
Oops, was busy catching so I missed your screaming
Sorry </3
As soon as he sent the second text, his phone started ringing.
“Well good-”
“What the fuck? What the absolute hell is happening? How dare you text me all that and then ignore me for ages, you asshole!”
“Evening,” Kazuha finished, wincing at the volume of his best friend across the line. “How are you?”
“Oh don’t get me started! For one, my best friend texts me that he’s with a professional baseball player and then he drops off the surface of the planet.”
“He sure sounds like an ass.”
“He sure is. Now tell me everything.”
Kazuha exhaled, resting his back against the uncomfortable plastic seat. “What is there to say? He’s an amazing pitcher - cocky, but with that talent it’s understandable.”
“You’ve said that before. Is there anything else? How is he? Is he an asshole or not?”
Kazuha chuckled. “He’s no angel, that’s for sure,” he stated. “But honestly, he’s not that bad. His pitching feels different than it looks during a game. It feels- it feels like he’s doing much better. It’s so mesmerising.”
“You sound like you’re about to get on your knees over his pitches.”
The catcher laughed, shaking his head. “I’m just saying that he’s good. It’s just- it’s fun. I’m having fun.”
There was a short pause on the other side. For a second Kazuha thought that maybe he accidentally disconnected, however when he heard Gorou’s voice - soft and maybe a bit sappy - he knew that that wasn’t the case.
“I’m glad.”
“But my thighs burn,” Kazuha added, steering the conversation away from anything sentimental before it was too late. “I’m gonna be sore in the morning.”
“That’s the best part of sports.”
“I beg to differ,” Kazuha laughed. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Scaramouche staring at him, hands on his hips as if to show how impatient he was. “Anyway, I have to go. I’ve got a very demanding pitcher to satisfy.”
“I won’t hold you back then. Have fun!”
“Will do.”
Kazuha went back to the diamond, putting his phone away with the rest of his stuff. He grabbed the protective gear Scaramouche was lending him and put it on quickly, securing the face guard in place.
“What’s next?”
“Something I’ve been working on,” Scaramouche replied. “Though I haven’t had the chance to practice it as much as I wanted to.”
Kazuha had a feeling that had to do with the rocky relationship between Scaramouche and his catcher. He didn’t have the full picture on what was happening between the two, but over the course of their practising together, Kazuha was able to guess that maybe he had been wrong from the start; maybe Scaramouche wasn’t entirely to blame for how he acted towards his catcher during games. The pitcher’s mood soured whenever it came to the other half of the battery, so there definitely was a story to be told there.
“Are you trying to say it’s not gonna be up to your high standard?”
“I’ll still get it where I want to,” Scaramouche declared as if Kazuha had challenged his precise control. “I just need to work on it.”
“Okay then. Work on it,” Kazuha said, squatting down at the plate, glove open and ready. “Show me what you’ve got.”
Scaramouche nodded. He motioned his head a bit to the side, prompting Kazuha to reposition himself and his mitt. “It’s a cutter,” he stated in order to get Kazuha to move a bit more to where he was aiming for.
“I’m ready.”
With that, Scaramouche fixed the grip he had on the ball and began his wind up. Kazuha didn’t think he could get tired of the sight; his form was beautiful and sharp, perfected over years of dedicated practice; the muscles under his compression shirt flexing in a display of pure athleticism. The dominating gaze he shot down towards Kazuha sent him into a trance - one which would have been deadly if he didn’t snap out of it before Scaramouche went for the pitch.
And what a pitch it was.
The speed at which it came flying towards Kazuha made the ball difficult to see, the white and red blending together in a disorientating blur. But it was stunning. The trajectory was just like his fastball, however just before the batter would swing, the ball crackled like a flash of lightning and broke towards Kazuha’s glove.
On impact, a jolt of electricity travelled down Kazuha’s body, going right to his heart.
Instead of the glove, Scaramouche had managed to target Kazuha’s heart, kick-starting it right then and there.
But not before forcing out a hot tear down his cheek.
“I’ve been trying to make it g- are you crying?” Scaramouche paused, staring down at Kazuha. The look on his face wasn’t that of worry - more so confusion - though Kazuha didn’t expect the pitcher to be concerned in the first place. “I didn’t even throw it that hard.”
Kazuha smiled, wiping away the tear that slipped out without his permission. “I’m fine,” he assured, getting up from his catching stance for a moment. “It just reminded me of something.”
How could it not? The way it moved - a bolt of lightning hurled his way - and caused his heart to jump out of his chest wasn’t anything new to Kazuha. He had the pleasure of catching similar pitches over the years from Scaramouche’s antithesis.
It felt good.
No- in fact, it was perfect in Kazuha’s eyes. It was just like he remembered.
“I thought you’d be able to catch it,” Scaramouche continued once Kazuha managed to dry his eyes. “The videos of you had you catching for someone with a similar pitch.”
“Yeah,” Kazuha acknowledged. “For a second there it felt identical.”
Scaramouche tilted his head slightly, scanning Kazuha with his piercing gaze. “Is that what the tears were about?”
Kazuha simply nodded. He didn’t feel like explaining exactly why he got teary eyed over a pitch, so he was glad when Scaramouche dropped it.
The pitcher took the ball from Kazuha and began making his way back to the mound, only to be rudely interrupted by his phone ringing loudly from beneath the pile of his items. He groaned, making a shark U-turn to pick up.
Kazuha observed as Scaramouche scowled when he brought the device up to his ear. He watched the way he slouched like a moody teenager, his body language practically screaming I don’t want to be here.
Scaramouche grumbled out a few replies before he hung up. “Wonderful,” he muttered, picking up his hoodie and quickly putting it on. “I have to go.”
“I won’t hold you back then,” Kazuha said, quickly taking off the protective gear lended to him. “I had fun though.”
To his surprise, Scaramouche replied with a “me too,” which was then promptly followed with “I’ll see you later.” Kazuha had no chance to say anything before Scaramouche ran off with all his things, leaving Kazuha standing in the middle of the empty field.
“I… Are you not even gonna drive me back!”
***
The events of that very off day weren’t easily forgotten by Kazuha - especially Scaramouche’s parting words.
I’ll see you later.
Sure, he did say that, but did he actually mean it? Or was later in this scenario never? Kazuha wasn’t exactly sure about that. Scaramouche was a difficult egg to crack - that much was obvious. All that Kazuha really knew about his personality was the prideful side to him, as well as that unapproachable, threatening air that followed him wherever he went. So, truth be told, Kazuha had no idea if he would be seeing the pitcher again any time soon.
At least that was the case until exactly a week after their meeting. Scaramouche made his way into the bookstore, this time ten minutes before closing time, saving him the extra few minutes of waiting around for Kazuha to close up.
“You actually came,” Kazuha said in shock, more to himself than the purple haired man standing by the checkout.
“I told you I would.”
And so, that was how Kazuha found himself on the field again - this time with a full set of protective gear courtesy of Scaramouche’s thoughtfulness.
They warmed up with a few lazy pitches to get a feel of things before jumping into the fun stuff.
Very little was said between them through the two hours they spent practising together, yet it never felt strange to Kazuha. In fact, he was having fun. He enjoyed the feeling of the ball landing in his mitt; the weight of the gear on his body; the way his muscles began to ache and burn from his squatting and kneeling.
Kazuha didn’t even notice when the sky began to darken. Two hours had gone by in a flash, and despite still being somewhat light out, he knew he had to go. Scaramouche mentioned he had practice in the morning so Kazuha couldn’t keep him for any longer, even if he wanted to.
And god did he want to.
Being able to witness Scaramouche up on the mound, concentrating fully on his pitch was something Kazuha had slowly begun getting addicted to. When the pitcher got into his zone, he was unstoppable and Kazuha couldn’t tear his eyes away. It made him want to play more, more, more . He wanted to catch for Scaramouche for one inning, two, all the way to nine! He wanted to make the calls, catching out batters together with those masterful pitches only Scaramouche could throw. He wanted to feel the rush of adrenaline that pushed him to the limits back in the day. He wanted to play until he couldn’t play anymore.
He just needed more.
“Are we doing this again next week?” Kazuha asked, standing behind Scaramouche whilst the athlete packed up all his gear.
“Yes.”
Kazuha snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. “You know, you usually ask people first - or at the very least let them know ahead of time.”
“Well I’m letting you know now.”
“Every week?”
“Unless I have a game or I’m busy. But yes, every week,” Scaramouche said. He didn’t even ask Kazuha, either because he was set on forcing the man to catch for him, or because he knew Kazuha wouldn’t argue about it. “I’ll see you next week.” With that, Scaramouche slung his sports bag over his shoulder and offered a curt nod.
“Yeah, sure.”
Just as Scaramouche was about to leave, Kazuha quickly grabbed onto his wrist. He didn’t even notice what he had done until the pitcher stopped, his hand extended between them both.
“What?”
Bashful, Kazuha let go. His body acted out on its own, forcing Kazuha to say what was on his mind. “I just umm… I had fun,” he stated, scratching the back of his neck. “Thanks.”
And that was that for the week.