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The winding walkways of the Meiji Jingu stadium may one day not get Furuya lost while trying to find his team’s changing room. This will not be the day for that streak to end.
The color coded maps on the walls aren’t much assistance, using cardinal directions as points of reference. Knowing which way is North might be in the cards eventually, but this won’t be that day, either.
Finally, a familiar voice grabs his attention. “Oi, Furuya!” From a nearby set of stairs, Sawamura’s head pops around the corner. “Come with me. Uhhh, Shades is looking for you.”
“Oh, okay.” Furuya bites back a sigh of relief. At least if he’s going to be lost in this massive building, he doesn’t have to wander around alone.
The two of them start up the stairs to the next level, but it doesn’t take long before Sawamura’s furtive gaze searching the terrain lets Furuya know that they are definitely both lost.
“Do you even know where you’re going?” he asks, curious about how long it will take for Sawamura to admit it. “I think I already went through this level.”
Sawamura beams at him and grabs Furuya’s wrist. “Nah, I know exactly where I’m going. You can count on me.”
That thought coaxes a snort out of Furuya, but he follows nonetheless. Doesn’t he always, though? Somehow, Sawamura’s blind confidence in himself and unwavering faith in his teammates have been a bright beacon for all of Seidou baseball, and no one has been more attracted to that light than Furuya.
They find themselves in another stairwell, but when the door closes behind them, Furuya jumps. “How did that happen?”
“I closed it.” Sawamura grins and pins Furuya to the door. “Now I get to try something I’ve always wanted to do.”
Furuya follows wide-eyed as Sawamura guides him to the first step. They stop when Sawamura is one step up, and he scolds Furuya for putting a foot on the stairs. “Nuh-uh, Furuya-kun. You stay there.” At Furuya’s raised brow, Sawamura grabs the front of Furuya’s warm-up jacket and hauls him close. “Now you’re not taller than me.”
Rolling his eyes, Furuya sticks out his tongue. “You’re still shorter than me. That’s not going to change because you’re standing on stairs.”
“It changes it enough.” A wicked grin spreads across Sawamura’s face, and he leans down until his lips hover right in front of Furuya’s. “I always wanted to do this.” The hands knotted in Furuya’s jacket slide over his shoulders as Sawamura presses their mouths together.
It’s a strange little thing they have, Furuya knows, but it’s theirs. They’re competitors on the field and teammates too, but off the field their relationship is something entirely different. Instead of rivals, the two of them find themselves rapt by each other’s passion.
Sawamura’s passion is romance, whether in terms of love or heroism, the novelty of it appeals to him deeply. Furuya’s interests lie in the realm of mystery. While tons of things are mysterious to him because he’s admittedly not the smartest guy in the world, the desire to know everything about whatever matters to him burns hot and bright.
Maybe they’re not such a strange matchup after all.
The mood almost immediately set, Furuya’s hands wind around Sawamura’s waist and hike him off his feet. Strong legs band around his torso, and Sawamura lists into Furuya to send him reeling toward the stairwell wall. His back hitting concrete punches what little breath Furuya still has right out of his chest.
They’re both panting when Sawamura tears his mouth away, foreheads pressed together through a sheen of mounting sweat. It’s summer and overly warm, and a closed stairwell isn’t a well ventilated place. For once, however, Furuya doesn’t give a damn how hot it is. Some things are more important, and at the moment, Sawamura is his everything.
Out of the corner of his eye, Furuya spies a maintenance closet. His hand fumbles with the handle until it gives way, and a giggling Sawamura shuts it behind them once again. “Mmm, Furuya-kun is a genius.”
Furuya’s mouth descends on the smooth curve of Sawamura’s neck, eliciting a growl from Sawamura. Nibbling on an ear, Furuya murmurs, “More than you are.”
Fingertips dig hard into his back through his jacket, and he rewards the sensation by sinking his teeth into Sawamura’s shoulder. A lewd moan fills the closet, spurring Furuya’s roving mouth to further its journey, but his progress is impeded by the fabric of Sawamura’s uniform. “Damn it,” he hisses.
Sawamura drops his feet to the floor and peels his jersey and undershirt off in one frantic motion. Hungry eyes fix on Furuya, and Sawamura’s tongue darts out to lick his lips. “You’re overdressed, Furuya-kun.”
Furuya’s breath punches out of his lungs when Sawamura pushes him roughly against the wall, impatient fingers plucking at buttons and hems until Furuya can feel the clammy cement walls against his skin. He closes his eyes, and his head lolls to the side while he gorges himself on the sensation of Sawamura’s mouth nipping a trail down his chest.
Wide brown eyes stare up at Furuya while nimble fingers pick at his belt. Breath ragged, Furuya buries his hands in Sawamura’s thick, soft hair and watches his eyelids grow heavy with desire.
Pants drop to his ankles, leaving nothing but his jockeys between him and Sawamura’s waiting mouth. Furuya can hear his heartbeat in his ears, his blood in his veins as they all clamor for that wet heat.
“Eijun,” he groans. His hands slide down to frame Sawamura’s face in his hands. He doesn’t know how to say that seeing him there with flushed cheeks and lust filled gaze is the most beautiful thing Furuya has ever seen, so he wraps it up in those two simple syllables that have changed everything about who he is and where he is going.
Sawamura’s fingers hook onto the waistband of his undershorts, but a few centimeters into pulling them down, the door to the closet creaks open.
A middle aged woman in a maintenance uniform rolls her eyes and snaps, “Get dressed. Now.”
Both boys scramble to comply, and in record time, the two of them bow humbly to the person whose work they have rudely disrupted. “Please forgive us,” they say in unison.
“Seidou, huh?” Her eyes fall on the crest of Furuya’s jersey. “Come with me.”
Without waiting for a response, she grips each of them by the earlobe and drags them through the hallways until they find themselves (finally) in front of the Seidou changing room. A bug-eyed first year spots them first, and when their captor says, “Please go get your coach,” he scrambles to comply.
“Oh crap,” Furuya mutters. He’s been dragged in front of Kataoka-kantoku for a number of things: grades, being benched for injury or performance, sleeping during weight training. Never for anything like this, though. “He’s going to murder us.”
“Nah,” Sawamura says, smiling even through the wince from having his ear trapped in a vise-like grip. “I do stupid stuff all the time and I’m still alive.”
Furuya glances over at Sawamura, jersey is on inside out, hair sticking out in every direction, and a very noticeable bite mark on his collarbone. He swallows hard. “For now.”
After barely a minute, Kataoka emerges from the locker room, and his mouth hardens to a grim line once he catches sight of their dishevelment.
“Do these miscreants belong to you?” she asks.
“Unfortunately,” Kataoka snapped, and Furuya can see his eyes narrow even through his tinted lenses. “I apologize.” Kataoka bows to her and relieves her of their custody.
Once she heads back to her station, Kataoka hisses, “Office. Now.”
The ‘office’ is little more than a closet with a desk inside, and the two of them huddle together on a wooden bench opposite the desk, and Kataoka towers above them. Furuya hasn’t felt this small since he was in elementary school.
“Which one of you is going to tell me what just happened?” Kataoka’s arms cross as he leans on the edge of the desk. “Well?”
Furuya and Sawamura look at each other, at their coach, and then back at each other. Knowing Sawamura would get them both into far more trouble, Furuya relented. “Sorry, sir. We were, um —” His face reddens and he looks anywhere but Kataoka as he mumbles, “We were making out.”
Kataoka stares at both of them for thirty of the most uncomfortable seconds in Furuya’s life before he bursts into laughter. It isn’t until he pulls off his glasses to swipe away tears of mirth that the world feels right again.
“I was going to make the two of you run laps until you pass out for fighting with each other.” Kataoka’s gaze bores into both of them at the same time. “That’s not what I expected to hear, but no harm is done. Use better judgment going forward.”
Kataoka pushes the door open, and the two of them slip out. As soon as they reach their side by side lockers, a bulk of their first string teammates ogling them with bald curiosity, they sink into the bench and heave a mutual sigh of relief.
“I thought we were going to die,” Furuya whispered, but Sawamura waves off his concern.
“Nah, Shades likes me too much.” Sawamura shoots him a wink. “Might kill you though.”
Furuya slams his shoulder into Sawamura’s and knocks him off balance, and the familiarity of their petty squabbling takes hold once more.
They’re going to be just fine either way. It’s comfortable and them.