Unspoken

A/N: Written for Day 1 of Misawa week: Mutual pining

I decided to post this here, too, because.. I don't know. GAHA. I actually have a birthday fic written for Miyuki up on my Tumblr, too - but I'll be posting it later today.

"Batting fifth, catcher Miyuki."

Sawamura tilts his head back, taking a deep breath. I can do this. His grip on the ball tightens. The player with the number 2 on his back steps into the batting box, shifting his stance and positioning his bat.

Have you been watching me, Miyuki?

For a moment, Sawamura hesitates. With Miyuki standing there, the waiting mitt suddenly seems foreign - wrong. Sawamura's jaw clenches - this isn't the time. Fingers clinging onto the seams of the baseball, his arm swings out in a whip-like motion. In the next second, the ball slams into the Clayton's mitt.

"Strike!"

Have you been watching every single one of my games, like I did for you?

The loud impact causes cheers from the stands to erupt, chants of "Sawamura!" repeating over and over again. But these cheers don't matter to Sawamura - the pitcher narrows his eyes at the twitch of Miyuki's lips as he remains unmoved, stance not changing.

Clayton shifts his mitt to the inside corner. You helped me hone this pitch, Miyuki. Sawamura inhales deeply, trying to clear his thoughts. Winding his leg up, he ignores the tightness in his chest as he pitches into the waiting mitt with another loud slam.

"Strike!"

Clayton throws the ball back to Sawamura. "Nice pitch!"

Sawamura notices that Miyuki's eyes had changed. His legs are further apart and he has that look - the look that Sawamura is - was - familiar with, watching from the mound; even now with slightly different positions. His look of excitement: the way his eyes flashes when Sawamura strikes out a batter or when he's learning a new pitch and there'd be an expectant smirk playing on his lips or like what Miyuki had told him before - the thrill from simply watching him. He never understood what Miyuki meant for the last one, and with an almost defeated acknowledgement, he just never may.

Lowering himself back to a crouch, Clayton's expression changes - we've to get him out. Sawamura feels his muscles go taut with that realization. He squeezes his eyes shut for a second, breathing in deeply, resolutely.

Bringing his arm back, his foot lands on the ground again with a heavy thud, and the ball flew, heading straight for the mitt. It's as if everything is set slow motion at this very second: Sawamura can feel his jersey sticking to his drenched back; can see Miyuki bringing his bat back, lips set into a firm line; can catch the glimpse of the catcher's determined frown, holding out his mitt, can see the ball shooting forward -

"Strike! Batter out!"

Sawamura watches as Miyuki tucks his bat under his arm and steps out of the batting box. There's an incomprehensible clenching of his heart as his eyes linger on Miyuki's back who leaves without a backward glance. Is this what I mean to you, Miyuki? He wants to scream for Miyuki to turn around, give a remark about how - how - stupid he looks; body trembling under heat of the afternoon sun, even just a single twitch of his hands, a jarring movement of his limbs to express even the slightest desire to look him in the eye - anything.

He leaves; still carrying the air of confidence despite being struck out, jogging back to the dugout where his team waits.

No explanation, no second glance - just like five years ago.

Throwing his head back, Sawamura pulls the cap over his eyes, an almost hysterical laughter bursting forth from his closed-up throat. It is a sharp contrast; his heart slams almost painfully against his ribs, and his chest is constricting so much he can barely breathe, and he's almost wheezing with every breath. He knows he'll fall over the edge that he has been teetering on for far too long if he continues this.

With much effort, he wrenches himself away from the direction Miyuki has left for, swallowing the lump in his throat.

I'm not as strong as you think I am, Miyuki.

I'm not.

The dampness in his eyes that slowly give way to the trickle of tears is nothing compared to the way his knees feel as if they're going to buckle, to the way he's just barely keeping himself from running towards Miyuki and wrapping his arms around his torso to revel in the familiar warmth, to the way he just wants to claw on the ground of the field.

Baseball had brought them together, but it's also undeniably the culprit for their separation.

—-

Miyuki sets the bat beside him, dropping down on the seat next to Mitsui, rolling his shoulders. He feels the exhaustion creeping up on him as he rests against the back of the bench, a soft sigh escaping from his lips.

"Hey, you totally got trashed out there."

Miyuki stops the motion of his shoulders. Then he laughs. "Yeah, I did, didn't I?"

Mitsui rests his folded arms on the bench in front of him, eyes hard on Miyuki's. "That wasn't your usual performance."

Miyuki remains quiet; that's not something to dispute, seeing that the statement's entirely true. He's admittedly distracted, with the person he has walked away from a few years ago standing right before him, proud and strong - a shadow of a smile flickers on his lips. He remembers the familiar glow of Sawamura's alluring golden orbs, almost like a beast ready to strike every time he stands on the mound; he remembers the unique form that only Sawamura would be able to attain, the stretch of his arm so far back that it's impossible to see the trajectory; he remembers the oppressive aura that wraps around his body when he focuses his eyes on the catcher's mitt.

This thrill… I almost forgot how it feels like.

Seeing him again today, the thirst and the hollowness inside of him feels more pronounced than before. He had to suppress the ache out on the field, watching the pitcher throw ball after ball into a mitt that isn't his. He feels his lips quirk upwards wryly; he isn't in the position to make that comment, though.

"You know that pitcher?"

Mitsui startles at the sudden question, then shrugs. "Heard of him. Weird pitching form, lethal as a pitcher."

"Weird?" Miyuki snickers, taking off the gear, allowing himself to take in a mouthful of fresh air. He feels his own expression shift - even he has no idea what he looks like now - his eyes zeroing in on Sawamura. The words are uttered softly, almost like a whisper, "It's beautiful."

A/N: Do leave a review to tell me your thoughts! I hope you enjoyed this.

-mysticflakes