The World Before Me

By: TG

Summary: Skype is both a blessing and a curse, sometimes.

Disclaimer: I don't own daiya or the title

Warnings: Spoilers for the manga, awkward skype sex

AN: This entire fic is an experiment and probably a trainwreck. I wrote it in odd little chunks over the span of three weeks by sending myself emails at work and trying to type covertly between checking in patients, so. Who knows!

Written as part of a fic exchange with mah buddy toudoukis over on tumblr –the prompts were skype and Miyuki's birthday, but since we were both so late getting started idk if the latter still even applies haha but HERE TAKE IT.

Enjoy!

"Afoot and lighthearted I take to the open road, healthy, free, the world before me."
-Walt Whitman

Kazuya dreams of his graduation ceremony.

He dreams of people scattered around the school grounds like flower petals, crying, laughing, melancholic. He dreams of watching his batchmates on the baseball team bid farewell to their underclassmen with waves and bittersweet smiles. He remembers the fingers curling around his and the warm shift and press of Sawamura's body at his side, and the cold that takes his place when he moves away.

"This is just like a shoujo manga," Sawamura informs him dryly. "This is the part where the protag confesses to the guy she loves in a flurry of cherry blossom petals and they resolve to stay together forever, happily ever after."

"Does that make you the girl?" Kazuya teases, but it sounds flat in his ears. Sawamura's eyes find the horizon and he smiles wryly at the setting sun.

"I'll miss you, you know?"

When he wakes up, he remembers that Sawamura wasn't the one who left him –it was the other way around.

"Miyuki Kazuya! You actually answered this time!"

Sawamura wields his full name like a weapon, and Kazuya can't bite back the grin as those golden eyes stare accusingly at him from five and a half thousand miles away.

"Yeah, well, you do realize there's a seventeen hour time difference, right? Last time you called it was 2am, idiot."

Sawamura huffs and tries very hard to be angry with him, but the twitch of his lips and the delight in his eyes give him away.

"Yeah yeah, spare me the whining," he replies, flapping a hand at the screen. "It's nice to hear your voice though."

"Such a high compliment from someone who was trying to glare death at me a moment ago. Your glares have about as much an effect as a kitten's, by the way."

"Hey -!"

"With its eyes still closed," Kazuya adds cheerfully.

The resulting shriek of anger has Chris-senpai banging on the wall that connects their two rooms, yelling at him to shut up. Kazuya can't even bring himself to care.

He leaves not long after graduation. He tells only Sawamura and Kuramochi about his departure to America, but naturally the entire team shows up at the airport to see him off -something he should have expected, but didn't. Even his senpai are there, grinning. They pat him on the back, shake his hand, stuff him full of snacks for the long flight, and wave him off. The whole affair is a whirlwind of colors and sounds, too loud and too bright amongst all the business suits and dark suitcases.

His well-wishers trickle away one by one until only his best friend and Sawamura are left, and he doesn't miss Kuramochi slinking away into the shadows to give them a moment before he has to join the ranks filing through security.

"So," Sawamura says, hand shoved into his pockets, eyes distant. "This feels familiar."

Kazuya laughs, and his heart breaks just a little. "Yeah, it does."

"I -here." Sawamura shoves a piece of paper into his hand. Kazuya hadn't even noticed him holding it. "It's my contact information. I made a skype so we could, y'know, video chat and stuff."

Kazuya's fingers curl around the crumpled paper almost reverently. It's incredibly ironic that he spent his entire high school career building up the perfect arsenal of words, slinging them like weapons, little carefully constructed manipulations, and yet…the only thing on his tongue now is the bittersweet taste of longing and silence. He has no idea what to say to the boy in front of him, but it seems that Sawamura doesn't need him to fill in the empty spaces between them.

He slides his arm across Kazuya's shoulders and grins, and the ache beneath his ribs has nothing to do with his torn obliques and everything to do with the boy leaning into him. It's a reverse of the very first time they met, when Kazuya was a little shit and Sawamura was fresh meat, but this time it's the pitcher calling the shots. Kazuya can't say that he minds –Sawamura's arm is a warm and comfortable weight on his shoulders and even though their battery is done, their partnership and trust remains.

"I can't believe you're leaving," Sawamura's saying, voice wistful in Kazuya's ear, colored with just a hint of longing. Kazuya brings a hand up, traps the thin wrist dangling off his shoulder in the circle of his fingers. Sawamura glances at him out of the corner of a golden eye, and all Kazuya can think about are all the words he wants to say to this boy, but can't.

Sawamura had warned him with his eyes that day under the tree. Don't tell me the words I want to hear, because I can't say the words I want to say. Tokyo to Los Angeles is a distance of 5,474 miles -8,810 kilometers –and Kazuya is going to fulfill a life's dream.

You can't afford distractions now.

Sawamura looks like he's waiting for something, for Kazuya to restore the equilibrium, the status quo. For Kazuya to throw his arm off his shoulder and laugh, to point out that Sawamura is an idiot and a menace and has a long way to go before he can afford to get distracted from his race to the ace number. Kazuya does none of that.

Instead, he throws caution to the wind, thinks fuck it as he turns to face the pitcher at his side. Sawamura's eyes are huge and confused and Kazuya wants to laugh, wants to fit his arms around his waist and hold him forever, wants to rip up his boarding pass, and his mind whispers this is what Sawamura wanted to avoid.

He doesn't care.

When their lips meet, Sawamura makes a noise in the back of his throat like he's dying, and Kazuya closes his eyes and doesn't think about how long he's wanted to do this, or how long it's going to be before he can do it again.

He knows Sawamura's eyes are on him as he picks his way through security, he can feel them burning through the skin of his neck like little suns. He doesn't dare look back.

"You know, you can call me Eijun," Sawamura says. His voice is garbled by distance, features lit up blue from the computer screen and barely recognizable in the dark of his dorm room. He's in his pajamas and he looks soft and tired, and Kazuya kind of wishes he could take him to bed, tuck him under his chin and fall asleep to the sound of his breathing and the warm scent of his hair.

Skype is both a blessing and a curse, sometimes.

"I guess you can call me Kazuya then," he murmurs back. He tries to paste on a jaunty grin. He's pretty sure he succeeds, but the look on Sawa –Eijun's face says otherwise so he lets it slip away. He sees himself in the corner, a live feed that's a few seconds behind, and hopes the shit quality of his built-in camera hides the dark circles under his eyes and the sheer exhaustion in the downturn of his mouth.

Sawa –Eijun reaches up with his left hand, falters with his fingers inches away from the screen. "Kazuya," he murmurs, voice hushed. Kazuya's gut tightens. Eijun looks like he has a whole world of words trapped inside him, but he swallows them back down and says instead, "tell me about Los Angeles?"

He does. He tells Eijun with quiet, soothing words how well he's being treated despite the fact that he's not exactly fluent in English. He tells him about sharing a living space with Chris-senpai and his father, tells him about the harsh heat of the summer and about how it's less oppressive without the humidity of Tokyo. Kazuya tells Eijun of all the new foods he's tried, new places he's visited on Chris-senpai's insistence that he get out more, of all the new training techniques Animal has introduced into his schedule to help prep him for the professional tryouts.

When Eijun's breathing eases into something slow and soft, Kazuya smiles and tells his sleeping not-lover how much he misses him with a cracking voice and an aching heart.

He stares at the soft brown hair and the sturdy back rising up and down with each breath for half an hour before Chris-senpai drops a hand on his shoulder and reminds him that he has twenty minutes to eat breakfast and meet Animal in the training center.

"I've got a joke for you, Kazuya," Eijun says the second Kazuya answers the skype call coming through on his phone app. "You on lunch break yet?"

Kazuya rolls his eyes but there's a smile turning up the corners of his lips all the same, and he tells himself it's got absolutely nothing to do with the way Eijun says his given name or the way his voice sounds sleepy-soft in Kazuya's ear even through the white noise of distance. He wonders when he got so bad at lying to himself.

A swift glance at his dual watch shows that Eijun is living in a world where it is 5am, where the sun isn't even over the horizon yet, while he's stuck in the noon heat a day behind.

"I am, and I have a feeling you're going to tell me whether I want to know or not," he says. His phone app doesn't support video, and the sound of Eijun's voice is so garbled it's almost unrecognizable. Stupid app. Stupid distance.

"Damn right I will. Okay, so why did the yogurt go to the art exhibit?"

Kazuya grins and leans against the lockers. "Hmm, why?"

"Because it was cultured."

"That was god-awful, Eijun."

"What happens when the smog lifts over Los Angeles? UCLA!"

"Oh my god."

"What? Oh come on, I looked that one up just for you! Okay okay, what about uhhhh –" Eijun trails off, evidently thinking. "Why did the umpire give the pitcher a shout out? Because he got three strikes!"

"…"

"No? Okay, what do baseball players use to bake a cake?"

"I dunno, what?"

"Oven mitts, bunt cake pan, and batter! HAHA!"

"These are terrible, Eijun," Kazuya says. His chest hurts.

He spends his entire lunch break in the locker room of the training center listening to Eijun's terrible jokes and doesn't even care when he realizes he forgot to eat.

(Eijun hangs up with a "What did the mitt say to the ball? Catch you later!" and Kazuya laughs so hard he cries, and he's late getting back to his training because he's too busy scrubbing the redness from his eyes. Chris-senpai gives him a look.)

Clang!

Clang!

"How are you liking LA so far?" Chris-senpai asks. They are in the middle of one of their late batting practices, having borrowed Animal's keys to the training center so Chris-senpai could take a look at Kazuya's swing. He'd been content to feed balls to the machine and watch Kazuya's form with critical eyes up until now, and the sudden question startles Kazuya into missing the last ball.

"I…fine?" he says, clearing his throat. Chris is looking at him like he's trying to figure out a puzzle, and Kazuya wonders if he presents any sort of challenge at all anymore, or if he's become an open book. Eijun has made a career out of tearing down Kazuya's walls, and he has yet to figure out how to build them back up again.

"It's okay, you know. To miss someone," Chris said, eyes soft and sympathetic. Kazuya feels the back of his throat itch with something he doesn't want to identify, and he looks away. Has Chris-senpai noticed?

Of course he has. He's probably known all along.

Chris sighs. "Alright, ten more, Miyuki."

The machine whirrs and spits out more balls for Kazuya to hit as he and Chris fall back to silence.

Clang!

Clang!

Kazuya is just walking in the door, hair still dripping and towel wrapped around his waist from his morning post-run shower when he hears it -the dulcet (read: irritating) tone of an incoming skype call. He grins and makes his way to his laptop, clicking the answer button without thinking about his state of undress. Eijun's face pops up and he's grinning from ear to ear, bright and fierce and beautiful.

"Hey, guess wh – oh!" A pretty flush colors Eijun's cheeks and he's staring, eyes round and intense. Kazuya frowns, wondering if he'd missed a spot shaving or something –it is early, after all, only six in the morning for him –but as he follows the path of Eijun's eyes he realizes the source of Eijun's embarrassment and smirks.

When Eijun's eyes finally travel up his chest and align with his, he glares. "Why are you naked."

It's more of an accusation than a question, and Kazuya throws his head back and laughs. "I just got out of the shower, Ei-chan~" he teases. "Why, like what you see?"

"You're not playing fair," Eijun mutters. His face is still red and there's a pout settling on his lips, but his expression is hungry and his eyes are still blatantly glued to the bits of him that are on display. Kazuya takes pride in his body –not because he thinks he looks handsome (though he does), but because he has spent years training his body, honing his muscles, stretching and twisting and flexing in the name of the sport he loves. He's never felt embarrassed or awkward about his body, but the way Eijun's staring, appraising him, eyes trailing over his chest, down his stomach, lingering and hot…

He shouldn't be doing this, because Eijun's right, he isn't playing fair, but when it comes to Eijun he sometimes finds that he can't control himself. So he cants his hips forward under that appreciative gaze, lets his finger brush down the length of his body to graze the boundary of his towel. Eyes half-lidded, voice coated in honey, dimpling his lip with the points of his teeth.

Eijun's eyes follow his hand like they are magnetized to it, bright, focused. The intensity reminds Kazuya of the way he looked on the mound when he had the batter cornered and he knew it –relaxed and lose, confident. Strong and sexy. Like he knows what he wants. Like he knows exactly how to get it.

"Eijun," Kazuya breathes, fingers dipping just under the towel, hesitating. "Is this okay?"

Eijun swallows, but to Kazuya's relief his expression holds no hint of doubt. "Yes, please Kazuya –"

Kazuya's hands shake as he fumbles with the towel, clumsy with desire, and he sighs as it wisps down around his feet. He catches Eijun's eyes on screen, and god he's beautiful, all flushed cheeks, fluffy hair, pretty wet mouth. Focused, intent eyes follow the familiar route his hand takes, down his stomach and over the trail of coarse hair; he can feel them burning through his skin like sparks and god he's already hot and hard like steel, throbbing in the circle of his fingers. He moans quietly and swirls the pearly fluid already leaking from the tip, drinking in the answering moan from the computer screen.

There's a sound of a zipper being pulled, clothes rustling. His mouth runs dry as Eijun pulls himself out of his pants, hand already grasping and pulling in slow, measured jerks. It's dark in Eijun's room, he can only see thanks to the glow of the monitor, but it's enough. As long as he can see the rhythmic motion of his hand, the shift of his hips as he presses up into the pleasure, the heat in his eyes –it's enough. He'll make it be enough.

"Ah, hnng, I want –" Kazuya pants, bites his lip. Fingers squeeze around his cock and he pretends like they are Eijun's –long and thin, sun-kissed. How would those fingers feel on his skin -sliding up his thighs and hips, cupping his cheek, tucked tight between his own? How would they feel, thrusting in and out of him, making him come, moaning, voice wrecked?

God.

"Want you here, want to feel you," Eijun groans. His head is tipped back, eyes closed, mouth open and panting. Kazuya is acutely aware of all the things he's missing, watching his not-lover over a messy video feed. He can't see the scrunch of Eijun's nose, the flutter of his lashes as he strokes himself through. He feel him shake, can't smell him or taste the sweat on his skin.

But at least he has this. At least he can watch him, rhythm stuttering and jerking and god he's so stunning like this, coming and falling apart, all quiet moans and harsh breathing and sighs of Kazuya falling from his lips like little bombs.

It's enough to bring him over the edge, his pleasure sharpening as he paints his fingers white with come. It's enough, he thinks as he pants, sweating and shaking and empty.

It's enough. It is.

Except it's really not, because when he reaches out to touch and ends up mushing his fingers against the computer screen, Eijun starts crying -the quiet kind, not his usual brash loudness -and it hurts that Kazuya can't even wipe his tears away for him, can't press his fingers to his shoulder blades or slide into bed next to him or press their mouths together.

At breakfast he feels Chris' eyes on him, worried. Concerned. Considering. It's too much; after a while he mumbles out some excuse about not feeling well and stumbles back to his room. It is the first day of training he misses since he arrived seven months ago.

Kazuya dreams of sunshine. He dreams of dirt, baseball, the smell of sweat and victory. Of warmth and happiness, fleeting touches, lips soft and sweet on the curve of his cheek. He dreams of fluffy brown hair and bright yellow eyes, like a wolf. Strong, sturdy shoulders. A nose scrunching with laughter, the fan of dark lashes against a tanned cheek.

He dreams of kissing smooth, sleep-warmed skin, of cold feet pressed against his calves under the covers.

When he wakes, his face is streaked with trails of dried tears.

Oh.

"Hey."

"Hi," Kazuya murmurs. Eijun looks exhausted, diminished. It makes Kazuya's throat tighten. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I... I just had a dream the other night. Y'know," Eijun says haltingly.

"...yeah. Yeah, I know."

"I just -"

"I know."

"I want -"

"I know." Kazuya's hand curls around the screen of his laptop. He knows how acute loneliness can be. "I'm sorry."

I am so sorry.

Early in November, Chris-senpai puts a halt to their late batting practices without so much as an explanation.

Los Angeles in November isn't cold like it is in Tokyo. There's no snow on the ground, nothing to indicate winter has arrived except the locals complaining about the slight chill in the air. But Kazuya feels it in his bones now, feels alone, feels like maybe he hasn't appreciated what he did have all this time he's been pining after Eijun. And it's not like Chris-senpai owes him anything -in fact, he's the one who owes Chris-senpai, for so so much. Chris is the one making accommodations, letting Kazuya live in his house, eat his food, take up his free time. Chris-senpai is the one chauffeuring him around, forcing him to get out and socialize. It is well within his rights to put a stop to any of these activities if he so chooses.

Chris-senpai doesn't owe him a damn thing, but maybe Kazuya has gotten used to the idea of someone else being there with him, for him.

He just adds it to the growing list of hurts to bottle up and moves on.

"Happy birthday, Kazuya!" Eijun crows. A sweet smile lifts the corners of his lips, tired and a little lopsided but sincere, and Kazuya finds himself grinning to match him. Sitting on the desk in front of the pitcher, in full view of the camera, is a single cupcake -or what Kazuya assumes is meant to be a cupcake.

"What is that? A rock?" He asks, eyes wide with feigned curiosity as he stares at the blackened lump.

"You are so rude! And after I stayed up all night baking this for you!" Eijun huffs, cheeks puffed up like an angry chipmunk.

"I'm surprised you remembered, since you're an idiot," he teases, snickering as Eijun squawks, affronted. "You're really something."

"See if I ever stay up this late for you again!"

"It is pretty late for you, huh," Kazuya murmurs. A glance at his watch tells him it is 02:00 back in Tokyo, and that Eijun is going to have a very long day ahead of him if he gets up at 05:00 for practice.

When he looks back up, Eijun is watching him, features thrown into sharp relief by the flickering flame of the single candle stuck in the center of the cupcake. For a split second Kazuya swears he sees a flicker of something in his expression -a ghost of something solemn, something remorseful, something that doesn't belong -but it passes, and the wide-eyed look of expectation settles in again.

Kazuya is tempted to ask him if he used a hammer to drive that candle in, but instead he bites it down, settles for a soft, honest smile and an equally honest "thank you."

Eijun's face lights up like it's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to him.

You are the brightest point of my life, Kazuya thinks, and the candle burns burns burns between them.

[12/13/14 3:36:23 AM] Ace_Eijun: hey, i wont b able 2 skype u while on winter break

[12/13/14 3:37:15 AM] Ace_Eijun: just wanted 2 let u kno

[12/13/14 3:44:53 AM] Ace_Eijun: ...sorry

The messages were sent three hours ago, while Kazuya was still asleep. He wonders briefly if he still is, but the pinch of disappointment proves that he isn't dreaming -this is reality, and the cold emptiness that's been hovering over him since Chris-senpai became distant finally settles in like a shroud. Like a candle, snuffed out.

He checks skype again after training, just in case, but as always Eijun stays true to his word.

"I need you to pick up a potential client at the airport on Thursday," Chris says quietly, fingers folded around a set of chopsticks. He doesn't look up, but Kazuya doesn't need to see his expression to know it's not really a request. He puts his own chopsticks down next to his bowl of rice, leans back in his chair, waits until Chris meets his eyes. Kazuya doesn't say anything -doesn't have to. Chris is already talking. "Dad is going to be in meetings all day, trying to secure some tryouts, and I'm going to be doing the children's session in his place. The recruit is Japanese, so I figured you would be the best option to meet him."

Kazuya frowns, but he can't argue with Chris' logic. "Alright."

"Money for a cab will be on the kitchen counter. There should be enough there to take him out for lunch, too. Don't forget to tip the server this time," Chris says, amused smile gracing his lips when Kazuya gives him a Look. It's not his fault Americans are so weird.

When nothing more is forthcoming, Kazuya quirks an eyebrow. "Not going to tell me who it is or what they look like? Anything?"

"I think you'll figure it out," Chris says, wrists flicking the newspaper open, eyes focused on the black and white. The catcher stabs his chopsticks viciously into his rice, sullen and trying not to wonder what sort of person he's going to be meeting, or if it's anyone he knows. Across from him, Chris smiles and turns the page.

The airport is just as he remembers it from all those months ago –a writhing mass of too many bodies, too much noise, too much information. He supposes he should be thankful that Chris at least had the foresight to write down the flight number, even if his odd reluctance to talk about the person he's supposed to be picking up prevented him from discussing anything else.

"'You'll figure it out' my ass," Kazuya snarks under his breath, frowning. He wonders briefly if Chris realized that the flight is coming from Japan. How is Kazuya expected to automatically know which of the hundreds of Japanese people flooding the airport is the one he's here to pick up?

A family of five bumps into him and somehow manages to run his toes over with every single one of their oversized rolling suitcases. Kazuya has to bite back the automatic glare as the smallest child looks up at him and gives him a cheerful wave. At this rate, Kazuya isn't sure he's going to make it back to the training center in one piece –or out of handcuffs. He already had to deal with a cabbie who thought he could trick more money out of Kazuya by taking the long route (he'd been seriously unhappy when Kazuya proved the cabbie's 'oversight' by showing him the route he'd marked on his smartphone because Kazuya isn't dumb). The ensuing argument ended up with the cab pulled over and Kazuya left on the curb. It had taken him half an hour to flag down another one, and by then he'd been desperate not to be late.

Though, if he's honest with himself, he's not grouchy because of this -not really, anyway. He's been increasingly more ill-tempered every day since Eijun stopped skyping him. He's always been vaguely aware of how much those conversations meant to him, but it wasn't until they were taken away that he really began to understand how much they sustain him, how a few words exchanged over half the circumference of the globe could brighten his mood.

It is illogical. Kazuya spent years cultivating the distance, refining the control he thought he needed to survive, erecting those walls. So the realization that Eijun of all people is able to worm his way in through the cracks... It's terrifying. It's embarrassing.

It's exhilarating.

And the thing is, Kazuya wants it.

If there's one thing he learned during Eijun's exile from skype, during his exile from Japan, it's that he wants it. Looking back, he realizes now that he was doomed from the start, from the moment those aureate eyes and that mischevious smirk landed on him, from the very first smack of the ball in his mitt, from the first time he heard Eijun stand up for someone he'd never even met before just because it was right.

And just like that it's back, that familiar pang of loneliness that he'd worked so hard to shelve, sealed away to mature like fine whisky, like wine. He should have known that it never really disappears, just ages, mellows, infuses until it's part of him.

These are the consequences of opening himself up to another person, he thinks wryly to himself as yet another person bumps into him, hurrying on without apology or a second glance.

The flight arrival board blinks down at him, a mass of meaningless numbers and letters scrolling through the cycle of boarding-inflight-delayed-arriving. He lets his eyes rove slowly down the list until he reaches the flight number that matches the one crumpled in his palm on a slip of paper he'd found with his cab money.

The inflight shutters to arriving, and Kazuya blinks back at it. Not late, then.

People are rushing past him, too busy staring, eyes wild, between their boarding passes and the signs swinging unhelpfully from the ceiling. He moves off to the side, props himself against a wall, unobtrusive, out of the way.

"MIYUKI KAZUYA!"

Kazuya twitches, surprised. Who would be yelling his full name like that? The only explanation is that Chris-senpai told the new client his name. But that voice… There's no way that's not his imagination, right? That voice, so achingly familiar –not at all like what he's been hearing for the last nine months, a garbled staticky mess over time and distance and shitty video feeds. It's warm and solid and there, but it has to be his imagination, because why would –?

"MIYUKI KAZUYA! OOOOIIII!"

People are glancing around now, heads turning this way and that, trying to pin down the source of the noise. Kazuya feels his heart thud against his ribs, pulse high and fast in his throat like a hummingbird's wings, thrumming, pounding, hot. He's entertained the idea, in the few days between Chris asking him to do him this favor and now, that perhaps the person he's meeting is someone he knows and that's why Chris didn't give him a description, but this… This borders on impossible.

But the crowd parts around a figure bundled up in heavy winter gear, much too heavy for the mild Los Angeles winter, and he knows. Even before he sees the fluffy brown hair sticking out of the hood or the golden eyes peeking over the scarf. He knows.

That's Sawamura, that's Eijun.

Kazuya swallows, and then swallows again because that's Eijun -that's him standing there, arms flapping indignantly, eyes glancing around, mouth making a scene even above the typical airport buzz. That's him, pulling off his stocking cap and gloves, peeling off his layers like petals from a rose, grumbling to himself when the elusive Miyuki Kazuya doesn't step up right away. That's him, cheeks flushed and hair messy, looking tired and soft and a little uncertain alone in this strange new environment.

That's him.

Fuck you, Chris-senpai, he thinks very, very fondly, mouth curling up in a smile when Eijun's sullen gaze finally meets his. Across the terminal he watches those eyes come alive like little suns and thinks about the last time he saw them in person, about an arm flung across his shoulders and warm words whispered against the curve of his jaw and chapped lips moving on his.

Airports exist for goodbyes, but they exist for hellos, too.

He pushes himself off the wall, tries for nonchalant grace, but his body is thrumming and his hands itch to take that sun-kissed face between his palms and kiss him stupid. The need to touch him -actuallytouch him- overrides any intentions he has of being casual, and before he realizes it he's running. People move out of his way, stopping their pilgrimages to watch. He doesn't have the space to properly accelerate, so when he and Eijun meet in the middle it's more like a collision, chests and stomachs and hips and thighs and surprised breaths and somehow they manage not to conk heads, too. There are arms around him, holding him so tight his breath stutters out of him, and he's not a bit surprised to feel wetness where his cheek comes to rest against Eijun's.

"Kazuya Kazuya Kazuya," Eijun chants, breath warm and god. God.

Kazuya gets his arms around him too, fingers clutching into the fabric of his hoodie, and moans in pure relief.

Time doesn't stand still for them, the earth does not stop turning. People who stopped to stare begin to move on, headed for their own reunions, walking away from their own goodbyes. But none of that matters, because Eijun is here, shuddering and shaking and sighing in his arms. Their story is not unique -this airport has probably seen hundreds of thousands of reunions just like theirs, but. None of that matters, because this one is theirs.

"I have missed you so fucking much," he whispers, voice hoarse and throat tight, eyes shut against the embarrassing stinging at the back of his eyes. He swallows it down, keeps it in check because Eijun is supposed to be the crybaby of the two, right?

"I'm sorry Kazuya, I'm s-so sorry," Eijun murmurs, turning his head to press his lips against Kazuya's temple. "I knew if I had the chance, I might accidentally -"

Kazuya hums, nose pressed against the rosy round of his cheek. "It's okay."

And it really is. He can surmise the gist of the operation -Chris must have contacted him, must've offered Eijun the scholarship that Animal has set aside for Japanese high schoolers who are interested in touring the facilities for post-graduation rehab. That he would do all of this for Kazuya is kind of mind-blowing, but he knows that it isn't really just for him. Eijun has and will always have a special place in Chris-senpai's heart because of the simple fact that he reminded Chris how much he loved something he thought he'd lost.

"It's okay, it's all right," he repeats, and Eijun's chest stutters as he lets out a sob. Kazuya's lips curve into a sweet smile and he brings a hand up, thumbs away the fresh tears collecting and falling from Eijun's eyelashes. The pitcher closes his eyes, presses his cheek further into the curve of Kazuya's palm, tries to swallow down his sobs.

You idiot, he thinks fondly. I love you.

"C'mere and kiss me," he says instead, hand on Eijun's cheek sliding back and back to cup the nape of his neck like he's holding something precious, bringing him forward, fingers tucked up in his hair. He bumps their noses together, laughs when Eijun's scrunches up. Presses his thumb to Eijun's chin, presses his lips to the corner of Eijun's mouth, presses his heart into Eijun's hands.

Take it, it's yours.

Eijun makes a soft sound in the back of his throat, turns his head the slightest bit to fit their lips together fully, and oh.

Oh.

Oh.

It's not their first kiss together, but it sort of feels like it. Eijun's lips are chapped and parted against his, breath warm, cheeks wet. Kazuya sighs into the his mouth and presses forward. Chests, stomachs, thighs, arms curling around his hips and in his hair, eyelashes brushing the curves of his cheeks. Eijun opens his mouth further, slides his tongue against Kazuya's. It's wet and messy and he tastes of stale airplane peanuts. It's fucking phenomenal.

He sinks his teeth into the plush of Eijun's lip, feels the moan vibrate up through where their chests touch, pulls back for breath. Eijun chases him back, pouting when Kazuya huffs out a laugh and presses his lips soft and sweet to Eijun's forehead instead.

I love you. The feeling swells up in his chest, warm and bright and beautiful. I love you I love you I love you.

"How long do I get to keep you?" He asks, forehead to forehead. Huh. There are flecks of sea green and brown in Eijun's eyes.

"Two weeks."

So little time.

"Mm. Guess we'll have to make them count."

"Hey?" Eijun murmurs after a pause, fingers tangling briefly with Kazuya's as they turn toward baggage claim.

"Hm?"

The pitcher bites his lip, meets his eyes in a steady gaze. Something lingers at the back of Kazuya's mind, words muttered in a dream under a stream of cherry blossoms. "I love you."

Kazuya throws his head back and laughs, slings an arm around Eijun's shoulders for old time's sake, uses it as leverage to drag him in for another lingering kiss. Between the two of them Eijun has always been the braver one, after all.

"Good, because I love you, too."

OMAKE

Ding!

Chris grins and drapes a towel across his shoulders, reaches out to the phone he'd stuffed last-minute into his duffle bag for this exact purpose. The only person who ever snaps him is Sawamura, and honestly he'd been expecting one before this. He wonders what kept them.

He slides his fingers across the lock screen and his grin melts into a smile as he presses his thumb down on Sawamura's new snaps. He cycles through ten of them, each featuring him and Miyuki. Half of them are unbelievably soppy –

(Sawamura, flushed and sated as Miyuki kisses the swell of his flushed cheek. Sawamura, smiling and looking happier than Chris has seen him look in a long time, forehead pressed against Miyuki's temple. Sawamura, face half hidden in the curve of Miyuki's neck, smiling so sweetly that Chris' heart sputters and sighs for him.)

-and the other half are so ridiculous that he lets out a snort before he can stop himself. And in all of them Miyuki is smiling, Miyuki is happy, healthy glow to his face and eyes alight with quiet joy.

He had been so worried. Miyuki might have thought he was putting up an impenetrable façade, but Chris had been blessed with the inimitable ability to see through all of Miyuki's charades even back in high school, and he'd watched as Miyuki had grown gloomier, quieter. It didn't take a genius to figure out why, and from then it had only taken a bit of convincing (Sawamura's parents were surprisingly reluctant, but he supposes Seido's measly three hour train ride from home is nothing compared to a 20 hour flight across continents) and a loophole in the training center's scholarship fund to get Sawamura on a flight to LA.

Of course, when he found out that Sawamura had straight up told Miyuki he couldn't talk over break he'd kind of wanted to strangle him, but luckily for them Miyuki had been too busy moping to really figure it out.

Just as the last of the pictures times out, his phone vibrates and dings in his hand, signaling another snapchat –this time, a video from Miyuki. Intrigued, he presses and holds.

Miyuki is smiling into the camera, Eijun grinning at his side, tucked up under his arm, head pillowed on Miyuki's sturdy shoulder.

"Is it running?" Eijun asks, scowling when Miyuki laughs and calls him an idiot. "Okay, okay! Jerk!"

Miyuki uses the arm curled around Sawamura's waist to poke him in what must be a ticklish spot, and the pitcher yelps, wriggles, directs a scathing glare to the side of Miyuki's face, settles back into his body.

Miyuki gives him a pointed look and they say together, "thank you, Chris-senpai!"

The snap ends with Miyuki pressing his lips to Sawamura's temple, lips quirked in a soft smile.

Chris gives the camera his best deadpan look, types 'cute,' and snaps back.

AN: The 'catch you later joke' came from this awesome miyusawa writer called SUPERPOL go check out her stuff okay!

Also y'know…if anyone wants to draw those snaps FEEL FREE haha

And as always, thank you for reading! Follow me on wingspike and/or trumpet-geek on tumblr for more updates ^_^