Summary: The ticking's been there for as long as he can remember. He just wants it to stop. Eijun can't stand this ticking, so much like the seconds hand of a clock or a time bomb. He does all he can to drown it out with as much noise as possible.

Time's Up (The Boy Who Hears Too Much)

The ticking's been there as long as he can remember.

Eijun doesn't know when it started, only that when it did and he told his family that a period of visiting doctor's offices and hearing tests began. They never resulted in a diagnosis. The answer any of them gave was always the same.

"Your son is a healthy, young boy. You should be happy."

"But he still hears the ticking. Can't you give him something for that?" his parents would ask.

"Unfortunately there is nothing else we can do for you. Since Eijun doesn't show any physical or mental issues, prescribing any kind of medication wouldn't be useful in his case. It could potentially even harm him."

As Eijun slowly became more self-aware, he noticed how much of a strain his persistent insistence on hearing the noise was putting on his family. One day to the next, he said the ticking stopped.

"Are you sure, Ei-chan?" his mother asked worriedly, but her hope was obvious. Eijun, barely out of the toddler age and snot-nosed from a mild cold, nodded. His father smiled and lifted him in a bear hug with a relieved laugh.

"Good going! You really had us worried, y'know?"

Eijun nodded; he did. That's why he lied, he thought stubbornly and guiltily. You shouldn't lie to family, but I just want to see them smiling again.

So he kept it in.

The ticking became his first, real secret, a constant companion and reminding him every second of every day. It became worse once he started school. It wasn't just a tick every second, but every gap in between too. It became loud, overwhelming, too much. Eijun felt like he had multiple time bombs going off inside his head.

School lessons were the worst.

It was when everyone was quiet or working that the ticking was the loudest. Breaks were the best part of Eijun's day. The silent spell over the children broke as soon as the bell signalled the beginning of a break. Instantly voices and laughter, the scraping of chairs and squeaking of rubber soles on linoleum floors drowned out the noise inside Eijun's head. It wasn't the peace and quiet he wanted, but it was the best he could get.

It became even better when he joined in on the ruckus and so he did. He would even be as loud and obnoxious as he could during lessons when they were too quiet. Eijun figured that trick out during one of the first tests they ever had in class.

It was even quieter than usual during these tests and the ticking louder than ever. Eijun couldn't concentrate; the scratching of pencils on paper wasn't nearly enough to cover the noise. He hunched over, ears between his shoulders, sweat trickling down his back. The ticking wasn't only throwing off his concentration; it was making him scared, though he didn't know of what.

"Ossu, ossu, ossu! Ossu, ossu, ossu!"

Everyone, including the teacher, flinched at the sudden disruption. Eijun got a stern warning (read: got yelled at) to stop, but ignored it. He could already feel the tension bleeding out of him. None of the other children were writing on their sheets anymore. They had all abandoned their tests in favour of watching Eijun in amazement. Noticing this, the teacher finally had enough and threw him out.

Eijun subsequently was sent to the principal and got detention. His parents were called and he got a beating from his grandfather, but he took it all stoically.

Their anger was better than their worry.

xXx

Loudness became Eijun's protection. It got on the nerves of some people, but most discovered the passion and determination that lay beneath his loudness. He relaxed, now that he had the ticking under control as much as he could. He still didn't know why he heard it or what the cause was, but as long as he could drown it out with other noise he didn't mind being clueless.

There was still a part of him that wanted to know, but he suppressed it most of the time.

Eijun discovered what the ticking was when he was 8 years old.

His next door neighbour died suddenly, a kind, elderly woman who had always looked after Eijun when his parents or grandfather were unable to.

Eijun liked her. She told good stories and had a pet dog he was allowed to play with and walk whenever he liked. Best of all, the ticking was calm, steady and quiet around her. It never took much energy or volume to ignore it around her because the dog was barking or either of them was laughing or talking. It went so well that Eijun didn't even notice when the ticking stopped.

The day he found out about her death, he had just come home from school only to find his family huddled together in their living room. His mother was quietly weeping into her hands, her husband hugging her and sobbing rather loudly. Eijun's grandfather looked stoic; only the redness around and sheen of his eyes left any trace of his crying. Eijun dropped his schoolbag in shock at the sight. His grandfather looked at him unwaveringly, as if he could think the news at Eijun. Finally, his mouth moved.

"Obaa-san died in her sleep last night."

The words had been clear but Eijun only heard it as if through a long tunnel, dull and echoing. His grandfather was still talking but none of his words reached Eijun's ears. They went numb.

A week later, the Sawamura family attended Obaa-san's funeral. It was a solemn, quiet affair on a cloudy, drab day, not cold but not warm either. Everyone was silent, save for the priest. Everyone left after having paid their respects. The Sawamuras were one of the only groups to stay longer.

Eijun stared at the picture of her, smiling and happy. He remembered having seen her the day before when he visited her and she had seemed healthy, nothing at all indicating her imminent death. Then it hit him.

The ticking.

Eijun hadn't heard the ticking around her at all yesterday, not when he first greeted her or when he left. It had simply been gone.

xXx

The ticking returned with vengeance once the grieving period was over, as if it had been laying dormant, respectfully distancing itself.

Eijun felt like it was a snake, attacking when he least expected it, a curse he didn't know what he did to deserve it. And so his noisy days continued. They became an integral part of who he is and the days where he wished he could simply be quiet became less and less. He just hoped he wouldn't have to hear the ticking stop for a long time.

The next time the ticking stopped, it wasn't like the last.

It was when Eijun first picked up a baseball glove, stood on the mound and pitched. The space inside his head was wonderfully, peacefully quiet, full of concentration and calm, as he took a deep breath and raised his leg up high like he'd seen pitchers do on TV.

And just for that one long, drawn out moment, when he stepped on the mound and threw his first pitch with all the power he had, the world became a silent place.

xXx

The ticking is still there, like the seconds hand of a clock or a time bomb. Eijun still fears it and now he knows why. It's a gift he never asked for and he doesn't think anyone would. It sometimes still overwhelms him, but then he speaks up, a wide grin stretching from one side of his face to the other or steps on the mound to pitch.

Strangely enough, the ticking has become less noticeable since he came to Seido.

At first, he panicked when he realised that he couldn't hear it around certain people, like Haruichi or Miyuki. He calmed down after a while and now he's almost used to it.

It still doesn't stop him from waking up with a hammering heart sometimes, from a nightmare where all he sees is darkness and all he hears is dull ticking. But for now, Eijun is alright. His friends show no sign of ill health and the ticking still shows up around them frequently enough to reassure him that they aren't going anywhere.

The ticking scares him but the silence is worse. Loudness and noise fill the silence and while Eijun is grateful for the respite sometimes, the ticking has become reassuring. It's neither his best friend or his worst enemy. It just is.

xXx

Sometimes, recently, there's no ticking but no silence either. It's whispers, so quiet and disembodied, half the time Eijun thinks he imagined it. He learns to hide the way he hears the whispers the same way he ignores the ticking after the fifth time he accidentally calls out "Huh?" and earns a particularly painful kick to the head from Kuramochi.

"Stop saying 'huh', you moron! No one said anything, it just makes you look even more stupid than you already are!"

Thinking back on it, the whispers started shortly after he discovered what the ticking meant. It didn't stay long enough to make an impression. It was gone as soon as he heard it. Time ticks away inside his head, sometimes falling silent and leaving room for the whispers to come and go like a barely-there cold breeze.

He doesn't know what it is yet and he's not sure he wants to know. Then again, last time he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to something like this, he got it regardless of what he wanted. He almost suspects what it is, but for now he's unsure. Suffice to say, Eijun will not be too shocked if it is what he thinks.

xXx

Right now, he's more alarmed by the fact that the ticking stops around his friends. He has no clue, not until one fateful evening at dinner following one of their numerous practice sessions.

When Eijun hears of Harucchi's 'fortunetelling', he has instant faith in his friend. It may sound crazy, but so do Eijun's ticks. Who would believe him if he said that he can hear everyone's life ticking away and even know when they will die (though a 24-hour warning isn't very useful, Eijun supposes)? So it isn't much of a stretch for him.

"Hey Harucchi, I believe you." he whispers, wanting to reassure his friend. Harucchi's fringe hides his eyes, but in a bout perceptiveness he suspects that Haruichi may be feeling a little hurt. His mouth opens slightly as if in surprise and then smiles at him.

"Thanks, Ei-chan."

Then it hits him that this could be a prime opportunity to take the wind out of Furuya's sails. Eijun will be the ace, he has no doubt about that. He doesn't need a confirmation from their resident clairvoyant; his conviction is enough for him to never, ever give up on his dream. Still, hearing it out loud...

"So," he starts, trying to sound casual. He glances over at his rival pitcher, mouth set into a determined line, then at Haruichi, "I'll become the ace, right?"

"Of course not. I will." Furuya pipes up, not even having the decency to look at him. "I'm on first string remember?"

Eijun sees red. He jumps up and points his finger in rage, "Just you wait! I'll get on first string, just like I'll be the ace!"

The whole team is so used to the first years' antics by now, no one even reacts anymore. Kuramochi, ever the short temper around his new roommate, loses it first and dropkicks Eijun into silence. Eijun sits back down, been caused sufficient pain, and sulks into his dinner but obediently finishes the mandatory three bowls of rice in silence.

After dinner is over, the first years are the first to leave. Furuya and Harucchi walk in silence beside a chattering Eijun when he suddenly remembers that Harucchi never answered his question. He stops in front of the two of them, hands on hips.

"So, who'll become the ace?"

The only indication of Furuya's annoyance is the very slight rise in his eyebrows while Harucchi can't suppress a small laugh. Eijun still can't see his eyes but his mouth stretches into a considerably wide smile.

"That's for me to know and you to find out, isn't it?" Harucchi answers calmly with a teasing undertone.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Eijun smiles so broadly, it hurts. He still doesn't like the ticking, but in times like these, he's happy to hear it return. Not even Harucchi's mysterious answer, which really isn't an answer at all, can dampen his mood. He throws his head back and laughs, loudly. It feels freeing.

"You win this one, Harucchi!"

They resume walking, but what Eijun doesn't notice is how there's only one set of ticking noises accompanying him step for step.