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“Idiot, what got you smilin’ stupidly like this,” asks Kuramochi.
Miyuki’s grin spreads. “My girlfriend kicks me off my Spotify account every morning. And I couldn’t be happier.”
“Eh? What are you on again?”
Miyuki puts his phone down on the bench. “Nothing,” he says as his face returns to his usual nonchalant expression. Kuramochi can ask, but Miyuki will not tell why he’s smiling like an idiot when he should be mad. He holds a secret so dear to his heart, no one can pry on it. And as long as his phone is out of reach, he gets respite: it’s out of mind.
What secret? You.
His selfish wish is to be with you, exclusively, in body and mind. Not sharing you—your habits, your quirks, the bits of your life.
Miyuki loves baseball, could give his life for it, that’s all there is in his brain. Yet somehow, he can’t wait to come home, end the evening, and start all over again. Filthy creature of habits, he is. Every morning is the same; waking up at 5AM while you’re still deep in slumber, cuddling you until the second alarm rings. Even though, these days, you’ve been perceptive to his touch and groggily welcome his morning attention, you’re not done with your night, and waking you up for his own pleasure would be egotistic. Instead, he kisses your head and watches you sleep for a while.
Leaving the bed is the hardest part of his day. Not because he’s tired but because leaving you demands great strength on his part. A strength he’d rather save for games. However, training doesn’t wait, and being late is not an option. You’re his life dream but baseball is his vocation. So, by the time you’re up, he’s already on the field, greeting the guys with bed hair and tired eyes.
Business as usual. The Spotify problem is just another part of his drill. Something he shares with you unbeknownst to you.
Since Sawamura joined the team, Miyuki’s busier than usual and that leaves him less time with you. He has to plan lover time to get his weekly fix like the desperate addict he is. Farewell to his morning peace and quiet routines. The lockers have become chaotic once again. Wasn’t it yesterday they were parting in high school and promising to meet up in the pro world? How time flies.
How long did it take? As long as he’s known you actually. That’s how you met. Right after his graduation. You were at a college party and he was dragged there by guys on the team, as a “bonding exercise” they said. But Miyuki never does this; he never hits up people at parties. This is not his environment nor his crowd, and you saw it. What a weirdo in the crowd! With his big glasses and his aloof air. Unfortunately for you, you liked his dry humor and you had common friends. Friends, that’s what he’s missing the most right now. How odd life is? He spent most of his teenage years not caring what others think of him and now that he’s an adult thrown into the world of highly competitive sports, he’s craving that youth again. If only he had a second chance to get better at understanding others, himself, better at understanding you… Life would be easier.
Miyuki can’t say he’s been lonely without his high school friends though. Kuramochi signed on the same team than him and the press qualified them as an unshakable tandem. Which is hilarious to him. Outside the battery, the only person with whom he’s ever felt in a steady duo is you. Now that Sawamura’s here, you have competition for his exclusive attention. (You win by a landslide)
To avoid Sawamura’s loudness, he started working out with music. The only sounds filling the gym are either Sawamura’s yapping about the latest shojo he read or Kuramochi obsessing about this girl who rejected him. And this constant noise is way too early for Miyuki. Maybe when he was in high school, he didn’t mind their antics, but now… His mind is still in bed with you. How can he focus on warming up when his thoughts are elsewhere. Despite the mess around him (Kuramochi just threw his towel at Sawamura’s face to shut his whining), a gong echoes in his empty head. This is the kind of serenity you inspire in him.
Miyuki gets on the treadmill and runs for about fifteen minutes before the music stops. And then he smiles. Anyone sane would be upset their device is disconnected from their account, but not him. On the contrary, it gets his body warmer than running does. After all, this is a sign you’re up and well. You finished your night, got your well-deserved beauty sleep, and started your day joyfully—he can tell by the pop song playing on repeat.
You don't know he's running with silent headphones on, looking at his screen to see what you're listening to.
There’s that song you always scream in the shower. The one you discovered in the movie you saw together the other day. Another one you’ve been in love with since you were a kid. And another hit you danced to with him once. The songs come and go, and each of them bears the weight of a precious memory. And each shared memory gives him the motivation to run further.
It’s 7:30 now. He slows the treadmill and moves onto weights training. His phone is connected again to his Spotify account, which means you left for work. Actually, you texted him “good morning” a second ago. And he gets a bit offended you waited a whole hour to do so. But you always told him you need to be in the right mental place before you can strike up a conversation with him (or even anyone) and he respects that—your space and your time. He’s already thankful to take storage in your life like a little app on your phone.
> Did you sleep well?
> yes so so well and now i think i’m late lol & you?
> Sawamura’s too loud I can’t focus on my workout
> what you doin?
> Same as usual
> which is???? be precise kazuya!!
> Lifting heavy stuff
> PICTURE PLEASE
> *picture sent*
> i cant see anything
> Can’t you see the weights?
> THAT’S NOT WHAT I WANTED TO SEE IDIOT
> Ah… Oops? Sorry?
> are you rly tho?
> 😈
> i’m at the office, talk to you later xx love you my dumb buff boyfriend
> See you soon my dumb horny girlfriend
“You got that stupid smile again.”
Miyuki looks behind him and there’s a sweaty Kuramochi with a towel over his shoulder. He got that one back, good for him. “What do you mean?” he huffs.
“Every morning you shut us up and focus on your workout.”
Miyuki swallows his snicker. “Well, this is a gym, Mochi-kun.”
“You’re not supposed to smile when you’re working out,” Kuramochi points out. Very valid observation.
“Maybe I just love the sweating.”
Kuramochi’s eyes squint. “You’re sus.”
“And you’re noisy.” Miyuki gives him a mocking grin.
“C’mon, tell me. This is about the weird Spotify stuff with your girlfriend?”
Miyuki raises his brow in surprise. “I told you about that?”
Kuramochi shrugs. “You’re the first guy I know who’s happy being cut from his own account. Why don’t you just tell her? Make things easier for you both.”
Miyuki takes a sip of his protein shaker and laughs heartily. “Why would I do that? I don’t mind at all.”
“Weirdo,” he says.
“That’s why you can’t get a girlfriend, Mochi. You’re too pushy,” retorts Miyuki with a smug tone and he wipes his mouth. “I guess we could swap accounts, right? But it’s nice to see she’s awake and I like knowing what she’s been listening to these days.”
Miyuki stands up and gets another set of weights. Flexing the biceps, tightening his core, minding his breath.
“That sounds a bit stalkery to me,” Kuramochi says without hints of judgment, vocalizing his thoughts out loud, as usual. And that’s always been great fuel for Miyuki’s sarcasm.
“As much as sending pleading texts to a girl who blocked you? That looks like loser behavior to me,” he replies between heavy breaths, trying to keep his grunting low. Why is he keeping up with the attitude when he’s struggling to finish this set. This is where his energy should go.
Kuramochi reddens from head to toes. “This is not what happened! You’re twisting things now...!”
Miyuki puts the weights down and pats Kuramochi’s shoulders. “I believe in you. Next one is the one,” he says with a cocky smile.
No one knows how difficult it was for him to find you. You were hard to approach and well surrounded with friends and guys—brilliant minds, athletic studs, rich himbos, and such, you attracted them like flies to honey. And he was too brutal. He didn’t beat around the bush but he always teased you. Too playful for your taste, it made you doubt his fondness. You thought he was screwing with you to pass the time. Your friends hated him at first. Sometimes he’s convinced they still do. But he doesn’t care, it’s not them he loves, it’s you.
Amidst the team training and the clatter of machines, one distinct voice yells like a beacon of hope in Gotham. “MIYUKI-SENPAI!!!!!!!”
Miyuki sighs as he meets Kuramochi’s compassionate eyes. “Good luck with that one,” Mochi says. The pitcher monster is released from his cage and is too eager to throw. Throw, throw, throw. Everyone can feel it in the room. Once Miyuki gets trapped inside Sawamura’s claws, he’s not leaving any time soon. What wouldn’t he do for the love of the game…
“Yeah, yeah, I heard you Sawamura. Let’s go to the bullpen.”
Training with Sawamura is exhausting and this is an opinion he had since high school. The greedy goblin drains his time and thankfully, the love of the sport prevents him from noticing night had fallen a while ago. He never minded the obsession before because he never had anything else to do; baseball was his world. But now his priority has changed. Miyuki yearns to come home. Someone is waiting there.
“Kazuyaaaa!”
“Sorry, I’m home late,” he says as he closes the door behind him. You were waiting for him on the couch like a stray dog barking for its master. “I needed to check the form of Sawamura’s Numbers.”
Numbers? Form? You don’t understand much about baseball, truth be told. You attend his games for two reasons: to show your support for your incredible boyfriend and to watch hot men run in the dirt.
“He sounds like quite the number, that guy. Did you get it? Number.”
He sends you a deadpan look, not raising the lameness of your dad joke, and sits on the couch next to you. That’s too bad, you were proud of this one…
But Miyuki leaves one imperceptible smile in the corner of his mouth. “You guys would go along well. How was your day?”
Your eyes light up and you go at length explaining every detail of the peripeties you’ve lived today. Who thought the corporate workplace could get this busy? What a crazy day. Miyuki listens to you as he cooks you dinner. He listens to you when you follow him to the bathroom while he changes. He listens to you when you scroll your phone mindlessly on the couch, commenting on every post you see online. He listens to you over and over as you tell the same stories and cackle at the same jokes. And when you finally run out of things to say, he picks his phone up and plays a playlist of amazing songs to fill the silence.
“How do you know this song?” you ask, amazed at the succession of bangers blessing your ears.
He shrugs and plays innocent. “I heard it on the radio. Do you like it?”
Your face embodies the word skeptical. You glance behind you where he’s standing, phone in hands. “This is a very indie band, they’re not on the radio,” you state.
“Maybe it was a suggestion from the algorithm, I can’t recall.” He tries to dismiss it but you insist. Fishy smell. So, he says, “I just know your taste. Don’t blame me for being such a good boyfriend.”
But it’s the second time this happened. With him, once is a coincidence, twice is a pattern. And history shows Miyuki is great at being sly and calculative to accommodate you. Last week he played your favorite songs on a loop in the car. You were too busy screaming your lungs out at the busy chorus to notice his cheeky smile as he held the wheel.
“You’re doing something again,” you say, creasing your brows like it’d get you a better view inside his soul. Jeez, you wanted to pick his brain so bad. Learning how he works, thinks, and what kind of gears triggers his behavior, is a time-consuming hobby of yours.
“Me? I’m the most innocent guy ever.” He plasters an inconspicuous grin on his handsome face. The one he wears when he’s messing with you and you’re missing some important clues, but he’s having too much fun to tell you. If teasing was a national sport, then he’d get an Olympic medal for the country.
“Like the alarm thing,” you say.
His cheeks warm up quickly so he turns his head to avoid your gaze. “You’ll never let me live that one down, won’t you.”
“Nope!” You giggle and grab his wrist to pull him on the couch next to you. You throw your legs over his and rest your head on his shoulder and he tops it off with his head. Like he wants to lock you in his embrace forever. Meanwhile, you’re holding his arm and his hand is on your knees, softly stroking your skin hidden by your cotton PJs. His heart beats fast, yours is faster.
“I love this song,” you say, carried away by the velvety atmosphere. It’s a sweet melody that soothes you when you’re overwhelmed. Every morning it gives you courage for the day ahead.
“I love you,” he slips out with the same tenderness. His head jolts and he retracts himself like he blurted something forbidden and you’ll hit him for it.
Despite the years spent together, he still has issues showing his affection. You’ve theorized that’s why he uses secret techniques like morning cuddles and whatever he’s currently brewing with the music to make sure you know you’re loved. Even if you can’t exactly pinpoint how; Miyuki loves you, it’s a certainty. He may not have the time to show you or the voice to tell it, but it’s there in everything he does.
You catch his face with your palm before he gets too far and force him to confront your gaze. Saying it back will only make the mood heavier and it’s not the point. Instead, you kiss him slowly and he meets you there halfway. His body takes over like a well-oiled machine, knowing what to do to make you happy. The strategic catcher is on auto-pilot and finally doesn’t need to think.
You cut the kiss, a little out of breath, and press your forehead against his.
“Kazuya, guess what?” you say softly, so quietly it’s almost imperceptible. It could pass as a whim of the wind.
He nuzzles your cheeks. “Mmh? You’re in love with me? I knew that already.”
You punch his chest and he laughs, barely feeling anything in his rocky abs, too sturdy to be overthrown by something so weak (you). He catches your wrists and leaves them on his wide chest. Gosh, he’s plushy and thick. Kneading this should be illegal.
“You should have told me if you wanted to feel me, babe,” he mocks you. What a bully!
Now you’re the one blushing and you can’t believe how easily he turned the situation around. He’s having the time of his life messing up with you. You were being considerate and now you’re his victim? Unfair! As expected, being kind never pays well in life.
Bothered by his teasing, you push him again. “Yeah? What’s wrong with that? What if I want to touch my beefy boyfriend? It’s a crime you have all these muscles and no one can see them! You’re hiding all of that under a stupid baseball uniform! I’m doing a favor to humanity! I am sacrificing for the world right now!”
You try to get off him but he doesn’t let you go anywhere. His grasp on your wrist keeps you in place. Despite your attitude, he doesn’t raise his voice. He’s even softer and more brazen. He caresses your face. Your skin turns so hot his fingers could get burned.
“Nothing’s wrong with that. I wanted to do that too,” he replies calmly. Why is it so attractive? Out of all the nonsense you spit, that’s what he remembers? His priorities are weird.
“Touch yourself?” You smile, playing it dumb.
He chuckles and flicks your forehead. “Touch you, idiot.”
“Ouch! How are you gonna make up to me?”
He takes your chin and initiates another passionate kiss. One that sends you tingles. Your mouths clash, struggling to find oxygen. He burns you like a winter fever and pulls you closer to him, locking your arms around his neck. His hands roam over your ribs then stay tightly around your waist. This time, you don’t stop until you feel yourself melting in his arms. This is too hot, too humid, too suffocating. And his gaze is even more fiery than the fireplace. As he gets more assertive, and handsy with your body, you bump into his glasses. Nothing unordinary for you (he has a way of angling his head to not bother you) but tonight, it serves as a reminder.
You grab his arms like they’re your landline to unglue yourself from his chest. “Wow, Miyuki, how long do you stay in the gym?” you say to lighten the mood.
“Stop interrupting. You talk too much,” he says crudely. The precipitation in his voice and eagerness to feel your lips again show how impatient he’s getting. Great. Now, it’s your time to mess up with him.
“I thought you liked it when I talk a lot. You said my voice was nice,” you retort, teasing and puffing. He’s pressing criminal kisses against your throat.
“Not right now.” He reunites with your mouth to shut you for good. Oh, that’s hot. Now you understand why Kuramochi calls him an aggressive player. He’s not interested in being merciful to his opponent.
You push him again, gently, separating your mouths in a heartbreaking breath. “You’re the overthinker here.”
“Yeah? So?” he huffs.
“So what are you thinking about?”
“PG-18 things,” he says in a harsh tone, dying to get his hands on you again. “With you, to be specific.”
You keep cutting your make out so you might want a break, he thinks. He feels bad for not realizing it sooner. Fine, he can control himself for now. Yet his mind is racing all sort of thoughts—he hides them badly behind his glasses.
Oh, he’s definitely getting restless…
“You told me to be precise earlier. So, let me be clear. Right now, I want to do R-rated stuff with you. Is that okay?”
“That’s…” you barely manage to say. Why his juvenile words coupled with his directness make you act stupid, you wonder.
“Too much? I thought you were the horny one?” He mocks, smirking. He squeezes your waist and thighs and anywhere he can get his hands on. You’re not a believer but right now, you’ll pray any god to be saved from this coy man.
“For your arms! In the gym!” you precise. “Your pics are awful by the way. We have to work on your artistic vision. This is a waste of a good phone.”
His face twitches, as if he just understood what you were trying to do—leading him on. And he accepts the challenge; he’ll beat you to your own game.
“Okay, I’ll make it easier for you,” he says before he sits up straight and takes off his shirt.
The view he shows is absolutely scandalous. You’re well aware Miyuki’s jacked. After all, you sleep with the guy, you shower with him sometimes. You tried wearing the catcher gear for fun and it nearly killed you. You’ve commented before on how huge and strong he is. You’re dying for pictures of him working out. And he keeps denying them because he knows the effect his body has on you and he finds a sadistic pleasure in drip feeding you. Right now, he’s using his trump card. And that’s just mean of him.
“You’re so foul!”
He grins at you, hovering you with all his mass. “I feel objectified.”
“Shut up!” You grab his neck and bring him to your lips. Your hands find him as quickly as his finds your body.
He laughs, and kisses your neck. And you’re close to surrendering. The bedroom is not far away anyway. The couch could do too, it wouldn’t be a first. However, you summon your last pearls of willpower to break from him again.
“First, tell me the truth,” you ask him with a stern tone and a strong gaze. He’s even more beautiful when he’s confused and above you.
He’s too forlorn by the loss of contact that his words are slurred. “What truth?”
“The songs. The choice is too uncanny. How do you pick them?”
He sighs deeply. “Do you really want to do that now?”
You nod weakly.
“Okay.” He straightens up, sits properly against the backrest, and leaves you space to rise on your elbows. Oh no, your dense brain ruined the mood again. Is he mad?
Miyuki takes off his glasses and brushes his disheveled hair (that’s your fault, you gripped him too hard). He takes a moment to collect his thoughts and puts his glasses back on when he’s ready. He can’t even look at you when he says in a serious tone, “Our home speakers are connected to my Spotify account so I know what you’re listening in the morning when you get ready. And… I’ve made a playlist with all your most played songs.”
You beam at him. “I knew it! I knew there was something!” This explains many weird coincidences that left you with an uneasy feeling. You’re on your knees on the couch, grabbing his face and kissing his cheek, ready to get back to business. But he’s looking down now, not paying you any attention.
“Do you find it creepy?” he asks lowly.
“What? No! That’s sweet.”
“Kuramochi called me a stalker.” Why does he sound so down? Was he affected by a lighthearted joke? Isn’t it their relationship to banter like that?
“I mean, it’s kinda your thing.” It’s your turn to sit properly, stroking his nude back to comfort him.
“What do you mean?” he retorts, his voice diminished by your allegations.
You open your mouth and close it, careful of your next choice of words. He’s such a baby sometimes. Gosh, you really really love this idiot.
“You pay attention to a lot of stuff. You observe everything and everyone on the field and in life. So I’m not freaked out, I’m more in awe that you care for these little mundane things. That you remember.”
There’s a new light in his eyes like he just discovered a new constellation on your face.
“I’m the opposite,” you add. “I’m very oblivious to what’s in plain sight so I always have to ask. It’s annoying too.”
“I don’t find you annoying.”
“And I don’t feel stalked. There, we’re a great pair.” Your arms find his neck and tighten around him in a loving embrace. You rub your face against his shoulder like a purring cat, showing all the disgusting emotions you have for him.
If he has trouble initiating, you’ll do it for him. If he can’t say the words, you’ll say them for him. If he wants to use crafty ways to get closer to you, you’ll let him. What matters is how you’ll never doubt his intentions come from the right place.
“The best pair,” he replies softly, losing himself in your hug. His head hides in your neck, inhaling your scent, twisting strands of your hair. This is what being home feels like. He wonders if he’ll ever get barren and weak like this for someone else. If soulmates exist, then you must be his.
“Can we kiss and make out now?” he breathes in your hair.
“Miyuki!” you scold him.
He tilts his head. “Miyuki?” he repeats, deeply dumbfounded. “I’ve been inside you.”
You giggle and grab his face, searching for his lips. “Yes, yes, sorry. Let’s go to town. Sawamura is stronger than me because I’ll show your body a real number.”
“This isn’t what the Numbers mean.”
“Do you really want to talk baseball now?” Your hug turns naturally into a straddle position and you whisper, “Ka-zu-ya.”
“No.”
“How was your weekend, Mr. Happily-In-A-Healthy-Relationship?” asks Kuramochi.
Miyuki’s head is hanging low, eyes burning holes in the ground. “I’m screwed,” he says. “Tell Sawamura to train with another catcher. I need to get home early tonight.”
Kuramochi’s face goes on high alert, tensing like he’s ready to call the bomb squad. “Don’t tell me you cheated. Please don’t tell me you messed up. I believed in you, dude! You might be handsome but everyone here knows she’s too good for you. Whatever happened, I know she’s right and you’re wrong. Just apologize and tell her you love her or something.”
Miyuki shakes his head and heaves a deep sigh. “I think I want to marry her.”
“Oh, man.”
“Wait, what did the team say about her?”
“Nothing, congrats, dude.”