Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Some people stay. Some just pass through. And some… you never really get over.”

-

The scent of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air, mingling with the quiet chatter of early risers and the soft clinking of ceramic cups. In a tucked-away café near the heart of Tokyo, Miyuki Kazuya sat by the window, his cap low over his brow, dark sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose despite the cloudy weather.

He nursed a black coffee between his hands no sugar, no milk. Just the bitter comfort he’d grown used to, especially during long travel weeks between games and interviews.

He wasn’t supposed to be here, not exactly. A cancelled practice and a rare free morning had led him to this quiet corner, seeking a break from the demands of being Miyuki Kazuya the catcher, instead just being Kazuya the man who needed ten minutes of silence before facing the world again.

He hadn't expected to see him.

Not after all these years.

-

Across the café, just a few steps from the counter, stood a man with tousled brown hair, a gray coat dusted with faint drops of rain, and a slightly oversized tote bag hanging from his shoulder. He looked the same but also entirely different.

Sawamura Eijun.

There were faint traces of the boy Miyuki used to know, still a bit clumsy, still talking to the barista with too much energy, still smiling like the world hadn’t managed to weigh him down completely.

But the fire in his eyes had softened. The posture was more refined. And the scar on his wrist, just visible beneath his rolled sleeves, told the rest of the story.

Miyuki didn’t move.

He watched as Eijun accepted his order... something sweet, of course and turned around, his eyes scanning the café for a seat. For a second, he looked lost in thought, his gaze passing over Miyuki’s table...

Then pausing.

Miyuki saw the moment recognition hit. Eijun froze, coffee cup halfway to his lips, eyes wide.

Then, slowly, a smile.

He walked over.

“Wow,” Eijun breathed, stopping beside the table. “Kazuya…?”

Miyuki took off his sunglasses. “Hey.”

“You look…” Eijun tilted his head, squinting, “...exactly the same. Maybe more tired.”

Miyuki smirked. “Occupational hazard. You look... artsy.”

Eijun chuckled, setting his drink down before sliding into the seat opposite him. “Strawberry matcha latte. Don’t judge.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” But Miyuki raised a brow all the same, amused.

There was a beat of silence. The kind that should’ve felt awkward after nearly ten years of drifting apart but it didn’t.

Instead, it felt familiar. Like coming home to a room that hadn't changed, even after you had.

“So…” Eijun began, wrapping both hands around his cup like it was the only thing grounding him. “National team catcher, huh?”

“You’ve heard.”

“You’re literally on billboards, Miyuki.”

Miyuki chuckled. “I try to keep it low-key.”

“Right, and I’m secretly a fashion model.”

They both laughed, the sound slipping into the air like it had never left.

Eijun glanced down at his drink. “I saw your game last month. You and Narumiya… that was something else. He’s a monster on the mound.”

“He is,” Miyuki said, and there was a softness in his voice when he said Mei’s name. “Keeps me on my toes.”

“I bet.” Eijun stirred his drink absentmindedly. “It suits you. That kind of pace.”

“You could’ve kept up, you know.” Miyuki didn’t look at him when he said it. “If things had been different.”

Eijun didn’t respond right away.

Then, quietly, “Yeah. But they weren’t.”

Outside, the rain picked up, streaking down the windows in thin silver lines. The city moved around them, fast and indifferent, but for a moment, this little café became a world of its own.

They talked for nearly an hour.

About work, Eijun’s job at a prestigious design firm, the recent campaign he’d worked on. About art, his studio apartment filled with unfinished canvases and the smell of strawberry candies. About baseball--Miyuki’s team, his schedule, the weight of being a veteran now.

They didn’t talk about high school. Not directly. But it lingered in the pauses between words. In the glances they exchanged. In the ghosts they didn’t acknowledge.

As they stood to leave, Eijun hesitated at the door.

“You know,” he said, voice light, “I thought I’d feel bitter. Seeing you like this. Living the life I used to dream about.”

Miyuki glanced over, frowning.

“But I don’t,” Eijun continued. “I’m happy for you. Really. You made it.”

Miyuki’s voice was low. “I wish you did too.”

“I did,” Eijun said softly, eyes shining but resolute. “Just… in a different way.”

They stood there for a second longer.

Then Miyuki offered him a small, genuine smile. “I’ll see you around?”

Eijun nodded. “Yeah. Maybe.”

As Miyuki stepped into the rain, the bitter scent of coffee still clinging to his coat, Eijun stayed by the window. Watching. Remembering.

And tasting the sweetness of strawberries on his tongue.

Chapter Text

Sometimes love isn’t loud. It’s quiet visits, missed chances, and the ache of knowing you’re always one step behind.

-

They started seeing each other again.

Not often, not planned but frequently enough to blur the line between coincidence and choice.

At first, it was coffee. A shared table when all the others were full. Then a casual meal after a game Eijun happened to attend. Then a visit to Eijun’s workplace, where Miyuki lingered a little too long in front of his latest exhibit, sipping coffee while staring at a painting called “First Summer.”

“I think this one’s my favorite,” Miyuki had said, not realizing it was painted the night after their first encounter at the café.

It kept happening like that quietly, like the universe nudging them into each other’s orbit again.

-

“Why strawberries?” Miyuki asked one evening as they walked along a dimly lit street in Aoyama. The air was cool, the night calm.

Eijun looked at him, puzzled.

“You keep something strawberry-flavored on you all the time. Candy. Lip balm. Even your cologne smells like fruit.”

Eijun laughed, scratching his cheek. “I like the taste. Sweet, but a little tart. Kind of like memories.”

Miyuki raised an eyebrow. “That’s poetic.”

“I went to art school,” Eijun said with a grin. “It’s allowed.”

Miyuki chuckled, but he didn’t press further.

If he had, maybe he would’ve heard the truth that Eijun had started liking strawberries in second year of high school, when Miyuki gave him a rare piece of strawberry gum during a brutal training day. The taste had stayed. So had the feeling.

The truth was, Eijun never really stopped loving him.

He just got better at hiding it.

He painted, he worked, he smiled. And when Miyuki visited, he welcomed him with open arms never asking for more, never expecting anything.

He never asked about the rumors.

About how close Miyuki and Mei had gotten.

About the way Mei looked at Miyuki after games like he already knew something the rest of the world hadn’t caught up with.

About how Miyuki started showing up with stories that always included "Mei and I", said with ease, with comfort.

Eijun listened to it all. He nodded, laughed when appropriate, and said things like “he sounds like a handful” or “you two work well together.”

Because if Miyuki was happy…
Wasn’t that enough?

One night, Eijun found himself alone in his studio, the city lights bleeding into the dark room like fractured stars. He sat in front of a half-finished canvas, brush in hand, but he couldn’t bring himself to paint.

Instead, he reached for a small notebook in the drawer, a sketch journal filled with drawings he never showed anyone.

On one page was a rough sketch of a baseball glove, stitched with the number 2.

On another, a pair of hands holding a cup of black coffee.

And on the last unfinished was a figure standing at home plate, looking out toward the mound, alone.

Eijun stared at that page for a long time.

Then quietly, he closed the notebook.

-

“Eijun,” Miyuki said a few days later, dropping by unannounced, holding two cups of coffee. “Do you think people can go back to what they used to be?”

Eijun looked up from his desk, catching the strange flicker in Miyuki’s eyes.

“Like… us?” Eijun asked carefully.

Miyuki hesitated. “Yeah. That. Or… something close to it.”

Eijun smiled gently. “I don’t know. I think people change. But it’s not always a bad thing.”

Miyuki didn’t respond right away. He was quiet, contemplative. Then, softly, “I think Mei is in love with me.”

It felt like someone pulled the air from the room.

Eijun’s fingers tightened around his cup, but his voice remained calm. “Are you in love with him?”

Miyuki didn’t answer.

But silence had always spoken louder than words between them.

Eijun nodded, slowly. “That’s good.”

“It’s confusing,” Miyuki admitted. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

“It never is,” Eijun murmured.

Miyuki looked at him. “Does it bother you?”

Eijun looked back, smiled and broke a little inside.

“No. You deserve to love someone who fits your life.”
“Even if it’s not me.”

That night, after Miyuki left, Eijun finally finished the sketch from the notebook.

He painted the figure walking away from the plate, toward a figure waiting on the mound, hands outstretched, face turned in welcome.

He titled it:
“The Gap Between Us.”

And with each brushstroke, he let go a little more.

Chapter Text

Some truths don’t come all at once. They unfold quietly one glance, one silence, one ache at a time.

-

The stadium buzzed beneath a sky smeared with twilight.

Eijun had arrived late, slipping into the crowd unnoticed, his cap pulled low and a strawberry milk in hand. He hadn't planned on coming it had been a last-minute invitation, a text from Miyuki.

“Game tonight. Come if you’re free.”

No pressure. No expectations. Just seven words that had sat in Eijun’s chest all day like a weight he couldn’t shake.

Now, seated among thousands, he watched Miyuki crouch behind the plate with the same ease and confidence he remembered from high school. Sharp, alert, perfectly composed.

And on the mound stood Narumiya Mei.

The two of them were in sync.

Narumiya threw fast, wild pitches, unpredictable, dangerous but Miyuki caught each one like he already knew what was coming. They moved like gravity around each other, orbiting in some rhythm Eijun couldn’t hear, but could feel all the same.

And it hit him.

Not like a knife. Not like heartbreak.

More like standing in the rain and realizing you forgot your umbrella—and it was too late to turn back.

After the game, Eijun waited by the side entrance. Fans trickled out, laughter and cheers echoing into the warm night. He stayed tucked in the shadows, sipping his now-warm strawberry milk, letting the quiet swallow him whole.

Then he saw them: Miyuki and Mei.

Walking side by side, close. Not touching, not obvious. But there was something in the way Mei leaned in when he spoke, something in the way Miyuki smiled, soft and tired, like home.

And when Miyuki laughed, really laughed. Eijun felt it.

The final piece clicking into place.

He didn’t call out.

Didn’t wave.

Just turned and left.

He walked slowly, every step pulling something out of him. A memory. A wish. A version of the future that had never really been his.

By the time he reached his studio, the strawberry milk was gone, and so was the illusion he hadn’t realized he’d been clinging to.

He painted all night.

The studio lights stayed on until dawn.

Brushes moved like confessions, chaotic, raw, desperate. The canvas soaked it all in, bearing the weight of things Eijun couldn’t say aloud.

By morning, he stood in front of a finished piece: a wide baseball field under a setting sun, with three figures on the grass. Two walking together, hand-in-hand. The third, standing at a distance, smiling faintly.

There was no title yet.

Just silence.

-

Days passed. Eijun buried himself in work. He declined messages, ignored calls. He smiled at colleagues, met deadlines, submitted proposals. He functioned.

But his art changed.

It became softer, sadder. Critics called his latest exhibit “melancholic but warm,” “a study in quiet longing.” They didn’t know they were looking at portraits of moments he’d never get to live.

Then one afternoon, Miyuki showed up at his office, coffee in hand, looking unusually unsure of himself.

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” he said.

Eijun forced a smile. “Busy season. You know how it is.”

Miyuki nodded slowly. “I missed you.”

The words sat between them like a challenge.

Eijun tilted his head. “You happy?”

Miyuki blinked. “What?”

“With him,” Eijun clarified. “With Mei.”

Miyuki didn’t answer right away. He set the coffee down on the desk, fingers tightening slightly around the cup.

“I think I could be,” he finally said.

Eijun smiled then—not forced, not bitter. Just small. Kind.

“Then that’s enough for me.”

Later that night, Eijun opened his sketchbook again. He stared at the pages filled with glimpses of Miyuki's hands, smiles, gloves, the curve of his shoulders.

He gently tore one page out.

Folded it.

Slid it into an envelope with a note:
"You were always my favorite story."

And he sent it anonymously.

The next morning, he titled the painting.

“The Moment You Realize.”

And this time, he didn’t cry.

Chapter Text

I’ll walk with you until your path splits from mine then I’ll watch you go, smiling, even if I’m breaking inside.

-

The morning was quiet when Miyuki arrived too early for most, but Eijun had already been awake for hours. The studio smelled faintly of turpentine and strawberries, a strange but familiar blend. Sunlight spilled through the high windows, catching on half-finished canvases and sketches strewn about the room.

Eijun looked up from the corner where he’d been sorting frames.

“You’re early,” he said, brushing dust from his hands.

Miyuki held up two cups. “Coffee. And strawberry tea.”

Eijun blinked, then smiled faintly. “You remembered.”

“I never forgot,” Miyuki said, walking over.

They sat by the window, where a small table was set for two. It was a corner of the studio Eijun rarely used too personal, too intimate. But today felt like it needed space. And endings.

Miyuki sipped his coffee. “Your new exhibition… it’s beautiful.”

Eijun hummed. “You went?”

“Opening night,” Miyuki replied. “Disguised in a hoodie and cap. Very subtle.”

Eijun laughed. “You didn’t have to sneak in.”

“I didn’t want to ruin anything.” Miyuki looked down. “Did you title the last painting?”

“Yeah,” Eijun said softly. “It’s called I Will Bring You There.”

Miyuki looked up at him. Something unreadable flickered in his eyes.

“Is it about me?”

Eijun didn’t look away. “It’s about love.”

Miyuki’s fingers tightened slightly around the cup. “You always paint when you're hurting.”

“I paint when I’m feeling,” Eijun corrected gently. “It’s not always about pain.”

“But this is.”

Eijun didn’t deny it.

They walked after that. No destination. Just steps, side by side, through Tokyo’s quieter streets. A nostalgic route one they used to take during their high school training camps. Eijun talked about work, about the piece he was commissioned for next, about how he finally started teaching part-time at an art university.

Miyuki listened, asked questions, smiled.

But his silences said more.

At the foot of an old bridge, they paused. The river flowed steadily beneath them, a mirror of the quiet acceptance between them.

“You love him,” Eijun said suddenly.

Miyuki turned his head, startled.

“It’s not a question,” Eijun continued. “I can tell.”

“I didn’t plan for it,” Miyuki admitted. “It just… happened.”

“I know.” Eijun looked down at the water. “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Miyuki said, voice rough.

“Don’t be,” Eijun replied. “You didn’t break anything. You just… found your way.”

They sat on a nearby bench. The city faded into the background.

Eijun reached into his bag and pulled out a wrapped canvas, medium-sized, tied with a ribbon the color of twilight.

“Open it later,” he said, placing it in Miyuki’s hands. “Not now. Only if you ever feel lost.”

Miyuki stared at it, his throat visibly working to swallow something back.

“You don’t have to give me anything.”

Eijun smiled. “I want to. This is the only way I know how to say goodbye.”

Miyuki looked at him, pain flickering across his features. “Do we have to?”

“Yes,” Eijun whispered. “Because if I keep walking beside you, I’ll keep hoping for a place in your world that isn’t mine to want.”

“I never meant to--”

“I know,” Eijun said again. “And I loved you for that, too.”

They stood once more.

Eijun reached out and gently straightened Miyuki’s collar, like he used to do before games. Familiar. Steady.

“You’ll be alright,” he said.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Miyuki confessed, voice cracking.

“You won’t,” Eijun assured, eyes glistening. “But you will have to let go of this.”

He took a breath.

“I will bring you there, Kazuya. To wherever you’re meant to be. Even if it’s not beside me.”

Miyuki blinked rapidly, lips pressed tight. “I..”

“I know,” Eijun said again.

And that was the last thing he said before he turned and walked away.

Miyuki stood there for a long time.

Then, when he finally unwrapped the canvas that night, alone in his apartment, he found a painting of the field they once stood on two players facing each other, and a third walking away, smiling.

There were no words on the painting.

Just a faint stroke of red across the horizon.. sunset or strawberry, he couldn't tell.

But the message was clear.

“I loved you. Enough to let you go.”

-

Time passed.

Not quickly, not all at once, but in slow and certain ways like the fading of bruises or the soft unraveling of a memory once clung to tightly.

The city stayed the same, for the most part. Games were played, exhibitions were held, lives moved forward. Eijun’s paintings began shifting in tone less twilight, more morning. Softer blues, hopeful golds. Still touched by longing, but no longer burdened by it.

The ache remained, of course. Some absences never fully leave you.

But Eijun learned to carry it differently.

He saw the news online first: a photo of Miyuki and Narumiya at a post-game interview. The way Narumiya stood slightly closer than necessary. The way Miyuki smiled like someone who finally knew what home meant.

It was official now.

No scandal. No surprise.

Just… quiet confirmation of what had already bloomed between them long before anyone said it aloud.

Eijun looked at the screen for a long moment, then turned it off.

He picked up a fresh canvas.

And he painted.

Weeks later, Eijun’s gallery opened its newest exhibit.

It was titled “Afterglow.” No bold promotion, no viral campaigns.. just an invitation to those who knew how to look. Inside, the walls were lined with pieces that traced a story without words: a beginning, a peak, a gentle unraveling, and something that looked like healing.

One piece stood at the far end of the room, larger than the others.

A baseball field, this time bathed in soft, early morning light. Empty, peaceful. The shadows were gentle, the colors warm. And in the distance, barely visible: three faint footprints, diverging in separate directions.

Miyuki came.

He entered quietly, alone, and stood before the painting for a long time.

He didn’t cry. But he smiled, hand resting over his chest like he was holding something precious.

He whispered, barely audible, “Thank you.”

Eijun watched from the mezzanine above, unseen.

He didn’t go down.

There was nothing left to say.

But as Miyuki turned to leave, he paused near the entrance. There, on a small display stand, was a print, unsigned, simple.

The caption underneath read:

“Some love doesn’t last forever. But it walks you to where it needs to.”
—E.S.

Miyuki took the print.

And left without looking back.

-

That night, Eijun sat in his studio, warm cup of strawberry tea in hand, windows open to the night breeze. He watched the stars, the same way he had in high school alone but not lonely.

His phone buzzed with a message from a coworker.
“The reviews are glowing. You did it, Sawamura.”

He smiled.

Set the phone down.

And whispered to no one in particular, “I brought him there.”

It wasn’t a story of getting the boy.

It was a story of loving him anyway and choosing to stay behind, so he could go ahead.

Chapter Text

“Some things find their way back—not because they must, but because they’re ready now.”
-

The gallery was quiet.

It was the last day of Afterglow Revisited, a traveling re-exhibit of Sawamura Eijun’s earlier works, back in Tokyo for a final showing. The space was brighter now than it had been four years ago. The colors on the walls were softer. Gentler. Hopeful.

Eijun stood near the back wall, dressed simply in white button-down, sleeves rolled to his elbows, black slacks smudged faintly with dry pastel from a rushed morning. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Not today. But something had drawn him in. Maybe it was closure. Maybe curiosity.

He didn’t expect to see him.

But then again, he never really stopped expecting it.

Miyuki Kazuya stood alone in front of the original “I Will Bring You There.”

Same posture. Same quiet intensity. Same black coffee in hand.

Eijun’s breath caught

It had been four years.

Two since Miyuki and Mei had broken up.

And almost five since the last time they’d stood in front of each other with anything real between them.

Eijun had moved on. Mostly. He’d lived, laughed, kissed other people. He’d started teaching full-time, adopted a cat, even dated someone seriously for a while.

But some feelings were like old songs. You didn’t forget the lyrics just because you stopped singing them.

And Miyuki--he looked older. Tired in a way Eijun recognized. Like someone who had tried to outrun something only to find it waiting quietly, years down the road.

Eijun didn’t plan to say anything.

But Miyuki turned.

Their eyes met.

And just like that.. everything paused.

“…Hey,” Miyuki said, voice quieter than Eijun remembered.

“Hey,” Eijun replied. His smile came slow, cautious. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Didn’t plan to come. Mei told me you’d be here today. Figured…” Miyuki trailed off, then shrugged. “I don’t know what I figured.”

Eijun laughed softly. “He told you I’d be here, and you still came?”

“We’re not together anymore.”

“I know.”

A beat.

“Two years,” Miyuki added. “Since the breakup.”

Eijun nodded. “You held on longer than I thought.”

Miyuki winced, then glanced at the painting again. “I tried. He did too. But… I wasn’t all there.”

Eijun didn't speak. Let him continue.

“I think I kept looking for something I’d already lost,” Miyuki admitted. “Or maybe never had.”

Eijun’s heart ached but not in the way it used to. Not sharp. Just quiet.

“You didn’t lose me,” Eijun said gently. “You just weren’t meant to keep me.”

Miyuki looked at him then, really looked. “You disappeared.”

“I had to.” Eijun’s voice wavered just a little. “If I stayed, I would've waited. And you already had someone.”

“I didn’t understand it then. Why you left like that.”

“I couldn’t love you quietly anymore,” Eijun whispered. “So, I left before it made me bitter.”

Silence.

Then--

“Do you still love me?” Miyuki asked. Not demanding. Just-- honest.

Eijun’s answer came after a long moment. “I don’t know.”

Miyuki stepped closer. Just one step. Not enough to close the gap. Just enough to mean something.

“I’ve thought about you every day for four years.”

“And I’ve tried not to,” Eijun said, soft and sad and brave. “But some days, I still see you in the light when I paint.”

Their eyes met again.

Still the same gravity.

Still the same pull.

But now-- a different choice.

Eijun exhaled slowly. “I’m not the same boy who begged you with his silence. I’ve learned to stand still even when someone walks away.”

Miyuki’s eyes shimmered. “And I’ve learned that not every love gets a second chance.

“But some loves,” Eijun said quietly, “don’t need a second chance to still matter.”

Another pause.

Then Eijun smiled. “Coffee?”

Miyuki blinked. “What?”

“You still drink it black, right?”

Miyuki looked stunned for half a second before a soft, breathless smile broke across his face. “Yeah. And you still...?”

“Strawberry,” Eijun said with a small laugh. “Always.”

They walked out of the gallery together. No promises. No beginnings.

But side by side.

And sometimes, that was enough—for now.

-

It started with a coffee.

Nothing dramatic. No confessions or promises.

Just a quiet booth in a café tucked between a bookstore and a florist, where the clatter of cups masked the heartbeat in Eijun’s throat and Miyuki’s fingers lingered just a second too long over the sugar packet he didn’t use.

They talked. About small things. About now.

Not the past. Not yet.

Then there was another coffee.

Then a walk.

Then a phone call.

Weeks passed, and it became normal again.

Miyuki was the one who said it first.

They were sitting on the floor of Eijun’s apartment, surrounded by takeout boxes and half-finished puzzles (Eijun’s new way of unwinding, apparently). The TV played softly in the background.

“I’m retiring.”

Eijun looked up, blinking. “What?”

Miyuki let out a slow breath. “Shoulders done. It’s been coming for a while, but I didn’t want to admit it.”

Eijun studied him carefully. “How do you feel?”

Miyuki leaned back against the couch. “Scared. Relieved. Sad. Like I’m ending something that’s been my entire life.”

Then, softer, “But for the first time in a long time, I want to find out who I am without the uniform.”

Eijun didn’t answer right away. He reached out instead, placing his hand gently over Miyuki’s.

“I think,” Eijun said, eyes steady, “that whoever you are outside of baseball… I want to know him.”

-

A year later, Miyuki’s name trended once more not as a player, but as a quiet figure mentoring young athletes, running community clinics, and consulting on game strategy from the sidelines.

He stayed out of the spotlight.

And for the first time, he liked it.

Eijun, meanwhile, kept painting.

His art shifted again less longing, lighter.

He painted sunrises now. Warm kitchens. Worn baseball gloves resting beside coffee mugs. And every so often, a strawberry tucked into the corner of the canvas like a signature.

-

They moved in together the spring Miyuki turned thirty-three.

No announcement. No big declarations.

Just two toothbrushes in one cup, coffee brewed for two, and a strawberry jam jar always stocked in the fridge.

Miyuki still teased him relentlessly. Eijun still left half-finished sketches on the table and talked in his sleep. They argued sometimes. About laundry. About the cat. About whom forgot to buy more rice.

But in the quiet of shared mornings, in the smallness of everyday routines, they found peace.

And love.

The kind that doesn’t ache anymore.

The kind that stays.

Chapter Text

"Some love isn’t loud. It doesn’t need fireworks or fanfare. Sometimes, it waits quietly in the spaces between heartbeats until the world finally lets you be close enough to feel it."

-

It was raining the night it happened.
Not a storm, not the violent kind of rain that beat against windows and made the streets blur, but the steady, quiet sort the kind that tapped gently on glass, softened the city, made everything feel closer.

Eijun had been painting in the studio for hours, the faint hum of jazz from the record player filling the space. Miyuki watched him from the doorway, arms crossed, a half-smile tugging at his lips.

God, he thought, five years ago this scene would have felt impossible. Too fragile, too far out of reach. But here it was their life, in all its messy and ordinary beauty.

“Staring again?” Eijun asked without looking up, brush moving steadily. “You’re creepy when you do that.”

Miyuki chuckled. “And you’re loud even when you’re not trying. Balance.”

Eijun rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth lifted. He dabbed red onto the canvas, the shape of a strawberry forming in the corner of a kitchen scene, sunlight, mismatched mugs, a cat curled on the counter. A snapshot of them.

Miyuki stepped forward, slow and certain, until he stood behind him. His arms slipped around Eijun’s waist, his chin resting lightly on his shoulder. The familiar scent of coffee and paint filled his senses.

“Eijun.”

Something in Miyuki’s voice made him pause. The brush hovered midair before lowering to the palette.

“Yeah?”

Miyuki didn’t answer right away. He closed his eyes, breathing in the quiet, the rain, the warmth of the man in his arms. He’d spent years catching fastballs, memorizing signals, and calculating risks. This... this leap felt bigger than any of it.

“You remember what you told me,” Miyuki murmured, “back then? About bringing me there?”

Eijun swallowed, nodding faintly. “Yeah.”

Miyuki pressed his lips to his shoulder. “I think I finally made it.”

Eijun turned in his arms, smiling, eyes bright. “No. We made it.”

The words lingered between them, soft and certain. And maybe that should have been enough. Miyuki thought, maybe once upon a time, it would have been. But tonight, with the rain steady outside and Eijun’s paint-stained fingers curling against his chest, he wanted more.

Miyuki’s hands shifted, fumbling slightly as he pulled something small from his pocket. His breath caught, just a fraction, as he opened his palm.

A ring. Simple. Silver. No flourish, no diamonds just honest, steady.

Eijun’s eyes widened, his lips parting, his whole body going still.

Miyuki cleared his throat, softer than usual. “I’m not good at speeches. Never have been. But…” His voice dropped, steadier now, eyes locked on Eijun’s. “You’ve been the constant. Even when we were apart, even when I was too damn stubborn to admit it. You brought me here. To myself. To this life.”

He exhaled. “And if you’ll let me… I want to spend the rest of it with you.”

The silence stretched, broken only by rain against glass.

Eijun’s hands trembled as they lifted, brushing against Miyuki’s. His throat worked, eyes shining, lips curving into something wobbly and radiant all at once.

“You idiot,” he whispered. “You should’ve asked sooner.”

Miyuki huffed out a laugh, relief sharp and warm as he slid the ring onto Eijun’s finger. It fits, imperfectly perfect.

And then Eijun kissed him. Hard, messy, tasting of tears and rain and strawberry jam still lingering from dessert.

The world outside kept raining, and kept spinning. But in that studio between the canvases, the coffee cups, and the life they had built together it felt like everything had finally, truly, come home.

The ring wasn’t extravagant. A simple band, silver with a faint glint of gold in the light, but on Eijun’s hand it gleamed like treasure.

He hadn’t stopped staring at it all evening.

Even now, as they stood together in the kitchen clearing away the remnants of dinner, Eijun’s gaze kept flicking to his left hand. Almost disbelieving, almost afraid that if he blinked too long it might vanish... that Miyuki might vanish.

Miyuki leaned back against the counter, arms folded loosely as he watched him. There was a quiet satisfaction in his eyes, the kind of look he usually wore after a perfect pitch caught or a game won. But this… this was softer.

“You’re going to burn a hole through your hand if you keep staring like that,” Miyuki teased, voice low.

Eijun looked up, cheeks warm. “Shut up. It feels… weird.”

“Weird?” Miyuki arched an eyebrow, smirk tugging.

“Weird good,” Eijun corrected quickly. He lifted his hand, fingers spreading, letting the ring catch the kitchen light. “Like… I don’t know. Like it’s real now.”

Miyuki’s smirk gentled into something smaller, something he didn’t wear for anyone else. He pushed away from the counter and stepped closer, crowding Eijun just enough that his warmth pressed against him.

“It’s always been real,” Miyuki murmured. His hand slid over Eijun’s, thumb brushing the ring, tracing the curve of metal as though grounding both of them. “This just makes it official.”

Eijun’s heart thudded hard enough he swore Miyuki could hear it.

For a long moment, neither spoke. The hum of the refrigerator filled the silence, the faint tick of the clock above the doorway. Eijun’s pulse roared in his ears.

Then Miyuki leaned down.

The kiss wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t greedy. It was slow, deliberate, the kind of kiss that spoke of years of knowing, of patience, of something that had endured storms and still remained.

Eijun melted into it. His hands fisted gently into Miyuki’s shirt, grounding himself, because if he didn’t hold on he thought he might float away.

When they parted, Miyuki’s forehead rested against his.

“Eijun,” he whispered, voice rougher now. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

Eijun swallowed hard, eyes stinging. “Say it again.”

Miyuki chuckled softly, breath brushing over his lips. “I love you.”

Again. Again. Again. Each time quieter, softer, like secrets whispered into skin.

Eijun kissed him then, harder this time, and Miyuki let himself be pulled along, letting the years of restraint and patience spill over into something deeper. The kitchen lights cast them in warm glow, shadows curling around the edges, as if the world itself agreed to step back and let them have this moment.

By the time they stumbled toward the bedroom, the ring still caught the faint light with every touch, every brush of their hands. It didn’t feel weird anymore.

It felt right.

And in the quiet that followed the hush of two people pressed close, breathing each other in Eijun realized: this wasn’t the kind of love that burned and ached like it once had.

It was steady now.
Safe.

-

Eijun woke first.

The room was still, washed in the soft gray-blue of early dawn. For a long time, he didn’t move. He just lay there, eyes half-lidded, listening to the rhythm of Miyuki’s breathing beside him. Slow. Steady.

Miyuki had an arm draped over his waist, heavy with sleep, and their legs were tangled under the blanket in a way that made it impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. The air smelled faintly of laundry detergent and the lingering sweetness of strawberry jam from last night’s dessert.

Eijun’s gaze drifted to his hand.
The ring caught a faint shimmer from the crack of light seeping through the curtains.

He smiled. Small. Disbelieving. A little shaky.

Mine, he thought. Then, correcting himself: Ours.

He turned onto his side carefully, not wanting to wake him yet. But Miyuki stirred anyway, letting out a low, gravelly hum that vibrated against Eijun’s chest. His eyes cracked open, sleep-heavy behind the glasses he hadn’t bothered to put on.

“…You’re staring,” Miyuki mumbled, voice rough.

Eijun flushed. “N-no I wasn’t—”

“You were.” A ghost of a smirk curved his lips. His thumb brushed lazily against Eijun’s hip, not moving away. “Can’t blame you though. I am pretty good to look at first thing in the morning.”

Eijun groaned, burying his face in the pillow. “Why did I say yes again?”

“Because you love me.”

The words came so simply, so easily, that it startled him. Miyuki said them like they were fact, undeniable and true.

Eijun peeked up at him, cheeks warm. “…Yeah. I do.”

Miyuki’s expression softened, the teasing fading into something quieter. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to Eijun’s temple, lingering there.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because I don’t plan on letting you forget it. Ever.”

They stayed like that for a while, letting the morning drift around them. No rush. No schedules. Just the soft cocoon of their shared bed and the knowledge that the rest of the world could wait.

Eventually, though, Miyuki’s stomach growled loud enough to break the spell.

Eijun snorted. “Romantic.”

“You love it,” Miyuki shot back, rolling onto his back.

“I tolerate it.” Eijun swung his legs off the bed, stretching. He reached for the shirt Miyuki had tossed aside the night before and tugged it over his head, fabric hanging loose on him.

Miyuki’s gaze followed the movement, his smirk returning. “You know that’s not fair.”

Eijun glanced at him, confused, until he caught the look. His ears went red immediately. “Shut up. Breakfast.”

But the truth was he didn’t mind being seen like this anymore. He didn’t mind the weight of Miyuki’s gaze, didn’t mind the way it warmed him from the inside out.

In the kitchen, Eijun busied himself with eggs and rice. It was unremarkable, ordinary even.

Ordinary, maybe.
But it was theirs.

Eijun set the plate of eggs down on the table with a little flourish, proud of himself.

“See? I’m not totally useless in the kitchen.”

Miyuki didn’t answer.

When Eijun turned, he found him leaning in the doorway, still shirtless, hair a mess from sleep. His glasses were sliding down his nose, and his eyes half-lidded, warm, lingering weren’t on the food.

“…What?” Eijun demanded, face heating.

Miyuki tilted his head, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re glowing.”

Eijun sputtered. “I am not... ”

“You are,” Miyuki interrupted, pushing off the frame. His steps were slow, deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. When he reached him, he didn’t stop. He pressed in close, caging Eijun lightly against the counter, one hand braced beside his hip.

Eijun’s pulse jumped. “…Breakfast will get cold.”

“Let it,” Miyuki murmured, dipping his head until his lips brushed the shell of Eijun’s ear.

Heat curled low in Eijun’s stomach. His hands twitched uselessly at his sides before finally giving up and fisting into Miyuki’s shirt... his shirt, still hanging loose on him.

Miyuki chuckled softly, feeling the grip. “Thought you said you were hungry.”

“I—” Eijun swallowed hard. His voice came out smaller, breathier. “I am.”

“Good.” Miyuki’s hand slid from the counter to Eijun’s waist, tugging him closer. “Because I’m starving.”

And then he kissed him.

It wasn’t hurried, not like last night. This was slower, lazier, hungry in a different way. Like Miyuki had all the time in the world to relearn the shape of his mouth, to taste every breath, every shiver.

Eijun melted before he even realized it, clutching tighter at his shirt as he tipped into the kiss. His whole body sang with the tenderness of it, with the steady pressure of Miyuki’s hands roaming his back, grounding him.

By the time they pulled apart, the eggs were definitely cooling.

Miyuki rested his forehead against Eijun’s, breathing a little heavier, glasses slightly askew. “Breakfast can wait.”

Eijun laughed softly, helplessly, the sound caught somewhere between nervous and giddy. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it,” Miyuki whispered, brushing his thumb along Eijun’s jaw before stealing another kiss, this one quick, sweet.

The food could wait.
The morning could stretch on.
They had time.

The smell of eggs hung faintly in the air, but it was already forgotten. The counter was cool against Eijun’s lower back as Miyuki pressed him gently into it, the deliberate weight of his body a quiet claim.

Miyuki’s mouth moved unhurriedly against his, tongue teasing past his lips, pulling out soft, muffled sounds Eijun didn’t even realize he was making. His hands had found their way under the hem of Miyuki’s shirt... well, his shirt on Miyuki splaying against bare skin, warm and solid under his palms.

“Still glowing,” Miyuki murmured against his mouth, voice low and rough now.

Eijun tried to roll his eyes, but it dissolved into a sharp inhale when Miyuki’s hands slid lower, fingers pressing into the curve of his hips. His shirt shifted higher as Miyuki’s thumbs brushed the edge of skin where his pajama pants hung loose.

“Kazuya--” The name broke on a gasp, his head tipping back when lips trailed down the side of his throat.

The scrape of teeth against his pulse point made his knees buckle, and he clutched tighter at Miyuki’s shoulders to stay grounded. “You—ah, you’re gonna leave a mark—”

“Good,” Miyuki muttered, tongue soothing over the spot before nipping again. “I want everyone to know.”

Eijun shivered hard, his whole body flushing with heat, half from embarrassment and half from the way Miyuki’s voice dipped lower, heavy with want.

The forgotten breakfast sat on the table, steam thinning in the air, while the kitchen filled with the rhythm of ragged breaths and the sound of lips against skin.

Miyuki’s hands were patient, almost maddeningly so. They skimmed Eijun’s waist, thumbs brushing lazy circles into his skin as though he were memorizing the texture, the shape of him.

Eijun’s breath stuttered, and when Miyuki drew back just enough to look at him, he felt pinned in place. Those sharp eyes, softened now by want and affection, left him exposed in a way no words ever could.

“Kazuya…” His voice cracked on the second syllable, caught between a plea and a warning.

“Relax,” Miyuki said softly, tilting his chin up with a single knuckle. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The kiss that followed was deeper, hungrier. The kind that stole Eijun’s balance completely and left him clinging, trembling. Heat pooled low in his stomach, sharp and insistent, every nerve alive.

When Miyuki’s hand finally slid beneath the waistband of his pajama pants, Eijun’s whole body jolted. A strangled noise broke free, muffled when Miyuki swallowed it with another kiss.

The counter pressed against the small of his back, grounding him while Miyuki’s touch unraveled every bit of composure he tried to cling to.

“Too much?” Miyuki murmured, lips brushing against his temple, though his hand never stilled.

Eijun shook his head hard, burying his face against Miyuki’s shoulder. “N-no… just--don’t stop.”

Miyuki’s laugh was quiet, warm, vibrating through his chest. “Wasn’t planning to.”

Miyuki’s hand slipped further inside, fingers wrapping around him with a firm, knowing grip.

Eijun gasped, the sound sharp and helpless, his knees threatening to give out as pleasure surged hot through his body. He clung to Miyuki’s shoulders, nails digging into skin, forehead pressed against his collarbone as if that could hide the flush burning all the way down his chest.

“God, you’re sensitive,” Miyuki whispered against his ear, stroking slow, steady, each movement deliberate. “You’re already shaking.”

Eijun tried to protest, to say something smart, but it dissolved into a broken moan when Miyuki twisted his wrist just right. His hips jerked, chasing the friction, shame and desire tangling until he couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

“Thought you were hungry for breakfast,” Miyuki teased, lips dragging along his jaw, teeth grazing lightly at the corner of his throat.

“I--ah--shut up--” Eijun gasped, breath hitching as Miyuki’s thumb brushed over the tip, smearing wetness across the head. His whole body shuddered, heat coiling dangerously tight inside him already.

Miyuki’s other hand slid up beneath his shirt, palm flattening against his chest, thumb teasing over a nipple until it pebbled hard under the touch. “Look at you… glowing wasn’t enough, huh? You’re burning.”

Eijun whimpered, half-frustrated, half-desperate. His back arched off the counter, head falling back, lips parted around a cry he barely caught.

The eggs on the table might as well not exist anymore. The kitchen was full only of their ragged breaths, the slick sound of Miyuki’s strokes, and the soft thud of Eijun’s heel kicking against a cupboard when his body bucked helplessly.

“Kazu--please--” His voice cracked, raw with need.

Miyuki slowed, torturously, forcing his gaze up to meet Eijun’s. His glasses had slipped low on his nose, eyes dark and intent. “Please what? Say it.”

Eijun bit his lip hard enough to sting, then let it out in a rush. “Please don’t stop.”

Miyuki smirked, kissed him hard enough to bruise, and picked up the pace.

Eijun’s breath broke into stuttered moans as Miyuki’s strokes grew sharper, more relentless. The counter bit into the small of his back, but the sensation barely registered; all he could feel was Miyuki’s hand working him with ruthless precision, squeezing just right, dragging him closer and closer to the edge.

His head fell against Miyuki’s shoulder, the voice muffled and wrecked. “I can’t--god, I can’t--”

“You can,” Miyuki murmured, his lips brushing the shell of his ear, hot and low. “I’ve got you. Come on, Eijun.”

The words sent him spiraling. His hips bucked uncontrollably, chasing every stroke, every curl of Miyuki’s fingers. His body tightened, wound so tight he thought he’d snap in two.

And then he did.

He cried out, raw and unrestrained, as heat pulsed through him in hot, messy waves. Miyuki stroked him through it, firm and steady, holding him against the counter while his entire body shuddered apart in his arms.

Eijun collapsed forward, trembling, breath tearing out of him in ragged bursts. His forehead pressed into Miyuki’s chest, sticky and boneless, the world spinning in the aftermath.

Miyuki kissed his hairline, slow and lingering, his hand finally easing off. He brought his slick fingers to his lips, tasting with a hum that made Eijun flush crimson even in the haze of release.

“Delicious,” Miyuki teased softly, voice rough with arousal.

Eijun groaned, weakly swatting at him. “You’re the worst.”

“The worst you love,” Miyuki countered easily, tilting his chin up for another kiss.

Their mouths met, slower now, messy with the taste of sweat and something more, but grounding in its tenderness. Miyuki’s hand rubbed soothing circles along his back, easing the tremors that still wracked his muscles.

When they finally broke apart, Miyuki glanced at the table, where the eggs had long gone cold. “Guess breakfast really had to wait.”

Eijun huffed a laugh, still breathless, still flushed. “Idiot.”

Miyuki smirked, kissing him again, softer this time, almost reverent. “Idiot who’s never letting you go.”

And in the warm light of the kitchen, with cooling eggs and a heart still racing, Eijun believed him completely.

Eijun was still trembling, his release leaving him flushed and weak-kneed, when he felt Miyuki’s hand trail lower. Fingers pressed into the waistband of his sweats, tugging them down just enough to bare him further.

“K-Kazuya--?” His voice cracked, half-protest, half-plea.

Miyuki kissed the corner of his mouth, smirking against his skin. “You didn’t think I was finished, did you?”

Before Eijun could answer, Miyuki spun him gently, pressing him front-first against the cool counter. The shock of the surface against his overheated skin dragged a gasp from his throat. Miyuki’s body followed, chest pressed to his back, hard length pressing insistently against him through thin fabric.

“You drive me insane,” Miyuki muttered into his neck, teeth grazing lightly. “Standing here, glowing, making those sounds, do you have any idea what you do to me?”

Eijun shivered, fingers gripping the edge of the counter. “I-I wasn’t--”

“You were,” Miyuki interrupted, pushing his hips forward just enough to make his point. The friction pulled a strangled sound from Eijun’s lips, needy despite himself.

Miyuki chuckled darkly, hand sliding down to cup him again, not gentle this time. “See? Your body knows.”

“Bastard,” Eijun hissed, but it was weak, breathless.

“Yours,” Miyuki whispered, and in one smooth motion, he pressed harder against him, rocking into the curve of his ass with a groan that sent heat straight through Eijun’s core.

The counter creaked under Eijun’s grip as Miyuki nudged his legs apart, guiding him open with firm, unyielding hands. Every brush of his mouth along Eijun’s shoulder was deliberate, claiming, coaxing him into surrender.

By the time Miyuki finally pushed inside, slow, steady, inch by inch... Eijun’s entire body arched, torn between shock and aching needs.

“K-Kazuya!” he gasped, voice breaking.

Miyuki groaned against his neck, voice rough with restraint. “God, you feel so tight, so perfect. Don’t let go of the counter.”

Eijun obeyed, knuckles white against the edge, as Miyuki began to move.

The rhythm started slow, each thrust deliberate, filling him fully before drawing back again, dragging cries from Eijun’s lips that filled the small kitchen. But it didn’t stay slow for long Miyuki’s control frayed quickly, pace snapping harder, deeper, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing against the cabinets.

Eijun couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Every thrust jolted through him, pleasure sharp and overwhelming. His face pressed against the counter, moaning helplessly, he barely noticed when Miyuki’s hand slid around to grip him again, stroking in perfect time with each movement inside him.

“Mine,” Miyuki growled, every word punctuated by another sharp thrust. “Every sound every bit of you--mine.”

Eijun sobbed out a broken “yes,” his body unraveling under the dual assault, pushed harder and harder toward another climax.

Miyuki’s thrusts were steady, deliberate—deep enough to make Eijun gasp, slow enough to leave him squirming for more. Each time Eijun thought the pace would build, Miyuki would pull back, almost out, holding him there on the edge before sliding back in with maddening control.

The counter was digging into Eijun’s hips, but he barely noticed, his focus narrowed to the slow stretch of Miyuki inside him and the teasing hand wrapped around his cock. The strokes matched the same merciless rhythm—firm, controlled, never quite fast enough.

“Kazuya--” Eijun’s voice cracked, high and desperate. “Stop teasing--”

A low chuckle brushed his ear, hot breath making him shiver. “Teasing? I’m giving you exactly what you need. Look at you... squirming, trembling--” Miyuki rolled his hips suddenly, grinding deep, and Eijun cried out, legs nearly giving way. “You love it.”

“B-bastard--” Eijun’s fingers clawed at the counter edge, his whole body shuddering.

Miyuki leaned in, lips dragging over the sweaty skin of his shoulder, nipping lightly. “Beg for it, Eijun.”

His hips slowed even more, shallow thrusts now, barely moving inside him, just enough to make Eijun’s nerves sing. The hand on his cock stopped entirely, squeezing once before going still.

Eijun whined, hips rocking back helplessly. “Don’t stop--please--”

Miyuki smiled against his neck. “Not good enough. Say it.”

Eijun’s cheeks burned, frustration bubbling in his chest. He hated how much Miyuki made him lose control, how shameless he sounded. But his body was on fire, every inch of him needing more.

“Kazuya, please,” he finally broke, voice ragged. “I need it--need you to move, please--”

The sound ripped a groan from Miyuki, his own restraint faltering. “That’s it… fuck, that’s it—”

His hips snapped forward, hard enough to knock the breath from Eijun. The slow torture vanished in an instant, replaced by a relentless rhythm that had Eijun crying out with every thrust. Miyuki’s hand slid back around his cock, pumping fast now, perfectly timed with the pounding of his hips.

Every stroke, every thrust drove Eijun higher, the pressure coiling tight in his gut, unbearable.

“K-Kazuyaa--I can’t--” he gasped, voice breaking.

“Then don’t hold back,” Miyuki growled into his ear, hips slamming hard, deep. “Come for me.”

Eijun’s whole body trembled, caught between the hard thrusts and the merciless hand around his cock. His release hovered so close he could taste it, every muscle tightening, begging for that final push...

And then Miyuki stopped.

The sudden stillness was agony. Miyuki stayed buried deep, pulsing inside him, but his hips didn’t move. His hand loosened and pulled away completely, leaving Eijun throbbing, aching.

“N-no--” Eijun’s voice cracked, raw with need. He tried to push back, to grind against Miyuki, desperate for friction, but strong hands gripped his hips and held him still.

“Shhh,” Miyuki hushed, lips brushing his ear, voice low and wicked. “Not yet.”

Eijun almost sobbed, forehead pressing against the cool countertop. “Kazuya... please--I was so close---”

“I know,” Miyuki murmured, nipping at his neck. “I felt you. So tight around me, ready to fall apart. But I want more. I want to feel you break for me.”

He pulled out slowly, inch by inch, until Eijun felt empty, whining in protest—only for Miyuki to slam back in, deep enough that Eijun’s knees nearly gave out. But just when the rhythm started to build, he slowed again, dragging it out, refusing to let the pace tip over into release.

Every nerve in Eijun’s body was screaming, pleasure tangled with frustration, heat coiling tighter and tighter with nowhere to go.

“Kazuya--I c-can’t--” His voice shook, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes from the unbearable denial.

“Yes, you can,” Miyuki whispered, licking a stripe up his throat. “You’ll take everything I give you. You’ll wait until I decide to let you come.”

Eijun groaned, half in despair, half in raw desire, clinging to the counter like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

Miyuki’s thrusts kept up the torturous pattern... deep, deliberate, pulling back whenever Eijun’s breath hitched too sharply, whenever his body started to tense toward release. His hand toyed with Eijun’s cock again, stroking in short, shallow motions that were just enough to keep him on fire, never enough to push him over the edge.

Eijun’s legs were shaking, his body flushed and slick with sweat, every sound spilling from his lips a mix of pleading and broken gasps.

“Please--Kazuyaa, please--I’ll do anything, just-just let me--”

Miyuki smirked against his skin, clearly savoring every word. “Anything, huh? Say it again.”

Eijun swallowed hard, voice trembling. “I’ll do anything--just let me come--please--”

Miyuki groaned low, his own restraint fraying at the edges. “Fuck, you’re perfect like this.”

Eijun’s thighs were trembling so hard he thought they might give out, but Miyuki’s grip on his hips kept him upright, kept him right where he wanted him. Every time Eijun thought he might finally topple into release, Miyuki pulled back—thrusts slowly, strokes of his cock retreating to a maddening tease.

“P-please,” Eijun choked out again, voice wrecked. “Kazuya--I can’t--ahh--I can’t--”

“Yes, you can,” Miyuki breathed, tone maddeningly calm, even as his own chest heaved with the effort of control. He pressed deeper with a slow grind, holding there, stretching the moment until Eijun whimpered. “You’re stronger than you think. You’ll take it for me.”

Eijun’s fingers clawed at the countertop, nails dragging across wood. His body was on fire, every nerve pulled taut, trembling on the cusp of a release Miyuki refused to allow.

When Miyuki wrapped a hand around him again, Eijun thought he’d finally give in. His cock throbbed under the touch, precum smearing hot and slick against Miyuki’s palm. But the strokes were unbearably shallow, just at the tip, light and teasing.

“God--stop--don’t stop--” Eijun babbled, unable to form coherent words. His back arched helplessly, pressing into Miyuki’s chest, seeking more friction anywhere he could get it.

Miyuki chuckled low, his mouth hot against Eijun’s ear. “Listen to yourself. You sound like you’re about to cry.”

“I--ahh--” Eijun squeezed his eyes shut, mortified and undone all at once. His voice cracked as he gasped, “I am--”

And Miyuki heard it, the honest desperation, the wetness gathering at the corners of his eyes. It only spurred him on.

“Good,” he whispered darkly, licking along Eijun’s jaw before biting down gently. “I want you ruined. I want you so desperate you’ll beg me for the rest of your life to let you come.”

Eijun whimpered, shaking his head, but his body betrayed him--clenching around Miyuki, twitching in his grip, straining for a release that wasn’t coming. His thighs burned, his chest heaved, and his voice was nothing but broken gasps.

Every time Miyuki felt his body tighten, that telltale hitch of breath, he pulled away again--drawing it out, dragging him through the sweet torture until Eijun’s whole world blurred with heat and need.

“Kazuya--please--I’ll break--I swear, I’ll break--”

“You won’t,” Miyuki promised against his skin, voice ragged now with the effort of holding himself back. “You’ll take it until I say. And when I let you go…” He thrust hard, deep, making Eijun scream. “…it’s going to destroy you.”

Eijun sobbed, trembling so hard he thought he might collapse, sweat dripping down his back. His cock leaked against Miyuki’s teasing fingers, his whole body wound too tight to take much more.

He was gone... ruined, trembling, begging with no shame left.

And Miyuki still wasn’t done.

Eijun was gone.

His voice had broken into nothing but desperate, cracked noises, half sobs, half moans that slipped out without control. His head lolled against Miyuki’s shoulder, damp strands of hair sticking to his flushed face, eyes glassy with tears he couldn’t hold back anymore.

“K-Kazuya--please, please, I can’t--ahh--I can’t--” His words slurred together, wrecked.

“You can,” Miyuki growled low, every word pressed against the shell of his ear. His thrusts stayed maddeningly slow, each drag pulling another strangled sound from Eijun’s throat. “You’re going to take every second of it until I decide you’ve earned it.”

Eijun shook his head weakly, nails clawing at the countertop. His thighs were trembling so violently he thought they’d give out, but Miyuki’s hands kept him steady—pinned, open, helpless.

When Miyuki wrapped his fist around him again, Eijun’s whole body bucked. His cock was red, swollen, leaking desperately, and Miyuki only stroked the head with maddening precision, circling, teasing, never enough to push him over.

Eijun wailed, the sound raw, broken. “Stop--don’t--please--I can’t--”

Miyuki smirked against his damp skin. “You’ll thank me when you’re falling apart in my hands.”

He pressed his thumb hard against the slit, and Eijun screamed, clenching so tightly around him Miyuki had to bite back his own groan.

“You feel that? You’re so close it hurts,” Miyuki murmured, voice strained now, cracking at the edges. “Beg harder. Tell me exactly what you want.”

“I--want-want to--ahhh--I want to come! Please, please, Kazuyaa, I’ll do anything--” Eijun’s voice shattered on a sob, his hips jerking wildly for more friction. “I’ll beg forever--just let me-let me--”

That broke something in Miyuki. His composure snapped, the control he’d held onto unraveling in an instant.

He grabbed Eijun’s cock in a brutal stroke at the same time he thrust deep, hard, driving into him with no more restraint.

Eijun screamed high, raw, devastating, his whole body locking up as his orgasm tore through him like fire. Cum spilled hot over Miyuki’s fist and the counter in messy spurts, his body convulsing so hard Miyuki had to hold him upright.

The clenching around him was unbearable, tight and wet and pulsing. Miyuki groaned loudly into his shoulder, finally letting go, spilling deep inside as Eijun’s body milked him for everything he had.

The kitchen filled with the sounds of it--ragged breathing, choked cries, the wet slap of skin against skin until there was nothing left but trembling and gasps.

Miyuki pressed his forehead to the back of Eijun’s neck, shaking with the force of it, his hands clutching him like he’d never let go.

Eijun was wrecked... limp, boneless, barely able to catch his breath, tears still wet on his cheeks. His voice came out in a ruined whisper.

“…y-you’re…evil.”

Miyuki chuckled hoarsely, kissing the sweat-slick curve of his shoulder. “And you’re perfect when you beg like that.”

Eijun whimpered weakly, shivering under the aftershocks, still trembling from how hard he’d been pushed.

Miyuki didn’t pull out right away. He just held him there, murmuring against his ear, soft now. “You’re mine, Eijun. Every sound, every plea--mine.”

And Eijun wrecked, dazed, and still clinging to the counter like it was the only thing keeping him standing--could only nod, tears glistening as he whispered back, “Yours.”

Eijun didn’t think his legs would work again. He was still trembling, his forehead pressed to the cool countertop, breaths hiccuping out of him in shaky little bursts.

Miyuki didn’t move right away. He stayed close, chest pressed against Eijun’s back, arms wrapped around his waist to keep him steady. His lips brushed along the damp curve of Eijun’s shoulder, pressing small kisses as if to stitch him back together.

“Hey,” Miyuki murmured, voice softer now, threaded with something almost fragile. “Still with me?”

Eijun gave the tiniest nod, though his voice was gone. All he managed was a hoarse sound, halfway between a laugh and a whine. His fingers twitched weakly against the counter, trying to curl around Miyuki’s hand instead.

Miyuki caught it, threading their fingers together and squeezing gently. He stayed like that until Eijun’s breathing evened out a little.

“Alright,” Miyuki finally whispered, pulling back just enough to ease out of him, slow and careful. Eijun shuddered, a soft whimper escaping, but Miyuki soothed him with another kiss at his temple. “Shh. I’ve got you.”

The kitchen was a mess--plates abandoned, eggs long forgotten, counter streaked with the aftermath of their frenzy. But Miyuki didn’t seem to care. He grabbed a clean dish towel and dampened it with warm water before crouching down in front of Eijun.

Eijun blinked at him, dazed and flushed, leaning heavily against the counter as Miyuki wiped him clean with gentle, unhurried strokes.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Eijun mumbled weakly, cheeks burning even brighter.

“Like what?” Miyuki asked, his smirk softened into something dangerously close to fondness.

“Like… like you’re gonna eat me alive again.”

Miyuki chuckled low, shaking his head. “Not this second. You look like you’ll collapse if I even breathe too hard near you.”

“That’s your fault,” Eijun muttered, though the protest lacked any bite. He let Miyuki finish cleaning him up, letting himself be fussed over in silence.

When Miyuki finally stood, he slid an arm around Eijun’s waist and pressed a kiss to his damp hair. “C’mon. Table. Sit. I’ll bring breakfast to you.”

Eijun let himself be guided, legs wobbly, and sank into the chair Miyuki pulled out for him. His head dropped into his folded arms on the table, watching Miyuki move around the kitchen with half-lidded eyes.

The eggs were definitely cold by now, but Miyuki reheated them anyway, plating them with care before setting the dish in front of him.

Eijun lifted his head reluctantly, still flushed, still tired, but his stomach growled on cue. He shot Miyuki a mortified look, but Miyuki only grinned.

“There it is. Proof you’re still alive.”

Eijun tried to glare but failed miserably, ending up laughing instead... a quiet, shaky sound that surprised even him.

Miyuki leaned down, kissing the corner of his mouth before sliding into the seat beside him. “Eat. Then we’ll get you back in bed.”

Eijun chewed the first bite, warmth slowly spreading through him that wasn’t just from the food. He glanced at Miyuki, who was watching him with that same softened expression, glasses askew, hair a complete mess.

And for the first time since he’d woken up, Eijun felt steady again.

Chapter Text

“Some love leaves marks you can’t erase, no matter how far you step away, no matter how many years pass.”

-

Mei’s POV

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

He knew they’d be here--Sawamura, Eijun. Miyuki, Kazuya. The guest list had made it clear.

When his manager slid it across the table earlier that week, Mei had rolled his eyes and smirked. “Figures. They’ll show up just to wave for the nostalgia crowd,” he muttered.

Back then, that version of himself the confident, untouchable Narumiya Mei would’ve been enough to hide any ache. But standing here on the charity field, glove snug in his palm, he realized some things couldn’t be masked.

Miyuki looked… different. Plain clothes, a calm black shirt, old sneakers, coffee in hand. Human. Whole. Present.

And Eijun--standing next to him, shoulders brushing slightly looked like he belonged there, like he always had. His hair was a bit longer, but the warmth in his smile, the way he leaned toward Miyuki when he spoke… Mei’s chest constricted. That had been stolen from him long ago.

They fit. Not the staged kind people wore for cameras. The inevitable kind.

Mei finished his warm-ups, throat tight. Miyuki laughed... a soft, real laugh, unguarded.

He forced himself forward, past the haze of memory and longing. “Well, well, well. Look who crawled out of hiding.”

Miyuki’s head lifted. Smile faltering. “Mei.”

Eijun’s voice followed, gentle, and measured. “Narumiya.”

Mei’s eyes scanned them, lingering on the small glint of a ring. Engaged.

The blow didn’t register outwardly. Instead, he smirked. “I half-expected Sawamura to avoid the field. Unless they promised him free food.”

Eijun chuckled. “Kazuya bribed me with a strawberry shortcake.”

“Of course he did.” Mei’s tone sharpened as he looked at Miyuki. “You spoil him more than you ever did me.”

Miyuki’s expression shifted... complicated. “It’s different now.”

No denial. No apology. Just truth.

And it cut deeper than any words could.

“Yeah,” Mei said quietly. “I can see that.”

The world around them, teammates, cameras, low chatter blurred. Here, silence holds more meaning than sound.

“Still painting?” Mei asked, shifting focus.

Eijun nodded. “Mostly at home. I’m teaching too.”

“You’re happy?” Mei’s words grazed, unintended.

“I am,” Eijun replied, steady, unflinching.

Mei forced a laugh, looking away. “Good. Great. Thrilled for you both.”

-

Eijun’s POV

Mei’s grin fooled the cameras but not him.

He’d seen that smile before: brittle, deflecting, worn to hide the ache beneath.

Eijun had loved Miyuki once, quietly, painfully, and for years had waited while the world moved on. He’d left because he thought Miyuki needed space, thought Mei might be the right person to fill the gap.

But history has its cruelty. Miyuki had never fully been Mei’s. The absence of Eijun left a hollowness in him that Mei could never reach.

“You still pitching?” Eijun asked softly.

“Of course. Still ace.” Mei puffed his chest, pride hiding the rest.

“I watched your game last month. That ninth-inning curveball? Unreal.”

For the first time that night, Mei’s facade cracked. Surprise. Pride. Sadness. “You watched me?”

“Always,” Eijun said quietly. “Even when I wasn’t ready to face it all.”

Silence. Then Mei’s voice, ragged:

“Does it still hurt?”

Eijun blinked. “What?”

“Seeing him. Living with him. Loving him. Knowing what you lost before you got him back.”

Eijun’s throat tightened. “Yeah. Sometimes. But it doesn’t feel like pain anymore. It feels like… growing.”

Mei looked down. “You still love him?”

Eijun’s fingers brushed Mei’s arm gently. “Always did.”

Mei’s voice broke. “I thought if I loved him enough, it would be enough. But part of him… was always looking for you.”

“I never wanted that,” Eijun murmured.

“I know,” Mei said. A half-smile, sorrowful. “That’s what made it worse.”

-

Miyuki’s POV

Miyuki had stayed quiet, watching the exchange like a man observing an old wound.

Stepping closer, he said softly: “Mei.”

The pitcher’s head lifted. His grin faltered.

“I did love you,” Miyuki admitted.

Mei’s jaw tightened.

“And maybe… if I’d been less selfish, we could’ve lasted. But the truth is…” Miyuki glanced at Eijun, hand on his ring, heart thudding, “I was always waiting. Even when I didn’t know it.”

The silence that followed was sharp.

Mei forced a laugh, tremulous. “Guess I was pitching against two batters all along, huh?”

Miyuki’s chest ached. He wanted to say more but some things were too sacred to break.

He said nothing.

-

Mei' POV

He didn’t look back as he left. Not the cameras. Not the crowd.

When the stadium emptied and the night pressed in, he sat on a bench far from the lights.

For the first time in years, he let himself feel the ache he’d carried since Miyuki had walked away, since he’d realized some love was never meant for him.

They looked good together. Too good.

And maybe that was the cruelest truth:

They hadn’t chosen wrong.

It only meant Mei had been the wrong choice.

He would go back to his routines, the hotels, the cheering fans. He’d laugh, he’d pitch, he’d keep moving.

But some nights, when applause faded, and his room was too quiet, he’d remember Eijun’s steady hand on Miyuki’s arm, Miyuki’s laugh, soft, warm, no longer his.

“And he’d wonder, with a hollow ache, if somewhere in another universe, he had been able to keep Kazuya.”

-

The rain had stopped, leaving the city slick and shining under lamplight. Miyuki and Eijun walked home slowly, shoulders brushing, quiet except for the soft rhythm of their footsteps on wet pavement.

Once inside their apartment, the door clicked shut, and the noise of the city vanished. Miyuki leaned against the counter while Eijun sank onto the couch, still holding his coffee from earlier. The ring on his hand caught the soft glow of the lamp.

“You okay?” Miyuki asked, his voice low, careful.

Eijun looked at him, eyes steady. “Yeah… I am. But I keep thinking about him.”

“Mei?” Miyuki asked, not a question but a gentle acknowledgment.

Eijun nodded. “He… he loved you. Still does, maybe. And seeing you two together today… I don’t know. It hurt, a little. But I get it now. You were never fully there.”

Miyuki’s throat tightened. “I know. When I was with him… I tried. I really did. But something was missing. I--” He paused, searching for words. “I wasn’t fully me. Not with him. Not without you.”

Eijun reached over, brushing Miyuki’s fingers. “I thought I lost you forever, you know. I left because I thought it was right. And for four years… I carried it all alone. Wondering if I’d ever get to tell you.”

Miyuki knelt beside him, hands holding Eijun’s face. “You never lost me. You just had to wait. And… maybe I needed to be lost a little to find myself again. To find you again.”

Eijun swallowed, voice barely a whisper. “I felt guilty for wanting you. For not letting him be your world.”

Miyuki shook his head, eyes soft. “No. That’s not guilt you should carry. He loved me, yes. But he wasn’t you. He never was. And that… that’s the difference. I see it now. I don’t need him to be happy--I just need you.”

Eijun’s hand traced the curve of Miyuki’s jaw. “I want you to know I love you enough for both of us. And that love doesn’t erase him… it just… honors it. Accepts it, lets it go, and chooses this. Us.”

Miyuki pressed his forehead against Eijun’s. “Us. That’s all I need too. But… we can’t forget. We won’t forget. Mei deserves that. He deserves to move on without anger. We have to live our lives fully, not because we owe him… but because that’s what we owe ourselves.”

Eijun smiled, a tear slipping unheeded down his cheek. “Then let’s be selfish together. For us. And let him be free.”

Miyuki kissed him softly, slowly. “Always.”

They stayed there long into the night, holding each other. No words could undo the past, no promise could erase it but they could choose each other. Again.

-

Weeks later, they attended a small family gathering. Miyuki’s parents, Eijun’s family, and a few close friends. Everyone laughed over tea and dessert, the city light spilling through tall windows.

Miyuki and Eijun sat side by side, hands brushing on the table, fingers intertwining almost unconsciously. The silver ring on Eijun’s hand gleamed faintly under the warm light.

“You okay?” Eijun murmured, thumb brushing over the ring.

Miyuki smiled softly, leaning in. “Better than I’ve ever been. With you, I’m home.”

They shared a quiet glance, a lifetime of unsaid words passing between them.

And in the corner, unseen by most, Mei watched from a distance. He smiled faintly, lips tight but eyes soft. No jealousy, no bitterness. Just acceptance.

He had loved. He had lost. But he could see they had found each other, whole and real. And that, he realized, was enough.

Miyuki caught Eijun’s gaze across the room, and they laughed softly together, the sound gentle, unhurried, full of a love that had survived absence, mistakes, and years of waiting.

Outside, the city continued its rhythm, unaware of the quiet victories and reconciliations happening within these walls. But inside, for Miyuki and Eijun and even Mei they had all arrived where they were meant to be.

A life chosen. A love embraced. And finally, the peace of knowing that what was lost had taught them exactly what to hold onto.

-

Mei’s Quiet Peace

Later that evening, after the laughter and the lingering smell of tea had faded, Mei sat alone on a small balcony overlooking the city. Rain had returned in gentle taps, soft and steady, and he let the sound fill the silence around him.

He thought of them Miyuki and Eijun hands intertwined, laughing, alive in a way that he had never managed to capture with his own love. And for the first time in years, he didn’t feel envy or bitterness.

He let a small, almost imperceptible smile touch his lips. They chose each other. They’re happy. That’s what matters.

And for him… that was enough.

He exhaled slowly, letting the city lights blur into a comforting haze. Mei knew now that some love was never meant to stay with you. Some love was meant to teach you. And sometimes, the greatest act of love was simply letting go and carrying the memory with nothing but gratitude.

The rain continued to fall. Soft, patient. Like life itself, moving forward.

And Narumiya Mei, for the first time in a long while, felt a quiet peace settle into his chest.

Chapter Text

“Some love leaves a mark you carry quietly, a weight that lingers long after the person you once dreamed of is gone.”
-

Months after the Afterglow exhibit, Eijun saw it plainly.
Not in whispered rumors, not in blurred paparazzi photos but in the way Miyuki and Mei looked at each other on live TV.

It was a championship final. Extra innings, tension so sharp you could hear the crowd hold its breath. Mei struck out the last batter with his usual flare, glove tossed high, grin wide as the stadium erupted. And before Eijun could blink, Miyuki was there mask off, sprinting into Mei’s arms.

The embrace wasn’t fleeting. It was whole, unguarded. A collision of joy and belonging that didn’t ask for permission.

Miyuki laughed into Mei’s shoulder, something soft and unfiltered. Mei tugged him closer, murmuring something the microphones didn’t catch, but Eijun didn’t need to hear. The meaning was obvious.

Watching through the TV screen in his quiet apartment, Eijun felt the ache bloom, then dissolved like a tide pulling back.

So this is what love looks like on him.

Not burdened. Not restrained. But alive, overflowing.

He whispered into the stillness, “I’m glad.”

And he meant it.

Life didn’t stop for Eijun. It never had.

His newest collection was different from the last lighter, freer. Students teased him that he’d gone soft, but he only smiled. Because he knew better. He hadn’t gone soft. He’d simply healed.

He painted sunrises now. Parks crowded with laughter. Windows glowing with evening warmth. Paintings that didn’t ache to say I miss you, but instead whispered, I’m still here.

At the opening of his latest exhibit, an elderly woman approached him. She leaned on her cane, eyes crinkling as she said, “Your work makes me feel… safe.”

Eijun bowed deeply, overwhelmed. “Thank you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

And when he went home that night, he brewed himself strawberry tea, sat by his open window, and looked up at the stars.

Somewhere out there, Miyuki was probably with Mei arguing over strategy, teasing each other until midnight, maybe holding hands when no one was watching.

Eijun smiled, soft and steady.

I brought him there.

Not to me. But to where he was always meant to be.

-

Years later, a fan posted a candid photo online: Miyuki and Mei walking down a quiet street in casual clothes, hands brushing, faces relaxed, as if they belonged nowhere else but beside each other.

The photo went viral.

Eijun scrolled past it, chuckled, and closed his phone.

He returned to his easel, dipped his brush into gold, and painted a field awash in morning light.

This time, there were no footprints at all. Just wide, open space.

The kind that waits for new stories to begin.

-

The gallery was buzzing that evening—critics, students, strangers drawn by the soft glow of Sawamura Eijun’s newest exhibition, Morning Fields.

Eijun moved through the crowd with his usual restless energy, greeting guests, answering questions, smiling until his cheeks hurt. He was older now, but his laughter was still the same... bright, unpolished, genuine.

Then, he felt it. A shift in the air, a familiarity he hadn’t touched in years.

He turned.

Miyuki Kazuya stood a few steps away. No cap, no disguise. Just himself, older, composed, but with that same mischievous glint in his eyes. And beside him, steady as ever, was Narumiya Mei hands tucked in his pockets, grin tilted, gaze unwavering on Miyuki even as they walked together.

For a second, the years fell away. The ache tugged but only gently, like a ghost brushing past.

Eijun exhaled and approached. “...You came.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Miyuki replied, and his voice was warm. Not the kind of warmth that asked for anything, but the kind that stayed even after time and distance.

Mei extended his hand, firm, respectful. “We’ve heard about you nonstop. Figured it was time to see for ourselves what the noise was about.”

Eijun laughed, shaking it. “I hope it lives up to the hype.”

They stood there for a moment, the three of them, framed by the hum of the gallery and the colors of Eijun’s world.

Miyuki’s gaze lingered on a painting nearby... the baseball field in morning light, endless and free. His throat bobbed. “You’ve changed.”

Eijun tilted his head. “So have you.” He glanced at Mei, then back at Miyuki, and his smile softened. “And I’m glad.”

Mei shifted closer to Miyuki, their shoulders brushing. The small, natural touch said more than words ever could.

Something in Eijun’s chest loosened. The old ache, the old longing it didn’t vanish, but it settled. Finally, fully.

“I’ll let you two look around,” Eijun said, stepping back. “Thanks for coming.”

As he turned, Miyuki called softly, “Eijun.”

He looked over his shoulder.

“Thank you,” Miyuki said simply. The words carried all the weight of years, of silences, of everything unspoken.

Eijun nodded, eyes glistening but steady. “You’re welcome.”

Then he walked on, weaving into the crowd, his heart light.

Behind him, Miyuki and Mei stood together before the canvas, the one that told a story of partings and beginnings.

And for the first time in a long time, Eijun felt no urge to look back.