Chapter Text
The first time it happens, it’s in the middle of practice.
The sun beats down from overhead, casting a yellow haze across the field, dirt so dry it crunches under their feet, mingling in with the heavy ‘pat pat pat’ of baseballs hitting gloves. Maybe it’s the suffocating heat, severely limiting the amount of oxygen going to his brain with each languid wave of sweat and dust and summer that does it. Maybe it’s the hypnotizing heave of Mihashi’s shoulders, the windup, throw, catch, 98, 99, 100 lull of practice that pulls Abe from his usual put together ways and head first into whatever the hell was happening. Or maybe it’s nothing.
But the next thing he knows, he’s staring at a bead of sweat rolling down the side of Mihashi’s face, pink with sun and work, and he’s hyper aware of the curve of Mihashi’s butt, how the pants of their uniform stretches against Mihashi’s thighs as he lifts his left leg and things are stirring and Abe really needs to go to the bathroom.
It’s not the first time he associates Mihashi’s excellent control with luck. 101, ball now in hand, he stands, announces a dire need to pee, and scurries away before he can see Mihashi’s reaction. Abe's cheeks are so red they’re like targets calling upon some god to heighten his embarrassment, his utter horrification at the hard-on he’s now sporting. It is the first time he associates Mihashi’s excellent control with something so dirty.
When he finishes, he feels guilt. As he washes his hands, he decides to completely forget about it.
The second time it happens, Abe decides that there is something terrifically wrong.
Something so wrong, it wasn’t even remotely quantifiable. In fact, ‘so wrong’ was actually ‘so infinitely, unbearably wrong the only thing Abe knew to do aside from perhaps masturbate more often was consult Haruna.’
Abe couldn’t get Mihashi out of his head. He was everywhere in a way that was so irritatingly normal Abe didn’t know what to chuck it up to.
His days started out as they usually did, with Mihashi chirping, “Ah - Abe, I weighed myself at 53 k-kilograms today!” or “I… I didn’t really, um, s-sleep… that well,” and it’d go on as they usually went - practice, school, lunch, practice, home, the entire time Mihashi in some way on his mind - “Did he eat enough today? He didn’t get hurt, did he? Is he getting along with everyone? Is he sleeping now?” - and it was just so normal Abe didn’t know whether it was something that needed fixing or if he should let it be.
The problem wasn’t so much that he was thinking about Mihashi as it was where those thoughts went.
Ever since the First Time, Abe had reached a level of self-awareness many times higher than what it had ever been before that he was surprised he hadn’t reached Nirvana. Mihashi was a part of his foundations, he found, completely integral to everything that Abe did and thought and felt and there was no changing that. It was subconscious, a shift from nothing to something that occurred without him ever realising that, wow, this was nigh on obsessive, or at the least very much like the concern someone has for their only real friend.
You’re not supposed to have sexual thoughts about your friend.
He’d lie in bed, tired, scrubbed free of dirt and sweat and smelling of manly cucumbers, and he’d think something he’d usually think, something like “What dumb thing is Mihashi doing that could possibly affect his play tomorrow?” He’d consider texting him, look at his phone with this strange sort of wanting, maybe move his hand towards it, but then he’d remember that the douche wouldn’t text him back anyway. Instead of putting it to rest like he would’ve done, dealt with it tomorrow like someone with any form of rationality would’ve, he’d do what he had before deciding to talk to Haruna - ruminate.
It would usually lead him down a road full of fluff and rainbows and unicorns and other ridiculously stupid things associated with (shudder) romance. From nothing to something to everything, Mihashi has wormed his flailing self so far into Abe that whenever Abe closes his eyes all he sees is Mihashi, wide-eyed, not smiling, not for him, but close, and really all Abe wants is to make Mihashi happy. He's totally awestruck - head over heels not in love, maybe, but in nothing, something, everything and it hurts.
But then somewhere along the way he takes a turn and there's Mihashi, under him, over him, red stammering panting and -
The Second Time is different from all the other times he’d ruminate in that Abe, obviously, didn’t stop a train of thought before it got to the point where he’s writhing under his too hot covers, hands kinda clammy, imagining that it’s Mihashi palming his dick instead of himself. He can handle romantic thoughts. He can hide those. He can't hide boners.
Abe curses everything that brings him to this moment as he cums with a groan and acknowledges that ‘forgetting it’ isn’t something that's going to occur readily.
As he washes his hands, he decides that it’d be in his best interest to ask the devil himself what he should do. At the least, Haruna is an outside source without any real concern for what goes on in his team/mind/what have you. At most, Haruna is a suitable means of venting. Abe desperately needs to vent. When he gets back to his room, he sits on top of his rumpled covers with a huff, grabs his phone, and fails to give two shits about calling his enemy post-masturbation at one in the morning on a school night.
He waits expectantly. Haruna picks up on the second ring and begins to say something undoubtedly stupid that Abe doesn’t have time for so he politely interrupts with, “I think I have a crush on Mihashi.”
Haruna’s silent for all of two seconds before he barks this hideous laugh and says, “Literally anyone who has ever seen you two in the same room knows that, Takaya.”
Abe barely keeps himself from screaming. “No, no, you’re wrong. Now it’s an actual thing. It’s official.”
“Oh?” Abe can hear the fuck smirking. He can hear it.
“I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Well, don’t cry, first of all, - ”
“I’m not going to cry!”
“ - it’s totally natural to have a crush on someone you have a crush on."
“I didn’t have a crush on him before, Haruna, I swear to fucking god.” Abe falls back on his bed and starts smothering himself with his pillow to try and quell the blood rushing to his face. This was so awkward and stupid and, ugh, he’s questioning why he even called Haruna in the first place. Instead of hanging up, he mumbles half into the pillow, half into the phone, “Please help me.”
“Huh?”
“Help.”
Haruna’s quiet for another two seconds. “...I know this is going to be really hard for someone as socially stunted as yourself, but you have a knack for being an over controlling freak so you should just tap into that and take matters into your own hands rather than calling me at whatever the fuck hour this is.” He yawns, “Though, don’t get me wrong, I love seeing you a mess like this.”
“Take matters into my own hands. Explain.”
“Well, just tell him how you feel.”
“No.” So stupid.
“Then do something. Take control over the situation just like how I’m about to take control over this situation by turning off my phone. Night, Takaya.”
Abe stares at the end call screen with contempt, furrowed eyebrows, squinted eyes, and all, before slamming his phone down on his bedside table and getting under his covers. What a useless prick. That did absolutely nothing.
Despite it doing absolutely nothing, Abe thinks about Haruna's advice for the next hour before falling asleep and continues to think about it when he wakes up late the next day.
How the hell was he going to take control over a situation with so many variables at play, Haruna? It’s not just about the fulfillment of his wishes, the realisation of whatever he wanted realised, or even Mihashi’s acknowledgement of the torment he’s been going through at his hands. No, because there was no way Mihashi was going to just acknowledge it. He’s going to probably cry, crouch down and hide his face between his knees and cry and it wouldn’t be happy tears, no, they’d be tears of fear. Hatred. Disgust.
There was no way in hell he was going to let Mihashi think he was a pervert. Your advice is stupid, Haruna, and you should feel bad. Abe shoves a slice of toast in his face as he walks out the door because there’s no way his life could get any lamer than what it is already.
Rejection isn't something that Abe faces. He doesn't have crushes on people. He doesn't pine after them like some idiot. He doesn't dream about them, think about them as obsessively as he evidently does, he doesn't jack off to people - this is all wrong on so many levels, not just because it was happening, though that played an alarmingly large role in it, but also because it had to be Mihashi of all the fish in the sea. Mihashi who was on a whole other plane of existence, somewhere where the only thing that mattered was pitching and Abe was just a means to get there, to feel good about getting there.
Abe was completely okay with that. One hundred percent. Their relationship was so professional.
Only it wasn't and it was wrong. It was dirty. He could feel it in his fingertips, how his chest ached when he thought about Mihashi, stupid Mihashi, with nothing, something, everything, and when he'd stand he'd sway with the weight of it and he hated it.
And when he confesses? When he makes Mihashi cry for the umpteenth time because he's impulsive and socially stunted and mad twenty four seven? It would completely change everything. Their battery would fall apart and Abe would be left broken more or less and Mihashi wouldn't want to pitch for him, stand on the mound in front of him, because that's a type of attention he probably doesn't want, and his pitches would lose control just like Abe's grip on his mind, and it wouldn't just be Abe with nothing but also Mihashi because, fuck, saying "I like you a little more than someone would like a friend" would rip everything Abe's carefully constructed to shreds, the taped together pieces of Mihashi's confidence would be knocked over, beaten down, and the tape would turn to sludge and nothing good would happen.
It’s another hot day.
So maybe it’s the heat, every familiar wave after wave, circling the concrete he rides his bike on, the garden next to where they practice, once again suffocating him, staccato breaths trying to squeeze in enough oxygen for him to function but, quick though they may be, fail nevertheless. Or maybe it’s Mihashi, sitting in the dugout with a cup of water in hand, jumping up when he sees Abe arrive, already red in the face, splashing water on his shirt and not caring because, “Ah - Abe! I, uhm, I gained another kilogram!” Or maybe it’s nothing.
But the next thing he knows, he’s grabbing Mihashi by the shoulders and pushing him to the far corner of the dugout. He’s got Mihashi’s face between his hands, and Mihashi’s warm and soft and rough where he grips Abe’s wrists in turn. There’s something oddly expectant about the look in his eyes so Abe stands watch for any shifts because this was all pretty sudden and nothing even happened yet and -
Mihashi tugs his hands down and grabs his cheeks, by now just as warm as the heat radiating from Mihashi’s body, and stands on the tips of his toes, pressing his lips ever so roughly to Abe’s with his eyes squeezed so tightly shut Abe thinks Mihashi’s probably seeing stars.
Abe’s seeing stars.
Mihashi pulls back and opens his eyes slowly, looking down and to the left of Abe’s chin. Out of his peripheral vision he sees Abe with his eyes as wide as they’ve ever been, sees Abe think holyshitholyshitholyshit, fingers grasping at the air around them for some purchase.
“Wh - what… what?”
Mihashi bristles up and out like he’s a character in a Ghibli film. “I! I… I thought! H - Haruna said - “
“Haruna?” He whispers the name with enough venom to make Mihashi whimper. “Oh my god.”
“I’m... Is... ah, is it... okay?” Mihashi still has his hands on Abe’s cheeks, slender fingers running into Abe’s hair. Abe can’t think so he nods and Mihashi brings their lips back together, this time softer, and they stay like that for awhile.