Chapter Text
“Out!”
Shane’s chest heaved, sweat beading on his forehead and dripping off his nose and chin. He walked back to the bullpen in a haze, hardly able to comprehend what had just happened, and as he glanced back, their eyes met, and he froze.
Ilya Rozanov had just struck him out.
And then winked at him.
Shane couldn’t remember the last time he’d struck out. It probably hadn’t been since little league. He settled on the bench, pulling his helmet off and blindly accepting a water bottle from Scott.
Ilya Rozanov.
The media had been hyping up this game and their “showdown” since it was announced. Apparently they were supposed to be rivals, or something. Shane didn’t really know why. They were both great, sure, and they were the same age, but Shane could never figure out the inception of their “feud”. They didn’t even play the same positions – Rozanov was a pitcher, Shane was a shortstop. There was no logic to it. It was all just a headache for him, really.
“You okay, rook?”
“Huh?” Shane looked up, surprised to see that Scott Hunter was still in front of him. He had his hands on his hips, and one of his eyebrows was raised in an expression Shane couldn’t discern. “Oh, y-yeah, sorry. Just, uh, trying to place what I did wrong.”
Scott chuckled, settling beside Shane and shaking his head.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, kid. Rozanov is just distracting.”
“I wasn’t distracted.” Shane interjected, too quickly.
“Right…” Scott watched him from the corner of his eye for a few moments before shaking his head again and standing. “Well, game’s not over. Don’t get too in your head.”
“Yeah,” Shane nodded, not performing contended-ness well.
Scott just shrugged. These rookies treat every game like D-day. And Rozanov was distracting, probably intentionally so.
The game was long – even for baseball – and the moment it was over, Shane just wanted to go home and watch tape. Scott Hunter had told him he didn’t make any mistakes, but he knew that couldn’t be true. Rozanov wasn’t being distracting, he was just standing there. There’s no way that would have been enough to make him strike out.
Right?
Rozanov did have a sort of… allure to him. Shane felt it as they shook hands at the very end. Rozanov said something to him, but he didn’t even register what it was. He just kept walking, “good game, good game, good game.”
Maybe Rozanov was distracting.
Oh well.
Shane would get him next time.
He may have struck out this time, but it was Rozanov’s first strike in Shane’s book.