Chasing Solace

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/8534947.

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: ダイヤのA | Daiya no A | Ace of Diamond
Relationship: Miyuki Kazuya/Sawamura Eijun
Character: Miyuki Kazuya, Sawamura Eijun
Additional Tags: Romance, Friendship, alternative universe, AU, Deity Au, kami -
Freeform, Slow Build, deity!Eijun, miyuki coaching middle schoolers,
misawa, miyusawa, Angst, Bittersweet
Stats: Published: 2016-11-12 Completed: 2017-01-26 Chapters: 12/12 Words:
52573

Chasing Solace
by Stonehill

Summary

Finished with his pro-career Kazuya suddenly has to face the reality of a different chapter in
his life, one where he is no longer required on the field. And perhaps he's lucky that a
coaching opportunity presents itself, as early as it does. But since it's coming from Takashima
Rei of all people there are conditions, and this one requires him to go back to his family's
home town in rural Nagano to teach middle school kids for a year to further his social skills.

What he hasn't reckoned with is the resident deity in his family's old temple.

Notes

Well, this took me about 3 and a half months to finish and I am so HAPPY that it's finally
done!
50k+ and a lot of stress over how long it was taking during the process of writing it, as well
as tone and characterization and all that other Jazz fic writers tend to worry about.
But here it is and I'm actually quite happy with it! It's a lot more ... emotionally serious than
some of my other stuff, though it's still quite light in comparison with other fics I've come
across.

This is a bit of a special update since my normal schedule is for Thursday night European
time, but I was SO excited to finish and with exams drowning me in theory of power I really
needed to do something for myself! So there we are.
I'll be editing the rest of the chapters for mistakes throughout the week and be back on
schedule by Thursday!
 Happy reading :D

See the end of the work for more notes

 Chapter 1

“I had forgotten how much light there is in the world, till you gave it back to me.”

-Ursula le Guinn, A Wizard of Earthsea

What do you do when you meet a god?

This is something, as a true Tokyo citizen, Kazuya has never learnt.

Modernisation is good at eroding that kind of unnecessary nonsense after all. What's the point of
believing in magic and other greater powers when you've lived most of your life in the world's
largest metropolis?

Twenty-seven years to be precise, Kazuya thinks as he steps off his train.

Twenty-seven years of green fields and baseball in his blood. Twenty-seven years of wins and
losses, of egoistic pitchers and crazy fielders. Twenty-seven years: a period in his life that will always
be the time he will think back on as the most joyous.

After all, now that he's too old for the pro league, too slow, too powerless, too easily breakable,
where is he going to find that kind of joy again?

Rei had looked at him from across the coffee table a couple of weeks ago, her lips pulling up in a
knowing smile. "As a coach, of course," she'd said.

He'd stared at her in open surprise.

"Baseball isn't done with you yet, Miyuki," she'd reminded him. "But perhaps you were done with
it?"

It's one of the few times he'd spluttered in his life. She'd scouted him again. She'd given him a path to
walk. Again.

And Kazuya is eternally grateful for that. What would he do without baseball in his life? He can
barely initiate a conversation outside that context, even in his adult years. It's an embarrassing truth
he's been good at hiding, but a truth none the less.

There were conditions of course. With Rei there always is.

Which is why he was here in the first place, in a sleepy little town in Nagano where the dust had
settled fifty years ago and stayed. Nobody had bothered clearing it away. It was history, after all.

The catcher's eyes run critically over cracked walls and old tarmac, over ancient roofs with tufts of
grass sticking out and stores so old the colourful signs have lost their vibrancy, faded under the
unforgiving sun.

And it's all a little familiar, even in its opposition to the modernity and newness of Tokyo, a newness
that doesn't spread everywhere; not to the rusty edges of fences around baseball fields, not to the
barking of dogs in the poorer areas, not to old houses behind steel factories where men work until
their bones shatter, until they are shells of humans who have forgotten how to love.

The old is familiar because it is everywhere, Kazuya thinks, looking down at the map his father had
drawn for him, squiggly lines and fading pencil. Age is something that catches us all in the end. No
matter how hard we run.

He almost walks past the ancient staircase he's looking for. It stretches far up under the canopy of
trees lining the street and Kazuya can't see the top at all.

He passes under the torii, eyes noting the scratches in the wood and missing red paint, and begins the
long trek up the stairs, suitcase in hand and stone lanterns marking his way.

Wind and weather has caused the path to decay and the edges of the stone steps have rounded out.
Weeds are sticking out from the cracks and Kazuya has to step to either left or right more than once
to avoid a missing part of a step.

Sunlight falls through the gap between the leaves playing in a lazy wind along the branches above
him, casting green and golden hues on everything, making the old and torn seem strangely beautiful.

Peace enters Kazuya's mind in that moment and as light illuminates the world around him he looks
up, expecting the end of the staircase.

Strips of sunlight dance in the air ahead of him and Kazuya pauses, blinking in mild bewilderment,
as it solidifies and takes form into a single golden being, sitting on one of the stairs near the top.

A boy?

No, Kazuya thinks as his eyes get used to the light and colours start to manifest in hues of brown and
gold, faded blue jeans and a white t-shirt. A teenager perhaps.

But when the person in front of him speaks it is in a man's voice. "Who are you?"

"Miyuki Kazuya," he replies. It's strange that the news of his coming have not spread more rapidly,
given the reputation of small towns. "My family owns the temple behind you."

And just like that the man's face brightens, childlike energy and cheer in his movements as he gets to
his feet and comes towards Kazuya. "You're the son of that kid who ran away to work with steel
aren't you?"

There's sunlight in his smile too, Kazuya thinks. And he's so blinded by the brightness of it he
doesn't immediately compute the statement, or the fact that the suitcase is being taken from his hand.

"Uh, no," he says, when the man turns away and starts up the stairs. "That was actually my
grandfather."

"Really? It's been that long?"

There's a wistful nostalgia in his voice that doesn't belong to somebody their age, and Kazuya
knows, though his city bred scepticism rears at the thought, that this person isn't even a person, isn't a
human.

The yard in front of the shrine is far from well taken care of but Kazuya can tell it's still being used
by the village - at least once or twice a year. And now that he's here he knows he'll have to put in the
work and get everything back in shape.

He casts a brief look at the shrine and sees the way the roof is caved in and one of the pillars is
almost falling over and feels his heart sink.
So he turns his eyes away as the man in front of him starts down a path to Kazuya's right.

"Who exactly are you?" he asks, mostly to distract himself, but also because he's genuinely curious.

His eyes travel over the other man's broad shoulders; he's slimmer and shorter than Kazuya but he
moves with the quiet grace he often sees in pitchers. And the white t-shirt hides very little to
somebody who has spent most of his life amongst people who pride themselves on keeping their
bodies in top shape.

Then there are golden eyes directed at him, wide and curious, assessing him, and Kazuya suddenly
has trouble breathing.

"I'm not named the way you are," is the reply he receives. "But there's a childless woman who
comes to pray often, and she's called Sawamura. So I guess that's as good a name as any for this
generation."

Kazuya cocks his head to the side and hums in thought. "Heeeeh? Sawamura?" He tastes the name
on his tongue and decides it fits him. "You know you're not very good at this, right?"

Now he has Sawamura's full attention. "Excuse me?!"

And Kazuya feels a proper smile spread for the first time in weeks. "I can't tell if you're trying to hide
it or just doesn't care. Because it's quite obvious you aren't human."

He's not sure what he's expecting, probably more temper at his insolence, but the deity's eyes are
wide gold, dancing like sunlight, and then he leans his head back and laughs so loudly a bird leaves
it's nest in a nearby tree.

"You're quick," he says when he's calmed down. "And trust me. I'm not hiding. I can't hide from
you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Kazuya asks, raising an eyebrow.

Sawamura grins and takes a step towards him, hand falling from the suitcase. "Everything you see on
these grounds belongs to you," he says. "The temple, the shrine, the lake, the trees. That means
they'll always look exactly as they are to you."

“Because my family made an exchange based on pieces of paper and has their name on another
piece of paper?”

More laughter, rich and genuine. And Kazuya senses that there’s nothing condescending in it. “No.
That’s for humans,” he says. “The point for now, is that you can see me because of your bloodline. I
can hide just fine from other people. But not from you. And not from your father - he is still alive,
isn’t he?”

Kazuya can’t help the shrug. It’s a default reaction. “Last time I checked.”

This time he’s the one to receive a raised eyebrow, and he avoids Sawamura’s expectant gaze. “You
know, I’d expected you to be able to keep track of your family more easily,” he drawls to drag the
deity’s attention away from his personal life.

Sawamura splutters. “I’m not omniscient!” he snaps defensively. “And you’re the ones who left. If
you want to be kept track of you can stay where —“

He stops himself, pulls a hand through his hair in frustration and turns around. “Come on,” he says,
voice still angry. “The temple is this way.”

Sawamura grabs the suitcase and stalks off down the path.

Kazuya follows him at a more leisurely pace, wondering if temper is a natural part of the deity’s
personality or if he’d simply hit a nerve. He kind of hopes it’s the former.

The shrine is surrounded by trees, young and old, and they no longer stick behind the circle set for
them. The path moves between them, circles the grounds and passes into a new clearing. Sunlight
falls across the azure surface of a lake, the water so still it perfectly reflects the noon sky above them,
and on the other side stands a lonely structure.

The main building is a single story temple, built in the ever-recognizable buddhist style with its high
curved roof and its wooden panels and columns. It’s connected to a different structure; a traditionally
built home with sliding doors and a veranda.

As they get closer Kazuya begins to see exactly how neglected it is. Beams are eroded at the bottom,
probably rotten to the core, and Kazuya is sure if he so much as touches them they’ll collapse. Some
of the shutters had been broken and one of them had even fallen completely off, but Kazuya thinks
as they get closer that it’s the only reason why the house can be saved.

The temple is in no better condition; parts of the roof have fallen off, several of the panels need to be
reinstalled and he hasn’t even seen the inside yet. He would bet his favourite mitt a family of
squirrels has made a nest in the stupa.

He can’t quite contain his dissatisfaction at the state of things, though he had expected it. "Seriously?
You live in this dump?"

"I don't live here," Sawamura says indignantly. "I exist here."

Kazuya casts him a disbelieving look before he hurries ahead to assess the damages. As he goes he
pulls out his phone to take notes on the supplies he’ll be needing, and the things he should be doing
first.

It takes him most of the rest of the day to even get the house to be passable for living in. The tatami
are mostly okay and the papers on the indoor sliding doors have very few holes in them. He got the
water running with the help of Sawamura and found an old heater that will keep him warm in the
evening. They hang the futon and the covers up so they can air properly and Kazuya hopes the few
hours will be enough for him to not suffocate in the dust. They also wash the floors and the
bathroom, and by the time the sun begins to set over the mountains Kazuya is exhausted.

“Alright,” he says, sitting down on the veranda beside the deity. “Where can I find food?”

Sawamura starts and slowly turns to stare at him. “You came all the way out here and you didn’t
even bring food? What’s the matter with you?”

Kazuya snorts at the way his voice is layered with indignation - as if it’s a personal insult that
Kazuya hasn’t managed to make sure he can feed himself. “What do you care? You don’t eat.”

“Oh, and you’re some kind of expert on deity sustenance, are you?”

The look he receives along with that statement is enough to make Kazuya reconsider what he thinks
he knows about the divine. “So does that mean you do eat?” he asks, carefully.

A shrug and a tentative smile. “When I want to. It’s not really what keeps me alive, but I enjoy a
good meal.”

And Kazuya grins. “Show me where I can buy ingredients and I’ll cook you a meal so good you’ll
want to eat every single day.”

It’s the only way he knows how to say thanks.

Kazuya thinks it's lucky he'd arrived a week before he needs to start teaching. The school had
wanted a good look at him before term begins, but he sees now that the state of the house really
needs his attention.

So the next morning he makes his way down to a supply store Sawamura had pointed out to him the
day before ("we don't have specialised stores out here so you'll have to work with limited options"),
and buys cleaning supplies, basic tools he's been familiar with since before he'd ever touched a
catcher's mitt, and coffee. He'd looked at painting supplies as well as mechanical tools for updating
the heater, but had realised he would have to carry it all by hand and decided a second trip would be
necessary.

He hadn't seen Sawamura since the night before. The deity had been so delighted with his food he'd
started dematerialising, shimmering in golden rays of sunshine, and when Kazuya had pointed it out
he'd immediately solidified again, face red with embarrassment, making Kazuya laugh.

Just when Kazuya had thought Sawamura had left him for the night he'd re-emerged in child form in
the bath, stretching out in lazy enjoyment beside Kazuya (now, that had been embarrassing).

But now the deity was nowhere to be found, and Kazuya found himself scowling as he climbed the
stairs. He could've used a helping hand, though he would never admit it.

Well, he was used to dealing with problems on his own so he hadn't exactly relied on Sawamura's
help in the first place.

Which didn’t mean he was entirely surprised when, an hour later, while he was replacing paper on
the sliding doors, he was pulled from his thoughts by the childish yell of “Miyuki Kazuya!”

A minute later a five year old with big golden eyes and a bigger smile comes bounding through the
door and onto the tatami Kazuya is sitting on.

“Oi, take off your shoes before you enter a house,” Kazuya scolds. “Don’t you know at least that
much?”

Sawamura grins and flops down beside the catcher, sticking dirty but bare feet into the air “How can
I take shoes off if I’m not wearing any?”

That little…

“You’re a cheeky one, aren’t you?” he asks, grinning in spite of himself.

Sawamura laughs and gets to his feet to inspect the improvement of the house. Kazuya’s eyes follow
the dirty footsteps the deity leaves behind on the now dust-free tatami, and a minute later he’s
grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and thrown him back into the yard.

“Hey!” Sawamura complains. “What was that for?!”

“Go clean yourself before coming in! And while you’re at it you can clean the exterior hallway!”
The child pouts and whines for a minute or two until Kazuya turns back to his own duties, ignoring
him, and not long after he hears the tell-tale sound of bare feet running along hardwood floor. He
smiles to himself, and sets to cleaning up the mess Sawamura had left behind.

The extra noise and life the deity adds to Kazuya’s enclosed world is strangely comforting. The best
years of his life are spent in dorms with noisy team mates, and the loneliest are spent in the company
of empty hallways and silent kitchens. And there’s no way there’ll be silence when Sawamura is
involved.

He stomps along the walk-ways, drops the large metal bucket he uses to keep water in, yells
greetings as he passes by the room Kazuya is working in, and once in a while he takes a break to
come talk to the catcher.

“So when are you going to start repairing my shrine?” he asks excitedly as he squats beside Kazuya,
eyes following the movements of the catcher’s hands.

“I didn’t know I was going to,” Kazuya replies. He’s only repairing the house because he needs to
live there for a year. He has no intentions of adding to his workload if he can avoid it, though he's
well aware he's expected to.

“But that’s your job!” the deity whines. “You can’t just live right beside it and then not do anything
about its state of neglect!”

“No,” Kazuya says slowly. “I’m fairly sure my job is at the local middle school. And it’s not like I
have the money to deal with the damages at the shrine or the temple. I’m not rich, you know.”

Sawamura cocks his head to the side. “What do you mean, money?” he asks and his voice is that of
an adult’s.

The change makes Kazuya jump slightly and he almost drops the door in his surprise. When he looks
up Sawamura is indeed back in adult shape, golden eyes wide and curious, smile playing at the edge
of his lips - like a secret, like he knows something Kazuya doesn’t.

“Do you have any idea what all that wood is going to cost? And I’ll need to pay people to help with
setting it up and —“

He’s interrupted by another loud laughter, and for just a moment he feels like pouting for not having
the upper hand. “You really are a city boy, aren’t you?” Sawamura comments, resting his chin in his
hand, smile silly and fond at the same time.

And Kazuya—

Kazuya can’t think, can’t breathe. Every comeback he’s ever given trickles out of his mind like water
from a spring.

“Leave all those worries to me,” the deity continues. “We should probably wait until you’ve been
introduced at the school anyway, that way it’ll be easier to get everyone to come help.”

He gets to his feet then, leaving Kazuya to stare after him in confusion. Everyone?

“Hey, Sawamura,” the catcher calls after him, as he gets up to follow the deity. “What do you mean
every-“

A truck emerges from a road he hadn’t even noticed before, and he pauses beside Sawamura to stare
in bewilderment at the men jumping from the front.
“Are you Miyuki Kazuya?” one asks, coming over to greet him.

“Uh,” Kazuya says. “Yes. That’s me.”

“We’ve got your furniture.”

“Ah. Thank you.”

They quickly determine where everything is supposed to go and within half an hour Kazuya has the
boxes with his cooking supplies in the kitchen, his score books, desk and other office supplies in his
empty work room, and his own futon and bedding in his bedroom. All his old baseball gear and
boxes with uncategorized items go into a room he’s not sure what he’ll use for, where he thinks most
of it will stay until he is ready to move back to Tokyo again.

As they work he notices that Sawamura is back in child form, running between the two men’s legs or
climbing onto the truck to examine it curiously, and Kazuya can’t help imagining a dog’s tail
waggling when he sticks his entire upper body into a box curiously.

The strange thing is that neither workmen seem to notice the deity at all. They don’t see him, and as
they’re carrying in the desk the guy helping Kazuya comments that it must be strange coming here all
the way from Tokyo and then having to live alone on top of everything.

And Kazuya can’t help but laugh.

Because he has Sawamura, and he has no idea why, but he doesn’t feel alone with the deity popping
in and out and causing havoc and creating life around him. And even if he’s been here only a day he
knows that this is how his life will be the coming year.

“You have baseball gear!”

The truck has barely departed when Sawamura bellows from somewhere inside the house. It’s so
loud several birds leave their nests, squawking in indignation at having been disturbed.

The next moment a teenager is sprinting out from inside the house, face alive with excitement.
“You’re a baseball player?”

Kazuya stuffs his hands in his pockets and laughs. “I didn’t think a god had any interests in frivolous
activities such as sports.”

Sawamura’s smile twists into a scowl and he looks deeply affronted. “Who the hell told you that?
The person who taught you about divine eating habits?”

It’s difficult to stop laughing and Kazuya clutches his stomach as it cramps, trying and failing to
catch his breath. It doesn’t help that Sawamura is squawking in indignation and yelling at him to shut
up.

“You’re really something, you know that?” Kazuya says when it’s diminished to sniggering.

“I don’t want to hear that from you!”

Which, of course, reduces Kazuya to another fit of helpless laughter.

He doesn’t really want to look at his catcher’s gear right now, wonders if he’ll ever get to use it
again. He feels like he’s mourning the loss of an old friend, a sibling, and he can’t face it yet. He will
have to pick up a ball and a mitt soon enough, but at least he can put all his focus into teaching the
children, and maybe Sawamura can be a good distraction when he’s back at the house.

But he really doesn’t want to think about his old gear.

So he laughs and starts another argument with the deity, relishing in how easy it is to smile when
he’s around living sunshine.
 Chapter 2
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The principal is a thin elderly man, who reminds Kazuya more of a stereotypical grandfather than the
head of a school. Though he's used to the greedy, fat man at Tokyo who had convinced Kataoka
Tesshin to resign, so perhaps he's biased.

He thinks, however, that this is a good thing as the principal smiles and shows him the maths
curriculum.

"These are the notes from our former teacher," he says. "And you know the official requirements for
getting into high school so if you see any need for improvement you are welcome to change
anything.”

Which is awfully lenient of them, Kazuya thinks, but doesn't say. This is not an elite school in
Tokyo, and half the students probably expect to work at their family's farm, so it’s no wonder that the
school can give a new teacher the OK to mostly do as he pleases.

"If you don't mind I would like to run any changes I choose to make past you," he says, scanning the
curriculum. "Given my short period of employment."

"Yes," the principal says, voice wistful. "It's a pity you only want to stay here a year. We'll have to
look for a new teacher again next year."

"I'm sorry for acting so selfishly."

"Nonsense!" The principal chuckles. "Miyuki-san, every year we have a math teacher is a year we
can keep the school running. And the kids will benefit from even a year under the tutelage of an
alumni of one of Tokyo's best universities.”

"That's very kind of you, sir," is all Kazuya knows how to say.

He shifts in his seat, uncomfortable in his own skin, and is eternally relieved when the principal
suggests they have a look at the facilities.

The school reminds him of his old middle school; dusty hallways and ancient furniture. The ghosts of
children play here in modern as well as more traditional clothing. The principal tells him the school
predates the Fifteen year war and Kazuya can see that little except the people have changed since
then.

Outside cherry blossom petals fall across a sports field where girls are playing soccer and boys are
running laps along the edges. They laugh and yell at each other, enjoying the sports in spite of the
low level - though Kazuya really isn't one to judge in that regard.

He wonders why he's surprised some of the students are spending their spring holiday on club
activities. While the town and the area surrounding it might be old and dusty, children are the same
no matter where you go; cheerful, resilient and full of energy.

The baseball field lies behind the school at the edge of the forest and Kazuya hears the noise before
they get there.
The clack of a bat hitting a ball.

The cheers of players encouraging their teammate, or yelling to stop the ball.

"Come on, Eijun!"

"Stop him at third!"

"Eijun!"

"Ei-chan!"

It all sends a rush through Kazuya, a million games flashing through his mind. And while he thought
those memories would dampen his mood, his love for the game is stronger than that and he finds
himself grinning instead.

The runner has stopped on third and the catcher is receiving the ball from the baseman. The scrawny
kid had obviously foiled their plans, though judging by the state of his clothing it had demanded a
slide.

The sun beats down on the field, but the kids are all moving about as if it doesn't bother them. The
pitcher winds up in a traditional side-arm pitch and throws a ball. The catcher barely catches it and
Kazuya winces. But none of the kids seem to be bothered.

The guy on base yells "don't mind, don't mind!" and Kazuya can see the way the pitcher on the
mound actually straightens a little from the encouragement.

"Are these all students from this school?" he asks the principal.

"Yes. You look surprised?"

Kazuya shifts his footing and watches as the runner makes it back home to cheers from both teams.
These are kids who have never felt the pressure of a necessary victory. He doesn't think they've ever
made it past the first game in the tournaments, but he doesn't expect them to care. They have the joy
in the game, after all.

"I was expecting I'd have to work to even have enough players to enter the tournament," Kazuya
admits. "But they're actually enough to play against each--"

He cuts himself off, staring at the new pitcher on the mound. It's the kid who had scored the run,
now obviously back in the place he enjoys the most; grin wide and happy, ball spinning in a curve
above his head as he waits for the batter to get ready.

Sunshine falls from a sky empty of clouds, and the light seems to be absorbed by the pitcher on the
mound and reflected back out with double strength, making the kid almost glow. Kazuya knows a
pitcher or two who gives off that impression; of being the centre of a solar system of energetic
players, a gravitational point, so in love with his sport, his role, that it radiates off him in blinding
light of cheer and talent.

And maybe that's why Kazuya is so surprised to see the half-hearted wind up, and the throw that is
clearly held back. It lands in the catcher's mitt only because the batter fumbled his swing.

Kazuya’s heart sinks at the lack-luster display and his pride propels his legs to move. He can’t bear to
watch even one more pitch like that.
"Ah, Miyuki-kun!" The principal calls after him.

But Kazuya is already making his way across the field, no specific plan in mind. "Time out!" He
yells.

The kids all turn to see who's pausing their game, and the pitcher spins on the mound, pointing
dramatically at Kazuya as he yells "MIYUKI KAZUYA! You're not a coach here yet so you can't
call time outs!"

The exclamation makes Kazuya pause and he blinks at the all too familiar face, though he has yet to
see it at this age. Eyes of liquid gold and brown hair standing up in all directions, a hilariously
affronted look on the kid’s tanned face, and Kazuya can only smile in resignation at the sight.
”Sawamura... Why am I not surprised you're here?"

The pitcher laughs loudly, hands on his hips, but he's cut short as Kazuya stalks up to him and hits
him over the head. "What do you think you're doing, pulling your punches like that?" The catcher
scolds. "You'll pull a muscle, idiot."

Sawamura grabs his head, tears springing to his eyes and Kazuya rolls his eyes.

Before he can turn to introduce himself to the gathering kids the principal has made it across the field.
“Miyuki-kun,” he chides. “We might be a rural school, but we pride ourselves on not using violence
to discipline the children.”

“Ah,” Kazuya says, suddenly awkward. “I — It’s not something I planned to make a habit of. I
promise you that. I have no interest in violence. It’s the road of the coward, after all.”

He can feel Sawamura’s curious gaze on him, and his matter of fact tone of voice seems to have
convinced the principal that he is speaking the truth. “Alright then,” he says. “I’ll take your word for
it.” He turns, then, to address Sawamura, his mouth opening and eyes going blank, as if he doesn’t
actually recognize the boy.

“I’m okay,” the deity says with a reassuring smile. “It takes more than that to harm me, I promise,
principal.”

“That’s right!” a female voice pipes up. “Principal, you really don’t have to worry about him. He’s
an idiot so even if he gets hit it probably won’t do any harm.”

Sawamura spins to whine at a girl Kazuya had not noticed before, whose name he doesn’t catch
because he’s too busy holding back laughter.

“Excuse me,” one of the boys speaks up, cutting off the argument between Sawamura and the girl.
He’s wearing old tatted catcher’s gear and Miyuki makes a mental note to show him how to at least
keep it in better condition (he doubts the school reserves much money for that kind of thing). “Are
you the Miyuki Kazuya? One of the best catchers of this generation, the regular catcher at the
olympics seven years ago?”

Kazuya grins at the suddenly excited children and answers the boy “yes”, and then a million other
questions, until the girl Sawamura had been arguing with before speaks up: “Eijun said you’ll be our
new coach. Is that true?”

“That’s true,” Kazuya answers.

‘Our new coach’, she’d said.

Interesting.

If the boys have accepted her at this age it means she must be good.

“But I won’t be doing much coaching until the new semester starts,” he says to loud complaints.
“Relax. I only just got here, and I’ll be here for a while so we’ll have plenty of time to get you all in
shape.”

“Why did you interrupt the game then?” one of them demands to know.

“Ah,” Kazuya laughs. “That’s easy. Sawamura!”

The pitcher squawks at his strict tone, but the crowd parts for him and he steps closer. “This idiot,”
Kazuya says, placing his hand on the deity’s head and resting most of his weight there. “Was trying
to hurt himself.”

When Sawamura steps out of his hold, wailing loudly about abuse Kazuya squats beside him. “Stand
still,” he says, speaking over the loud pitcher. “Sawamura here hasn’t been using a proper form while
playing with you,” he adds, and grabs the pitcher’s wrist and shoulder. “When you pitch you want to
stretch from here to here, and you’ll want to throw with full power. If you strain to hold back at your
age you’re doing it wrong; you simply don’t have enough experience to know how to change the
speed and power of your throws properly. And that can cause injury.”

The children listen to him attentively, nobody trying to speak or interrupt him while he’s still talking.
When he does finish they all turn to look at Sawamura.

“Why?”

The question ripples through the tiny crowd and there’s something akin to hurt in their voices.
Sawamura looks down at his feet and doesn’t answer.

Kazuya hums, letting go of the pitcher’s arm and rests his chin in his palm, elbow on his knee. “If it’s
this guy,” he says slowly. “I assume it’s because he was afraid of hurting one of you.”

He can’t say anything more specific until he’s seen Sawamura’s pitching up close, and he has more
than one question he wants answered so the deity’s pitching style isn’t on the top of his list. But he
would like a proper look at it eventually, especially because Sawamura seems to have developed
quite the bond with this team, which is something he has no intention of interfering with.

The children, however, are still confused and Sawamura is not volunteering information. Kazuya
isn’t sure what to say to break the tension; he considers telling them to not play anymore games until
he’s been through all of them once term starts, but he thinks that would ruin their fun.

It’s the girl, again, who speaks up with the most prominent point. “It’s because we can’t normally
catch your pitches, isn’t it, Eijun?”

“Wha-?! No, Wakana, that’s not- I-I mean—“

The deity stumbles over his words in his haste to reassure his team, but Kazuya can see on their faces
that the girl, Wakana, is correct.

“What does that mean?” he asks.

“It means nothing, Miyuki Kazu-“

One of the boys interrupts him. “Eijun’s pitches used to break in unpredictable places, coach.”

The other kids nod and shift uncomfortably at the memory. Had they been scared of playing with
him? Kazuya wonders. It might explain why the deity is so insistently yelling that he can throw just
fine at a slower pace and that he should be focusing on control anyway.

“Say, what’s your ambitions?” Kazuya asks once the tirade is over. “As a team.”

The children frown as if they have never considered this before, and share insecure looks to see if
anybody has any suggestions. When they settle on Sawamura Kazuya can immediately see that they
view the deity as their leader, and that he doesn’t like it.

He wonders why that is. Sawamura is brash and loud, and the last couple of days he has been quick
to beg for attention if Kazuya doesn’t provide it willingly. He obviously loves pitching as well, so
Kazuya had assumed his personality was mostly like every other pitcher’s; egoistic and self-centered.
But perhaps that is underestimating the deity; he is not human, and he must therefore be acting in
accordance with a greater scheme than that of wanting to pitch and hog the mound for himself.

Eventually, as none of the children volunteer any information, Kazuya sighs. “Think about it until
the semester starts, okay? If you simply want to have fun playing amongst each other that’s fine, and
I will help you improve with that in mind. If you want more, if you want to try accomplishing
something in the tournaments that’s also good. From what I can see you’re not hopeless so I should
be able to help you get into shape.”

He wonders if he should be influencing them down a specific path. If he was really ambitious maybe
he should try to get them to win a couple of rounds in the spring or summer tournaments to prove to
Rei that he can do this job adequately. On the other hand she sent him here, not to win games, but to
improve his communication skills so the players at Seidou would more easily trust his directions.

“I know you can get a team into shape, and that your knowledge of baseball is impeccable so I have
no doubts in that regard,” she’d said.

So now he's stuck with a rural team that might just want to have fun playing baseball. And is that
bad? Well, if he's honest, it sounds a little boring.

But he will have to trust that the children know what they want the most. And after they’d made their
decision? Maybe he’d find a way to make their practice fun, even for him.

“Explain something,” Kazuya says later that day.

He’s rummaging through a box, and Sawamura is sitting behind him, watching the flecks of dust
dance in the beams of sunlight entering through the open doors.

“Sure!” he says.

He’s back in adult form, Kazuya knows, because he’d gotten back home to Sawamura lying on the
top step of the stairs reading a book so old it looks like it’s about to crumble (and Kazuya is fairly
sure the Japanese is so archaic he’d be unable to read it).

Before he can really think about what he’s doing Kazuya has pulled an old baseball out of the box
and thrown it at Sawamura. The deity catches it with ease. He looks down at it and then back up at
Kazuya who’s frowning.

“You clearly love to play baseball,” the catcher says. “So why are you so hesitant when your team is
involved?”

The deity jumps to his feet, bristling with indignation. “I’m not hesitating!” he all but yells at Kazuya.
“I’m just-“

“No,” Kazuya interrupts him. “No. I don’t think I want to hear your excuses.”

“What?!”

Kazuya ignores the shriek of outrage, contemplating his baseball gear. It almost feels too soon to pull
it out again. He didn't think he'd want to.

But now his fingers are itching to pick up his mitt again; he wants to face a pitcher and in this
moment he feels none of the grief of having to give up the game. Only excitement at the prospects of
picking it up once.

And while he's not sure of Sawamura's level as a pitcher something in him is begging him to face the
deity as a catcher. He wants to know more than anything what kind of pitches Sawamura can throw
when he isn't afraid to pitch.

"You heard me," Kazuya says, picking up his mitt and an extra glove, which he throws at the still
fuming deity. He’s very aware he’s grinning from ear to ear, but he can’t bring himself to care. "I'd
much rather see what you can do when you're not afraid of hurting your catcher."

Sawamura's mouth closes and he stares at Kazuya for a long moment, stunned. But the catcher can
see the way his eyes are burning, and he isn't afraid of a refusal.

"Well?"

The deity crosses his arms and smirks. "And you think you're any different? It's not like you're
wearing any gear."

Kazuya rolls his eyes. “I’m touched by your concern," he retorts. "But I won't need it."

"Are you suggesting something?!" Sawamura bristles.

The catcher grins and puts on his mitt. "Yeah. That I'm that good a catcher," he says, punching his
mitt and catching Sawamura's gaze with his, trying to challenge him even without words. "So what
do you say?"

The smile that slowly blossoms across Sawamura's face is one Kazuya will remember for years to
come. It glows like sunlight in spring, open and joyful, a heartwarming reminder that sometimes
when people have been forced to stray from what they love, but are suddenly offered a road back it
can make them the happiest in the world.

And Kazuya wonders at the simplicity in that, as they set up on a field full of weeds in front of a
broken shrine. There is no mound to work with but they make do with what they have.

Setting up the right distance is easy; Kazuya has walked the distance between the pitcher and the
batter's box so many times the steps are burnt into his bones like fine cracks that will never fully heal,
a mark on his very soul that defines him as much as the mitt covering his hand.

He's not sure what he expects when he squats for the first pitch. They'd played catch to warm up
their shoulders and Sawamura had both power and speed - he's seen faster of course, but it's not bad
for someone who has never played in actual games - and Kazuya had already sensed the strange
trajectory of the ball that one of the kids had talked about earlier that day.

But it's no warning at all. Everything he's seen of Sawamura so far pales in comparison to the
perfectly intriguing form displayed in front of him as the pitcher winds up. He's a southpaw, Kazuya
realises as the right hand is thrust out like a shield, completely obscuring the view and making it
impossible for Kazuya to discern where the ball will go.

The arm comes down like a whip, limbs supple and the movement prolonged so the timing of the
pitch is later than normal. And then the ball is hurtling towards him, off course and too close to the
centre. Kazuya moves to catch it, body reacting on old reflexes from when he had to deal with
untrained pitchers and it's a mistake.

The ball breaks right in front of his face, where the plate should've been, and flies straight past his
right arm.

Around them the world goes on, following the track set by the movement of the planets, but the
shifting in time has no effect on Kazuya just then. He sits, frozen to the core, faced with the reality
that here is a pitcher whose pitch he wasn't able to catch on the first try. He'd acted on impulse,
followed the trajectory of an ordinary straight pitch, even though he'd been warned, even though he'd
sensed it.

He'd been able to sense how raw and unpolished it had been, a difficult unpredictable pitch befitting
an untrained pitcher with power and potential.

...But it had stirred something within him.

Kazuya clicks his tongue.

"What was that?!" The pitcher snaps. "If you've got something to say, say it straight out, Miyuki
Kazuya!"

The catcher gets up to retrieve the baseball. It's several yards behind him and he's relieved it hasn't
quite reached the undergrowth.

"One more time," he says when he returns.

"Alright, but don't be surprised if you can't catch it!"

And Kazuya laughs. "Is that a challenge? Don't overestimate your own abilities, Sawamura. I just
wasn't expecting the low level."

The pitcher squawks and flails, hurling expletives at him from across the field with impressive
vocabulary.

Kazuya doesn't really mind the lie. That's how he's always been; say whatever it takes to get the
pitcher motivated and moving. And there was definitely something there, in Sawamura's pitch, a
message he'd only really be able to receive if he could catch it. And he thinks if he hadn't moved it
would've landed perfectly in his mitt.

"Just wind up already!" He snaps over the pitcher's continuing tirade.

Sawamura's mouth clams shut and he takes a deep breath to relax, winding up in that impossible
form. His leg goes up and up and up, and he pauses there, poised as if on the tip of a mountain, eyes
flashing like white hot lava so a chill runs down Kazuya's back, and when the entire force of that
form comes ramming down to earth, ball catapulting out from behind Sawamura, nothing corporeal
shatters (though Kazuya thinks at least the earth should crack a little), but the catcher feels something
within him begin to crack.

He stays perfectly still this time, eyes following the trajectory of the ball, body tensing against
impulse, and the break is magnificent, mind-numbing in its sharpness, the SMACK of pitch meeting
mitt a sound that will ring in his ears like tinnitus for the rest of his life.

This time even the world seems to pause, silent and expectant, holding its breath just like the catcher
whose mitt is securely holding the baseball so it doesn’t fall to the ground, just like the pitcher, whose
bright, eyes burning with childish excitement are locked on Kazuya like he is a living miracle.

“Hey, Kazuya!” the pitcher yells. “Hurry up and throw it back! I want to see if you can do that
again!”

Kazuya?

“What do you think I am? A convenient catching machine?!”

But he returns the ball anyway. Of course, he does. In the end Sawamura is like every other pitcher;
eager to play the game in every aspect that makes up baseball, even if it’s just playing catch on the
overgrown grounds of an old, broken shrine. But this pitcher is bright and lively, entertaining in the
best of ways, and Kazuya can forget the age and the decay, he can forget turned backs and ended
contracts, because right now in this moment, he is laughing and having fun, right now he is simply
enjoying baseball in its most basic form.

Baseball, Sawamura reminds Kazuya, is not just huge stadiums and unbeatable opponents. Baseball
is something more simple; a game before it's a sport. And it can be played anywhere so long as there
are people who love it.

Later in the evening, after they’ve washed and eaten dinner, they’re sitting on the porch watching the
sun play through the leaves of the trees. A plate full of water melon slices is sitting between them,
though they’ve yet to touch any of the fruit.

“Do you want me to train the catcher so he can catch your pitches?” Kazuya asks, voicing thoughts
that have been playing in his mind for the better part of the evening. “In your child form they won’t
be as sharp or as fast as they are in adult form so it shouldn’t be too difficult. Though an idiosyncratic
pitch is still high level.”

The deity takes his time answering. He picks up a piece of watermelon and devours half of it before
he finally says anything.

“Why?”

Kazuya cocks an eyebrow at the question. “Why?” he repeats. “Isn’t that obvious? Because it’ll help
the team win games with you as the main pitcher.”

And the idiot actually has the gall to laugh at this. “And what if they don’t want to win any games?
What then?”

The catcher frowns at the question and turns back to watch the woods. He’d been caught in his own
speed again. This isn’t Tokyo, this isn’t the place he’s used to where everyone are ambitious and
looking for a challenge. This team is not trying to get to nationals; they’re just there to enjoy the
sport.
 “Then just for the sake of improving and to help better the team so they can have more fun with the
game,” he says. The words feel strange in his mouth, alien, like food with an unknown texture.
Uncomfortable. “You saw how they looked at you today, didn’t you? They want you to have fun as
well, to not hold back.”

This time the deity just hums in answer and the catcher turns back to regard him with another
questioning look.

But the pitcher isn’t looking at him. His golden eyes, mellow and soft, are watching the sun fade like
a dying creature. Though his smile is kind there is something melancholic in his air, as if the sight of
the growing shadows saddens him. “I might be okay with that,” he says after a long pause. “But
nothing more than for the sake of improvement. I might have gotten them into the game, but I want
them to be able to play without me eventually.”

“Why?”

A breathy laugh escapes Sawamura, and he regards Kazuya with the same look of wistful sorrow
he’d looked at the rest of the world with. “Because it’s not my role to remain an active party in the
human world; it’s yours. I can only guide, I can only help. I can never be the actor. That would be
stealing something precious from you.”

And Kazuya knows without it being clarified that the ‘you’ doesn’t refer to him specifically, but to
all humans, and the meaning of Sawamura’s words is like a punch to the gut, leaving him breathless.
For a long sunny afternoon he had forgotten that Sawamura isn’t human. He had forgotten that there
is a divide between him and the deity, like the void between a catcher and a pitcher.

The only difference is that this divide cannot be crossed. This void cannot be filled.

And what gets to him most of all is the fact that he had wanted to. What makes it hurt the most is that
the desire is still there.

Chapter End Notes

Yes. I know this is a day ahead of schedule but it's ALREADY KAZUYA'S BDAY
IN JAPAN AND I AM *WEAK*
Thank you for reading and for your lovely comments :D
As always please leave a comment !!
 Chapter 3
Chapter Notes

I’m fairly sure this is not how you build a shrine or do woodwork, but OTL just go with
it ok? I’m a painter’s daughter so I really should know better but...

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The spring term begins, and Kazuya suddenly has to get used to being called “Miyuki-sensei”, has to
get used to being greeted by cheerful smiles in the halls and groans as he introduces them to complex
new math.

He grins at them and says “not that I don’t feel your pain, but wait ‘till you get to high school”,
which just results in more whining and more teasing.

It’s strange, he doesn’t recall middle school ever being this simple a place; he gets to banter with the
boys and the girls, while shy in the beginning, start laughing and causing trouble as well. It’s full of
life, this world between childhood and adolescence, and he likes it, even if the dust still settles thick
in the corners and water drips from the ceiling on rainy days.

The baseball team has a long open argument about what they want to do, and finally settle on
wanting to try and at least play a couple of games in the summer tournament, so Kazuya spends the
first two weeks subjecting them to a basic regimen and observing their individual qualities. Middle
school is the place where you can cultivate the most talent at the fastest pace and he intends to take
full advantage of that.

The girl, Aotsuki Wakana, proves to be a promising batter and he does his best to encourage her to
practice her swing at home as well. She looks at him with too intelligent eyes and he almost feels
awkward giving her orders after that.

The catcher of the team doesn’t have a very strong shoulder so Kazuya fashions weights out of
different sized bottles and shows him how to practice with them. The same can be said for the other
pitcher on the team, though he’ll need to strengthen his thigh muscles as well so Kazuya makes the
two of them do squats together to build up their friendship.

“And while you’re at it,” he says, “walk up and down the stairs every time you’re on break.”

The two exchange dubious looks, but are quick to nod and run back to join the group running laps.

When they’re out of earshot Kazuya looks around for their resident deity, but when he isn’t easy to
spot he turns to Wakana, who’s batting close by. “Hey, Aotsuki, where’d Sawamura run off to?”

The girl pauses mid-swing to look at him in confusion, and for a long second Kazuya is convinced
she doesn’t know who Sawamura is. Then she shakes her head, as if to clear it and says “oh, you
mean Eijun? He’s usually over behind the shed practicing by himself if he isn’t easy to locate.”

What he finds is a southpaw pitcher, pitching into an upside-down, half rusted soccer net that has had
its original net switched out for a net with smaller holes.

“You’re surprisingly diligent for somebody who doesn’t want to play,” the catcher says as way of
greeting.

Sawamura, now in child form, finishes his throw before answering. “It’s not that I don’t want to
play,” he says. “I love baseball—“

“Which is honestly too strange for a deity.”

“—but if I’m the centre of the team they’ll just forget about it once they enroll in high school,” he
continues in a sharper voice, not entirely managing to ignore Kazuya’s jab.

“Aren’t you just forcing your love of the game on them, then?” Kazuya asks. “Lots of students give
up on sports once they have to focus on academics, so it’s not all that uncommon.”

Sawamura spins on his heel to face Kazuya, his eyes burning in a glare so fierce the catcher has to
control himself not to take a step back.

“The world is about more than winning tournaments, Miyuki Kazuya!” the pitcher snaps. “What I’m
talking about is not the ambition that comes with high stakes baseball, but the joy of being able to
play with each other and share something fun.”

He stomps past Kazuya, still fuming and pauses in the shadow of the shed. “Look at them,” he says,
gesturing to the kids on the field. “They’re not working so hard under an unforgiving sun because a
teacher told them to, or because they’re being compelled to. They’re doing it because they’re
together, because they can laugh, and because they’re looking forwards to improving. That’s not my
doing, that can never be my doing. I don’t have that kind of power.”

And Kazuya can’t argue with that. The fierceness in Sawamura’s arguments, the fact that he is angry
and obviously hurt, speak for themselves. And Kazuya wonders if perhaps he has underestimated the
deity’s intentions.

His middle school days weren’t exactly pleasant; he spent what time he could alone, and when he
had to speak to others he remained unpleasant and incapable at communicating in a way that satisfied
others, resulting in too many beatings to count, which had only isolated him further.

It makes him wonder if these kids are the same, and he spends the following days studying them off
the field, in class. Whenever he sees them together with other children it is only during class
exercises or with other members of the baseball team.

So maybe Sawamura’s intentions were never for them to play baseball, but for them to find other
human connections by sharing the sport with somebody else.

On a warm sunday morning at the end of April, the first day Kazuya can sleep in since he arrived
(something he desperately craves), the silence is broken by a loud bellow of

“MIYUKI KAZUYA!”

There's a scrape of a door being dragged open and sunlight enters his room, falling across clean
tatami and repaired doors.

“Rise and shine,” Sawamura Eijun sings. “It’s a wonderful morning and we have things to do.”

Groggy and dearly wishing he didn’t have to suffer such brightness so early in the morning, Kazuya
somehow manages to find the strength to pull his covers over his face so he doesn’t have to face the
day.
“…time is it?” he mumbles sleepily and wonders if the deity will actually be able to hear his quiet
voice.

“Quarter past seven,” Sawamura replies brightly and pulls the covers from over Kazuya’s face.

He’s kneeling beside the futon, smiling brilliantly. “You look like you’ve been out drinking with a
fox,” he observes, obviously amused.

“I’m not sure what that means,” Kazuya replies. “But I’m sure it can’t be anything good.”

The deity sniggers. “Nah, you can’t trust them.” He continues talking, complaining about a fox
further down the mountain, and some place that apparently doesn’t exist in the human world where
they used to go drinking, though they don’t talk much anymore.

“It comes with being bound here,” the deity says cheerfully as he helps Kazuya sit up as if it’s the
most natural thing in the world. Sawamura's hands are warm against his shoulder and neck, but it
isn't the heavy warmth of sleep; it's a cheerful comfortable warmth that helps him wake up a little and
makes him forget he's supposed to complain about being manhandled.

“You sure are in a good mood,” Kazuya finally manages to say, which makes the deity pause.

“Of course,” he says, smiling brightly, hands retreating. “I’m getting my shrine restored today!”

“What?”

Kazuya blinks at him, confusion serving better than coffee. He fumbles for his glasses so he can see
Sawamura clearly, read him properly.

“What do you mean the shrine is getting restored today?” he demands to know.

“The town is coming to help set it up,” the deity says, retreating to get clothing from Kazuya’s closet.
He’s almost bouncing on his feet. “I told you I’d take care of it, didn’t I?”

"What? Sawamura, we talked about this. I can't --"

"Relax," the deity cuts him off, returning to dump a clean set of clothing in Kazuya's lap. "It's
tradition around here! People gather, cut down some trees and rebuild the shrine. That's how it's
always been. All you have to do is help out where you can."

That all sounds way too simple for the catcher's liking. People don't just show up when asked to do a
full day's labour without receiving anything in return. Not these days. They might have back when
these gods were seen as more than a figment of the imagination, but that's the thing; the gods are
nothing more than a figment of the imagination, a historical relic, so why would humans listen to
them? Why would they see the need to help them when they don't even think they exist?

"I think you're underestimating the selfishness of human beings," he says, pulling off his shirt.
"People now-a-days don't do anything unless there's profit in it."

The deity squats beside him, cradling his chin in his hands and resting his elbows on his knees. His
smile is still silly, as if Kazuya's words haven't fazed him in the slightest. His golden eyes are wide
and childish, but there's mischief in his words as he says "Only city-folk are hardened like that. Out
here people understand the value of keeping the traditions alive."

There's something almost like affection in his voice at the end of his sentence, as if Sawamura is an
ageing grandfather talking about his children and grandchildren. As if he genuinely cares about the
people in this town.

And it's a little too heartwarming for the catcher to understand, a little too beautiful for him to be able
to look directly at it. So he reacts on default: "yeah? How come they let the tradition decay so much
without doing anything until now, then?"

Sawamura beams at him, and for just that one moment Kazuya can't breathe, the full blast of that
happy smile robbing his brain of all function.

"Sometimes it takes a fresh breeze to stir the ocean."

And an ocean it is. An ocean of people, old and young, men and women, faces he has yet to
recognise, voices he has never heard before. And yet they all greet him with smiles and confident
smirks.

“Ready to get to work, sensei?” they ask him, rolling up their sleeves.

And Kazuya stands stunned, not sure what to say because he’s so astonished that he was wrong.
People don’t help each other. There is no such thing as genuine unselfish kindness. There’s always a
goal, something to gain.

“No, no!” one of the women says, a plumb woman with a basket under her arm, who has the
kindest most motherly smile Kazuya has ever seen, “I think we’ve all heard enough about Miyuki-
sensei’s cooking to know his duty is in the kitchen!”

“Yeah!” another woman, with a child under her arm agrees. “You can’t force a true cook to waste
his hands on such harsh work!”

Kazuya feels awkwardness bloom in his chest at the unexpected praise. He hasn’t told anybody
about his cooking, has only just begun to plan food plans for the baseball team.

“Uh…” he says, touching the back of his neck and finding a smile. “I don’t think my cooking
deserves such high praise, and I really should be helping-“

“Nonsense!" a third cuts him off. “Leave the heavy lifting to the men. We’ve been dying to see you
at it.”

“Hear, hear,” the first agrees. “And I’m sure everyone will appreciate a good meal when they’re
done.”

Kazuya looks around at the gathered crowd, all of them nodding in agreement, muttering amongst
each other and he wonders how this has become such a legend.

Then his eyes catches gold in the crowd and he has his answer. The deity grins at him briefly before
yelling “alright then! Now that that’s settled, how about we have the kids go get groceries, and the
rest of us can arrange how we’re going to do this!”

One of the men, a hardened elderly farmer with stern eyes and grey hair nods his agreement. “When
we did this the last time we separated into three groups. The first would take down the original
shrine, the second —“

Kazuya doesn’t hear the rest of what is being said. Wakana has stepped up beside him with a
notepad in her hand. “What groceries do you need, sensei?” she asks.
Kazuya glances around at the large crowd and does quick mental calculations. He’ll have to make
something relatively easy, but also nutritious, so it can replenish all the energy spent on the physical
exercise. He only has so much space to work with, though he has a good amount of helping hands so
he gives her a list based on something he knows will be easy to make within those restrictions and
still taste brilliant.

He watches his best student hurry off to where the rest of the baseball team is waiting, before he
turns in the opposite direction to discuss his plan with the women who have promised to help. He
catches a glimpse of Sawamura nodding along with several others at the directions of the elderly man
who seems to have taken charge of the operation.

It's just a quick glimpse and Kazuya doesn't think much about the deity until a couple of hours later
when they're counting out plates and bowls. Kazuya only has so much cutlery, so they're
improvising when it comes to eating arrangements.

"Honestly, we should've thought about this when you suggested this," one of the women says.

Kazuya pauses in his task to regard her curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you've just moved here, dear," another says, kindly, but misunderstanding his question. "Of
course you didn't bring kitchenware to entertain fifty people."

An elderly woman, sitting by the kitchen table nods. "Especially when you're only staying here a
year."

"Oh, yes!" The first one says. "It's so great of you to care about the shrine too. We've been talking
about restoring it for years but have never gotten around to it. Life got in the way, I suppose."

Kazuya shrugs demurely. “Sometimes it takes a fresh breeze to stir the ocean,” he says in a way of
dismissing her apology, fully aware he’s quoting Sawamura.

The women share surprised looks, before all agreeing that that is a beautiful way of expressing it, and
the conversation derails so that Kazuya cannot pull it back on track without it raising even more
questions.

But the women had clearly suggested that he had been the one to invite them, when he had done no
such thing. Did that mean Sawamura had spoken in his name then? Adults could obviously see him
as he was currently interacting with them now. And the principal had spoken to him as well, so he
could interact with humans other than Kazuya’s family when he wanted to.

So why would he need to speak in his name?

“Oi, Kazuya!”

Kazuya swallows his surprise and turns slowly to regard the deity who has appeared out of nowhere
by his side. “Why do you insist on calling me by my first name?” he asks.

The deity scrunches his nose. “Well, it’d be weird to call every single generation by the same name.
I’d never be able to keep you separate in my memory,” he replies as if it's the most obvious thing in
the world.

Kazuya opens his mouth to protest the logic, but Sawamura beats him to it. “I know the food is
almost done, but you have to come see how far we’ve come! We’re only missing the roof and the
paint!”
Before Kazuya can say no the excited deity has grabbed him by the hand and dragged him from the
kitchen out into the yard. He’s walking so fast Kazuya has to concentrate not to stumble on the old
path, and he has no time to really take in the slightly altered scenery. He’s aware people around them
are working, carrying now obsolete tools and trash to their rightful places, but he sees none of it.

Perhaps, he thinks vaguely, that’s because the hand holding his so firmly is warmer than it’s
supposed to be; like holding a tiny sun. It never burns him however and perhaps his chest feels a little
bit heavier, perhaps his breathing comes with a little too much difficulty because of it.

Sawamura stops so abruptly in front of the shrine that Kazuya almost bumps into him. “Tada!” he
sings, waving excitedly at the new building in front of them with his free hand.

Kazuya blinks and steps out beside the deity. The shrine is indeed almost done. Everything is new,
pristine, the fresh wood scenting the air. The offering box has yet to be set up, but the bells are up,
and beside it the bath for washing hands is being cleaned by one of the mothers from that morning.

Beside the shrine the old roof tiles have been stacked neatly on top of each other. “Are you planning
to reuse the old roof?” Kazuya wonders aloud.

“Yes,” the elderly man who had taken the reins earlier replies before Sawamura can say anything.
“Roof tiles are expensive and would take time to order. This is the best we can do right now.”

Sawamura’s fingers slip from around Kazuya’s hand as the catcher turns to face the other man. “Fair
enough. Thank you for your help,” he says and bows politely.

The man doesn’t smile. “Thank you for setting this into motion, Miyuki-sensei. It’s about time we
did something.”

Kazuya glances over at Sawamura who is looking suspiciously interested in the simple design of the
pillars. “Well,” he says. “I guess that’s my duty.”

The old man scoffs. “You have no obligation to this tiny town. You weren’t even born here. But
none the less, we are grateful for your commitment now that you are here.”

Kazuya really doesn’t know what to say to that; he almost feels like a foreigner being told he
shouldn’t meddle. But he’s not entirely sure so he chooses to keep his mouth shut on the topic
instead. “Either way you’re the one who has taken the reigns here, and obviously knows what needs
to be done,” he says, laughing and touching the back of his neck in an old habit. “So, really, thank
you… ?”

“Sawamura Eitoku.”

“Ah.” So he must be the father of the woman Sawamura had spoken of. “Well, then. Thank you for
everything you’re doing here, Sawamura-san.”

That night he finds Sawamura sitting on the steps of the new shrine, eyes bright and golden,
swimming with happiness as he watches the stars above them.

He's gotten so used to spending his free time with the deity that suddenly finding him missing had
prompted Kazuya to go looking. Luckily it was fairly easy to deduce where Sawamura might have
gone, but seeing him there, glowing faintly in reflected starlight makes Kazuya think he shouldn't
have.

He's intruding.
He's meddling where he doesn't belong.

He's about to go back when the deity turns beautiful golden eyes on him and suddenly he can't
move, can't breathe, can't think. For the first time in his life he's blown completely away by the
beauty of another person, struck dumb and forgetting all his precautions, all his rules about what to
do and what not to do when it comes to human interaction, when it comes to getting too close - or
rather, the feeling of wanting to.

The crooked smile that tugs at the corner of the deity's mouth does nothing to stop the way his heart
feels heavy in his chest, a beginning ache, sweet, but unfamiliar and painful all at once.

"Today was a roaring success," Sawamura finally says, breaking the long silence, and it returns the
sitution to somewhat normalcy. A happy grin is intruding on his face and it's enough to give Kazuya
back his ability to speak.

"On that note, don't you think it's a little rude to go around impersonating people?"

The deity's grin widens into something with evil understones, and Kazuya wonders what kind of
come-back he's getting ready to fire at him. "So you picked up on that? You're smarter than you
look, Miyuki Kazuya."

"I don't wanna hear that from you!"

"Hey!"

The catcher sniggers and stuffs his hands in his pockets. "Serves you right. So? Why did you do it?"

Sawamura cocks his head to the side, wide golden eyes studying him. "I didn't do anything though,"
he says innocently. "Humans tend to assume things naturally."

It's all the answer he gets; Kazuya can see it in the way Sawamura turns his head away to look back
up at the stars, fidgeting slightly and trying to be subtle about his awkwardness. And while the
catcher is curious he knows not to pry, knows that he will either be able to put two and two together
over time, or Sawamura will confide in him eventually.

It's too strange, seeing the pitcher nervous and searching for a new topic like this, and Kazuya
decides to take mercy on him. He looks around for something to latch on to and is rewarded when
his eyes catch on a tiny pink book lying beside Sawamura on the top step close to the offering box.

He chokes on a laugh and the pitcher's eyes swing back to him, growing wide with mounting horror.
"Wha- Oi, Miyuki Kazuya!"

But his yell does nothing to stop the catcher who has jumped up the stairs, grasped the shoujo manga
from its spot on the floor and stepped out of reach. He opens the book on a random page and sees the
same old drawings of mooning girls and too perfect boys. And he laughs.

"Seriously?"

The pitcher jumps up and all but springs into his personal space trying to grasp the book out of his
hand, but Kazuya is taller than Sawamura and he holds the book out of his reach, laughing.

"Dammit, Kazuya! Give that back!"

"I didn't know you were allowed to swear? Aren't you afraid of dooming somebody to eternal
damnation on a whim?"
"That's a christian ideal. But if I could they'd definitely deserve it! Now give me back my book!"

Kazuya snorts and drops the volume into his hand. "You can hardly call this literature without
insulting actual novels."

Sawamura snaps the book out of his reach and stomps back to his seat, air exiting his nostrils as if he
were an angry bull. "Like I don't know that," he snaps, sitting back down with a thump. "I read other
things too, you know. But it's nice with a reprieve sometimes."

"Hoooo? So you actually agree. I thought you'd be more defensive."

"I definitely do not agree! But it's no use arguing you!"

Kazuya's grin widens even more. "Does that mean you think I'd win?"

"What? No!"

The pitcher grumbles something unintelligible and Kazuya laughs. "What's that? I didn't quite catch
that."

He gets a good look for that one. "I have trouble believing there's anything you can't catch. Oh,
except my pitches."

Sawamura can't quite keep the deadpan expression and when Kazuya laughs he notices the way the
pitcher's lips spread into a smile, wide and happy, teeth a sliver of white, eyes glowing. It makes him
feel like anything is possible. "Hey now, I caught most of them," he says.

"Key words here, I believe, are 'most of them'," Sawamura retorts smoothly.

And Kazuya laughs again, unable to contain the genuine cheer that erupts from within; a cheer that
stems from genuine humor at the cost of a joke, and not amusement at the expense of somebody else.
Cheer he had forgotten existed. "Touché," he says.

Sawamura is the best.

But he doesn't say that.

Instead he continues to smile at the pitcher, who smiles up at the summer sky. Instead he wonders
how much more fun baseball would have been with this guy around. Beaseball was always fun, but
it could have been so much more with Sawamura on the mound. Could have turned the catcher's
love to an obsession, a high he never would've gotten down from.

Yet, he's not entirely disappointed with how everything has panned out either. There's an entire year
ahead of him, so much time to spare, and he's sure he'll enjoy every minute of it with Sawamura
around.

When the silence breaks it's the deity that pulls him out of his thoughts, voice bright and determined.
"We should go watch the stars in fall."

Kazuya hums and looks back at him. "That sounds both cold and unnecessary. We can see them just
fine now, can't we?"

Sawamura shakes his head tragically in reply to this question. "Poor, unfortunate city-boy. You've
obviously never seen a proper night sky."

"Hey now-"
"Seriously!" The deity interrupts him and beams at him. "It'll be the most beautiful thing you'll ever
see, Kazuya!"

"I honestly doubt that."

"Don't be such a spoilsport," Sawamura says, getting up and dusting himself off. "Also, don't worry
about the cold. We can bring blankets, or you can let me keep you warm."

There's a pause in the conversation then as Kazuya brain computes this, and when he does he thinks
he might choke at the smooth way the pitcher delivers this pick-up line.

It's easy to hide it behind a laugh. "Man, I can't believe you just said that," he mutters, turning away
and hiding his face behind a hand. He's too old to blush and really he should be cringing, but he
knows for a fact that steam is coming out his ears.

"What?" The deity asks, voice full of innocent curiosity and it's too damn adorable even when he
can't see his face - especially when he can't see his face; imagination is a powerful tool.

Kazuya side-eyes him from under his palm, suspicious to his core. "You really don't know?"

Sawamura cocks his head to the side. "I was being entirely literal."

Shit.

Right. Time to compose yourself, Miyuki.

"Blankets would be fine," he says, letting his hand fall away from his face. "Though I still don't see
why it's necessary to go star gazing."

"Come on!" The deity whines, and it's hard for Kazuya to remember why he's saying no; was it to
mess with Sawamura? Was it actually because he didn't want to? Why didn't he want to?

But before he can sort out his thoughts the deity says "Here, let me give you a taste."

He grabs Kazuya's left hand with his own warm, warm hand, pressing his thumb into his palm so a
jolt of energy, golden and inhuman, races through his veins, making him dizzy, and the world swims
beyond his glasses. At the same time the deity reaches up with one golden hand and plucks the
catcher's glasses off his face before he places his palm againt Kazuya's eyes. The deity gently guides
Kazuya's head so his eyes are directed towards the sky above them, though Kazuya can see nothing
for the warm hand covering his face.

"This is what I see," Sawamura Eijun says quietly.

Slowly, one at a time, stars begin to bloom in the darkness. A single one. Then another; small specks
of light in a sea of darkness, before they begin to appear much faster, a million stars erupting like
flowers on a black field. And beyond that moons and planets spin in their eternal orbits, large shapes
so much closer, colours so much more vivid than any book has ever warned him about. And galaxies
behind those, vortexes of colour and light, swirling endless worlds they will never know.

There are no human words for what Kazuya sees that night. Starts and constellations are just words
that signify what we think we see, what books and classes have taught us to see. What gods see in
the world, what is hidden from us as humans, is something so astonishingly wonderful that perhaps it
is better for us not to be able to see it; the mundane nature of everyday life would only cause
monotony to drain away any wish to keep going in a world too grey to truly enjoy.
 And he wonders vaguely, as Sawamura's hand glides from his face, what he sees when he looks at
the earth. When he looks at humans. At Kazuya.

But he doesn't dare ask.

The catcher's eyes flutter open and for a moment he can't see in the darkness. He can't see because
he's been blinded; the deity's protecting him from the full view. Except a creature of true sunlight
stands before him, pure and ethereal, with constellations in his eyes and beauty marking his every
feature.

And in this moment, when Kazuya is still influenced by the deity's magic, when he can still see parts
of the world in their truest form, is a moment he swears he'll never forget.

"Don't forget to breathe," Sawamura says, face close, hand trailing down his jaw, warm and
pleasant, tendrils of gold sinking into his skin like tattoos, eternal markings, before vanishing to the
naked eye, as he steps away, returning to normal.

"I won't," is the only thing Kazuya knows how to say.

Chapter End Notes

SO I HAD MY FIRST EXAM TODAY!

IT WAS THE EASY ONE THO! SIT IN EXAMS ARE HELLA EASY
COMPARED TO ALL THE OTHER CRAP MY UNI PUTS US THROUGH
(though I still can't believe they make us download a surveillance app to make sure we
don't cheat - it's supper offensive and it probably breaks a bunch of rights)
Anyway!
THANK YOU FOR READING! I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THE CHAPTER!! Also
if you did please leave a comment, share your thoughts :D

And lastly
HOLY SHIT HABERDASHETTE MADE ART FOR THIS THING! I CAN'T
BELIEVE IT!! IT'S SO CUTE I COULD DIE! Thank you thank you thank you!!
http://xstonehill.tumblr.com/post/153501605373/haberdashette-xstonehill-is-writing-this
 Chapter 4
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The spring tournament comes and goes and they win two games before they lose in the third match.
It's a good start and the team is impressed by their own growth.

Wakana hit two home-runs and Kazuya kept Sawamura as replacement pitcher, as promised. The
pitcher has the strangest, most amusing commentary from the bullpen and Kazuya finds it difficult to
keep himself from laughing at the children's arguments. And it works exceptionally well to keep
Sawamura on standby; the other pitcher feels safe and comfortable with somebody he trusts at his
back so he isn't afraid to go all out, and with a curve ball and a nice straight, and good control for his
age it gets them through the games and gives the team confidence even when they lose.

"Next time," they say brightly, patting each other on the back.

And Kazuya is impressed. He has never seen baseball players who face a loss like it's a victory, like
it's something that spurs them on positively.

But they got to play more games, against new and interesting opponents and they got to experience
growth. That more than anything is what makes them feel like they've won.

On the bus home that afternoon Sawamura bounds up the isle. "Miyuki-sensei," he sings loudly.
"You're treating us to dinner, right?"

Kazuya looks up from his notes to side-eye the pitcher. He can see all the other players with their
heads popped into the isle, curious and expectant. "You really don't know how to keep quiet, do
you?"

"Nope!" Sawamura beams at him. "Then you'd just slither out. This way you can't run away, Miyuki
Kazuya."

"Oi. Is that any way to speak to your coach?"

The pitcher just laughs and Miyuki smiles indulgently, fondly. "Alright. I guess I'll treat you to some
homemade cooking."

Cheers erupt so suddenly the teacher in charge of chauffeuring them to and from games almost drives
over a ledge in surprise.

Kazuya has them take a detour to a grocery store on the way back to the school and spends most of
this month's salary on a magnificent feast (because while he's bad at telling them, they deserve praise
for their hard work, and this is the least he can do).

He'd asked the children to stay in the bus with the other teacher but Sawamura still appears beside
him as he’s collecting the groceries he’ll need.

"Didn't I tell you to stay with the team?" Kazuya demands as he's picking up a package of cooled
shrimp.

Sawamura grins, resting his hands behind his head in a carefree pose. "They won't miss me."
Then he's off to the sweets isle picking out every type of chocolate they have, yelling loudly about
how unreal Kazuya is for not liking chocolate, and he still manages to get the catcher to buy several
packages. "For the team!"

And somehow Kazuya isn't the least bit surprised that by the time they get back to the house it takes
Sawamura all but two minutes to arrange the raiding of Kazuya's old gear and another game in the
still weed-filled field in front of the shrine while the catcher is cooking.

Though he can't help but scold them once they come in an hour later, exhausted and begging for
water. "What did you think was going to happen? You had a tough game today. Baseball isn't that
easy! And not everyone has inexhaustible amounts of energy like the idiot Sawamura!"

"Hey!"

The early end to the spring tournament for them does not mean, however, that Kazuya allows the
team any reprieve. Now that they have the time he has no intentions of letting them relax, so he
keeps the pressure on them as it is, letting them practice every day after school and warning them that
if they’re up for it he wants them to practice through the holidays.

“Does that mean we get to have a training camp?” the second baseman pipes up.

“Not unless you know an appropriate place and can pool the money yourselves,” Kazuya replies.
“But we could do a week with extra intense practice, since that is the point of a training camp.”

“Couldn’t we sleep at your place, coach?”

“But what would we do about food?”

“Yeah. It’s not like we have a manager.”

There’s a pause in the conversation and they all turn to look cautiously at Wakana.

“Excuse me,” Wakana snaps. “Who do you think you are? I’m not here to cook for you lazy bums
just because I’m a girl!”

Kazuya grins at her indignation. “If that’s the case you could take turns? You’d all be doing
something every day, either grocery shopping, breakfast, lunch, dinner, late-night course after
practice, dishes. I’d separate you into groups of three, which should be enough to share the
workload.”

“What about you coach?”

“Now now,” he says, trying not to smile. “This is just a different team building exercise and I’m
paying in both free time and money. I think that’s plenty sacrifice on my part.”

“But that’s your job!” they complain and he laughs.

“Do you want a training camp or not?” he retorts. “I warn you. It’ll be hard work and you’re going
to hate it by day three. But you’ll come out stronger on the other side.”

They look around at each other for confirmation, and cheer erupts suddenly amongst them as they
realize that everyone thinks this is a good idea. And Kazuya suddenly has a lot more paperwork to
deal with for the summer holiday.

“Alright,” he says, grinning. “But you realize this means that none of you can fail your tests next
week, right? Make up classes for even one of you means no summer camp.”

“You’re exceptionally mean, you know that?” Sawamura says, picking up a piece of paper from the
table and looking it over lazily. “And even mean might be an understatement.”

“Thank you!” Kazuya answers on default.

He's been working on a diet for each individual team member, and now he's updating their training
menus. The entire table is covered in notes; old notebooks from his high school years, books on
muscle training, baseball theory, charts from the last couple of months. Any information he might
find useful.

He gets an incredulous look in reply and Sawamura waves the piece of paper at him. “What’s up
with your personality? I’d almost be fooled into thinking that—“

He stops, eyes widening in realisation and then he leans in really closely, hand coming to rest on
Kazuya’s knee for support, nose almost brushing the catcher’s neck. It happens so suddenly that
Kazuya is too stunned to move, to protest. All he can do is sit there and try not to shiver as a breath
travels across his collar bone. He’s become aware of the fact that Sawamura is unmistakably warm,
inhumanly so, but actually having him invading his space so thoroughly is an experience all on its
own. It’s like sitting close to a furnace on a cold winter morning, like keeping the oven door open
once he’s done baking because the house back home is cold and desolate and it’s a cheap substitute
for heating. There’s none of the smell of food however, but the tips of the other’s hair brushes against
his cheek and Kazuya can smell summer grass and apples on him.

With it comes the sudden impulse to move, the need to feel skin under the pads of his fingers, to bury
his nose in Sawamura’s neck in return and breathe him in. It makes him restless like a teenager, and
Kazuya bites subtly into his cheek, fingers tightening around the pen he’s been holding, and he
focuses on that rather than the fact that Sawamura is way too close, and Kazuya—

Kazuya wants him closer.

It’s a relief when the pitcher leans away, frowning a little though his golden eyes are dancing with
triumph. “I knew it! You smell like a tanuki. What on earth was your mum?” he demands to know.

Kazuya eyes him cautiously. “Why do you sound so indignant? She’s got little to do with me and
even less to do with you.”

He’s pretty sure he’s never actually met his mother, and his father has certainly never told him who
she was or what she was like. Kazuya had always assumed she’d left because of the alcohol, but
maybe that’s naive. And sometimes he thinks the alcohol came after, as a consequence of the
abandonment.

“Well, if she ruined my line then it has everything to do with me,” the deity says, leaning back and
crossing his arm.

It’s not exactly fair, Kazuya thinks. That he can have that effect on his body one moment, and look
completely adorable sulking the next moment. Not fair at all.

“Excuse me,” he says, focusing instead on the uncomfortable truth Sawamura is hinting at. “Your
line? I hope you’re not telling me you’re my ancestor or something.”

The deity looks so disgusted at his words that Kazuya is laughing before the outrage erupts from
Sawamura’s mouth. “Are you crazy? EW NO!! I’ve never heard something so stupid, Miyuki
Kazuya!” He sticks his tongue out like a five year old having tasted something bad. “Honestly, that’s
just disgusting.”

The pen Kazuya had been holding rolls across the tatami, abandoned as he uses his hand to clutch at
his stomach. It hurts, laughing this much, and he’s afraid he’ll die from oxygen-deprivation, but this
guy is too much.

“Man,” he says when he has regained some semblance of control. He’s still sniggering and he has to
dry the tears from his eyes. “You’re the best.”

He glances up just in time to see the pitcher look away, face flushed and mouth dipping in a frown,
and the rest of his amusement transforms into something like fond adoration at the sight of
Sawamura’s embarrassment. And it’s difficult not to drink it in, even as the other is obviously
squirming with discomfort, difficult not to take his time and enjoy the flushed cheeks and awkward
lift in his shoulders, the way his eyes refuse to meet Kazuya’s.

He’s not used to having this effect on others, and he thinks he could get greedy for more.

“So?” he says, finally taking mercy on the deity. “What did you mean?”

Sawamura takes a deep breath and looks back at him. “Well,” he says, and he looks like he’s
considering his words before he speaks. “You’re my line in the sense that you belong to me as much
as I belong to you. We’re both bound to this place of worship and our worlds, our lives, revolve
around it, even if one of us chooses to leave.”

Kazuya frowns at the vague explanation. It’s too romantic to contain all the information he needs to
understand the situation they’re in properly, but he can tell it’s something Sawamura doesn’t want to
talk about. Another hint. Another part of the mystery. So he simply nods and says,

“Is that what you meant when you said that you’d never be able to hide from me? The way you can
with other humans?”

The deity looks relieved that this is the part he has chosen to focus on and Kazuya has trouble hiding
his smile. “Yes, that!”

Which is when Sawamura jumps straight back to the beginning of their conversation and starts
pestering him about the training regimen for the summer camp. Kazuya is beginning to see that the
deity is not all that good at being subtle when he doesn’t want to talk about something, but he doesn’t
mind too much. It makes him aware there’s something worth paying attention to.

Kazuya thinks, two days into the summer camp, that taking care of eighteen hyper-active middle
schoolers and one exceptionally hyper-active deity is the most difficult thing he has ever done in his
life.

“Sawamura!” he snaps in the morning when the deity, back in child form, is getting toothpaste
everywhere because he’s yelling over the toothbrush to one of his fellow baseball players. “I swear
to god, if you don’t shut up and concentrate I’m going to have you run laps all day.”

Which earns him five minutes of whining and begging, while three other kids are busy trying to
sneak in on Wakana. Kazuya doesn’t bother stopping them; he knows the two who got them into
that suffered her wrath the day before.

True to form the girl appears from another door, narrows her eyes in annoyance at their antics and
kicks the feet out from under one so he tumbles into the two others.
“Wakana!” they all complain, disgruntled and insulted, from the floor, and Kazuya has to cover his
mouth to hold back laughter.

“Maybe you should try paying more attention to your surroundings,” the girl snaps. “Instead of
acting on stupidity. Maybe that way you’d become more reliable fielders too.”

She stomps out of the room then, in the direction of the front door, and Kazuya doesn’t doubt she has
every intention of running her anger off.

When she's out of earshot Kazuya relaxes and lets out a bark of laughter so loud it turns their heads.

“Sensei!”

“Hey, this is completely your own faults,” he says. “Respects your teammate. She doesn’t treat you
that callously.”

“She kicked us.”

“Because you disrespected her privacy.”

The faces on all three boys fall and they share a look. “Yeah, okay,” one of them mutters.

Sawamura slings an arm each around the shoulders of two of the boys and he grins at their surprised
faces. “If we hurry I’m sure you can catch up to her before she’s plotted your murders,” he says
cheerfully.

Which results in hilarious examples of horrified expressions on their part, and Kazuya gets another
good laugh before he has to gather the last couple of kids so they can get to the practice field for pre-
breakfast morning practice.

He organizes their mornings for muscle training and noon for individual practice. In the afternoon he
introduces proper fielding practice, and once they’ve migrated to the house for post-supper practice,
he has them do more muscle training before bed.

He has to explain synchronized fielding practice to them before they start; it’s something he was
taught at Seidou, something that helps the team speed up their delivery and it’s a good way to have
them all work like clockwork. They practice that for the first couple of days, and Kazuya knows he’ll
have to make it a returning drill until the summer holidays with how many mistakes the team makes.
On the fourth day he changes things up and has them practice how to do a proper steal. And on the
fifth day, when they’re starting to get exceptionally exhausted he steps up to the plate, bat in hand to
add the extra challenge.

“So,” he says, grinning from ear to ear. “Are you ready?”

The kids share dubious looks, but the shortstop grins and says. “Well, this looks like fun!”

“Yeah!” one of the clean-ups agrees. “It’s not every day we get to field against the coach.”

Kazuya laughs. “Don’t count your blessings! Sawamura, get up on the mound, I don’t want to scare
the regular pitcher and you’re too much of an idiot to be intimidated.”

“Who do you think you’re calling an idiot?!” the pitcher retorts, but he stomps onto the mound
anyway. “I’m going to block you at every turn, so prepare yourself!”

“I’d like to see you try!”

Kazuya still hits every single pitch the southpaw throws at him. The idiosyncratic pitch isn’t entirely
as impressive as he’s used to from the deity’s adult form so it’s easy enough to hit, as well as direct to
all kinds of places in the field so they all get practice. He doesn’t go all out, however. This isn’t
Seidou, and he isn’t Kataoka Tesshin so there’s no reason to be cruel.

It’s one of the funniest fielding practices he has participated in in a long time, and he’s reasonably
impressed by their growth by the time they’re done. He’ll have to remember to give a proper
assessment when the week is over.

“Sensei.”

Wakana’s voice drags him out of his thoughts later that evening.

They’re done with practice for that day and he can hear the slow lull of the team in the rooms behind
him, talking before sleep. Kazuya himself has settled on the porch with a cup of coffee and that day’s
notes so he can re-evaluate their progress as he does every evening.

He’s beginning to settle on who to keep as regulars and who to have on standby. It’s a little more
difficult than it would have been at an elite school as the entire team is improving at the same pace,
from the same starting point, but he can tell that their individual traits and ambitions are beginning to
show which makes it easier.

“What’s up?” he asks the pajama clad middle schooler.

Kazuya has plans for her as well, but it’s a little more difficult than just that, and making an actual
decision concerning her title would be a lot easier if he didn’t know it would bring trouble at games.

The girl takes his question as an invitation to sit down on the floor of the outdoor hallway. She
watches her feet swing back and forth over the edge before she speaks.

“Why are you keeping Eijun as a replacement?”

It’s not what he expects her to say, but he’s somehow not entirely surprised that the girl has picked
up on it.

He considers his words carefully before he speaks; there’s no need to create a split in the team now,
though he has no intentions of lying to her either. “Sawamura wants to be a support of the team,” he
says. “And he feels he can do that better by being a replacement. I also think he’s the one of you
who has the greatest desire to play baseball simply because it’s fun. So I think he’s doing what he
can to ensure as many people get to play as possible.”

Kazuya can tell she doesn’t entirely like that explanation, but the way she scowls tells him she isn’t
going to confront her friend.

He grins and reaches out to ruffle her hair. “I know he’s amazing,” he tells her, “and I know you
want what’s best for him. But he’s happy where he is, and I’ll have him play during the summer and
autumn tournament so he’ll get his time on the mound.

“And you’ll have to start worrying about the entire team soon,” he adds, winking at her. “So don’t
get blinded by your worries for Sawamura, when he’s okay with his current position. Let me focus
on that.”

Wakana’s eyes dance when she looks up at him, hands touching her hair in the process. Kazuya can
tell her mind is putting two and two together at incredible speed and he feels his grin widen.
Working with these kids is becoming something he enjoys more than he ever expected it to be,
especially when he can see the effect improvement has on them.

“You know,” she says, getting up from where she’s sitting. “Eijun might be satisfied with where he
is. He might be telling you it’s okay if we’re just here to have fun. But if it wasn’t for him we’d
probably all be alone at school, and we wouldn’t be playing baseball. So it’s difficult for the rest of
us to just accept that he’s satisfied where he is, when he wasn’t satisfied with where we were.”

She throws him a wry smile. “But if Miyuki-sensei says he’ll ensure Eijun doesn’t stay where he is,
then I guess I’ll have to trust you with him.”

Kazuya frowns at her retreating back, wondering if she knows more than she’s letting on. This
thirteen year old with too much brain between her ears.

He’s almost sad he won’t get to see her grow up and he wonders if he wouldn’t try to convince Rei
to offer her a scholarship if Seidou had one for female baseball players.

But perhaps there’s something he can do.

“You’re becoming a real teacher.”

Kazuya jumps a little as the deity appears out of nowhere beside him, warmth wafting over him.

“Please tell me you can’t read minds.”

“Of course not!” Sawamura wrinkles his nose. “And I certainly wouldn’t want to get anywhere near
yours if I could!”

Kazuya grins and nudges him with his elbow. “What? You wouldn’t want a taste of genius?”

Sawamura snorts a laugh. “I’d hardly call somebody who only excels at baseball a genius. Honestly,
the fact that you’ve survived in the world for twenty-seven years without help is a miracle.”

“How rude! I don’t want to hear that from a deity who hardly has any worshippers.”

“Whose fault do you think that is?!” Sawamura retorts. “The family who was supposed to keep
things going decided to up and move to the big city. And how did that work out, hmm? Their only
son can hardly communicate with other people.”

Kazuya rolls his eyes. “I’m doing just fine communicating with you, aren’t I?”

“Doesn't count. I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt.”

“Yeah right!”

They continue bickering for a while. Until Kazuya says “Since you didn’t read my mind, I take it
you were eavesdropping?”

Sawamura splutters and looks off into the darkness. “How dare you suggest such an outrageous
thing, Miyuki Kazuya!”

Kazuya laughs at the denial, but he continues anyway. “Are you okay with worrying Wakana and
the others? They want you as their ace so what’s the problem? Even if they get distracted from
baseball isn’t the important part the here and now?”

Sawamura sighs and looks back at Kazuya. He seems to have accepted that this is a discussion
they’ll keep returning to, but Kazuya can tell just from his expression that he’s stubbornly set in his
ways.

“Not when I’m stealing an opportunity that belongs to a human. Every single one of you exist here
for but a moment, and I have no interest in stealing that moment from any of you. If anything I just
want to make the experience better.”

It hits Kazuya like a punch in the gut, this statement. It’s another reminder, an awful reminder of
something he doesn’t want to think about.

They have a year together. It’s a whole year. It’s enough time to get sick of each other. It’s going to
be alright; he doesn’t have to think of this now.

So he grins and taps Sawamura against the chest with his knuckles. “Your integrity is surprisingly
high. For an idiot.”

Which results in a squawk of indignation and another argument.

The evening the training camp finishes Kazuya takes his time applauding their efforts and promising
them all a feast the following morning, as well as two full days of rest before they start regular
practice again.

The entire team is crying and sniveling, but happy with their own efforts, as they walk back to the
house, exhausted and ready for a sleep in.

Kazuya lets them sleep until they wake the next day, and at lunch he sets up for a barbecue, which
results in excited yells and team shenanigans for the rest of the day.

Halfway through their little feast Kazuya calls for silence.

“You’ve all improved spectacularly this week,” he says. “And I’m honestly sorry we’re such an
unknown team that I can’t even reward you with some scrimmages to prove to you how much
you’ve grown. But you’ll see what I mean once the summer tournaments starts in two weeks, and I
promise you after that we’ll have plenty of schools asking us for practice matches before the fall
tournament!”

The stunned silence that follows this speech makes Kazuya smile. They had probably never expected
that from him, but he has learnt over the years that there’s nothing wrong with praising hard work.

“And on that note. I think it’s about time we selected a captain, and regular players for the summer
tournament. I promise you’ll all get to play; that’s what you’ve been wanting after all. But we need to
establish the shirts and the roster as the rules demand it.”

There’s a general acceptance of this, and as he starts calling out names and numbers for the shirts he
notices that none of the kids are disappointed with their positions, which is good. It’s satisfying to
know you aren’t disappointing anybody, though he knows it won’t be that easy once he returns to
Seidou.

“The batting line-up will be more fluid depending on who’s in the field and who we’re up against,”
he adds once he’s done giving out numbers for their shirts. “But in general we’ll need a captain who
can lead the team with dependable batting…”

He let’s the suggestion hang in the air for a moment and watches the way the boys all, as if in unison,
turn to Wakana who goes completely pink in the face at their faith in her.
 She’s been leading them well this week and after those first few days of the boys acting without
thinking they’ve come to treat her with respect off the field as well as on it.

“Well, I guess that settles that,” Kazuya says, grinning at her. “What do you say, Aotsuki?”

Some of the colour leaves her cheeks and she levels them with a calculative gaze. “I hope you won’t
regret this. I'm not going to hold back!”

The team answers her like it’s second nature.

Chapter End Notes

I hope this satisfied your Sensei!Miyuki and Akagi feels for now xD this was quite
heavy with that plotline, but it's going to move in the background for the next chapter.
Thank you for your lovely comments and thank you so so much for reading!! I hope
you had fun!!
Please do leave a comment, I love to hear your thoughts and impressions!
 Chapter 5
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Kuramochi calls him the day after they lose in the summer tournament.

“Congratulations on getting those brats into the top-sixteen ranks,” is the shortstop’s greeting.

Kazuya lifts his phone from his ear and stares at the caller ID for a moment. “Who is this?” he asks
when he places the receiver back against his ear.

It’s too early for this, he thinks. He isn’t quite ready to face the morning, and he certainly isn’t ready
to think about the fact that his team had been disappointed.

They’d gotten a taste of victory and they had been amazed they’d gotten so far. And they had started
to hope.

“It’s Kuramochi,” comes the irritable reply. “Is the reception so bad out there you can’t even hear the
voice of the only person who has sunk low enough to call you since Takashima exiled you?”

“Oh, it’s Mocchi,” Kazuya drawls. “I just wasn’t expecting such an unsympathetic phone call so
early in the morning. And certainly not from somebody who is absolutely a softy at heart.”

A string of curses falls down the line from Tokyo and Kazuya laughs at his friend. “I swear to god,
Miyuki. Sometimes I wonder why I even care!”

“It’s my charming disposition isn’t it?”

“Like hell!”

Sawamura walks into the bedroom just then, yawning gracelessly - like he actually needs sleep, the
bastard - and eyes Kazuya curiously.

Kazuya points to the phone and mouths ‘old teammate’ around his sniggers, and the deity nods and
vanishes out the door again.

“But seriously,” Kuramochi says, tone changing uncomfortably fast. “You’ve done something
amazing, getting those kids in shape in such a short period of time. It’s almost a pity you won’t get to
coach them for another year.”

“You really have no tact,” Kazuya drawls, shredding his t-shirt in the process before he goes looking
for a clean one in his closet.

“What? Don’t tell me you’ve actually gotten attached.”

Why is he being forced to think about this? He has so much time left with these brats, and with
Sawamura, that he really doesn’t want to face it yet. Even if they only have one tournament left
together there’s still the off-season, and he plans to leave notes behind for the next coach (and
hopefully getting them into shape means somebody will be interested in keeping them going) and—

Kazuya slams his forehead against the door of his closet. “Yes. Dammit. I got attached.” He groans.
“What’s wrong with me?”
A cackle of laughter. “Well, wasn’t that what Takashima wanted? For you to get involved?”

“Kuramochi.”

“Yeah?”

“Go to hell.”

“Excuse me!”

Kazuya lets out an obnoxious laugh. “You’re excused!” And after that it’s easy to change the topic
to other things, to familiar things. To topics that don’t make his heart feel heavy with predetermined
loss.

He almost wants to curse Rei for getting him into this situation.

“You don’t look too happy today,” Sawamura comments when Kazuya emerges into the outdoor
hallway twenty minutes later with a meagre breakfast.

The deity has shrunk into the shape of a seven year old and Kazuya sits down beside him with a
sigh. He watches Sawamura bind wild daisies into the beginning of a flower crown.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in a worse mood?” he asks as way of answer as he bites into his toast.
“We lost.”

“But we got so far!” Sawamura protests, looking up at him with wide golden eyes. “Isn’t that
amazing? They got so far, they experienced so many things! That would never have happened if you
hadn’t come here, Kazuya!”

Trust Sawamura to find the positive in a loss, Kazuya thinks. The fondness he feels for the deity
bleeds from his heart and makes his shoulders feel lighter.

“If I hadn’t come here, huh,” he repeats, voice light. He leans back on his hands and stares up at the
blue summer sky. Is it wrong to experience hardships? He doesn’t think it’s bad. Does he like feeling
responsible for taking away the innocence of this team’s baseball? Yes.

But maybe he can make up for that.

Or maybe he shouldn’t.

He’ll have to give it a good think.

Kazuya is so stuck in his own thoughts as he eats his breakfast that he doesn’t notice Sawamura
disappearing, and he certainly doesn’t notice the brat re-appearing until a giant venomous-looking
yellow bug is held up uncomfortably close to his face.

He lets out an undignified yelp and crawls quickly backwards to get some distance between himself
and the insect.

Meanwhile Sawamura is cracking up. The deity is laughing so much he drops the bug into the grass
(and good riddance!). “You should see your face!”

“Why you little—“

Kazuya jumps up from his spot on the floor and runs after Sawamura, who very quickly discovers
he’s in for a bit of punishment, lets out a squeal of delight and sets off across the field.
It’s easy with Kazuya's longer legs to catch up to the kid, but as he gets closer Sawamura veers to the
right, and it’s only Kazuya’s quick baseball reflexes that ensures he wins the chase. His hand reaches
out and he catches the deity by the wrist, but the momentum carries him beyond his center of gravity
so he loses his balance and tumbles towards the ground, child in tow.

This time it’s his reflexes that saves them as Kazuya pulls Sawamura close, curls around him and
rolls over. It still hurts like hell, but when he opens his eyes Sawamura is sitting on his stomach
undamaged staring down at him with round eyes.

And though his heart is beating wildly in his chest at their little adventure Kazuya is relieved that it
hadn’t gone worse.

"That was fun!" Sawamura says grinning from ear to ear. "Let's do it again!"

Kazuya leans his head back against the ground, grass tickling his cheeks, and closes his eyes. "No,"
he sighs.

"Awww!" Kazuya can actually hear the pout in the boy's voice. "Then lets at least hunt for beetles
together!"

Kazuya’s eyes fly wide open and he stares at the beaming child still sitting on him. “No! Now get
off!”

“What?” Sawamura cocks his head to the side and draws out the sound wonderingly. Then a
mischievous smile spreads across his face. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of beetles, Kazuya.”

He’s been on the other end of schemes like these too many times to count, but Kazuya has never
been on this particular side of a scheme before and he suddenly understands exactly what he has
been putting his victims through. Not that he’s backing down without a fight, he thinks grudgingly,
and lifts himself suddenly, spreading his legs, so the child rolls off his stomach and onto the ground.

“Hey!” Sawamura yells, pointing at him accusatorially with one hand and grabbing his head with the
other, tears springing to his eyes. “That was mean and it hurt!”

Kazuya smirks at him. “Serves you right for sitting on people,” he says, getting to his feet.

He’s about to turn around when Sawamura jumps to his feet and directs pleading eyes at him - which
is completely unfair in Kazuya's book. “Come on,” he says, lower lip poking out in a pout. “Don’t
you just have fun some times, Miyuki Kazuya?”

Kazuya rolls his eyes in defense. “I’m twenty-seven, Sawamura,” he says, trying to look
unimpressed. “Running through a forest looking for insects is not my idea of fun.”

“Oh,” the deity mutters and his hands fall away so that Kazuya can turn around and walk back
inside.

He manages to take a couple of steps before a cheerful voice says from behind him “well, if age was
all that’s holding you back…”

Kazuya feels a chill run down his spine as he realizes exactly how doomed he is, and he looks over
his shoulder, opening his mouth in protest, just in time to see the deity lift his hand, and light blinds
him.

When he can see again the world is much larger than it used to be, and he rubs his eyes under huge
spectacles only to pause and stare down at tiny hands that have lost most of their dexterity.
His tiny heart pounds wildly in his chest as his brain tries to comprehend what has just happened,
and he looks up to a grinning Sawamura, who is too damn pleased with himself, and the annoyance
carries him through to acceptance.

“Sawamura, turn me back or I’m going to strangle you!”

His voice cracks and he flushes at the sudden change in tone to a much higher pitch, which takes a
lot of the threat out of his words.

And Sawamura laughs. “You can’t call me Sawamura in that form, Kazuya,” he says cheekily. “It’s
just not right when we’re both children.”

“I’m not a child!”

The deity takes a step towards him and looks at Kazuya closely. “Where’d your sense of adventure
go?” he asks curiously.

Kazuya opens his mouth to protest; he has his comfort zones and he prefers not to be forced out of
them. Which, he supposes, is exactly why Rei wanted him out of Tokyo for a while; so he could
experience new things. This is probably not what she meant, however. He can’t imagine anybody
anticipating being turned into a child by a deity just so they can hunt for beetles under the summer
sun.

His mouth twists into a frown as he stares back. “Promise you’ll turn me back to normal once we’re
done,” he says.

His voice is so light now, it’s uncomfortable, and his glasses, squares now, slide down his nose so he
has to push them back up.

Sawamura grins like he’s won the war. “Of course,” he says.

Kazuya takes a deep breath through his nose and prepares himself for the consequences. “Alright.
But—“

“Yes!” Sawamura cheers, cutting him off, and grabs his hand dragging him into the shade of the
forest.

“Wa-wait!” Kazuya protests, childish voice high. “Sawa- Eijun, stop!”

“Nu-uh!” the other boy yells over his shoulder. “You’re going to have fun, I’ll make you!”

And somehow Kazuya ends up laughing. “That doesn’t sound right.”

They veer left around a tree suddenly and Kazuya almost stumbles. He clings on to the hand holding
his and concentrates on not stepping awkwardly. It’s easier to move in this form than he expected,
though his balance does feel a little off.

Sawamura slows down as the hill grows steeper and they get into an area with less trees.

Kazuya, grateful for the chance to catch his breath, pauses and looks around. The sun falls through
leaves in hues of green and gold, specks of dust dancing in rays of light like stars, and it’s impossible
to see the ground for all the undergrowth.

“Seriously, listen to me,” he says, looking back at Sawamura. “I don’t… I mean, I’m not comfortable
with bugs.”
The other boy gapes at him. “How can you not like beetles! They’re so pretty! Look!”

And he bends down to rummage through the undergrowth, and miraculously (though he’s probably
cheating, Kazuya thinks) he manages to produce a colorful insect the size of his hand in a matter of
seconds.

“It’s so pretty!” he says, holding it up for Kazuya to inspect.

But Kazuya lets out an undignified squeak, and moves to hide behind Eijun. “It’s really not,” he
insists.

He’s fairly sure Eijun changed him into the same age as himself, but as he stands on tip toes, holding
on to the other boy's shoulder, so he can keep his eyes on the beetle still in the southpaw’s hand he
realises that he’d forgotten how tiny he was as a child.

Eijun’s mouth twists into a frown and he glances from the struggling insect to Kazuya. “But look at
it,” he insists for the thousandth time, holding it up so the sun catches on the shield so it glows. “It’s
like a jewel of nature!”

“Jewels are created in nature, idiot,” Kazuya retorts on reflex.

“Kazuya, appreciate the lesson here!”

Kazuya sticks his tongue out at the other boy who glowers at him in return.

“A jewel of the forest then!”

And Kazuya laughs. He relaxes his shoulders and takes a step back, feeling safer now that he’s
relatively used to the form that’s been forced on him.

Which is when Eijun pounces. “Here,” he says, whirling around and grabbing Kazuya’s hands he
can place the beetle in it.

A violent shiver of fear and disgust runs through Kazuya, but the deity is holding his wrist tight and
is refusing to let him go or shake the beetle off.

It’s sharp little claws speed up his arm and Kazuya closes one of his eyes, and pulls his head as far
away as he can. But the beetle pauses at the tip of his shoulder, shakes its wings out and takes flight.

“See?” Eijun says, beaming as the insect flies off, reflecting the sun’s light in orange and blue hues,
and even Kazuya has to admit that it’s beautiful. “They’re not really all that scary are they?”

“I bet it was poisonous,” Kazuya says, side-eyeing the other boy.

But Eijun catches the smirk hiding at the corner of his lips and grins. “Don’t worry. I’d heal you in a
sec if they were. You’re safe with me, Kazuya.”

“That’s comforting coming from the mouth of a seven year old.”

Eijun nudges him with an elbow, frowning in mock-hurt. “What? Don’t you have any confidence in
my abilities?”

“Well, you’ve spent the last seventy-five years sleeping on the stairs haven’t you? I bet you’ve gotten
rusty!”

Kazuya laughs as Eijun flushes. “Damn you, Miyuki Kazuya!” he exclaims. “I have not gotten
rusty!”

They squabble for a while, and eventually Eijun gets Kazuya into looking for beetles, which he does
tentatively at first. As he gets used to the feeling of the strange creatures, however, it turns into a
competition of who can find the biggest, most colorful beetles the fastest.

Kazuya is so into their little competition that he doesn’t even notice them moving further and further
away from the house. The sun dances around them, keeping them company, and the birds laugh in
the trees high above them as they observe the children’s antics. And Kazuya only notices that they
are far away from home when he gets to the edge of the forest and is faced with the school grounds.

His fingers slacken around the beetle currently in his hand, voice dying in his throat as he watches
his team play baseball.

It’s so much like that first day he’d observed them. They look happy and carefree, yelling
encouragements to each other as they play, so different from what he’s used to from his days in the
diamond and yet now it’s such a familiar thing. Their forms are much better and they’re moving with
more fluidity now. The hits are flying longer distances and the pitches are thrown with more
certainty, the fielders returning the ball faster, and the catcher no longer fumbles with the ball.

“They’re doing fine,” Kazuya says, sighing in relief.

He sits down at the edge of the shadow the forest casts and watches the children play.

A hand falls on his shoulder and he looks up to see Eijun smiling down at him. “See? They’re happy
about the results,” he says. “Kids are sturdier than adults give them credit for.”

“I can see that,” Kazuya says.

He didn’t expect this. But he’s happy for them.

Perhaps Eijun is right when he says that baseball is there for the sake of having fun, and perhaps
even if you forget that you can regain the feeling, you can find it again.

Kazuya remembers the type of baseball he’d played back in high school. It had been tough; none of
his pitchers were ideal. But they’d scraped through and he’d watched them improve and he’d been
proud. And it had been fun. Baseball had been so much fun.

When had he lost that feeling?

Wasn’t that why he had fallen in love with the sport to begin with?

Something stirs within him at the thought. A desire he’s been trying to push away, but it’s so strong
now, like a current that’s pulling him along mercilessly, and he thinks he’ll die if he doesn’t voice it.

“I want to play again.”

He looks up at Eijun, knowing the wish burning a hole at his core must be showing in his
expression. But the pitcher doesn’t recoil, his eyes spark with excitement; red-hot embers that only
make Kazuya more excited.

“And so you shall,” the pitcher promises.

They play amongst the trees a while yet, running ahead of each other or hiding behind large tree
trunks, laughing and teasing each other. It's light and full of cheer and for once in his life Kazuya
actually feels like a child. Like he belongs in the forest, to the brightness of the sun. And he relishes
every moment, letting go and following at Eijun's pace.

They find a patch of grass in a clearing not too far from the house and tumble into careless sitting
positions, still laughing and grinning, still playfully poking fun at each other, until some of the
adrenaline leaves them.

The sun is hot above them, warming them and making Kazuya feel like a lazy cat, and it's somehow
the most natural thing in the world to lay down in the grass beside Eijun, head resting on the other
boy's shoulder, and fall asleep.

And in sleep there are dreams...

Kazuya dreams of a man in blue robes sitting in an outdoor hallway. In his hand is a carefully crafted
and preserved old text, which his amber eyes scan with care.

He is soon interrupted by another young man who sits down beside him and begins talking. Kazuya
can neither see his face nor hear his voice, but he recognises the energetic movement, and most of all
the way the deity's skin is semi-transparent, shimmering like golden sunshine.

The dream changes but Kazuya stays in place. Snow falls in heavy flakes around them and children
in blue robes hurry from room to room, covered feet staying on the now old hallway. It's clear that
time has passed, that it has taken its toll on the temple, but the people here are still lively.

None of them pay much attention to the youth sitting in perfect posture as close to the edge as he can
get, eyes glued to the lines of an old text. Only one, a child with a cheeky grin falls back and sits
down beside him to talk to the now completely solid deity. And the smile he receives in response is
as sunny and affectionate as the ones Kazuya receives.

Kazuya dreams of a tiny village in the mountains. Of a group of travelling monks coming across it
while it suffers a drought. Here the sun dances in the air as well, but the leaves it hits are golden
instead of green, fading too fast under the unforgiving heat and light. The fields are dry, creating no
new food and the people die of thirst and hunger. The monks watch all this with patient
understanding and find the old shrine of the god of the area.

The god sits on steps of a broken shrine watching them with hateful eyes and starts an argument with
them before they have even begun stating their errand. Only one has the patience to stay there, to
speak the peoples’ case. The rest leave in anger, their pride too damaged to forgive. The seasons
change around the two who remain on the top of the hill by the broken shrine, and patient frowns
and angry hatred turns to smiles and friendly camaraderie. The shrine is slowly rebuilt along with a
buddhist temple and with it the sun begins to shine with less ferocity so that the people of the area
begin to look healthier, the water returns and with it the crops.

A bird shrieks in outrage and the flutter of wings high above them breaks the silence.

Kazuya wakes with bleary eyes and heavy limbs. A cloud passes over the sun, leaving them in cool
shadow and he curls closer around the child whose head is pressed against his chest. The grass
sways around them, dark green in the shade, until the child in his arms yawns and stretches and the
cloud above them moves on so that the sun once again re-emerges.

“Finally awake,” Sawamura says, once he has sat up to look down at Kazuya.

Kazuya rubs his eyes and when he looks back up at the deity he’s back in adult form. “Yeah,” he
said.
 “Took you long enough,” the other scoffs and Kazuya grins.

“Well, it’s not everyday I get to enjoy such a good teddy bear.”

He gets a squawk of indignation at that. “I’m not your personal stuffed toy, Miyuki Kazuya!”

“Is that so?” the catcher croons, holding back laughter. “You had the perfect size for it though.”

Sawamura huffs and gets to his feet. “Well, I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything else with that
shitty personality of yours.”

“Thank you!”

“It’s not a compliment!”

And Kazuya laughs. He’s relieved to be back, relieved that Sawamura is still the same he’s always
been; easy to get a rise out of and delightful to tease. He’s relieved that the deity’s eyes are bright
yellow, mellow gold, cheerful in spite of his annoyance.

“Help me up,” he says, holding up his hand.

And in spite of the complaints that leave his mouth, Sawamura still grabs Kazuya’s hand and hauls
him to his feet.

Kazuya tightens his grip and uses the momentum to lean into Sawamura’s personal space, faces
tantalizingly close. “Thank you for the nap. We should do that again, Eijun,” he croons, drawing out
the deity’s chosen name.

Sawamura flushes and jostles him, complaining loudly that Kazuya obviously isn’t awake yet and he
should know to keep his mouth shut when he’s still half asleep. And Kazuya laughs again, because
it’s impossible not to.

As they walk back to the house neither relinquishing the hold on the other’s hand, and Kazuya
wonders why exactly he was relieved.

He can no longer remember the dream.

Chapter End Notes

"the plot, like my gravy, thickens."

It's 6.20 in the morning and I haven't had any sleep yet, but I'm DONE composing my
research paper. IT has been sent off to two amazing people who have enough patience
to look through grammar and arguments and I love them eternally.
I hope you guys had fun with this chapter. It was one of the more cheerful ones to write
for me xD Poor Kazuya. But yeah. Some hints about Eijun's background and some
childish shenanigans (quite literally).
Now if you'll excuse me I'm dead on my feet and intend to find my bed before I pass
out.
Thank you as always for reading, and commenting. I love hearing your thoughts and
would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter as well
 Chapter 6
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

“Keep close now,” Kazuya says, uncomfortable with raising his voice yet knowing it’s a necessity
over the loudness of the crowd.

The middle schoolers trail close behind him, doing a good job at not getting lost in spite of being
jostled from all sides. With the way they look around like tourists in Tokyo, apprehensive at the scale
and noise, Kazuya wonders if it’s the first time they’re at an official baseball match.

“Sawamura!” he snaps, pausing in his tracks to call the wayward pitcher back to the group. “Pay
attention, or I swear I’ll have you run laps for a week.”

“Like that’s anything new!” the brat retorts so loudly he turns heads. He still jumps down from the
railing he’d been standing on to survey the field with dancing eyes, and he smiles so brilliantly
Kazuya knows he isn’t the least bit ashamed of his behavior.

“Try showing a little more remorse,” he orders, grabbing Sawamura by the wrist and pulling him in
front of him so it’s easier to redirect him when he gets distracted. He's smaller than he's supposed to
be, in a form years younger than the other kids and Kazuya hopes it's just the excitement getting to
him. But at least the others don't seem to notice; Kazuya had been worried in the bus since the
shrinking seemed so obvious then, completely in proportion with the deity's mounting excitement.
Though it seems to have stabilized now.

They eventually find their seats and Kazuya checks that all nineteen students are present before he
starts speaking.

“So this is the finals of the summer tournament for the high school league,” he beings. “This is a
completely different level than what you’re used to so don’t be intimidated. Pay attention and learn.
If you have any questions underway feel free to ask me as always.”

He directs his attention to the pitcher and catcher on the team. “And you two, sit with me so I can
point out their leading strategies throughout the game, alright?”

The kids nod mutely as he directs them, and the match begins.

It’s strange, watching high school level baseball again. There’s a lot more life than he remembers, a
different energy in the air that comes from youthful inexperience (and they are inexperienced in his
eyes) and the hope of a bright future. Kazuya can easily tell which of the players on the field will be
there for the next ten years of their lives and which will look for blue and white collar work once
they’ve finished their high school and university careers respectively.

His catcher’s eyes cannot not asses them all critically, but he also sees some of his own mistakes
from the last two tournaments in the decisions that the more experienced coaches are making.

It’s a new experience.

More than once one of his students break his concentration and he misses something, but this is also
part of his learning process and he explains everything as simply as he can.

The reason why he even chose to bring them here today was to show them that there is something
beyond middle school baseball. Perhaps he’s been listening too much to Sawamura, but he wants
them to consider what it might be like to pursue their fledgeling love of baseball even at a higher
level. He wants them to dream.

And as the ginkgo trees turn to gold above their heads and autumn sets in, he sees the way the game
has awoken a new spirit in his students. They stay later for extra practice. He can tell they swing their
bats at home. He sees the way the battery sticks around each other even during breaks.

It’s good. He remembers to praise them for it. He remembers to up their training regimen, to
challenge them as best he can with the equipment they have. He knows that with his deadline the
school can’t afford to pay for equipment when they might not have a coach next year. It’s a tough
pill to swallow, this deal he has made with Rei, and it’s becoming worse the closer he gets to the fall
tournament.

They all know it’s the last tournament Kazuya will be coaching them through, and he can see that
that influences them as well. It reminds him of his second year of high school, of the battle they
fought and lost to keep their beloved coach when they had already failed to take their upperclassmen
to nationals. These are things that happen, of course, but he will have to ensure that this team does
not feel the same level of disappointment once they reach the end of the fall tournament.

In an effort to distract himself from thoughts of the future Kazuya researches if there is a
neighborhood association team in the area, and finds that he’s lucky; the next town over, which is at
least three times as big as the one he’s currently living in and the one whose high school most of his
students will be attending after middle school, has one. He calls the contact person and expresses his
interest in having a look.

“Of course! We’d be honored to have the Miyuki Kazuya take an interest in our team!” the contact
person says. He stays polite but Kazuya knows the entire team will know about this five minutes
after they end the call.

“Good,” he says, keeping his voice neutral. “Would it be alright if we came by next sunday?”

“Of course. We do have a practice match then,” he says, and then there’s a pause. “Did you say
‘we’?”

Kazuya grins into the speaker.

Sawamura Eijun does not enjoy being kept in the dark.

Kazuya had suspected this for a while, but the way the pitcher whines during the entirety of the bus
ride and the walk to the area the neighborhood association rents for practice sessions, proves it.

It’s funny the first twenty minutes, but after that the only reason he’s not attempting to strangle
Sawamura is because he knows it’ll have no effect what-so-ever.

“I mean, you could at least tell me what’s in the bag!” Sawamura complains as they get off the bus.

Kazuya shifts the huge sports bag hanging from one of his shoulders so it balances better and snaps
“if you can’t figure it out on your own I’m not going to help! Honestly, you’re a little stupid, aren’t
you, Sawamura?”

He gets a squawk in indignation in return. “I am not stupid! How dare you, Miyuki Kazuya!”

The catcher sniggers and plots the address into the gps on his phone. They have five minutes to walk
from the bus stop, but he’s still relieved to have an address. The area around them is residential, a
labyrinth of small houses with gardens and fences, with every street looking exactly the same, and
half the signs missing from their poles.

“Alright, we’re going this way,” he says finally.

Which has the deity spluttering. “Don’t just ignore me!”

“Are you coming or not?” Kazuya asks, grinning at him over his shoulder.

He gets a strange look for that, golden eyes mellow rather than fierce and angry mouth slackening
into an ironic smile. “Well, it’s not like I have a choice when it’s you.”

“What a strange reply,” Kazuya hums, wondering aloud what Sawamura means with it.

“If you can’t figure it out on your own,” the pitcher repeats his earlier words back at him, as he
catches up. “Then I’m not going to tell you, stuuuuupid!”

“Oi,” Kazuya drawls, and reaches out to tweak the tongue Sawamura is sticking out at him. He’s too
slow, unfortunately, and the pitcher steps back, out of reach.

And this time it’s Sawamura’s turn to laugh. A rare sound from somebody who is usually so upbeat,
and Kazuya finds that he treasures it all the more because of this.

He’s been excited for this all week. If they’re lucky he’ll manage to influence the neighborhood
association to let them play in the practice match they’re having today. He’s made sure they’re
arriving early enough to participate in practice, and he’s hoping, though he knows it’s absurd and
illogical, that it means participation will be possible.

Sawamura is definitely rubbing off on him, he thinks, glancing at the other, a faint sigh falling from
his lips.

“What?” Sawamura demands to know, having caught the sound and Kazuya grins.

“We’re here,” he says, gesturing down a road to their right that leads to a baseball field and an old
club house.

It’s amazing, the way Sawamura lights up at the view, mind having quickly connected the dots. His
eyes glow and he shimmers, dematerialising momentarily until he is pure sunlight, and his smile is
possibly the most beautiful thing Kazuya has ever seen.

“You could have told me!” he says, jostling the catcher in mock annoyance. “Does that mean the
stuff in your bag is catching gear? Are we going to play? Does this mean I get to pitch? Come on,
Kazuya! Answer my questions!”

“It’s a little hard to get a word in edgewise,” Kazuya laughs. Sawamura has been circling him,
jumping on the tips of his toes, energy suddenly overflowing from him. “With the way you keep
bombarding me with questions. Though I suppose it’s nothing new.”

“Don’t lie, Miyuki Kazuya!” the pitcher snaps. “With that sharp tongue of yours, I’d be amazed if
you could ever be silenced. Damn tanuki.”

Two men stick their heads out of the open front door at the sound of Kazuya laughing obnoxiously.

One of them steps out of the door while the other vanishes back inside, hollering something
presumably to the rest of the team and they're set upon within minutes, by men of varying ages; from
younger than Kazuya to middle aged. They're a surprisingly large group for a neighbourhood
association, but then Baseball is the most popular sport in Japan and most of the members have
probably played in high school.

Kazuya barely gets to introduce himself and Sawamura before they're both invited inside.

"Judging by the bag I assumed you'd like to participate?" One of them asks.

"I know it's presumptuous to assume..." Kazuya begins, trailing off and smiling sheepishly.

"Not at all. We're a battery short so it'd be a great help. Though we'd like to see how it goes during
practice."

Kazuya nods and calls Sawamura over. The pitcher had been chatting with several of the other team
members, seamlessly fitting into the team like he'd always belonged there.

"Here's your practice uniform," Kazuya says, handing Sawamura a bundle of clothing. "It's an old
set of mine but it should only be loose over the shoulders and arms since we're the same height."

Sawamura looks from the clothing in his hand to Kazuya's face and back again, and most of all he
looks like he's lost the ability to speak, eyes wide with wonder, like Kazuya has given him something
of meaning.

"What?" Kazuya asks, scratching the back of his head, suddenly self conscious. It's not weird right?
It's not like a deity has personal possessions...

Instead of answering him Sawamura just beams. "Thank you, Kazuya!" he says and hurries off to
change.

The catcher watches him go.

It's been about four months since he arrived in Nagano and he hasn't gone a day without the deity at
his side. And yet he's still not grown used to the sporadic smiles, so sudden they blindside him
completely. Kazuya has always been good at dealing with people; predicting their movements was
second nature, a way to always be a step ahead, a way to stay on safe ground. In control. But he
doesn't have control with Sawamura. If anything he's the one being led by the hand most days, and
most days he doesn't mind.

"Miyuki-san," one of the members of the neighbourhood association calls out to him and Kazuya
almost jumps.

"Ah, yes?"

"The changing rooms are that way, if you're lost," the man offers helpfully, pointing in the direction
Sawamura had vanished.

"Thank you."

The man blinks at him. "It's not my place to pry of course. But are you alright, Miyuki-san?"

Kazuya studies his face for a moment, open concern in the ageing lines of his face. Probably a father
who is used to anxious teenage daughters or introverted sons. Somebody who is simply inquiring out
of kindness.
"Yes. I'm sorry," he says, pulling his hand through his hair. "I was just ... spacing."

The man smiles at him and pats his back. "Go get changed and I'll see you on the field."

Kazuya nods absently.

He wonders how long he'd stood there after Sawamura had vanished out of sight. He hadn't even
noticed, too deeply absorbed in his own thoughts.

Now he shakes them off, however, knowing that baseball needs all his focus and attention.

After the first few introductions on the field they fall in with the rest of the team for warm-ups and
fielding practice.

It's a little difficult to adjust to the lower level. Kazuya is used to reflexes that run like clockwork,
reaction times that make pick-offs quick and easy, and a team of fielders that give the pitcher peace
of mind. Which is not what he has here.

The neighbourhood association has a high skill level for people who don't play the sport
professionally and he notices that they don't seem to mind the mistakes they make. It gives the play
much more flow and movement, and Kazuya thinks he likes that a lot.

"Hey, Sawamura," he calls once they start setting up for the practice match. "I'm going to start off
with straights for the first half, if that's alright with you. I think we should mostly pitch to contact."

Sawamura looks up at him in surprise. "You? Pitching to contact?" He looks absolutely shocked,
then disturbed. "Who are you and what have you done with Miyuki Kazuya?"

Kazuya jostles him in the side. "Show some respect. I am your catcher, you know."

The other does his best not to smile and wrinkle his nose instead, though he fails comically enough
that Kazuya starts sniggering.

"This is a match played primarily for the love of the sport," Kazuya observes, turning to watch the
rest of the team being separated into four groups. "So I think it would be good if we could include as
many fielders as possible. Instead of just making it a battle between the batter and pitcher."

Sawamura grins. "That's surprisingly unlike you. But I like it," he says and tabs Kazuya's chest with
his knuckles. "Let's go play some baseball."

He stalks off, probably expecting Kazuya to follow, but the catcher is left momentarily frozen by the
gesture and the natural feeling to it. There had been no hesitation in his movement; it had been a
natural thing to do. And usually Kazuya is the one using it, just another part of the catcher's job, an
imitation of the camaraderie that exists in a true battery. Something he's never actually experienced
before.

But there it is, he thinks as he sets up in the shadow of the batter, second nature to this pitcher who
glows on the mound. Glows like a setting sun, the rays falling across the earth from a dying star,
casting long shadows and drawing his attention like a magnet.

Sawamura nods at his sign, having grown used to them over their many practice sessions and
Kazuya sets up his glove, expecting and receiving a perfect pitch.

Strike.
The batter looks from Kazuya to Sawamura and back again, surprise painting his face. The form had
obviously gotten to him.

Kazuya lets a mischievous grin split his face as he sets up again and this time the batter pops the ball
nicely, and the shortstop takes off, catching it just in time, sending it to first.

Out.

The air around Sawamura changes, growing static with excitement at that first out and Kazuya feels
his own mood rise with his pitcher's. Yes, he's happy he chose this strategy; it might be more
stressful to a pitcher playing to win, playing with a championship on the line, carrying his team's
expectations. But while Sawamura plays to win there is no championship or demanding teammates.
They are not separate from the fielders as it sometimes feels like in the pro league; they are part of
that entity, a proper clockwork. And they're all simply there to enjoy their love for a game that has
settled deep within their bones.

Another two strikes and then the batter sends the ball into centre field where it isn't caught. The
fielder sends it back so the runner is stopped at second, but Kazuya eyes him suspiciously. They
might want to steal here, he thinks. Which means a bunt.

He gestures to Sawamura, a series of signs suggesting an idiosyncratic pitch. He's noticed already
that the batters don't like Sawamura's unreadable from too much. It's amusing to see their surprise
and astonishment, but they also know how to swing and hit, to trust their batting, so he needs
something to throw them off a little.

But the pitcher on the mound shakes his head and gives Kazuya a meaningful look that seems to say
'it's still too early in the game, don't you think? Let's give them a proper comfort zone before we start
breaking it.'

Which he's absolutely right about, Kazuya thinks. He glances at the first clean up, who is stocky and
carries a wooden bat, then at the runner getting into position. Perhaps they're not going for a bunt
here, if the clean-up is reliable, as he should be. And even then it's early in the game, so while he'd
like to get the momentum there's no need to sacrifice a good game plan just yet.

Alright then...

The batter pops the pitch on the fourth throw and it lands perfectly in the second baseman's glove.
Out and out.

They fall easily into the flow of the game after that and Kazuya feels the way his body begins to
thrum with excitement as it progresses. He gets to run more than once, gets to laugh at Sawamura's
failed attempts at batting, gets to laugh even more at his ridiculous commentary together with the rest
of the team, and he gets to be astonished by the pitcher on the mound.

Again and again they strike out batters. Their plans run smoothly and while Kazuya has to actually
communicate with Sawamura quite a lot - the pitcher is not dumb when it comes to leading and he
has his own opinions - he finds that he actually enjoys it. Especially because Sawamura isn't just
pitching whatever he wants, he's assessing the batters and coming up with strategies as well,
strategies that work as well as Kazuya's, strategies that start mirroring Kazuya's the further they get
into the game.

And as the game reaches its last inning something clicks into place within him. Warmth spreads
through him; a feeling of belonging that's never been present in his life before. Not in an empty
childhood home that has lost saturation in his memories over the years, not in his high school
baseball team on a field that freezes over by a northern wind, and not in the pro league where there
are no challenges, everything feels monotonous and all the pitchers are boring.

No. This is truly where he belongs. Under the warmth and light of the sun, wearing a smile matching
the mischievous grin of the pitcher on the mound, with excitement thrumming through his veins. On
an old baseball field in the middle of nowhere with no audience and a team that doesn't really know
each other well enough to function smoothly. This is where he's always belonged: in a battery with
Sawamura Eijun.

"That was amazing!" Sawamura repeats for the hundredth time that evening.

He's still grinning, shimmering like dancing sunlight, laughter in his very air and Kazuya nudges his
shoulder with his own affectionately.

"Oi. Try to control yourself," he says. "Or I'm not going to be able to see any stars at all. Geez, you'd
think a deity had better control over his powers."

Sawamura huffs at the jibe. "How dare you. I have plenty of control."

"Says the person who randomly turns into a toddler when he's excited," Kazuya sniggers.

Even in the semi-darkness Kazuya can see the hot flush that creeps across Sawamura's face, and his
grin widens.

His body feels pleasantly heavy and lax after a full day of baseball, a feeling he's always associated
with happiness. He's missed it. And the return heightens his sense of euphoria, lowers his guard and
makes him feel like he can do anything. It’s a little like being drunk, but Kazuya doesn’t really pay
too much attention to the feeling.

Instead he turns his focus to Sawamura.

“And honestly, your pitching could do with some fine-tuning as well,” he says, sniggering as the red
vanishes from his cheeks and Sawamura makes a face that is hilarious.

“Don’t lie! My control is perfect on the mound,” Sawamura screeches, hitting Kazuya over the head
with the rolled up blanket he’s carrying. It’s soft and doesn’t hurt and Kazuya just laughs louder at
his complaint.

“Violence is the last resort of a man with no vocabulary,” he misquotes.

“Excuse you!” Sawamura draws himself up. “I’m fairly certain I have a more refined vocabulary
than you’ll ever have, Miyuki Kazuya!”

“Yeah?”

“Well, of course!”

“I’m surprised,” the catcher says, shifting the weight of the basket in his hand and looking ahead at
the path they’re following. “I’ve yet to see any evidence of that. And don’t blame age,” he adds,
side-eying the deity smugly. “I think we’ve already established that you’ve spent the last two
generations sleeping. And who knows what you were doing before that.”

Sawamura lets out an impressive harrumph and turns his face away, dramatically indignant and
Kazuya grins at the back of his head for a moment.
Before he can stop himself or think better of it he’s thrown an arm over Sawamura’s shoulder and
dragged the slighter man a little closer to him, shoulder brushing against his chest. “Come now,” he
says, lowering his voice intimately, though he can’t hide the timbre of amusement. “Don’t sulk,
Eijun.”

The tension leaves Sawamura’s limbs and he glances up at him through his lashes, golden eyes
unnaturally bright in the darkness, glowing like beacons of light where there should only have been
the company of cool night. “You’re impossible, did you know that?” the deity mumbles, still a little
sullen.

Kazuya grins down at him, though he can’t entirely find all his usual cheer. “What a nice way to put
it,” he says.

It’s certainly nicer than ‘your personality sucks’, he thinks.

Sawamura breathes out through his nose like a resigned bull and settles under Kazuya’s arm. Neither
of them breaks the silence as they make their way around the edge of the forest, but it’s not
awkward; it’s companionable and comfortable, and Kazuya finds himself more drawn to the look on
Sawamura’s face than the view out over the town down the steep hill. Lights flicker on down there
to make up for the quickly vanishing sunlight, illuminating their path and casting long cool shadows.
And above them clods move from the large expanse of the sky, stars appearing, bright and luminous,
blue and white flowers against a field of black.

And at the same time Sawamura’s warm skin casts a faint, warm glow in the darkness, the light from
the town reflecting off his dark-brown hair, creating highlights of orange and amber. And his eyes,
his eyes that share a smile with his lips, grant the world a look of quiet kindness and adoration, like
he thinks it’s the most beautiful thing to behold. Like he thinks it’s worthy of sharing his light with.

And to Kazuya that expression makes Sawamura the most beautiful thing in the world.

Sawamura leads them along an almost vanished path, long grass and dying autumn flowers brush
against their pant-legs as they follow it, and through a line of trees into a different field with different
flowers dotting the surface of long grass. They leave the path to cross the uncontrolled field and
Sawamura pauses when they reach the middle.

“Here is good, I think,” he says, turning his head to the sky and breathing in deeply.

In this wide flat space the sky seems to bend above them, as if you could really sense the roundness
of the planet and as Kazuya’s eyes get used to the darkness the sky seems to expand above him.
Millions of stars in beautiful belts of colour spread out before his eyes and he takes it in with quiet
reverence. Space is not black. Space is full of more colour than he could possibly imagine or
comprehend.

The world is more beautiful through the eyes of Sawamura Eijun, Kazuya realises as the deity turns
his eyes back to him, and Kazuya knows that when he loses that light it will all go back to blacks and
whites, it will lose the vibrancy and the wonder.

Yet, he finds he cannot bring himself to worry of the future for once, and maybe it has something to
do with the fact that Sawamura holds up a hand for him to take, beckoning him closer, and smiling at
him like Kazuya is part of the beauty that is the world, as if he is just as precious to Sawamura as the
stars in the sky and the flowers surrounding them.

And like a moth to a flame, Kazuya is helpless to refuse the allure in that smile, the gravitational pull
that makes his legs step towards the other without conscious thought. Kazuya wonders vaguely
when he’d fallen so deeply, and why it’s not a black hole of despair and resignation. Perhaps there is
simply no way to feel like that when you love somebody who loves the entire world as much as
Sawamura does.

“Is it even possible to lay out the blanket here?” he asks.

“Drop that smirk,” Sawamura grouches, glowering at him. “We’ll just have to bend some of the
flowers a little.”

“My, and here I thought you were kinder to nature,” Kazuya mocks.

“The plants will be fine,” Sawamura says. “They’re sturdier than you give them credit for.”

Such unexpected faith in fragile things. Sawamura might be protective and nurturing in a very
forward way, but he is also good at stepping back and letting people carry themselves, of letting them
take action. He doesn’t just find the living beautiful, he respects them as well - whether they be
fragile flowers or bored children… or lonely catchers with little direction in their lives.

They settle down on the blanket and Sawamura is quick to start talking. He tells stories of the stars
that humans have forgotten, points out constellations that exist on no charted paper today. He tells
Kazuya which are simply stars far away and which are gods, sleeping and waiting for their next
rebirth.

“Some day,” he says, smiling up at the stars. “Someday I will be up there too. Resting my spirit
before coming back.”

Kazuya hums low in his throat, wondering if he’s allowed to comment on this.

There’s a strong itch in his chest, one begging him to lift his hand and touch the person in front of
him, connect with him before he vanishes, breaking into little stars that will fly away on the wind,
scattering until they can no longer connect, until Sawamura Eijun no longer exists in this world.

The thought doesn’t hurt him, as it should. But the temptation is too great to refuse.

He leans forward a little bit and runs a knuckle along Sawamura’s cheek, skin warm and soft. It's a
gentle touch, feather light, and the other shivers when there is little cold. When he turns to look at
Kazuya, following the prompt of the touch, golden eyes wide, Kazuya smiles at him, affection
burning through his veins, erupting from the deepest corners of his heart and forcing his actions.

“What will you come back as?”

Sawamura searches his face for a long moment, and Kazuya knows the earnest curiosity on the
other’s face is innocent and without judgement, so maybe he shows him a little too much, maybe he
wants to know what Sawamura sees.

The pitcher responds with an open smile, trusting and beautiful, and so so heartbreaking in the
context of their conversation that Kazuya feels it like physical pain in his chest. Sawamura takes his
hand and laces their fingers together before placing their hands back in his lap. “If I’m lucky, I will
come back as a human.”

“Why?”

Sawamura’s laughter, warm and cheerful, washes over him. “Because humans have the most
freedom in this world. Your potential is endless. And your connections, your bonds, are so pure and
true. It makes me a little envious. Like, have you heard the story of—”
And Kazuya lets him change the topic, leans a little closer and enjoys their shared heat, the way their
hands stay connected. Sawamura’s words are calming, the sound of his voice something Kazuya will
never get enough of. It is not the first time Sawamura has changed the topic and it won’t be the last.

It’s simply another part of who he is. And the parts he does not wish to share with Kazuya do not
scare him; he has parts like that too. Parts too ugly or too fragile to ever bring into the light.

Though he thinks Sawamura is wrong on one account; humans don’t always have beautiful bonds
and Sawamura has plenty of bonds with the people around him. The kids at the school certainly love
him, they reciprocate his love and protection of them in the most genuine way possible, something
Kazuya could never imitate.

And he hopes the bond he is gaining with Sawamura is one he will never lose.

A dying star crosses the sky as he thinks this and he smiles up at it, hoping it caught the wish.

“Hey, Kazuya.”

“Yeah?”

Sawamura looks down at their hands, connected as they are, and his grip tightens. Kazuya can sense
the shift in mood and waits attentively for the other to build up his courage.

“Remember I said that at some point I will need to step back and let humans take active part in their
own lives?”

Kazuya stiffens, feeling a sudden need to pull his hand back, but he knows it would show Sawamura
more than he’s willing to share. The sting of rejection is premature, he knows, but it’s there none the
less, anxiety at the thought of separation following close behind and unsettlingly stark in his heart.

“Yes.”

“Well, I think it’s about time,” Sawamura says. “The kids are doing just fine now. They have you.
And they have a genuine love for baseball that is blossoming into something brilliant. I know there’s
only one tournament left this year, but I don’t think they should lose the both of us at the same time.”

“Wait,” Kazuya says, trying to wrap his head around the deity’s words.

The relief he feels is ugly and selfish.

“You mean, you’re just going to leave the team?”

The bitter light in the deity’s eyes tells Kazuya that he’s only grasping what’s on the surface. “That’s
one way to put it.”

It unsettles him that there is still so much he doesn’t understand, but Kazuya can in no way blame the
deity for keeping things from him. He is only human after all, and he is sure his short lifespan makes
it impossible for him to grasp it all.

But the anxious expression on Sawamura's face burns through his veins, and he wishes he could
understand what the deity means, what the look in his eyes means. He wants to be able to help, to
carry some of the burden along with the deity. To make everything a little less heavy for him.

And there’s nothing he can do to make that happen. Nothing at all.

“Won’t it be lonely?” Kazuya asks finally. Because while he cares about the kids they have each
 other, they will get through it.

But Sawamura is alone.

He’s been alone for decades. Left behind by Kazuya’s family.

And while Kazuya has always kept to himself, has always had walls up, he is not an anti-social
creature by nature. He has always had people around him. Which is not the same as the soul crushing
loneliness of napping on the steps of a broken shrine for seventy five years because there is no
company, nothing better to do.

“I will be alright,” Sawamura says, giving his hand a squeeze and lifting his free hand to brush his
fingers through Kazuya’s bangs. “I’ll always watch over them. And I have you.

“For a little while longer.”

Chapter End Notes

Aaaaand we've reached the halfway point.

Thank you so so much for your lovely comments. I am honored to hear your thoughts
on this story.
I'm only sorry I haven't gotten around to answering all of you yet OTL
But my oral defense is next Tuesday so if I survive that I should get be able to reply
promptly again. (Otherwise I promise to ask somebody to upload the rest of the story
xD)
THANK YOU AGAIN! And I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter as well!!
 Chapter 7
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Above them and around them the world makes its turns in the galaxy. Kazuya can tell because the
leaves soon begin to fall and his students complain about new tests, more difficult math and winter
bringing different chores. Kazuya can tell because he sees kindergarteners carrying bags of beets
they've been on an excursion to dig up, as children have always done. He can tell because Rei comes
all the way from Tokyo to check on him and his team.

She smiles and waves as he comes to pick her up from the train station, looking most of all like
herself, familiar eyes shrewd behind the glasses.

“So, Miyuki-kun, are you ready to be graded?” she asks him, amusement twisting at the corner of her
lips.

“Wow,” he says sarcastically. “‘Miyuki-kun’? Now I really feel like I’m back in school.”

She looks like she’s controlling herself so she doesn’t roll her eyes. “Would ‘-san’ suit you better?”

“How about first names?” he suggests cheekily, grinning.

He gets a mock-stern look at that. “Do you make it a habit to treat all your superiors like equals?” she
demands, glasses flashing under the sun making her look severe.

“I would never!” Kazuya lies, looking shocked. “Also you’re not my superior yet, Rei-chan.”

“Yet being the keyword here,” she says, pushing up her glasses.

Kazuya laughs and shows her the way to the school.

While they’re walking he asks her about Seidou, about his former teammates that he has lost contact
with. She indulges him, knowing he’s always been too bad at social interaction to show he cares in
person.

Some are working white collar or blue collar jobs, some play baseball. There are even ones who
have found time to get married and have a kid or two. Kazuya is not entirely surprised to hear that his
old upperclassman, Chris, has taken up a strategic position for one of the pro Tokyo teams. Nor is he
surprised to hear that Furuya has just begun his last year in the international league.

Seidou is doing fine. Coach Ochiai is still coaching, still using some of Kataoka’s old methods,
though Kazuya isn’t entirely surprised that the current head coach has made Seidou a more
impersonal place than it was.

“That’s,” Rei hesitates as they enter the school grounds. “I shouldn’t speak ill of one of my father’s
employees and my own superior, but … I am hoping you’ll hel bring the school back to what it was
under Te- under Coach Kataoka.”

Kazuya smiles, ignoring the slip-up. “I take it that’s why you wanted me to work with middle
schoolers for a year first,” he observes.

“Sharp as always,” she muses, which is the only confirmation he gets.

The kids don’t take well to her; it’s a reminder that Kazuya is going to leave them soon. But they
remain polite, thank her for her praise on how they’re doing in the fall tournament.

And they have been doing well, deserve the two days respite before the quarterfinals begin. There
have been slip-ups, of course, but Kazuya can tell that their summer camp and later, more intense
practice had been paying off quite well.

Wakana regards her coolly while she replies to questions on batting techniques, and slowly warms
up enough to demonstrate. She calls the team’s now only pitcher over and hits a home-run off him,
much to his chagrin.

“Did you have to go all out against me?” he yells from the mound.

“Well, I had to give her an objective look at how much Miyuki-sensei has taught us, didn’t I?”
Wakana retorts mischievously.

The catcher groans at their argument and cuts in. “Are you guys done, or can we go back to the
bullpen now?”

“Bullpen is probably best,” Kazuya says, grinning mischievously. “Before Aotsuki breaks our Ace.”

“Heck no!” comes the disrespectful reply from the mound. “We’re doing ten more!”

“That’s quite the temper you’ve got on the mound there,” Rei comments quietly.

Kazuya smiles proudly at the way their pitcher now holds himself. So different from half a year ago.
“Yeah, he really took after our reserve. He wasn’t this confident when we began.”

Wakana blinks at him in confusion, as does the catcher. “Reserve, coach?”

Now it’s Kazuya’s turn to look confused. “Yeah? Sawamura Eijun?”

It takes a moment for them to understand his words, blank eyes betraying sluggish brains, as if
something is blocking their memories. But then they smile and say “oh yeah, that’s definitely
something he picked up from Eijun,” and Kazuya isn’t entirely as relieved as he should be.

“She’s quite talented. Aotsuki Wakana,” Rei comments when they move away from the practice
field to watch the team from a distance.

“Yeah,” Kazuya agrees. “You don’t by any chance know a female team in Tokyo that might be
interested?”

A sly look. “Looking out for your students, are you, Miyuki-sensei?”

“Now that I wouldn’t mind being called,” he replies cheekily. He sobers quickly, however. “Yeah.
She has talent and I don’t want to see it go to waste if it’s something she wants to pursue.”

Rei rubs her chin thoughtfully, eyes never leaving Wakana. “I’ll see what I can do. There should be
some teams scouting, but I can’t promise anything.”

“Fair enough,” Kazuya says, accepting her verdict. “I’ll just have to do my best to keep them in the
tournament for as long as possible and see if any scouts show up.”

She laughs and pats his back. “I’m glad to see you’ve livened up again, Miyuki.”

Kazuya grins at her compliment, checks his watch and excuses himself. It’s time to demonstrate
some fielding practice, he thinks.

They get to the finals, and then lose magnificently.

“It’s okay, though,” he tells them, crouching down so he’s their level and pats the catcher’s head
since he’s the one closest. “You did great. Dry your noses and get back out there.”

A hand falls on his shoulder as he stands alone in the dugout, watching his team do their best to
compose themselves, backs trembling under the defeat. And he looks over to see Sawamura smiling
at him.

“Thank you,” he says. “They’ve come this far because of you.”

And Kazuya is grateful that he’s there, grateful for the warm hand on his shoulder and warm eyes
watching over his students. When he leaves those eyes will still be watching them, and he is relieved
at the thought.

“Coach!”

“Miyuki-sensei!”

Sawamura vanishes from his side as the team comes thundering back, tears streaming down their
cheeks, but their smiles are all blazing with happiness. “Wha—“ Kazuya begins, but before he can
ask what changed their mood so drastically he’s been tackled to the ground by eighteen middle
schoolers in a group-hug so brutal he thinks he hurts at least two ribs.

“Thank you for teaching us!” the pitcher says.

“Thank you for taking us this far!” Wakana joins in.

“Thank you, sensei!” they all chorus. “We’re sorry we couldn’t take you further.”

And Kazuya—

Kazuya has to hold back tears for the first time in years. He has to control himself to not show how
touching this is, how nostalgic it is. He has to contain the effect these kids have on him, when he had
not expected to get attached at all.

It was just supposed to be a year.

It was just supposed to be a stepping stone.

He hadn’t expected anything from them. Not really.

He had underestimated them.

And now he wants to apologize, but he knows that he can’t. He knows he can’t ever tell them how
much they’ve surpassed his expectations, because it would mean telling them how much he didn’t
care in the beginning.

So instead he laughs and ruffles the fifth hole’s hair. “Are you trying to make me quit tomorrow? We
still have half a year to make you guys even tougher for next year! I’m not done tormenting you yet!”

The news paper cameras catch a brilliant picture of the losing team laughing along with their young
coach, and Kazuya cuts out every single photograph he can get to in the following days.
Cold winds soon sweep across the middle school’s baseball grounds and the students begin to wear
their winter uniforms, bowing their heads in determination to absorb everything they can while they
have the time, stubborn enough to not let nature best them.

The sun eludes them for weeks, chill rain falling and Kazuya has to remind them to take hot showers
in the school changing rooms so they don’t catch colds and to keep spare clothing just in case they
get soaked.

And while the team seems cheerful Kazuya begins to really feel the weight of Sawamura’s missing
presence; he was always the mood maker of the team, even from the bullpen, but now that he’s not
there they do the best they can without him. And yet, Kazuya can feel it sometimes in the silences,
the missing yells of challenge and loud encouragements.

It’s worst the day he realises that the team have forgotten he ever existed to begin with.

He’s showing their only pitcher a new grip.

“This is one of the ones Sawamura used,” he explains. “It should transform into a good curveball if
you throw it correctly.”

The pitcher looks at him eyes wide and innocent. "Sawamura who?"

Kazuya frowns, feeling a sense of deja vu, as a cloud covers the sun above them. “Sawamura Eijun,”
he says, trying to be patient, trying not to let unease turn into panic. “The other pitcher who quit
before the fall tournament?”

Wakana who is close by pauses and cocks her head to the side. ”What are you talking about? We've
always only had one pitcher."

A grin like a defense mechanism settles onto his face. A distorted mirror of how he truly feels.
Something he can’t show. “You know. That guy who got you all into baseball.”

"Don't joke like that, coach."

Which has him laughing, promising he won’t tell a joke like that again. Won’t mention Sawamura
Eijun to their ears again. Because it is just a joke.

A cruel joke.

Maybe one they’re playing on him, though he knows they are too kind and they care too much for
that sort of thing. Children are not that cruel.

So why can’t they remember?

He knows the answer, of course. Knows it deep in his bones, has known it for months. Since that
first time Wakana looked like she’d momentarily forgotten who Sawamura Eijun was, since the
adults looked at him and stated that he had been the one to come knocking and asking for help with
the shrine.

But he doesn’t like it. Doesn’t want to believe the implications, the consequences, the effect on his
own life.

As he walks back from the school, deep in thought, he comes across a familiar sight. There's a tiny
shrine by the roadside dedicated to a cat deity, and in front of it a teenager is sitting feeding a group
of strays. His brown hair catches gold in the sunlight and he grins unabashedly at the felines,
obviously talking to them.

Or maybe with them.

After all it's Sawamura and if Sawamura exists then other deities must as well.

He watches for a while, considers his options. Tries not to let doubt and panic rise in him like bile.
Maybe it has to do with age, he thinks. Maybe it’s only children who forget. Children, after all, are
gay and innocent and heartless. They simply don’t have the patience or the nostalgic need to
remember, faces blend together and names are whisked away by the wind, and before we know it
we are adults with few memories of early childhood.

So he bets everything on that single hope and calls the neighborhood baseball association to check in
with the contact person.

They small-talk for a while, he is praised for his work on the middle school, and thanks them many
times for coming to cheer with the rest of the crowd.

“And speaking of which,” the contact person says. “It was quite spectacular to see you work with
one of our pitchers! As expected of a pro.”

“…excuse me?”

“Yeah! We were all talking about it afterwards!” the other man continues. “Sawada has never
pitched that accurately before…”

He continues to gush for a while, but Kazuya barely hears him, only manages to reply with short
impartial sentences and thanks before he has to hang up.

Fear lodges like a plague under his skin.

It isn't just that people can't always see Sawamura. If they do see him, if they do interact with him,
going without his presence for a prolonged period of time means that they'll eventually, or perhaps
very quickly, forget him.

Not just children. Adults too.

And Kazuya is sure, no matter the power and connection that rests in his own blood, that he is not
exempt from this rule.

Was Sawamura never going to tell him that? Was he just going to let Kazuya go on his merry way
and forget all about him?

The idea makes a feeling of betrayal well up in him. And it makes him unnecessarily angry.

He's always accepted that people meet and part. Human bonds have never applied to him, like
they've never applied to his mother or his father. They're affected by the bonds, but they do not tie
them up or hold them back. And while people over the years have tried to change that fate of
Kazuya's it has only made him run faster. Run from human connections. Run from people that care
about him.

But now the tables are turned for the first time since he was a child, since he tried so desperately to
hold on to a father slowly losing himself in drink.
And though Kazuya knows he will be the one to leave the fact that he will never remember, will
never be able to return, makes it feel like the one actually leaving is Sawamura.

It's the first time he's wanted to cling so desperately to a bond and the fact that it will slip through his
fingers like rays of sunlight makes him angry.

So he storms over to the shrine the following evening, ready to demand an explanation.

"...and then! And then, you know, Kazuya actually calls for a change-up! To a lefty! Can you
believe the kind of nerve he has?!”

Kazuya pauses at the bright voice, just out of sight of the shrine, in the shadow of the trees.

He doesn't hear a reply but Sawamura obviously does. "Right, sorry. I'd forgotten. In baseball if
you're a lefty it's easier to see the ball if it's a change-up, which is a slow pitch, so you can easily
change the speed and direction of your swing and hit it. So it's dangerous to use with them."

His voice sounds so full of joy and it resonates within Kazuya until he is helpless to stop the anger
from melting away. A smile stretches at the corner of his lips and he carefully steps closer to overhear
more of what Sawamura is saying.

He's sitting cross legged on the floor of his shrine with his back to Kazuya, facing a white rabbit of
all things. Its ears are directed at a Sawamura in teenage shape. His hands are waving madly in
excitement as he speaks and he's slightly transparent, a clear sign he's not concentrating properly.

And it's cute.

It's so adorable the way he lights up, the way his voice rises and falls dramatically as he talks,
childlike enthusiasm and positivity defining his every movement, and Kazuya feels the effect it has
on his heart, the ache in his chest making him lose his breath.

He's going to lose all that. Never see it again. He won't even be able to remember the beautiful smiles
or happy laughter. He'll never be able to recall the sound of a perfect pitch against his glove. The
warmth of a shoulder against his, the heat of a body slumbering beside him under the protection of
leaves and sunshine.

"Hey! Don't call me that!" Sawamura suddenly snaps. "Of course I know! I'm not senile."

There's a pause as the rabbit twitches its ears in reply and Sawamura grumbles.

"You know as well as I do that the only way to remain sane is to live in the present," he retorts.
"There's always a deadline on things. We are not immortal either. So can you just let me be happy
and enjoy the time I get to share with him before..."

Sawamura trails off unhappily, shoulders slumping head tilting until he's looking down at the
immobile hands in his lap.

And Kazuya realises it's not a betrayal at all. It's not about who is leaving whom. Neither of them has
a choice.

Sawamura's loneliness has been a constant companion to them this past half year; Kazuya can see it
in the way he's always there, always present. Even hanging out with the kids at the school, talking to
the people in the streets, complaining to stray cats and white rabbits.

During games and practice sessions he's always calling attention to himself, encouraging his team or
 teasing them. And it only now occurs to Kazuya that he does all these things because he's afraid of
being forgotten.

Which means the one who will be hurt in the end is Sawamura. Not Kazuya. Kazuya won't know
what he's missing, but Sawamura will remember every moment, every conversation. And he'll be
alone in all that.

So it's not about Kazuya at all. It's not about what he'll lose, not about his pain. It's about Sawamura
and the fact that Sawamura chose to get to know him, chose to help him. It's about the fact that
Sawamura willingly ran the risk of getting attached and accepts there's nothing he can do about the
pain that'll come from their separation.

And that thought alone causes Kazuya pain.

Because he has never expected anybody to care for him to such an extent. He had expected to
remain part of the grey mass of people who wander through life unattached. Alone. And now he's
forced to face the reality that here is somebody who will remember him possibly for lifetimes to
come, somebody who is attached but has never bound Kazuya, has respected his freedom. And that
alone shows how much Sawamura cares about him, how much losing Kazuya will affect him.

So shouldn't Kazuya honour that?

He looks at Sawamura again, upright and arguing for why he's sticking around Kazuya, why he's
meddling with humans. It's far from eloquent and he looks a little desperate, like the rabbit is winning
the discussion. But he remains stubborn, shakes his head and doesn't change his opinion.

And though the night is cold it makes Kazuya feel warm down to his toes.

He's not the best at showing he cares, possibly the worst. But that doesn't mean he doesn't care about
Sawamura. And the deity has demanded no more than Kazuya's attention. Which is at least one thing
he should be able to give in return.

When the rabbit vanishes Kazuya let's a minute pass by before he makes his way across to the shrine.

Sawamura let's out a shriek of surprise. "Miyuki Kazuya!" He yells, affronted. "What are you doing
here?!"

"Well," Kazuya says, sitting down and leaning heavily against him. "My companion vanished and I
got bored."

He draws out the last sound tragically and snickers when the other squawks and nearly loses his
balance under his weight.

"So I'm just entertainment to you, is that it?!"

"Nah," Kazuya mutters and twits so he can pull his arms around Sawamura. He grins into his hair.
"You're also an exceptionally good heater."

Chapter End Notes

Uuuuh.

Hi!
Please don't kill me!
Thank you so much for following the story so far. I know this change is probably not
entirely surprising given how many of you already wrote about stuff like this in your
lovely comments (And I hope you can understand why I haven't replied to those parts)
Thank you so so much for sticking with me until now, and for taking your time to leave
those comments. I am not worthy.
I hope you enjoyed the chapter in spite of the changing themes and feel free to come yell
at me in the comments xD I'd love to hear your thoughts as always!
Thank you so much for reading and following these boys--and even if you don't wish to
do so anymore for obvious reasons, thank you for sticking with me and feel free to come
back for later fics if you enjoyed my writing (I promise to never write this level of angst
ever again.

Ps. There's a Peter Pan quote in there somewhere.

 Chapter 8
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The first snow falls, white and crisp, on the first Sunday in the beginning of December.

Kazuya and Sawamura spend the better part of that day having a war in front of the shrine, throwing
fast balls at each other from their respective snow forts, and the entire thing ends in a scuffle to get
the most snow into the other’s coat so they’re both soaked and freezing by the time they make it back
inside.

“This was a bad idea,” Sawamura says, teeth clattering as he carefully takes off his boots. They
vanish as they hit the floor.

“No surprise,” Kazuya drawls. “It was yours after all.”

The other squawks in indignation. “I wasn’t the one who decided to put me in a headlock and put
snow down the back of my coat! Don’t laugh!”

“You could’ve just not retaliated,” Kazuya sniggers, poking him in the side so he gets an ominous
glower in return.

“Yeah right.”

They undress quickly and Sawamura makes sure the bathing water is hot as quickly as possible so
neither of them will catch a cold. They bicker all the way through the ordeal, and Kazuya has trouble
keeping his laughter in check.

“Would you quit that?!” Sawamura snaps when they’re out and dressed, temper thoroughly strained.

“Aww,” Kazuya purrs, stepping up to him and handing him a mug of hot tea. “I thought you liked
my cheerful disposition.”

“There’s a fine line between a contagious good mood and grating chee-Hyah!”

He let’s out a high pitched squeal as Kazuya passes behind him, casually dragging his fingers along
the knobs making up his spine. The catcher sniggers at the blush that spreads across his cheeks,
down his neck.

“Nice face,” he teases.

When Sawamura can only splutter in return Kazuya places a hand on his hip and pulls him a little
closer. Sawamura stills against him, mellow eyes meeting the other’s gaze, pupils dilating serenely in
response to the touch.

Kazuya places his lips gently against the deity’s temple, nose parting still-damp strands of dark hair.
The scent of summer grass and green apples wafts past him and he closes his eyes, humming
contently.

“You know, Sawamura,” he says, slowly. He allows himself to savor the moment for just a little
longer and only opens his eyes to continue when the other hums in response.

Kazuya grins as he bows his head a little, teeth almost touching the shell of Sawamura’s ears, and he
enjoys the way the other shivers against him. “You’re adorable.”

The last is whispered like a secret, a cheeky insult, for the deity’s ears alone. And Kazuya isn’t
disappointed at the response he gets when Sawamura squawks in indignation and pushes Kazuya
aside.

Kazuya takes off, laughing obnoxiously, and he soon has Sawamura on his tail, tea set down
somewhere safe.

“How dare you call me that!”

“Can’t even say it, can you?” Kazuya taunts, sliding into a different room and twisting his body to
hide just behind the doorframe so he can get out quickly once the southpaw has sprinted past.

“Of course I can, but I see no need!” Sawamura hollers and as predicted runs straight past him.

He pauses in the middle of the room and looks left and right for his target, confused at his sudden
disappearance.

He glances at the door to the temple, a door that's been kept firmly shut since Kazuya moved in, and
yawns. Then he shakes his head to clear the drowsiness.

“How about cute, then?” Kazuya offers trying to keep his face straight.

Sawamura lets out a yell, spins on his heel and opens his mouth to say something, but Kazuya cuts
him off with a cackle of laughter and hurries from the room.

“Damnit, Miyuki Kazuya!”

“One of these days you’re going to send me to some hell dimension or other,” Kazuya retorts as he
turns into the living room.

There's a giant stack of math assignments he’s been grading and he hopes to god this doesn’t end like
the last time with papers scattered everywhere (but who is he kidding? The only god around is
Sawamura and he was the one who caused the mess last time.)

And he knows it’ll probably be his own funeral, but he rounds the table to create a wall between
himself and Sawamura, and the deity stops on the other side, grinning victoriously.

“Now that was a surprisingly stupid move on your part, Kazuya,” he says.

Kazuya swears it’s just the adrenaline in his system, the laughter in his throat, but something curls in
his chest at the sound of his name rolling off Sawamura’s tongue and suddenly this isn’t about
getting away anymore.

Teasing Sawamura doesn't just come in one flavor, after all.

The moment he sees the uh-oh run through Sawamura’s mind is the moment Kazuya relaxes and lets
a sly smile stretch his lips.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he drawls, running his eyes appreciatively up the other as he does. He
isn’t too impressively dressed, baggy jeans and a sweater two sizes too big but Kazuya can
appreciate the knowledge that it's his clothing Sawamura is wearing. His cheeks are flushed from the
exercise and his hair is all over the place, golden eyes alive. “I quite like the view now that we’re
face to face.”
Sawamura takes a step back as Kazuya steps around the table, eyebrows scrunching in annoyance. “I
swear— call me cute one more time…”

“No, cute wasn’t the word I’d use,” Kazuya says, grabbing Sawamura’s wrist before he can get
away.

The deity stills in front of him, pretty eyes suddenly impossibly close, and Kazuya forgets to breathe,
forgets for a moment what he was planning to do, to say. He can feel Sawamura’s breath fan across
his face, his lips. He can feel the warmth of Sawamura’s wrist, his skin, press against his palm, and
suddenly it’s not the only part of him Kazuya wants to touch. He wants to press the memory of
himself into the deity’s skin, until he’s touched and marked every single part of his body, until he’s
branded the taste of Sawamura on his tongue, until he'll never be forgotten.

It’s a hunger, a greed, he’s getting used to, sparked by the most casual contact, and he does his best
to fight it. Does his best to ignore the deadline ticking away at the back of his head.

But every time he takes a step closer, and every time Sawamura doesn’t push him away, the ability to
control himself slips a little further out of his reach, replaced by the need to close the gap, filling a
void. If only for a moment.

His hands move almost on their own and he watches in fascination as he brushes his thumbs over the
high cheekbones of Sawamura’s face, watches as the deity’s lips part and his cheeks flush, eyes
locking with Kazuya's in a steady burning gaze.

Electricity speeds up Kazuya’s spine, setting his every nerve on fire and he’s closing his eyes before
he’s even had enough of the sight before him, of drinking in that delicious gaze, and he’s leaning in,
heart a steady beat in his chest, urging him towards something he’s wanted for too long and—

The angry screech of a phone bursts the bubble that has settled around them, protecting them from
the outside world, and they both let out a yell in surprise, jumping away from each other.

Kazuya allows himself one last lingering look, almost relieved to see the regret on Sawamura's face,
before he hurries to get the phone.

"They're expecting a storm tonight," he says, coming back from the kitchen a couple of minutes later.

Sawamura is poking at the heater, which has broken down on them, and Kazuya sits down beside
him. "Here, let me," he offers, handing the deity his abandoned mug from earlier.

Sawamura leans back a little, giving Kazuya more room and says "is it going to be bad? I mean.
They usually are around here, winter storms."

Kazuya nods, only keeping half his concentration on the machine. He really needs to get a new one
before they're locked in by the snow for the season.

"School is cancelled at least for tomorrow. They'll see after that."

Sawamura hums in thought. "Probably for the best. We'll need to clear the stairs so they're safe. And
that'll take a while."

Kazuya pauses briefly, picks up the remote to a television he's never turned on and slams it into the
side of the heater. The machine coughs and splutters, and then winks back into the world of the
living, a blast of heat and dust hitting Kazuya square in his face so he splutters and leans away
quickly.
Beside him Sawamura sniggers. "Serves you right for hitting it!"

Kazuya jostles him, trying to keep his scowl in place. "Shut up. If I hadn't hit it we'd both be frozen
to death come morning."

Sawamura grins and produces a paper towel. "Like I'd allow that."

He gently pulls Kazuya’s glasses off his face, hooks sliding over his ears with little resistance, and
places them carefully on the table beside them. Then he turns back and begins wiping the catcher’s
face clean. His nose scrunches with concentration as he pulls his hair up and out of the way, and
Kazuya watches in fascination as flecks of amber play in-between the shades of gold that make up
the Sawamura's eyes.

It’s difficult not to follow the curve of Sawamura’s nose down to his lips, not to glance down at the
stretched neck, the shadow that falls across his adam’s apple. And Kazuya knows he fails miserably
as Sawamura mutters, tone quiet and a little husky, “close your eyes.”

How strangely intimate something like this can be, Kazuya thinks. Without the aid of his sight his
sense of touch and hearing seems heightened. He can feel the heat of Sawamura's skin through the
thin barrier of the tissue, can feel the breath that parts his bangs. It's safe, he realises. He trusts
Sawamura enough to close his eyes and step out of his comfort zone, the only line of attachment the
hand connected to his.

He feels the tissue fall to the floor, feels the puff of air as it wafts past him, a cool contrast to the
warmth that is Sawamura. The heel of a palm brushes his jaw, fingers separating the strands of his
hair at the nape of his neck and Kazuya’s eyes flutter open to molten gold and an intensity that belies
the smile hiding in the corners of the deity’s lips.

“Are you going to run away again?” Sawamura asks, slow voice a teasing lilt.

Kazuya huffs, his fingers trailing in lazy patterns up Sawamura’s arm to settle on the side of his neck.
“Don’t be rude,” he says.

He’s not sure who pulls at the other, can’t remember it afterwards, but the next moment his eyes are
closed and Sawamura’s lips are pressed against his own in a sweet contact that makes his heart beat
frantically in his chest, his fingers digging into Sawamura’s shirt to pull him closer, closer, wish
granted, prayer answered for a moment.

Sawamura’s fingers pull painfully on his hair in a mirrored response to Kazuya’s own movements
and Kazuya shifts, arm going around Sawamura’s back, removing the void separating them. And it’s
warm, so warm, this contact he isn’t used to, this contact that he relishes, that makes it impossible to
think, only feel. Feel as Sawamura drags his fingers through his hair in a firm touch, a caress leaving
trails of heat and electricity behind, feel as Sawamura tilts his head to give Kazuya better access, feel
as their tongues connect in an intimate touch that promises more, more, more.

Which is when they pull back, Kazuya’s forehead resting against Sawamura’s shoulder as he catches
his breath, an impossible feat with how quickly his body seems to be consuming oxygen, his heart
pounding away in his chest.

To think, he muses humorously, that another person could have as much of an effect on him as a
perfect pitch, a home-run in a tight spot, a massive win.

“What are you laughing at, Miyuki Kazuya?” Sawamura grouches.

And Kazuya grins against his neck. “Oh, I wasn’t laughing,” he mutters, making sure his breath
travels down below the neckline of Sawamura’s shirt and enjoying the way he shivers.

“I can feel your teeth against my neck.”

Kazuya hums and slips his fingers under Sawamura’s shirt so he can relish in the touch of skin
against skin. “How suspicious you are.”

“With you it’s not suspicion. It’s common sense,” Sawamura sighs. His fingers trail from the back of
Kazuya’s neck and down to his throat, gently nudging Kazuya so he’ll look up.

“I’m honestly insulted. Don’t be so rude, Sawamura,” Kazuya deadpans.

“Well, now I’m just having a major sense of deja vu.”

Kazuya grins and leans a little closer. “If you can still remember anything I didn’t do a good job.”

“Wow. He can be humble too.”

“I’m serious,” Kazuya mumbles, running his thumb over Sawamura’s cheek, holding his gaze. “Can
I kiss you again?”

Sawamura rolls his eyes. “Do you really need to ask permission?”

“You’re going to regret saying that.”

“You know,” Sawamura says as they’re sitting close together under every one of Kazuya’s blankets
in front of the heater. “Since you have the day off tomorrow and since it won’t take all day to clear
the snow from the stairs we should have an adventure.”

Kazuya twists a little so he can look at his face. “An adventure?” he repeats and then grins. “What
are you? Five?”

Sawamura splutters at the tone, and Kazuya continues before he can formulate a coherent sentence.
“Also what kind of idiot suggests going on an adventure when we’re so clearly snowed in?”

“I am not an idiot!” Sawamura yells.

“Ouch,” Kazuya says, holding his free hand up to his ears to cover it. “I think you just made my ears
bleed. Thank you for that.”

He gets a squeeze in apology. "Don't be such a baby."

"I don't want to hear that from you!"

Sawamura sniggers. "Anyway," he says. "There's plenty of adventure to be had in this house. You
haven't been into the temple at all yet, have you?"

"Why would I? It looks like a health hazard," Kazuya says, eyeing him carefully. "Rotten beams.
Caved in roof. I bet we'd find dangerous fungi and mutated rats."

A pout. "Come on. Don't be such a spoilsport."

Kazuya isn't quite prepared for the puppy eyes directed at him and he feels his resolve drain away
fast.
"What do you need in there anyway?" He demands on a sigh.

"Books!" Sawamura says, beaming at him. "So you'll do it? You'll go with me?"

That gives him pause. "Wait," he says, thinking fast. "Why do you need me to come with you
anyway? Can't you just teleport in and out again?"

The smile falls from Sawamura's face, morphing into something achingly sad. "There are ... barriers
set up ensuring such things can't take place and... I'd really prefer not to go alone."

Kazuya raises an eyebrow. "Why not?"

But the deity refuses to say, eyes lingering on the glow of the heater.

Finally Kazuya let's out a sigh. "You don't have to go if you don't want to. But if it's necessary, of
course I'll go with you," he says.

He gets a full hug for that.

There are no mutated rats to speak of in the old temple.

Actually the building breathes a heavy sigh of relief as Sawamura pulls open the door, like it's
welcoming people back for the first time in decades.

Light filters in from behind them, golden and misplaced somehow, illuminating dusty hallways and
antique doors covered in bamboo paper with simple illustrations. A ghost runs past them into the hall,
skids to a halt and rounds a corner up ahead, his cool silhouette a memory that only time holds on to.

A yawn draws Kazuya's eyes and he looks at Sawamura who looks genuinely drowsy.

"Hey," he says. "You sure it's the right time for this?"

They'd spent the entire day digging their way through the snow all the way from the house to the
shrine and then down the long winding path of stairs to the street below. Outside the sun light filters
through the naked branches of empty trees in hues of cool purple, marking an early end to the day.

"Of course!" Sawamura says, grabbing Kazuya's hand and dragging him through the entrance. He
seems to wake up a little more with each step and Kazuya feels an anxious knot in his chest vanish.

Why had that made him nervous?

"Come on, it's this way," Sawamura adds.

They move straight down the hall, past three rooms on either side. Kazuya sees a meditation hall, a
tea room and one of the other rooms contains a large statue of a Buddha so dusty it's impossible to
see what Kazuya assumes is its bronze shell.

Then they turn a corner, away from the outer rooms and further into the temple. The hall circles what
must be the prayer room in the middle, the largest room in the entire building and much larger than
Kazuya had expected judging by the curve of the hall.

The atmosphere is sleepy. Not the sleepiness of a beast slowly in the waking, no; it's as if it's being
radiated from the building itself, trying to get them to fall asleep here. It distorts reality so the hall
swims and makes Kazuya's limbs heavy.
"Remember back in summer?" Sawamura suddenly speaks up, voice strangely light. "When we
were hunting beetles?"

Kazuya blinks a little, thinking back and sniggering. "You mean the time you turned me into a five
year old and forced me to hunt beetles."

"I did- I did no such thing!" The other splutters. "How dare you accuse me of something so below
my standards, Miyuki Kazuya."

They step off the curving hall just as Kazuya starts laughing. Here there is a hole in the roof and
sunlight filters in in vertical strips, catching on the many specs of dust in the air and making them
light up like stars. A cool gust of wind threads through their hair and together with Kazuya's laughter
it seems to chase away the drowsiness that had made the air so heavy.

Kazuya can feel it lurking further into the building, like a sentient beast that knows they'll have to
return the way they came.

"This is the library," Sawamura says, having sobered again.

He heaves a sigh of relief as they step inside. There's a feeling of concentration in the room, of deep
study, and Kazuya can see the ghost of a monk putting back books and scrolls on their shelves.
Another is studying at one of the tables, but this one is young.

They scatter like dust in the wind, swirls of light and stars, when Sawamura closes the door with a
snap.

“Have a seat,” the deity says, stepping up to the nearest shelf and scanning the first list of titles. “This
will take a while.”

Kazuya raises an eyebrow at the turned back. “Don’t you need help?”

Sawamura takes a moment to react to what he’s saying and when he does he jumps in surprise, as if
he’d been so absorbed in his own thoughts that he’d already forgotten to pay attention to his
surroundings. “Oh, right. No. That’s okay. I’m fairly sure the texts I’m looking for are so archaic
nobody without a classics education would understand what they say.”

Kazuya shrugs. “So I can at least point out the sections with the more modern language?”

Sawamura looks like he’s about to protest so Kazuya steps up to a different section and begins to leaf
through the texts there. “Look,” he says, when he can still feel the deity’s eyes on him. “You don’t
want to be here longer than I do, so let’s just divide and conquer, okay?”

“Right,” Sawamura says slowly, nodding after a moment of hesitation. “Teamwork.”

Kazuya throws him a grin meant to reassure him. “Exactly.”

When Sawamura turns back to his shelf, looking less than reassured Kazuya mirrors his movement
and lets out a silent sigh. Who is he kidding? He’s never had to reassure anybody outside a baseball
match, has never been personally invested, and he’s not even sure why Sawamura is anxious to
begin with.

Strangely, he can sense the magic in this place, a thought he’d never imagined he’d have in the literal
sense. Its nature is far from pleasant, chaotic even. And he fully understands Sawamura’s hurry to get
out, to focus on the task ahead of them so that they can get back to the safety of the house once more.
In high school he had only specialized in the natural sciences in his third year so he’s had two years
of reading daunting classical texts to prepare for this, but squinting at the long lines of kanji he’s still
reminded why he chose math over literature. He’s not dumb, and he has a fairly large vocabulary for
somebody who hasn’t studied it academically, but he’s never seen a need to learn the kanji outside
the ones recommended by the Japanese ministry of education. That decision proves to have been the
wrong one, though Kazuya congratulates himself on never having foreseen being in this exact
situation.

At least he can tell when the texts are transcripts of Sanskrit and which are in Chinese, which he sorts
so they’re standing in one end of the shelf that he marks for Sawamura to check, before moving on to
the next one.

When he repeats the cycle for the third time he starts pulling out a text and something within the
book zaps him like electricity so he steps back, heart jumping into his throat in momentary surprise,
and when he looks up he’s standing outside the temple.

Kazuya blinks in the sudden sunlight and rubs his eyes under his glasses.

In front of him, on the floor of the outdoors hallways lies Sawamura, passed out as if he’d suddenly
collapsed.

Once again his heart jumps into his throat and Kazuya moves forwards. “Sawamura!” is out his
mouth before he can stop himself.

And then somebody rushes past him, bald head reflecting sunlight and purple robes swaying in the
wind, as he runs towards Sawamura.

He’s already kneeling by the deity when Kazuya arrives and this close Kazuya can see that
Sawamura is see through, half way to solid, pale white sunlight like a filter over existence.

Beside him the monk is yelling and trying to shake him awake, but Kazuya can’t hear his voice. He
isn’t even sure it’s because he’s not supposed to in this strange vision, or if it’s because he’s struck
dumb and silent by a returning mental image of Sawamura turning into specks of light and stars,
floating away on a forceful wind that scatters the remnants of Sawamura Eijun until he can never
return.

“Kazuya!”

Warmth envelopes his hand and suddenly right before him Sawamura materializes, no more a weak
hallucination that is winking out of existence.

The deity looks at him, eyes unusually dark with worry, and says loudly “wake up!”

From their connected hands a new shock of electricity runs through Kazuya and he’s thrust back into
his body, still falling, until Sawamura’s grip on his hand tightens and he pulls him upright once more.

They stare at each other for a long moment and then a wave of drowsiness hits Kazuya so hard he
almost tumbles to the floor. Sawamura saves him again, catching him and throwing his arm over his
shoulder before leading him over to the chair.

“Stay here,” he says. “You’ll regain your energy in a moment.”

“Yes, sir,” Kazuya quips and pulls off his glasses to rub his eyes.

“Finally some respect around here.”

Kazuya snorts a laugh in spite of himself and glances up to see the deity grinning at him.

“…what?”

“I knew you had it in you,” says Sawamura in pleased tones before turning back to the shelf. “Also,
thank you for finding one of the texts I was looking for!”

Kazuya watches him carefully picking it up and placing it aside on a different table. There’s spring to
his step, like he’s pleased and back to being cheerful, and Kazuya hates that he wants to ask
questions that will ruin that, but…

“What was that, exactly?”

“Hm?” Sawamura looks up from the book he has his nose in. “Oh. You touched the book and
stepped into one of its memories.”

That’s not really what he’d meant, and now more than ever he wants the answer to what he was
actually asking. “First of all, you mean that was real? And second, why are you so pleased?”

“I’m pleased because it means some of your ancestor’s power rests within you,” Sawamura says,
beaming. “And it’s not just the Tanuki, trust me. You wouldn’t have been able to resist what’s
lurking out there if that was the case. And yes,” he adds, sobering fast, “that was real.”

Kazuya spends a few moments absorbing the fact that spirituality has an effect on humans and that
magic exist to an extent that influences his life outside what Sawamura gets him involved in. But
then, he’s spent the last nine months with a deity that shouldn’t exist so it doesn’t require too much
effort.

“Wait,” he says, “does that mean all those stories about monks with amazing supernatural abilities are
true?”

“Well,” Sawamura says, drawing out the sound as he discards another text. “Probably not in the way
that modern literature tends to adapt it, but - yes. That’s why human gods exist in Japanese lore.
Though they do so more in what’s called shinto today, than in buddhism.” He looks up at the ceiling
for a long moment before sighing. “Though, I guess if we’re talking mahayana there’re boddhisatvas
and bumis and a thousand other types of buddhas and dhamapala that have yet to transcend.”

“Heeeeh?” Kazuya croons. “I didn’t know you could sound so smart, Sawamura. For an idiot you
almost sound like a fraud.”

The temper tantrum that ensues is one that should’ve gone down in history and Kazuya is honestly
amazed Sawamura didn’t blow the roof clean off the temple. And Kazuya gets to laugh so much he
forgets that he’s drowsy.

They spend another half hour in the library and when they leave Sawamura is carrying four tomes in
total, looking exceptionally pleased with himself.

“So what was that?” Kazuya repeats as they make their way back down the curving hall.

He can feel the thin layer of magic from the prayer hall, like a veil encompassing most of the temple,
but their hands are connected and there is a little sun in his chest, cheer that won’t leave, and he
thinks it helps that Sawamura is still prone to pouting every time Kazuya lets out a short snigger.

“The memory,” he adds when Sawamura looks back at him in confusion.

“Oh. That.”

There’s a long pause and they pass the classroom marking that they’re half-way there.

“When they first built this place the monks set up a system of magic that prevented … impure deities
from entering the premises,” Sawamura explains. “It’s… what’s coming from the prayer hall.”

Kazuya frowns. He cannot imagine Sawamura staying attached to such a place. When he mentions
this the other laughs. “The magic wasn’t always like that. But untended it became itself chaotic.
Once it didn’t have a presence, but without proper care it changed.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

Sawamura shakes his head. “Not for anyone who is fully of the mundane. It’s only people like you
and me who are influenced by its power. And the more time passes the weaker it becomes. Soon it'll
be gone entirely.”

There’s something like pity and relief in Sawamura's voice, as if there's more to this story than he's
willing to voice.

“Hold on,” Sawamura says, stepping back into the house. He visibly relaxes as Kazuya follows him,
and he drops the books hazardously, though they don’t fall far before an invisible force catches them
and floats them to the nearest table.

Both hands free Sawamura closes the door to the temple and Kazuya suddenly feels lighter, the
presence of the chaotic magic vanished once more.

They both exhale in relief.

It's quiet here, in a different way than the temple, warmer, safer. Kazuya can feel the tension leave
his muscles as he absorbs this, and glancing at Sawamura he can see the deity relax as well.

Then from somewhere within the both of them, light seems to erupt and burst out of them in the
shape and sound of laughter, loud and uncontrollable, cheer that would have grated on everyone’s
nerves if they had grown up together, if they had formed a battery together. Though now they get to
enjoy it on their own, with no witnesses and it becomes intimate, the first real tightening of the bond
they have slowly been weaving over the last nine months.

Kazuya pulls an arm around Sawamura and laughs helplessly into his shoulder, while Sawamura
grips his shirt in response, a natural grip on something that makes him feel steady, secure, in the face
of what they have just had to pass twice.

Darkness. Silence. Sleep. The stillness of winter.

Neither of them is born for that. They are born of open fields and sunlight. They are born of life and
cheer and happiness.

Afterwards Kazuya almost doesn’t want to press. It’s not in his nature to press. But there are only
three months left, and he is greedy for everything he can gain, desperate to understand and help Eijun
while he is there to do it. And he doesn’t mind overstepping his usual boundaries to do that.

“Well,” the deity says, settling on the floor and leaning against the door to the temple. “What you
saw in the memory was that magic grabbing hold of me. The monks managed to wake me. It wasn’t
supposed to happen, but as it turns out it’s my connection to your family’s magic that keeps me
purified in the eyes of that type of magic. And at the time there was no one from that line with a
strong enough spiritual presence to protect me from it.”

“Oh,” Kazuya says, sitting down beside him against the wall. He absorbs this story, wondering at it
for a long moment, and it occurs to him that that was why holding hands in the hall had probably
protected them. Kazuya is not a trained monk, however, which had lessened the effect - on both of
them.

Kazuya opens his mouth to say something, but the full implication of Eijun's words sink in and he
closes it again quickly.

The realization that his grandfather had left Eijun behind to be forced back into a sleep by a chaotic
memory is too painful to voice. He doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to be faced with this
reality, or the knowledge that his departure will have other consequences than those of an emotional
kind.

His voice shakes when he speaks again. “That’s why you've been asleep until now, isn't it? Because
my grandfather left you unprotected.”

There is no light in Eijun’s eyes. They are a faded brown as he nods, and they are avoiding Kazuya’s
gaze entirely, looking somewhere close to their knees.

And it hurts. It hurts too much to see the tiny nod, to see how muted Eijun has suddenly become.

Kazuya grips Eijun’s shirt in a fist and pulls him into a tight hug that makes the deity gasp. “K-
Kazuya! You don’t—“

“Don’t struggle,” Kazuya snaps. “Idiot. What am I going to do with you?”

“Don’t call me an idiot!” Eijun retorts and some of the energy is back in his voice, though he’s
stopped struggling. “And don’t tell me what to do. What do you think these books are for? I was
going to find a way to purify it so I can be left in peace once you’re no longer here to keep it at bay.”

Kazuya ignores the twist in his stomach and the uncomfortable way his heart seems to shrink into
nothing in his chest. He doesn’t want to leave. But he pulls Eijun away a little so he can look at him,
hands still on his arm and shoulder. “Whatever I can do to help.”

And Eijun smiles that beautiful smile at him that Kazuya thinks will be impossible to forget; it’s
branded into his mind and he spends more times dreaming about it than of the diamond these days,
spends more time dreaming about sunlight catching specks of dust so they glow like stars.

“You already helped, moron. You woke me, didn’t you?”

It’s difficult to drag his brain back on track, but when he does he flicks Eijun’s forehead, feigning
annoyance.

“Hey!”

“Don’t call me a moron!”

“But you call me an idiot all the time!”

“That’s because you are!”

“Well, it takes one to know one!”

At which point Kazuya is once more reduced to helpless laughter. He grips Eijun’s shoulder a little
tighter and clutches his stomach with his free hand.

“Would you stop laughing?!”

It’s difficult to do as he asks, and Kazuya grins up at him, snigger stuck in his throat. “You’re
adorable,” he whispers. And it’s true, of course. The pout is heartwarming and Eijun’s eyes are huge
and bright gold again - it’s a relief.

And Kazuya can’t help but peck his lips just to add insult to injury before the other can figure out
what he’d just said.

When Eijun does compute what Kazuya has done he squawks in indignation. “How dare you! I am
not cute! Stop calling me cute!”

“But I didn’t call you cute,” Kazuya croons, smirking. “I could call you that too, though. If you’d
like?”

A flush burns across Eijun’s cheeks and he crosses his arms, looking away, obviously sulking.

“Come now,” Kazuya coaxes gently, slowly getting to his feet. “I’ll make you hot chocolate if you
forgive me.”

Eijun side-eyes him suspiciously, sunshine following his movements. “You promise?”

“On my honor.”

A snort. “You don’t have any honor.”

“Hey. That’s hurtful.”

And a new grin spreads across Eijun’s face and he jumps to his feet, completely placated. “Alright.
But you better make it good.”

Kazuya smiles and opens his mouth to say something, but a dizzy spell catches him suddenly,
making him wobble. The world swims.

“Kazuya?”

There’s an anxious tone to Eijun’s voice, smile gone.

“Don’t look like the world ended cause I missed a step,” Kazuya says. “It’s just been a long day and
I’ve had to spend all my energy on entertaining you. That’s difficult, you know.”

He sniggers and takes a step towards the kitchen, and this time the world winks out for a second,
everything going black, light vanishing, and he almost misses a step, almost loses his balance.

Something feels awfully, awfully wrong. His limbs are heavy as lead and he blinks, rubbing his eyes
as he turns back to Eijun to placate him in spite of his own worries.

But somebody is standing behind Eijun: a faceless monk with a hand on the deity’s shoulder.
Another ghost, see-through and inconsequential. If a god cannot see the spirit then surely it doesn’t
really exist and Kazuya is simply hallucinating.

The ghost opens its mouth, a mouth it didn’t have before, and speaks without sound.

And the last thing Kazuya’s senses absorb is the world tilting, wind rushing through his hair, and
 Eijun reaching out for him as he falls.

Then the world goes black.

“Kazuya!”

Chapter End Notes

HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYBODY!!!

I hope you got safe into the new year and that 2016 didn't swallow you whole!
We're now in the middle of Eijun's background story, which means we'll deviate a bit
from the major problem in the series for now. Next chapter will focus primarily on him
because of that.
I hope you can stay tuned.
Sorry I took so long to update. I'm back in exam hell, researching critique of post-
colonialism and racism in general and it's a lot of fun and giving me a bunch of
arguments :D which is always great.
But yeah. Sorry about the late updates and replies to all your wonderful comments. I'd
like to say I'm sorry about the bittersweetness of the story, but I'm also not sorry? Since
I'm happy that it has left an impression on some of you!!
STAY STRONG!!
Thank you so so much for all your comments and your kudos and your bookmarks!! I
am so greatful you're taking the time to read this and are sticking with me as I upload.

one last thing! I have a twitter now (it's STONEHlLL (the big i is actually a small L for
reasons) so if you want snippets of the misawa stuff I'm currently working on or just
want to come say hi (or see my rants or random character/chapter analysis) feel free to
stop by :D
 Chapter 9
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Snow falls, white and crisp, on a mop of brown hair.

Eijun stands with stiff shoulders in clear dawn light, unnaturally cool and blue in the icy
temperatures. His face is unreadable as he regards a grave.

The name on the grave has been washed away by time, like the edges on its sides and tops. Nothing
remains to prove the identity of the person it was supposed to represent.

The mist slowly clears around them and Kazuya can see that it isn't just one grave, but a dozen, two
dozens. An old family of many, many individuals. Snow falls into the carvings on the newer stones
that time has neglected to spend all its energy on.

Kazuya opens his mouth to ask who the family is. Why Eijun is visiting them.

"...Sawamura--"

Kazuya wakes slowly.

His body is heavy and his head is fuzzy. He's lying on his futon in his room, thick covers weighing
him down and--

"You're awake."

The voice is deep, old, and unfamiliar. Yet it's familiar at the same time, like a mix of his father's
voice and that of an old senpai he's lost contact with a long time ago.

Kazuya twists and feels his entire body protest. His muscles spasm at how cold the covers are and he
shuts his eyes, curling in on himself, until it subsides.

When he can relax again he does so cautiously, and he opens his eyes to face the ghost of a monk.
It's the same monk whose face he had been unable to see before, Kazuya knows instinctively. His
eyes are kind, crinkling at the corners, thick eyebrows hanging low over his eyes, and Kazuya
experiences another feeling of deja vu. There is little in the monk's physical appearance that reminds
him of his father, but something in his expression reminds him of that old senpai again.

"Who are you?" Kazuya asks finally, voice weak. Every word is a struggle. "What did you do to
me?"

"I am the first member of the Miyuki family to reside in this place," comes his answer after a lengthy
pause. "And I did nothing you weren't already slowly doing yourself. I simply sped up the process
since you were getting impatient."

Kazuya frowns. This didn't feel like help. Actually, the fact that his ancestor was trying to write it off
as granting Kazuya's wish was rather insulting.

He opens his mouth to say something about not forcing the responsibility of your actions onto others
when Eijun's voice can be heard from the kitchen.
A second later the apparition vanishes, mist uncurling from his seat on the floor and evaporating as
Eijun sticks his head through the door to check on Kazuya.

His mouth splits into a toothy grin and his image shimmers, emotions overwhelming him for a
moment, and Kazuya wonders exactly how bad he's been to produce this level of relief.

Eijun opens his mouth to say something, looks like he's making a valiant effort, and then closes it
again. He frowns deeply and tries one more time with the same result.

It warms Kazuya to see him so out of it, and maybe he smiles just a little as he says "how long was I
out?"

"Four days," Eijun says, voice a little croaky.

Four days? "You could've woken me, you know," Kazuya deadpans to the best of his ability.

He shifts a little to get a better view of Eijun, still framed in the door, and another muscle spasm
renders him incapable of controlling his body as it curls painfully around itself.

It hurts.

For heaven's sake he's been tackled and sent flying, he's been beaten to an inch of his life and spent
days, weeks, hiding injuries. And this is still one of the most physically painful things he's
experienced.

Warm hands slide over his forehead and into his palm, and heat slowly travels through his system,
helping his body to relax.

Kazuya's lungs expand and he breathes a sigh of relief, enjoying the contact and the warmth, the safe
darkness behind closed eyes.

The hand on his forehead leaves him, but the other remains, and Kazuya looks up at Eijun just in
time to see him rub at his eyes. And Kazuya's breathing is just a little more difficult, the sight a silent
reminder of how much he means to the deity.

"Sawamura," he says. "Are you okay?"

Eijun snorts and looks down at him, hand falling into his lap. "I'm the one who's supposed to ask you
that. Though the fact that you can joke around suggests you're not beyond saving."

Fondness bleeds from Kazuya's chest, a different warmth that creates swirls and strange mixes when
it collides with Eijun's. It somehow gives him the strength to smile.

He thinks vaguely that his body doesn't agree much, though the worry still swimming in Eijun's eyes
stops him from saying it.

Kazuya tightens his hold on the other's hand, and twists carefully under the covers. He's still warm
and though his body is heavy with exhaustion it doesn't punish him for moving.

"Sa-wa-mu-ra," he whines. "I'm thirsty."

He gets a look for that which clearly spells out 'seriously?' and smiles innocently. "I'm not the one
who left a dying patient in a coma for four days. Take responsibility."

Eijun snorts in disbelief and something like annoyance replaces the worry. "You're not dying," he
grouches. "Not on my watch. And I'll go get you some tea so stop complaining."
When his hand slips from Kazuya's hold the catcher braces himself for the effect of Eijun's magic to
leave him. But nothing changes.

He's still warm and cozy under the covers and he breathes a silent sigh of relief that Eijun still
somehow manages to catch.

He shoots a cocky smile over his shoulder at Kazuya. "And you accused me of losing my touch?"

"Smartass."

"I don't want to hear that from you!"

He stomps into the kitchen and Kazuya can hear him putting on the kettle, slamming more than one
mug into the counter, pouring water and rattling with cutlery.

When he stomps back into Kazuya's bedroom ten minutes later he's using a large hardback novel as a
tray to carry two glasses of water, a cup of steaming tea and a bowl of soup.

"About time," Kazuya laments, accepting Eijun's help so he's in a sitting position. "One more minute
and I might've shrivelled up and died."

Eijun hands him the first glass of water. "Unfortunately I fear it'll take more to kill somebody with
such a shitty personality."

"Thanks!" He replies as brightly as he can manage.

He takes a medium sip, knowing it's better to take it slow with rehydration, but the strange taste that
is definitely not the taste of water is still too strong on his tongue and he almost spits it out then and
there.

Eijun sniggers at his struggle to swallow and when Kazuya finally manages, angrily demanding the
other glass of water to wash the awful taste away the sniggers turn into a full on laugh that almost
makes Kazuya choke on his water.

"Man, you should see your face!"

"I'd rather not," Kazuya hisses, putting down his glass. "What was that?"

"Water," Eijun replied brightly. "Oh, and a tea spoon apple cider vinegar."

"...for cooking?"

"Yep. Sip it through the day and it'll help your body clean itself out much faster."

Kazuya raises an eyebrow. "That sounds like an old wives tale."

"Old wives tales are for humans. This is divine knowledge. It works."

The uncharacteristically snooty voice and expression Eijun adopts at stating these words, so unfitting
for his usually bright and friendly disposition, makes Kazuya laugh.

"Alright. I'll trust you, o wisest of idiots."

"Hey!"

They bicker back and forth for a while and it's such a relief to see Eijun annoyed and loud again, it's
such a relief to be able to mess a little with him that Kazuya can only grin when the deity thrusts a
cold chicken soup into his hands.

"It's cold," he points out cheekily, stating the obvious.

"Nicely spotted, Mr Holmes," Eijun responds sarcastically.

"But, Sawamura," Kazuya laments again. "It's so much better warm. Won't you indulge your
favourite patient?"

He receives a glower in return, but Eijun still rests his hand on the rim of the soup bowl and a second
later Kazuya's stomach is rumbling at the pleasant aroma and the promise of a good meal.

He's happily surprised when he digs in and finds that the food isn't just decent. It's delicious. Not that
it should be a surprise; when you have hundreds of years to learn there's no way you're going to
continue to suck.

"Hey. This isn't half bad," he says.

When he looks over at Eijun he's grinning at the praise. "I never said I couldn't cook."

"No, you just freeloaded on my abilities. Not that this is even remotely as good as my own cooking
but--"

"I slaved over that for you!"

"Oh, I don't doubt that..."

He gets an impressive glare for that. "What are you implying?"

"Hm? Oh just that it must've taken you so much effort to make something at this level."

He's impressed Eijun hasn't exploded by now. Though he does get a long string of curses and
swearwords and "just you wait and see, Miyuki Kazuya! I'll make something even you can't
criticise!"

By the time he's finished eating Eijun's soup, had his tea and gotten help to walk to the bathroom and
back he's exhausted.

The last thing he manages to do before falling asleep is whine himself into getting an oversized teddy
bear.

"Sa-wa-mu-ra," he croons sleepily as Eijun returns to the bedroom, two new tomes and a bowl that
smells suspiciously like onions in hand.

He lets out a "gyah!" in suspicion, startled at Kazuya's tone. "What is it now?"

Kazuya lifts his covers in invitation. "Come keep me warm. I'm freezing."

"Liar. I'm already keeping you warm."

"How cold. Eijun is so impersonal."

The deity sighs through his nose and sets down the books and the bowl beside the futon. "I didn't
expect you to act like such a spoiled brat," he comments, but there's no criticism in his voice. He
sounds resigned. Fond.
Kazuya hums as Eijun pulls the covers tighter around them, and Kazuya slips his arms around his
waist. It's so nice, being able to hold him this close, head on his shoulder, legs tangled. And Kazuya
feels himself slip further into the realms of sleep, dragged by the knowledge that this is safe. That it's
okay to fall asleep here.

"Only with you," he mutters into Eijun's hair.

Warm laughter rumbles between them.

The dream comes, slow like waking, slow like a memory that needs prompting.

When it breaks through the veil of remembrance it bursts into vivid reality, like putting on new
glasses and discovering you could've been viewing the world in 1080p instead of 144p.

Kazuya is back in the village of an earlier dream he had forgotten, from a summer day a long time
ago when he'd fallen asleep a child. The sun had played between fresh leaves, casting rays of light in
hues of gold and green, making specs of dust glow in the air like stars. It had been such a contrast to
the sun in the dream.

And even now the sun is harsh, angry, unforgiving as it falls on an ancient shrine in pristine
condition, much better even than it is today. Back then humans knew what it meant to gain the wrath
of a god, and that there was only one way to undo it.

But already there is a path to a new place of worship, a place of worship that Kazuya can't possibly
imagine the god approving of.

The Buddhist temple stands, only a year or so old, mostly abandoned by a lake that has seen more
water in better days.

Outside several monks are having an argument.

"You know as well as I do that abandoning our post now when we have finally gained the trust and
respect of the town would be unwise," a young monk is saying, voice steady and face patient.

“The problem is not the village below,” an elderly monk replies equally patiently. “It is our dead
brothers, and the wrathful god in the area who refuses to acknowledge our presence.”

“You are barely out of your training so I am advising you now,” another says. “Do not let youthful
stubbornness lead you down a path of destruction.”

But the stubborn youth merely shakes his head and proclaims he will stay. He watches them leave,
staves in hand and supplies scarce, and Kazuya watches him.

As he does it becomes apparent that the monk is a younger version of the one who had made him fall
ill to begin with, thick eyebrows, kind eyes. He does not look too unhappy to see his fellows go, and
Kazuya realises quickly that if he were the first Miyuki to live in this place it is unlikely that he was
not successful in making the area habitable again.

Which means…

“I’m surprised any of you have the gall to stay,” a voice speaks up, and Eijun materializes behind
Kazuya’s ancestor.

There’s little familiar about his voice or his expression. His hair is longer, in a style fitting the era, his
white robes pristine and the sunlight reflects off it, unforgiving. His eyes, too, are far from friendly;
hot embers that betray exactly how angry he is.

But the monk turns slowly to regard him with patience, as if he has all the time in the world to
convert this anger into something milder, something more positive. “They should not be faulted.
They fear for their lives.”

Eijun snorts cynically. “I thought all you people feared were the product of negative actions.”

“Even to act in fear is to act with negative intentions,” comes the patient reply.

An eye roll, and Kazuya has to stop himself from laughing; apparently that is an age old gesture.

“Well, I guess death really was the only right choice for your fellows then,” the god retorts glibly.
“After all, even they acted in greed and self-interest.”

Strangely, or perhaps not for Kazuya can only guess at what Eijun is referring to, the monk takes his
time to formulate a reply. Finally he says “It is for no one to decide whether a punishment is just.
Though I cannot deny your accusations; purification should come as a choice of free will, not forced
upon you. As should conversion to our faith.”

His eyes travel to the path leading to the shrine, which would lead to the village, and only returns to
Eijun when he laughs.

“You’re a strange one, Miyuki Yuu.”

And for just a moment his eyes are like Kazuya knows them; golden sunshine, brimming over with
positivity and curiosity.

“Perhaps,” Miyuki Yuu agrees, ironic smile twisting his lips. “But my duty, at the very least, is to the
land and the people. And I’m not done with you yet.”

Eijun lets out another bark of laughter at this. “Alright,” he says, grinning in a way that speaks of
challenge rather than acceptance, canines sharp. “I guess I can at least hear you out.”

The dream shifts and Kazuya finds himself in the shade of the forest, walking beside Eijun. The deity
does not pass him even a glance and Kazuya feels the loss of not being seen, not being recognized
(though he knows this is a memory, something of the past that he cannot interfere with).

Above them the sun beats harshly through a dwindling cover of the trees, and ahead of them the trees
separate enough to produce a clearing.

And while it might be a romantic view, the sight that meets them, Kazuya knows it is far from.
Miyuki Yuu is kneeling on the grassy floor of the clearing, just within the border of a weak shadow,
at the side of a struggling deer.

The animal is panting helplessly, and taking little of the water that the monk has offered.

They watch him labor at it for a long time, and even when he has managed to get the deer to drink
what it needs Kazuya knows it won’t be enough to sustain it if the drought continues. Even he can
feel it, though he is less than a spirit.

Eijun stands beside him, unseen by Miyuki Yuu, and his face is impassive. It is a more disturbing
sight even than the violent anger to Kazuya, because Eijun is never this passive, he is always so
expressive, an open book even when he is hiding things. There is so much emotion in him, based in
all his cares and his pride and his views on right and wrong.

But now there is nothing

Now he watches a living being suffer with the same interest one might watch a stranger pass on the
street.

And Kazuya almost can’t take it. Almost reaches out to shake him - though he is well aware the
moment his hands pass through Eijun’s body would completely undo him, cause cracks in parts of
his heart that had finally healed.

It’s only when Eijun exhales in resignation that Kazuya realises he had been painfully holding his
breath.

“Alright,” the deity says though only Kazuya can hear him.

He looks briefly up at the sky, and while Eijun’s body language speaks of defeat nothing visibly
changes.

“Look!”

A child’s voice breaks through the silence and Kazuya finds himself in the middle of a market square
that can hardly be referred to as one; the ground they stand on is nothing more than downtrodden
earth that has cracked during the drought and the well in the middle has dried up long ago.

“What is it?” Miyuki Yuu asks kindly, and Kazuya locates him quickly, standing by a couple of dirty
children with a large bucket of water that he’s helping them drink from.

The one who spoke is a little girl with sunken skin, too thin for her own good. But her eyes are
bright as she points up at the sky.

“A cloud!” she says excitedly.

Kazuya swears the entire town square goes still, and then everyone springs into sudden motion,
turning in the direction the girl is pointing, and yelling out in surprise.

“Drink your water now,” a grouchy voice says, and Kazuya turns back to see Eijun crouched by the
bucket, handing her a bowl. “It’s only a single cloud after all. It’s no promise of rain.”

The monk at his side casts him a sly look. “No, it’s not. But it’s the first we’ve seen in weeks. It
gives people hope.”

Eijun is saved from answering when the girl grabs the bowl of water from his hands, sloshing water
everywhere. “Hey!” he exclaims, twisting back to pay attention.

The girl sticks her tongue out at him, and for a moment Eijun looks stunned.

Beside him the monk snorts, and when Eijun looks over at him, affronted, he breaks out in full
laughter.

Eijun, true to form, squawks in indignation and rises quickly to his feet. “Stop laughing!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Miyuki Yuu says, containing his laughter and drying his eyes. “Well done,” he adds
to the child in front of them, ruffling her hair.
She giggles and hands the bowl back to Eijun. “You’re funny,” she tells him. “Thank you for the
water and the cloud.”

And then she’s off, before either of them can respond to her. Miyuki Yuu looks up at Eijun
curiously. “Is that normal? Children knowing?”

Eijun shrugs. “What does it matter? When she won’t remember me five minutes from now?”

“What do you mean? I remember you just fine.”

The deity glowers. “Do they teach you nothing at those fine monasteries? Aren’t you supposed to be
an expert on the actions of gods?”

“Not particularly. We’re just taught how to pacify their nature,” Miyuki Yuu replies. He glances up
at the cloud, floating placidly along the mountain line in the distance. “Though I’m starting to think
there’s much more to it than that.” A pause. “Are you going to answer my question?”

Kazuya can see immediately that Eijun doesn’t want to reply. Yet, he chooses to do so anyway,
rolling his shoulders awkwardly to rid himself of a discomfort and sighing through his nose, eyes
scanning the market square for something.

“Have you ever seen the way people pass by beggars without really paying attention to them? As if
they shouldn’t look straight at them? Or, if you’ve ever been to a lord’s castle, you’ll see the way he
and his family will never look straight at their servants. We tend to avoid that which we do not want
to see, and so we become unable to recall what it was we were trying to unsee. It’s like that. Of
course,” he adds, looking back at the monk still crouched at his side. “The longer the exposure the
longer it takes to forget.”

Kazuya’s ancestor seems to take a while to take all this in. He gets to his feet slowly, throwing the
bowl he’s holding back into the bucket.

“So just expose them to your presence longer?” he suggests, kind eyes never leaving Eijun’s face.
“That way they’ll be less likely to forget you.”

The words cut too deep, Kazuya can see. And he thinks he understands exactly what Eijun is
thinking as his eyes grow wide with fear; it’s the same fear he’s felt himself, the same reaction to
knowing that he’ll have to leave Eijun behind, leave him to memories of people he loves, who will
never return.

Perhaps that is really why we never meet the gods that inhabit our world, Kazuya thinks. Because
they’re too afraid of attachment to watch us go, to watch us forget. It is easier then to separate
yourself from the mortal realm.

The deity opens his mouth, and from his expression Kazuya knows he’s about to say something he’ll
regret. But there’s nothing he can do to stop him.

Instead the little girl from before saves him.

She’s suddenly standing at Eijun’s side once more, tugging on his robes. “Hey, won’t you come
share some water with Katsuki? He’s ill and cant move from that house over there, but…”

She looks down, suddenly unsure, and therefore doesn’t catch the astonished look on Eijun’s face. “I
know we’ve made you angry,” she mumbles. “All the adults are saying so… but -“ and she looks up
at him, determined “- but we really do need your help! And you shouldn’t stay angry forever! You’ll
forget to have fun that way!”
Eijun bites his lip not to smile, but Kazuya can see it in his eyes; the way they glow like sunlight
once more. And finally, when he can’t help it anymore, he lets his lips stretch in a sheepish smile.

“I guess this has been going on for too long,” he admits.

She rolls her eyes. “You don’t say.”

And Eijun laughs.

And as he laughs the sound of his voice rumbles like thunder in the distance, like clouds coming
closer. And a howling wind bushes the dry leaves from dying trees off the ground so they twirl in the
air.

He grabs the little girl’s hand with one of his, drops his own bowl into the bucket before picking that
up as well, and says, “lead the way!”

The smile that blooms on the little girl’s face is enough to make Kazuya grin.

Around him the world darkens, the dream changes, until he’s standing in a tea room in the temple.
The doors rattle on their hinges and thunder sounds in the distance.

It’s a fall storm, if Kazuya has ever heard on and he shives at the chill in the air.

Not too far from him Miyuki Yuu is transcribing a text by candle light. His ink strokes are calm,
fluid, even in this spectacle, betraying a peace of mind even Kazuya is sure he has never contained.

Eijun appears at his side, studying what he does intently. “That’s not Japanese. What does it say?” he
asks curiously.

The monk finishes the line he’s working on before putting his brush down in its well. “It’s Chinese,”
he says. “It speaks of the value of a calm mind in order to avoid chaotic thought processes. It speaks
of the love of all things in existence.”

Eijun cocks his head to the side curiously, and Kazuya can see the way his age changes into a young
adolescent. “The love of all things?” he repeats. “What does that mean?”

The monk embarks on a lengthy but simple explanation of basic buddhist beliefs, and Kazuya can
see the way the words speak to Eijun. And Kazuya smiles; he had been afraid that the inherent love
for all things living that defines Sawamura Eijun as he is in Kazuya’s time had been a philosophy
he’d acquired; that cruelty lay at the core of his being.

But now Kazuya can see that that’s not the case. Cruelty had simply sprung from loneliness. And
now that Eijun is getting the attention he deserves he’s reverting back to the way he’s always
supposed to be.

The sun alone creates a desert, but the sun is also what gives life. And it watches over us all with
kindness and love, with warmth and acceptance.

Miyuki Yuu is still speaking, but the dream changes. The storm stops and the wind dies down,
giving way to a sunny but cool day with leaves falling from tired trees. Now they’re sitting outside,
going over a text - a different text with a different purpose.

“But then, why is this character different from the Japanese one?” Eijun complains. “Why don’t they
just have the same meanings when they’re the same kanji?”
And the monk answers him patiently, explaining that the ocean separating them ensures that the
Japanese do not become subjects of a larger state, that they get to use the language as they please and
that that helps them retain their identity and their deities without influence.

Eijun considers this, asks more questions, and learns more. Until the sun sets and he falls silent.
Miyuki Yuu leaves him for a while to his thoughts and Eijun’s eyes move to the gentle sway of the
branches. The forest is kept further back in this time than in Kazuya’s time, but there are fewer and
further between them.

The sun’s rage has not been kind to them.

But the coming years will bring them much life, Kazuya knows.

When Miyuki Yuu returns he’s carrying a trey with two mugs and a tea set.

Eijun watches him prepare the tea, and when Eijun receives his cup he lets out a long breath.
“Alright,” he says. “I’ll change.”

Children’s laughter ring out and somebody yells for them to shut up. It is several years later, Kazuya
can tell. The trees are thicker and the wood of the temple looks a little less pristine. The rooms are a
little more cluttered and the place looks lived in.

Most of all there are people here now. Not many, but a few. Monks are chanting in the prayer hall,
young apprentices are playing in the outdoors hallways, and a couple of women are washing
clothing under a kinder sun.

“Come on, Katsuki!” a familiar voice yells and Kazuya turns to see Eijun in the shape of a child
waving at a kid who’s sitting by himself reading.

The other kids, behind Eijun pause and exchange glances in a manner Kazuya had nearly forgotten.

“Don’t bother.”

“The master’s son is too diligent.”

“It’s no use.”

“Come on. Forget about him.”

And while those sentences are sentences Kazuya has tolerated in his youth, like the young Miyuki is
doing now, he can tell they’re unacceptable to Eijun. But it isn’t until the last sentence is uttered that
he seems to make an active decision.

“No,” he says stubbornly and stomps down the hallway to the apprehensive youth.

“Don’t waste your time with me,” Miyuki Katsuki sighs. “You know father won’t let me play.”

“Well, then you can at least let me read the text as well,” Eijun grouches, and sits down so close to
the apprentice that there’s no space between them. “Scoot,” he adds, nudging the other boy and
pulling at the old scroll. “Oh, I remember this one! It’s a decent one.”

He gets a dubious look at that. “You’ve read this?”

“Yeah! Yuu actually helped me understand it,” he grins and reaches up to ruffle the other boy’s hair.
“You’re a smart one, Miyuki Katsuki. Don’t listen to the others.”
The boy smiles, brown eyes full of gratefulness, and he looks around fleetingly to check nobody is
looking before he gives Eijun a one-armed hug in quiet thanks.

They’re back in the forest, in the same clearing, but now it’s not years or months later. It’s decades
later.

Miyuki Yuu is patiently plucking herbs that grow at the foot of a large oak. His skin is wrinkled, his
limbs weak and slow with age and fatigue, and even Kazuya can tell he doesn’t have much time left.

Beside him Eijun sits in the grass, a teenager, watching him with wide golden eyes that are
swimming in sadness.

“It’s not fair,” he’s saying, pouting and sulking, and though this is common to Kazuya the catcher
can tell it’s serious this time: the deity’s voice trembles, and it breaks on the last word. “Why do you
have to leave?”

The monk takes his time in placing the herbs just right before he looks up at the deity. “It is the
nature of all things living, my friend. And it is not so terrible.”

Eijun snorts. “I’m living too, and I’m still alive. I’ll still be alive in hundreds of years. Why do
humans have to be so fickle?”

A chuckle. “Now, don’t be so unforgiving. I do believe most of us would not willingly choose to
leave behind those we love. But such is the nature of our suffering. And such is the nature of yours.

“One day, you too will be reborn into a new body. But until then you need to watch over the people
here,” he says. “This is where you have been bound and that is your duty. That way you will not
cause unnecessary damage to your soul.”

“I know,” Eijun whines, drawing out the sound. “But I don’t like it! I don’t want you to leave me.
I’ll be alone again.”

With every word he speaks his voice becomes quieter and his head bends a fraction until he’s staring
helplessly into his lap, fingers flexing and relaxing. Kazuya doesn’t miss the tear that drips from his
chin.

Miyuki Yuu places a hand on his shoulder. “My friend,” he says, and waits for Eijun to look up at
him. “You will never truly be alone. Not as long as my family is here. You know that.”

Eijun’s lower lip wobbles and a helpless trail of tears fall from his eyes.

And Kazuya feels his pain like a wound to his chest, like pieces of his heart are being ripped from his
body as he realises that this is the kind of pain he will eventually be causing Eijun. Leaving him
behind to loneliness and darkness that he does not deserve, that he has never deserved.

He falls to his knees beside the deity and carefully places his arms around him, in a light hug that will
not remind him that Eijun cannot see him or feel him, that if he is not cautious he will simply pass
straight through the one he cares for the most, never felt and never noticed.

The last thing Kazuya dreams of is of Eijun facing a single grave stone under the summer sun. The
name is newly engraved and unsurprisingly the stone recalls the first Miyuki to reside in the temple
that is Kazuya’s ancestral home.
 A wind passes through Eijun’s hair as he sighs, and with it comes fall. The seasons change rapidly,
monks come and go to clean the stone. More and more stones appear as fall turns to winter, winter to
spring, and the world continues to revolve around the sun.

More stones appear. So many more.

A family. Companions. Memories.

Individuals that will be forgotten, until the earth they walked on has lost its memory, until names
carved into stone is whisked away by wind and rain, until only the sun recalls.

And still Eijun stands there.

Until he’s standing in front of an old worn down shrine, limbs no longer relaxed and accepting, until
they are tense and frightened.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks a young man.

Kazuya’s grandfather regards him impatiently, as if they have been over this a million times. “There
is nothing for me here, in this village anymore. You know that as well as I do. I have to work, and I
want to do that in the city.”

Eijun struggles with his words. With his emotions. With being abandoned once more.

Finally the fists at his side relax in acceptance. Defeat. “I see,” he says.

He glances in the direction of the temple. “I guess there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“I will come back,” Kazuya’s grandfather promises.

“Don’t think too much about it,” Eijun says. And his smile is forced, muscles pulled too tight. “You
should think of your own future.”

“I’m sorry,” the young Miyuki says.

He still leaves.

Chapter End Notes

So I accidentally deleted my entire theory section and had to spend my day rewriting a
bunch of pages on post-colonialism and neocolonialism and I'm so exhausted and I
haven't answered any of your wonderful comments and I'm so sorry.
Thank you so so much to those of you who are sticking around for the rest of the story. I
know some have abandoned it because of the shift in themes and I'm just really grateful
that some of you are sticking with me in spite of that.
Thank you for your great comments (I swear I'll get to them tomorrow) and your kudos
and your bookmarks! I really really do appreciate all your kind words and thoughts. Uni
is really pulling out teeth right now and I'm probably on the verge of crying from the
strain, so sometimes I'll just open my mail and scroll through all your comments and
look at the notifications of kudos and it just helps to know that some of the stuff I create
is being appreciated by a group of people. So thank you.
I hope you found some answers in Eijun's past.

(oh, and btw. The small natural remedies that Eijun uses in these actually work. I've
avoided three cases of pneumonia last term with those)
 Chapter 10
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

A couple of weeks after his recovery, and a day or two before New Years, Kazuya wakes to the
thunder of feet running back and forth, the scrambling of boxes being pulled out of their dusty hiding
places.

He emerges to find Eijun balancing a huge stack of folded paper lanterns in his arms as he waddles
from a storage room Kazuya had never bothered with to the kitchen.

"Care to explain what's going on?"

"Gyah!"

Eijun jumps in surprise, dropping more than half the lanterns in the process, and spins to face
Kazuya, who's already doubled over, laughing.

"Quit laughing, Miyuki Kazuya! You usually sleep till noon on days off so I thought you were a
ghost or something!"

"Right," Kazuya says sarcastically, still sniggering. "Because a ghost would be a threat to a deity."

"Well, no, but... They like sneaking up on us."

"To be fair," Kazuya says, stepping closer and taking the rest of the lanterns from Eijun to deposit
them on the floor. "I think it's only you they enjoy doing that with. That scream deserved an award."

Eijun harrumphs dramatically and crosses his arms.

Kazuya grins and slides his fingers under the other's chin to guide his face back towards him. "So?
What are you doing this time?"

The distraction works better than he expects: Eijun's eyes light up, impossibly bright and beautiful,
and he smiles widely. "Preparing for New Years!" He says.

And then he's stepped away, but his hand grabs Kazuya's as he drags him along to the kitchen,
talking at the speed of light about the upcoming event.

"...and I know people will still come, cause I have vague recollections of visitors praying at the
shrine since your grandfather left. And now that it's been rebuilt you can bet there'll be even more
and I thought we should welcome them properly this year with lanterns and fortunes and --"

Which is how Kazuya finds himself spending the next couple of days setting up and preparing for
the upcoming holiday.

And somehow one or two of the locals hear about it in time to prepare the stalls usually demanded by
tradition so that on the day the grounds in front of the shrine actually look like how they're supposed
to.

Eijun preens when he sees all the visitors on New Years and Kazuya can't help his own grin.

It's good to see Eijun back to his normal self again, open and energetic, and simply delighted at the
world around him.

On the day Kazuya had begun to feel the wheels of recovery turning at full power, Eijun had sat
down on his futon and opened one of his ancient books in Kazuya's face. "This is it!" He'd said
excitedly. "This is the spell that disenchants the chaotic magic!"

The deity had performed the ritual the following evening, but it had had its price; he'd been out for
several days afterwards and when he'd returned there'd been a fragility to him, as if he wasn't entirely
physically present anymore.

Which is probably also why Kazuya had so easily indulged him in the topic of New Years;
something that made Eijun this happy was worth spending time and effort on.

"Ah! Miyuki-sensei!"

Kazuya turns to see Wakana dislodging herself from her mother's side and sprinting up to them.

"Happy New Years!" She greets him.

"Happy New Years, Aotsuki," he returns. "Where are the others?"

She rolls her eyes. "Said they refused to leave until some historical drama was over."

"Fair enough," he laughs, thinking back on the correspondences he's kept with his classmates back in
high school.

"Oh, by the way," she adds smugly and Kazuya can tell this is what she's really approached him to
talk about. "I got scouted!"

He almost laughs at that, but manages to keep it to a grin. “Really? And how come I haven’t heard
anything about this until now, hmmm?”

“Well,” she says, sobering a little, and glancing away. Kazuya follows her gaze and notices the way
Eijun is helping a kid who’d slipped in the snow. “I wasn't sure if I should say yes, because women's
baseball isn't that good, you know? But I went to see the facilities and the school is top notch. Plus,
the dorms are affordable, so I'm going."

"Congratulations!" Kazuya says. "You've earned it."

"Thank you!" Wakana replies, and she’s almost preening now.

Kazuya asks her about the school and the team there. He vaguely remembers it as one of the better
funded ones (he'll have to call Rei to thank her), and knows that that means she has at least a chance
of getting into a good university as well. A sport might not be popular but that doesn't mean it doesn't
have a future.

While they talk Eijun re-appears at Kazuya’s side shoulder leaning against shoulder. It's warm and
comfortable, yet Kazuya feels his heart sink at the evidence right in front of his eyes: Wakana sees
nothing now.

"Sensei?" She asks when he pauses mid-sentence. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah," he says, feigning a smile. "I thought I heard this annoying fly--"

"Hey!"
"-buzzing by my ear and it distracted me."

He gets a quizzical look from his student, though she has the courtesy to keep quiet about the fact
that flies can’t survive in sub-zero temperatures.

When they say goodbye Kazuya watches her go, silently thinking he’ll be looking forwards to seeing
her play in Tokyo. He probably won’t have much time to go to matches, but he thinks he can
probably squeeze one or two in during the year. Depending on his schedule at Seidou.

Eijun surprises him by leaning in and giving him a peck on the lips.

“What was that for?”

The full blast of his smile almost knocks Kazuya off his feet. So pretty, so bright, so much light in his
life that will soon be forgotten. “It was a thank you,” he says. “For paving a way for her.”

“I have to watch out for my students, don’t I?” Kazuya says, and throws an arm over Eijun’s
shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go pray.”

Eijun gasps in mock-horror. “What blasphemy! You know I can’t exactly pray to myself!”

And Kazuya laughs. “Then you can watch over my prayers. I’m greedy but you better make sure to
answer every last one of my wishes.”

“That’s not how it works!” Eijun yells, hackles rising.

“Hey Kazuya.”

The disembodied voice floats in from the living room, bringing sunshine and warmer temperatures
with it. The sun dances once more in the air outside and Kazuya can’t help the bittersweet lightness
he feels at its reemergence after a long winter.

They’ve started baseball practice proper again and he’s preparing food plans and future regimens for
the students who aren’t graduating. He’s also been preparing extra rigorous tests for the people who
are entering high school “to prepare them” he tells them, sniggering at their complaints.

“Yeah?” He calls back, filling his mug with fresh steaming coffee before exiting the kitchen.

“There’s somewhere I want to go later,” Eijun says. He's sitting with his back against the frame of
the open doors, facing the world outside. A breeze catches his hair and makes it sway gently. “Do
you mind coming with me?”

Kazuya pauses. It’s strange for Eijun to ask him of anything; either he just does it himself or Kazuya
finds that he's being dragged along at his pace whether he wants to or not. So the fact that he’s
asking makes him apprehensive. It doesn’t help that there’s an off tone to his voice, like he’s almost
hoping Kazuya will say no, or maybe expecting him to.

“Not at al-ACHOO!!“

A breeze rises from outside, brushing at early spring flowers and tickling his nose so Kazuya sneezes
violently. His glasses almost topple off his face, and, worst of all, he jumps half a meter coffee flying
everywhere; onto the tatami, onto his own t-shirt. And Kazuya swears.

Eijun, too busy clutching his stomach and laughing at him for the next half hour, gets the punishing
task of cleaning up the tatami while Kazuya goes to change his t-shirt.
“You know it serves you right,” Eijun points out a while later, still chuckling, as they’re making their
way down a path Kazuya didn’t even know existed.

“Shut up.”

“No way. You should’ve learnt your lesson this winter. I swear, I’ve never seen somebody so weak
to the cold!”

They make their way down the mountainside in the opposite direction of the village. For a while
there are stone steps cut into the rock, but eventually it evens out to older paths, slightly overgrown,
that takes them under the canopy of cherry blossom trees that have yet to bloom, and birches and
oaks already full of fresh green leaves, cheerful in their youth.

Kazuya catches himself, more than once glancing at his companion. Eijun is unusually solemn and
it’s unsettling. For every step they’ve taken he’s grown quieter and quieter until their familiar banter
dies completely, leaving only silence to guard their walk.

When the trees become scattered they reveal a view of a cemetery a little further down the mountain.
And it’s a little too easy now to guess the reason for Eijun’s request as well as his silences. This is
not just any graveyard; it can only be the one containing the earlier inhabitants of the Miyuki temple.

It’s well kept, Kazuya can tell, even from here, and he hopes this means his ancestors’ stones have
been well taken care of in his family’s absence. Not so much for himself, as for Eijun’s sake. He
doesn’t want him to worry that he’s neglected a duty that was never his.

He didn’t have to worry, however. Like all the other stones the ones for the Miyuki temple have
been cleaned regularly, weeds have been dealt with and offerings have been placed in the form of
incense.

Eijun produces bowls of water so they can repeat the process together. They labour in silence and it
takes them most of the rest of the day to clean the stones. It’s enough time for Kazuya to familiarize
himself with all the names here and he wonders how many of them knew Eijun, how many of them
he revealed himself to; after all it wasn’t just Kazuya’s family who resided in the temple, it was a
community. Not a big one, but one none the less.

When they’re done they light the incense together and pray together, and Kazuya wonders if this is
the closest he will ever get to presenting a spouse to his ancestors. He doubts very much that even
after losing his memories anyone will ever become as dear to him as Eijun has become; nobody can
fill that void and not even memory-loss will remove the space in his heart that Eijun has carved for
himself there.

Though perhaps it’s the other way around; these people are more family to Eijun than they can ever
be to Kazuya, after all.

Movement beside him makes him open his eyes once more and the shock of the sight that meets him
hits him at the core.

Eijun isn’t praying. His fists are placed on the floor in front of his body and he’s bowing in a dogeza,
forehead placed against the stone, golden eyes wide open and jaw clenched painfully, as rivers of
tears run down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice contorting around a sob he refuses to let go off. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m
so so sorry. but I—I don’t want—“

And seeing Eijun like this, seeing him so unlike himself, is so wrong to Kazuya, so unnatural that he
can’t respect what Eijun is doing, can’t let it go on. He grabs Eijun’s hands and pulls him from his
bow to face him.

“Hey. Look at me,” he says when the deity’s eyes grow wide, unseeing in surprise, and he places
open palms against each of his damp cheeks, leans in so close that he’s all Eijun can see, forcing him
to focus. “Whatever you’re apologizing for,” Kazuya says, ignoring the way Eijun’s body flickers
out of sight for a second, skin turning golden and see-through, and the pain that bursts where it hurts
the most. “Stop it.”

The deity snivels pathetically, golden eyes still wide with surprise at having been manhandled so
suddenly. He hasn’t stopped crying, though. “But—“

“No. You have done nothing that requires this kind of apology. Not in their eyes,” Kazuya says,
trying to be gentle in his tone of voice, but still keeping it strict enough to let the words pass through
Eijun’s thick skull. “They loved you. They would never hold you forever to a duty that passes so far
beyond their own lifetimes. They would not wish to see you so miserable.”

Eijun takes a deep breath and pulls away a little to collect himself, and Kazuya lets him. He dries his
eyes on his sleeve and sighs, looking back at the clean stones. “It’s not that simple,” he says finally.

“I’m sure it’s not,” Kazuya agrees. “Though it’s probably simpler than you think. Since you’re an
idiot.”

“Hey!”

Kazuya takes a leap of faith and grins at him. “The fact that you just slammed your head into a stone
to apologize to the dead seems to support my thesis rather well.”

Eijun squawks in indignation. “I did not slam my head into the stone!”

“Really?” Kazuya croons, leaning close and smirking at him. When the look results in blood rushing
into Eijun’s cheeks his grin returns, wolfish. “Are you sure? Because you should’ve killed enough
braincells to result in memory-loss so I don’t think you can be very trustworthy on that matter.”

Eijun, not unexpectedly, jumps to his feet, furiously pointing at him, eyes full of righteous
indignation. “Miyuki Kazuya, how dare you suggest that I would forget even something like this! I
am not an idiot and I am not— I’m not—“

He pauses, eyes flickering to the stones, and Kazuya recalls belatedly that Eijun doesn’t know he
knows he’ll lose his memories; that humans forget.

“Well,” he says, adopting his most obnoxious voice, most annoying smile to save Eijun from the hole
he’s unintentionally dug for him, “I never called you an idiot, but that does sound like the truth.
Good for you, getting out of the denial phase.”

“Don’t lie!” Eijun retorts without missing a beat. “You might not have said it now but you’ve said it
enough times this year that attempting to cover it up at this point would be foolish. Just admit your
faults, Miyuki Kazuya, and apologize.”

Kazuya takes a moment to contemplate the order. He knows what’s expected of him now, and he
really hates being predictable. It makes life so boring.

“Alright,” he says, getting to his feet and dusting off his pants.

“Stop being so damn—“ Eijun blinks at him owlishly in confusion, boyish and adorable. “Excuse
me, what?”

Kazuya smirks at him and steps closer. “I said alright,” he says.

Eyes narrowing in suspicion, Eijun takes a step back. “What’s with that? You’re never this willing to
act like a decent human being. It’s giving me the creeps.”

“How rude,” Kazuya complains. “And here I thought you actually liked me, Eijun.”

He makes sure to draw out the first syllable of the name, one of the only times he’s used it, and to full
effect: the deity’s face lights up in a red flush and he splutters.

“We-well, I’m not stupid, you know. And I know you well enough to know there’s a-a-“

He inhales sharply as Kazuya steps into him, arms going around his shoulders, not to pull him close
but simply to rest there. “A what?” Kazuya asks, almost purring.

“A catch. You can’t do this on your ancestors’ gravestones, Kazuya!”

The words exit the deity’s mouth in a garbled mess and Kazuya sniggers. “I have no idea what
you’re talking about,” he says glibly and places a gentle kiss against Eijun’s jaw. “I take it you don’t
want that apology anymore?”

Eijun freezes in his arms at his words and a moment later he’s pushed Kazuya aside. “Yeah, I do, but
they need it more,” the deity enunciates and forces Kazuya back into a kneeling position.

Revenge, the catcher decides, grudgingly bowing his head as directed, will be in order later.

It rains the Sunday Kazuya goes to a meeting in Tokyo.

He oversees a practice match between Seidou and Inashiro. They're not doing as well as he could've
hoped: it's clear to see who are the reigning kings in this era and it's not Seidou. But there's still
something about being back on this old field that makes excitement rush through his system, an
incurable illness that leaves him grinning from ear to ear.

He still loves baseball with all his heart, and having been gone from the diamond for so long he's
come to love the coaching position almost as much as catching.

After the game talks with Rei, Ooda and Ochiai, relating what he has learnt over the year and what
he thinks he can bring to the team. They're reasonably impressed and he can see the way Ooda is
relieved to have an alumni back, not that he thinks the teacher will be relieved by year's end; his own
way of doing baseball has always been headstrong and dangerous and he intends to encourage that
in the students here.

Seidou's baseball is built on aggressive defence and offence that grasps every opportunity, every
chance no matter how tiny. From what he can tell of Ochiai's coaching some of that is gone now, but
he has every intention of bringing it back.

The old goatman watches him with a shrewd expression, and doesn't ask a lot of questions. And a
chill wind blows in from north.

He's not intimidated however; the head Coach has always respected him, and while the catcher
prefers Kataoka any day he knows how to work with shrewd. And it helps that Ochiai is a catcher at
heart and mind; he can relate and manipulation will be all the easier because of it.
It also helps that he has the sun at his back, a warm comfort, even when it's out of sight.

When Rei hands him the finalising papers however, he hesitates.

The scout scrutinises him carefully. "Is something the matter?"

Flashes of smiles and sunlit hours, of waking up to sleepy kisses and heavy limbs from a long and
full night's sleep, of playing catch on a field full of weeds, immobilise him for another second, then

"Of course not," he says, smiling.

He takes the papers.

It's still raining when Kazuya gets back to Nagano in the evening.

The train halts with a screech by the single platform connecting the little town to the rest of the
world. Mist hangs in the still air, covering the tracks and swirling across tarmac, and Kazuya
shoulders his bag and steps onto the platform, into the dusky evening.

The rain patters against the roof gently, though the amount that falls is anything but welcoming. He
didn't bring an umbrella with him, was lucky enough to catch a taxi right outside the Tokyo train
station. Now his luck has run out and he'll need to walk the long way back to the temple, knowing
he'll be soaked by the time he reaches half way.

He narrows his eyes at the darkness before stepping out from under the half roof that had kept him
dry.

As a baseball player he's never liked the rain. It promises stagnation and cancelled games. Plus it's
cold. And Kazuya hates the cold.

This rain is chill, the last stretch of winter digging its heels in and refusing to leave. It settles in his
bones and crawls all the way to his core, making him tense up and shiver.

Before he even reaches the half-way point the gentle rain turns into a downpour and Kazuya sprints
to the nearest cover; the tiny roof under a convenience store.

The 'closed' sign is a lonely shadow in the window, and the building looks abandoned, its dark
windows like empty rooms and hallways in a forgotten temple.

"Welcome home."

Kazuya starts and turns in the direction of the voice, only to find Eijun right beside him, eyes bright
and skin glowing vaguely in the dark.

"...Sawamura?"

The deity smiles at him.

"Please tell me you brought an umbrella," Kazuya says.

Eijun's smile falls a little. "Sorry. I forgot," he says. "But maybe this can make up for it."

He pulls down the zipper on Kazuya's spring coat and opens it a little, only to step close and slide his
arms under the jacket to hug him. His chin rests on Kazuya's shoulder, warm cheek brushing
Kazuya's cold and clammy one.
And it's warm. So incredibly warm. Kazuya exhales a breath he hadn't even realised he'd been
holding, and feels his entire body relax into the hug. He leans his head a little against Eijun's cheek
and inhales the scent of summer grass and green apples.

Home, Eijun had said.

Yes, Kazuya thinks. This is home.

This is just as much home as the sunny baseball diamond has been to him. Today has been a
reminder that even now when he cannot stand there he knows that the diamond is still his home, that
baseball is still his first love.

But...

Embracing the sun as he is, shielded from the harsh reality of the darkness around them, he wonders
if it isn't okay to stay here forever.

Even if it means giving up baseball at the level that sends a thrill down his back.

"There," Eijun mutters, stepping back and smiling up at Kazuya. "All dry."

Kazuya blinks down at him, and then laughs. "That's all that was for? Thanks, but how exactly do
you suggest we get home from here?"

The deity shrugs. "I guess we're just going to have to wait for a miracle."

"Says the deity."

Eijun sticks his tongue out at him and Kazuya laughs.

And the thing is, Kazuya doesn't even mind. He's warm and dry and laughing with the person he
wants to spend time with the most in this world right now. And it doesn't really matter if that's with
the rain pouring down centimetres from his nose, with a mitt in his hand, or sitting in one of the
outdoor hallways back at the house with the sun dancing in the air.

"How was it?" Eijun asks, mellow golden eyes regarding him curiously. "Seidou?"

And Kazuya tells him. He talks of newer fields and new people, compares them with old friends and
techniques. He tells him what is missing and what he hopes to achieve.

He doesn't miss the soft smile that grows on Eijun's lips, the way his eyes glow with fondness as he
listens quietly to the small anecdotes and criticisms, doesn't miss the fact that he lets Kazuya speak
without interrupting and only adds leading questions, like he wants to hear all this, wants every little
detail.

"Man," he says, stretching and staring wistfully out into the empty street. "I'm so jealous of you,
getting to go back and play in the big leagues."

Then come with me.

The words are suddenly on the forefront of Kazuya's mind, a desperate plea clawing at his insides
hoping and begging to be let out.

And Kazuya, for once, knows to not let fear stand in his way of a relationship he wants more than
anything--one he's only borrowing right now.
"Sawamura--"

"Miyuki-sensei, what in the world are you doing there?"

Kazuya actually jumps this time. He turns to see one of the women that had helped him in the
kitchen last spring, standing in the rain with an umbrella over her head and a shopping bag in her
hand.

"Ah." It takes a moment for him to find the right expression, the right smile. "I guess I got caught out
without an umbrella."

"Oh, dear," she mutters and gives him a once over. "Yes. I see that. Here -" she steps closer, folding
her own umbrella and holding it out for him "- take mine."

"No. I couldn't possibly."

"Don't be silly," she chides kindly. "You'll be stuck here all night and I have my raincoat."

"Uh..." he pauses. "Alright then. I'll bring it over tomorrow morning then."

"Thank you."

"I think I'm the one who should be thanking you."

She laughs at him and then pulls up her hood to finish her walk home.

"That was nice of her," Eijun says.

"Yeah," Kazuya agrees, looking down at the black umbrella. He's disappointed that the moment
passed and he'll have to wait for another opening like the last. "It was."

He opens the umbrella and they're met with the startling display of a clear blue sky with a few clouds
decorating the canvas.

Eijun's smile almost glows at the sight. "See," he says. "A miracle."

Kazuya laughs and pulls an arm around his waist to keep him close. "Come on. I'd prefer it if neither
of us got wet."

"Yes, sir!" Eijun says in mock respect, mimicking Kazuya's hold.

"You know," he adds when they step into the darkness, umbrella shielding them from the rain. "You
talk a lot when you're happy."

“I just had an excellent idea,” Eijun says.

Kazuya cracks one eye open and turns a little where he’s lying in the grass to look at his companion.

“Somehow I doubt that’s true,” Kazuya teases, grinning up at Eijun.

The deity scowls down at him, he’s sitting in the grass not too far from Kazuya, but higher up the
hill. Around them spring flowers sway in the sun, pink and yellow and orange and purple, amongst
the bright green of healthy grass. Underneath a clear blue sky.

Spring is fully upon them. Too present.

And Kazuya tries not to care.

“Maybe you should stop being so narrow-minded, Miyuki Kazuya,” the deity says, lips twisting in a
smirk. “It’s never a good sign in one so young. It’s an early sign of old age.”

Kazuya laughs. “How dare you! If I’m old then you’re positively ancient.”

Eijun snorts. “Obsession with numbers is nothing more than mortal vanity. What really matters is the
mentality.”

“No wonder you run around in the shape of a kid half the time then!”

“Hey!”

The catcher sniggers and has the pleasure of enjoying the various expressions Eijun makes, different
shades of offended and indignant.

It’s adorable, really. The way his nose scrunches and his eyes light up, the way he mutters under his
breath, and squawks when he’s being insulted. Eijun is so wonderfully alive no matter what situation
he’s in or what he’s feeling and Kazuya loves him for that.

Sometimes he’s too beautiful to watch, sunshine reflecting off his tan skin in more hues than any
rainbow has ever produced.

And Kazuya thinks that no piece of art could ever capture this, that no matter how many photos he
attempts to take, it’ll all be for naught.

There is beauty in impermanence, he remembers a calligraphy teacher telling their class back in
middle school.

What bullshit that is, really. The person who thought that has never known the imminent threat of
loss. They might have overcome it, but they have never experienced the agony of knowing that it
will soon be upon them.

But Kazuya says none of that, pushes all that aside. He shouldn’t waste these hours of leisure and
happiness on the future. It’ll come when it comes, and there’s no use mourning it.

“So?” he says. “What was this brilliant idea of yours?”

“You don’t have to sound so curious,” Eijun says sarcastically, throwing him a stink-eye.

“What? You don’t want to share?” Kazuya asks, grinning.

Eijun sticks his tongue out at him, and Kazuya reaches for it, angle awkward and making his
movements slow so Eijun gets to preen in victory.

“Alright then. I thought maybe we could do a last practice match for their graduation.”

“I’m pretty sure they have celebrations at home to deal with,” Kazuya says, though he’s already
considering ways to get around that. “And we’re missing a pitcher.”

He lifts himself up a little so he can look better at the deity, who’s fidgeting. “Unless you’d like to
come back to the team?”

The deity avoids his gaze and looks out across the field of flowers. “I can’t,” he says. “It’s… It’s not
impossible but I shouldn’t.”
Kazuya sighs and lies back down in the grass, . “Then we can’t do it. Though maybe if I call some
of the nearer schools they might be interested…”

He trails off to gauge Eijun’s reaction. The deity’s face splits in a blazing smile. “Yes! Do that!”

Kazuya grins at the sight, heart light in his chest, and crooks his finger at the deity.

Eijun pauses, smile fading into a puzzled one. “What?”

And it makes Kazuya’s grin widen even more that he’s so obviously elated that he can’t even
summon his usual suspicion. If it makes him that happy, even if neither of them are playing, then
Kazuya won’t mind the footwork.

“My payment,” he says.

“Wha-?” Eijun begins, but seems to think better of it. Then he sighs tragically. “Oh, alright. Even if
I’m not the one who gets to benefit from all your hard work.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.”

Eijun snorts and twists to lie down on his stomach in the grass. He smiles down at Kazuya, beautiful
and sweet. “Who said I was being sarcastic?”

“Your tone.”

A laugh. “You’re hopeless.”

“I don’t want to hear that from you.”

Eijun grins and places a lingering kiss on Kazuya’s cheek. And while the innocent touch should be
familiar by now the caress of lips against skin, of hair brushing his nose and eyelids, makes honey
bleed from Kazuya’s heart like it’s carrying an open wound that will never heal.

And Kazuya hopes it never does.

He’s spent more than one evening staring at the Seidou contract, pen hanging loosely from his
fingers, almost slipping. He hadn’t been able to sign it in Tokyo, doesn’t know if he can go back
anymore. Doesn’t know if he has the strength to be the one to leave…

Not when it’s his choice.

Kazuya has been left behind too many times to count. He’s been forced to leave people behind, by
circumstance and changes in his education. But it’s never been his choice.

He’s never been free to choose to stay.

He’s never wanted to stay.

“Is that all I get?” he asks when Eijun leans back.

Kazuya actually feels a little cheated at the brief contact, and he’s not beyond pouting to get what he
wants.

Eijun’s laughter is a quiet puff of air against his skin as he leans in again. “No, I guess baseball is
worth a lot more than that.”
“Is that so?”

“Don’t you ever shut up?”

“It takes one to know one,” Kazuya croons, fingers twisting into the empty spaces between Eijun’s,
gently pulling him closer.

Soft lips move across Kazuya’s with ease and familiarity, in a kiss that’s much sweeter than Kazuya
had anticipated. It’s enough to help him forget, if for a moment, that he has a decision to make, that
they are not both human. That there is happiness in the world, if you don’t think too much about the
future, but live in the present.

“Satisfied?” Eijun asks when he lifts his head.

Kazuya lifts his free hand to thread his fingers into the strands of hair at the nape of Eijun’s neck.
“Never,” he says, applying just enough pressure.

“Greedy,” Eijun complains, but he’s smiling into the kiss.

They walk back under the gaze of the dying sun. It paints the sky in reds and pinks, a scarlet so deep
it looks like blood. Around them sunflowers have bloomed, but their cheerful yellow leaves are the
same pink and red as the sky.

It’s beautiful here, peaceful. A breeze lifts strands of Eijun’s hair as he walks on ahead, talking
cheerfully to Kazuya and picking sunflowers off their stalks until he has an entire armful of them.

“What are you going to use all those for?” Kazuya asks, gazing fondly at the deity as he spins to face
him, arms full of flowers.

They suit him, he thinks fondly. Bright sunny smile so easy to mirror, looking like he’s never had a
care in the world. Like he’s never been left behind in loneliness and despair.

“I thought I’d give them to you,” Eijun says. “Put them up in the house so you won’t be able to go
anywhere without seeing them.”

“That sounds annoying,” Kazuya says, but he keeps his voice gentle. It’s not really a rebuke.

He can’t bring himself to really argue.

There are other things on his mind; things like the happiness of baseball with a perfect battery
partner, things like bright smiles and sunflowers, things like banter and laughter in the deepest parts
of winter’s darkness. Things like casual touches and random hugs.

He doesn’t want to lose that. Doesn’t want to let it go.

The contract’s deadline looms ever closer in his mind and he sighs.

“Eijun.”

The deity stops ahead of him, turning back and cocking his head to the side, adorable and quizzical,
bright golden eyes boyishly wide.

Kazuya steps up to him, filling the void between them, and takes his hand.

“What is it?” Eijun asks as they lace their fingers together.

 “I don’t want to leave,” Kazuya says slowly, sincere amber gaze meeting golden eyes, forcing him to
take his words seriously. “If it means I have to leave you behind. I want -“ he takes a deep breath,
closes his eyes painfully for a second to find courage “- I want to stay by your side.

Kazuya’s hold on Eijun’s hand tightens.

“I want to stay here.”

Chapter End Notes

WARNING: this ends in a cliffhanger

-cackles-

In all fairness. If you made it through this chapter, and make it through the next one,
you're home safe.
If not... I failed as an an engaging story-teller and I apologize.

Thank you as always for reading.

Thank you to those of you who have bookmarked, kudo'ed and commented. To those
whose comments are still missing a reply: I'm really sorry and I will get back to you
soon! I'm in the middle of my last paper (it's a 15 page week paper and I'll be done this
time next week). AND ONCE I'M DONE I'LL BE DONE WITH EXAMS FOR
THIS TERM THANK GOD

I hope you haven't given up on me yet, or the story, and will stick with these two until
the end. I think they deserve it by now
Comments are, as always, eternally appreciated. I can never overstate this fact.
 Chapter 11
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The sun dips below the mountains, and the world is plunged into twilight of warm purple hues, red
sunlight still painting the sky in pink streaks.

Kazuya’s words hang in the air, a still memory that refuses to leave.

I want to stay here.

Eijun’s eyes are wide and pale. They flicker nervously away from Kazuya’s face, out across the
world, looking for something to hold on to, but eventually move back to Kazuya.

“I—“

Eijun opens his mouth. Closes it again.

It’s not a good sign. Not really, Kazuya thinks. He steps a little closer, lifting his hand to touch
Eijun’s where it holds on to the sunflowers, which most of all work like a shield now.

The touch is a comfort, as is the fact that the deity hasn’t tried to run away, hasn’t told him off.

But Kazuya is on unsteady ground. Thin ice.

His heart pounds in his chest and he is afraid.

He is so afraid of rejection, so afraid of being left again. Even if he’ll be doing the leaving.

“Kazuya.”

Eijun’s voice trembles as he speaks, and he sniffs. And when Kazuya looks back up from his hand
and his flowers, he sees that Eijun is crying.

It’s not loud, like it was that day at the graveyard. It’s not violent or overwhelming.

And maybe that’s what makes it hurt all the more.

Silent tears streak down Eijun’s face, thin trails from suns that dance with emotion in a sea of
sadness. “Thank you,” he says, smile bittersweet with both happiness and loss. “Thank you for
telling me that.”

There’s something awfully wrong in being told that in this moment. Thank you so often refers to
acceptance, but Kazuya knows that this ‘thank you’ is a rejection.

And suddenly he almost can’t stand on his own two feet anymore.

Eijun blinks, having read something in his expression and he hurries to put the flowers down.
Careful and nurturing of all things living.

“No, you don’t understand,” he says, when he straightens. He holds on tightly to both Kazuya’s
hands. “If I could be selfish I would keep you here forever.”
And Kazuya wishes he could pull away, could regress into snarky comments or cold indifference,
like he’s always done. Wishes there was a wall between him and Eijun so that he could protect
himself.

Because this hurts.

This hurts. The knowledge that—

His mind backtracks, and somehow he finds the strength to voice his thoughts. “What do you mean
‘you wish’?”

Eijun smiles wryly. “The world is wide and full of experiences. Every day is supposed to be an
adventure, right? But your adventure here is coming to an end, Kazuya.

“Didn’t I tell you? That it’s a human’s job to live an active life, to live and be alive? You’re not
meant to live in a place like this, you’re a city boy with baseball in your blood. You won’t be
satisfied in slow rural places that are too old to remember the smile and glow of youth.”

The truth of these words makes it impossible to argue.

Kazuya can feel it in his limbs; the itch to get back in the catcher’s box, even if it’s not on the highest
level. The need to catch a difficult ball in a game with stakes. The rush of a home-run.

He won’t get that here. No matter how much he would like it.

But there’s something he doesn’t want to let go of either. Something he can’t let go of.

“Then come with me,” he says, clinging to this last hope.

Eijun sighs. And now it’s his time to close his eyes painfully.

When he opens them again Kazuya is hit by the terrible knowledge that this isn’t just distressing to
himself. Eijun feels it too, the agony of imminent separation, the excruciating knowledge that this is
not permanent.

“I can’t.”

It’s like a dam has burst somewhere within Kazuya and he reaches out in desperation, grasping Eijun
by the shoulders with both hands. “Why not?”

It’s not because he doesn’t want to, he tries to remind himself. But it feels like it is. And he can’t stop
himself, can’t contain the need to make absolutely sure that there’s an actual explanation why.

Eijun opens his mouth to say something, but at first there’s only a strangled noise. Tears are still
streaming down his face, but they’re coming faster now.

“Because I am bound to this place of worship,” he says. “I told you. I cannot leave. Your ancestor
used the land to purify me and in doing so he bound me here. I cannot leave unless I die.”

“Can’t it be undone?”

Eijun bows his head and shakes it. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorr-Mmmpf.”

Kazuya pulls him into a tight hug, pressing his face into his chest to shut him up. He rests his cheek
against the side of Eijun’s head, taking comfort in the smell of apples and the way his nose is tickled
by the deity’s hair.
“Don’t apologize,” he says. “It’s not your fault.”

He wishes he had it in him to turn this situation around. Wishes there was a way to reverse this spell.
But even Kazuya knows that the purification of a deity cannot be undone, and he knows, somewhere
in his soul, that Eijun is too afraid of becoming that wrathful god once more to ever attempt it.

“Does that mean I’m really going to lose you?”

It hurts so much to say the words out loud, to risk making them a reality. But Kazuya has to make
absolutely sure.

The bond he has been grasping at for so long, the bond he has spun around his fingers and arms, the
rest of his body, the bond he has done everything he possibly could to hold on to is slipping through
his fingers like rays of sunlight.

“Yes,” Eijun says, voice quiet and weak against Kazuya’s neck, fingers digging into his shirt.

And perhaps, Kazuya thinks, like the sun it was impossible for him to grasp that special bond in the
first place.

He spends the next couple of work days while the students are working hard on their final tests on
arranging a scrimmage. In the beginning of the school year it had been impossible to get practice
matches even if he’d used his name, but by now his team is so well-known in the area that he doesn’t
need to.

So the day before graduation the two teams meet on the dusty school field, the coaches shake hands
and the students bow to each other, grinning at the prospects of a good match.

From the sidelines Kazuya watches his team with pride, thinking back on that first match he’d
witnessed a little under a year ago and how much they’ve grown.

They’d groaned at the food plans and practice menus he’d given them, but he’d reminded them that
if they want to keep playing without him they’ll need it. And they'd all looked at him with the same
question in their eyes, one none of them ever asked.

“Why can’t you just stay?”

But it’s already been announced that the school will close a year or two from now, that the youngest
of their team will be the last to graduate. And Kazuya, they know, should not sacrifice a career in the
city to stay.

“I expect to see you all on TV next year,” he had threatened them. “Otherwise I might just come
back with worse plans for you.”

That gets their attention, and Kazuya laughs.

Wakana scores a home run and ends the game 7-2, and the children cheer with all their might.

Twice more in his career he is engulfed in a group hug so overwhelming it pushes him off his feet so
he lands in the dust with a large group of kids on top of him. On that day after they win, and on the
next day, when they are all crying tears of happiness and farewell.

And Kazuya welcomes their feelings with an open heart, knowing he is returning to the harsh
competitiveness of the Tokyo elite, and knowing that these memories he will get to keep.
And he will need their warmth and respect for him in the early days. Hopefully he can do what Rei
has hired him to do, to bring back some of the camaraderie that makes Seidou baseball a team sport
and not just a duty of individual cogs making the clock tick.

And when he walks back to the shrine that afternoon, after saying good-bye to his students and
handed out his email address so they can contact him with questions, he notices not the dust or the
age of the town like he had done on his first arrival.

He sees the sun dance across a street where a kid is playing with a dog, he sees an old couple
arguing good-naturedly outside the convenience store he’d hidden under from the rain together with
Eijun. He sees a high school student texting and smiling at her phone, he sees a boy carrying his little
sister home because she’d hurt her leg.

The sun shines on all of them equally, watching over them with a soft cheer, so that they can live
their lives looking straight ahead, smiling, laughing, crying.

Life.

This town is alive, Kazuya thinks. In a different way than Tokyo ever was. Than it ever will be.

But the world is vast, and this place will never be enough for Kazuya.

He only wishes he could take Sawamura Eijun with him.

“You sent it right?”

“Why would I be here if I hadn’t sent it?”

“Did you remember to send a copy? The post services aren’t always trustworthy, you know.”

“I used the internet, idiot. This isn’t the eighteenth century.”

They are standing on the empty platform on the first day of the spring holidays. There is not much
time before the train to Tokyo is due, and neither of them has any intention of acknowledging that
fact for as long as they can neglect to do so.

Eijun huffs. “I just want to make sure you don’t come back here in two days because they didn’t get
the papers.”

“I’m starting to think you actually want to get rid of me,” Kazuya jokes.

The pain in Eijun’s gaze tells him he’s gone too far there, and he lets go of his suitcase so he can take
his hands instead. “I’m sorry.”

He rests his forehead against Eijun’s shoulder and closes his eyes. He won’t cry. Only one of them
will remember this in the days to come, in the years that will follow, and he intends this to be
something that can be looked back on with as little anguish as possible.

“I hate this,” Eijun says.

“Me too.”

Kazuya gathers some of his last courage and straightens. He allows himself as long as he needs to
study Eijun’s face, to mark every detail in his memory; the straight nose and high cheekbones, the
way the sun plays in his hair, so many hues of brown and gold that he could stare forever at the way
it always changes.

And Kazuya thinks he refuses to believe that he’ll ever be able to forget those eyes, golden like the
sun, usually so bright with sunlight. He has seen so many emotions in those eyes, on that face. Anger
and determination, happiness and amusement, frustration and indignation. Love, desire, devotion.

Those are words they have never said, have never needed to say.

In body and soul they’ve been able to communicate like the perfect battery is supposed to; without
words, but with actions. And an understanding had grown here that he wishes he’d had on the field
for the entirety of his baseball career.

A career he’s going back to in a sense.

And he wants to be able to remember this for as long as he possibly can, wants to cling to it for as
long as time and distance will allow.

So he looks, and he engraves Eijun on the back of his eyelids, traces his face with his eyes, like he
has done every night for the last few weeks.

Eventually his staring becomes too much for Eijun and he frowns in embarrassment, cheeks flushing.
“Are you going to keep staring?”

Kazuya grins sheepishly. “Sorry. I just wanted…”

He trails off and sighs, and Eijun smiles in understanding. He lifts his hand to trace his fingers over
Kazuya’s cheek, his nose, his eyelids as Kazuya’s eyes flutter closed.

Another hand repeats the patterns on his left side, and Kazuya wonders if something in him will at
least remember this in every caress of sunlight across his face. He hopes so.

Palms settle on his cheeks and pulls him in.

The kiss is anything but light and sweet. It is desperate and open, laying bare what little there is left
for the other to see. Hearts pounding in sync in their chests, bittersweet love and painful farewell
painting their cheeks so Kazuya will never know which one of them was crying, or whether it was
the both of them. And even when they need to separate to breathe they exchange small kisses
between breaths.

Eijun grasps at Kazuya’s shirt and pulls him close, so close Kazuya has to rest his chin on Eijun’s
shoulder, so close he thinks he's being pressed all the way through the cracks of Eijun’s ribcage, until
their hearts are left bare to each other, until there is nothing separating them at all. One heart, beating
and full of life only because it is complete.

So it hurts even more, excruciatingly much, to push away a little.

But Kazuya knows there’s something he has to do. Something he has to make sure of, before he
leaves.

“Eijun,” he says, grasping his shoulders. “There’s something we need to talk about.”

The deity nods, not in agreement but to show he’s listening. Kazuya isn’t sure if this is the right
choice; he’s not ready for more of this. For more anguish. He just wants to go home to the temple
and forget all this. To run away.
But he can’t.

“I know I’ll forget.”

Eijun blinks at his words, and then he pales, physical form flickering out of sight for a second as he
loses concentration.

“Wha- what?”

“I know humans forget you when they’re not exposed to your presence for long enough,” Kazuya
says. “I’ve known since you stopped coming to practice.”

Eijun opens his mouth to say something. His eyes are wide with fear now, and he’s a little too
transparent for Kazuya’s liking.

But Kazuya doesn’t let him speak, he continues quickly. “I want you to promise me you won’t feel
guilty for not telling me. I can understand why you didn’t tell me.” He smiles gently and brushes a
thumb over Eijun’s jaw in a featherlight caress. “It’s why I didn’t say anything either.”

Colour slowly returns to Eijun’s cheeks and he regards Kazuya solemnly. “I’m sorry.”

Kazuya pulls him in for another hug. “Me too,” he says relishing in a familiar warmth for the last
time. “I’m sorry for leaving you alone. I’m sorry I can’t take you with me.” A tear trails down his
cheek.

He doesn’t want to leave Eijun behind to loneliness again, but that’s exactly what he’s doing.

Eijun shakes his head. “Don’t apoligize,” he says, pushing away a little and framing Kazuya’s face
with his hands. “You woke me. You took away all that loneliness. Thank you, Kazuya.”

If it didn’t hurt so much Kazuya would’ve laughed. Eijun was the one who brought him out of
isolation. Eijun was the one who reminded him of genuine smiles and the simple love of baseball.

Why is he the one being thanked?

Kazuya can’t understand that. He doesn’t want to.

The train rolls in, iron wheels screeching to a halt and Kazuya’s heart plummets.

He turns his back momentarily on the train, ignoring all its noise and promise of farewell, and shares
one last firm kiss with Eijun.

“Goodbye,” he says, giving Eijun one last squeezed hug, words for Eijun alone. “Come find me
once we are both free.”

He lets go, fingers moving in lingering patterns down Eijun’s arms, trying to prolong the contact until
their fingers slip and fall apart.

With a heavy heart and limbs resisting his every movement Kazuya takes his suitcase and steps onto
the first step.

“Kazuya!”

He turns around just inside the doors to see Eijun smiling through his tears. “Goodbye,” he says.
“Live a full life! Never forget your love of baseball again.”
And at least this he can give him, Kazuya thinks as his eyes burn. “I will. I promise. Thank you.”

Kazuya stands on those steps until the doors close, until the train moves, until Sawamura Eijun is
forever taken from right in front of him.

What do you do when you have to say goodbye to the one you love? What do you do when they slip
through your fingers and you lose sight of them forever?

Do you go mad with grief? Do you give way to sadness and mourn the heart you left behind, that
vital piece that keeps you going forever lost to you?

Kazuya takes his first step alone, down the hall to the nearest compartment, pushes his suitcase under
a seat and sits down.

The world outside is a blur of motion that he never notices. He takes off his glasses and carefully
places them in the empty seat beside him and rests his palms over his eyes, forcing himself to recall
every precious memory.

A trembling breath.

And a tear.

And then another.

Smiles and laughter. Sitting close in fall to watch the stars, sharing warmth in winter. Snowball
fights, baseball games. Walking under an umbrella in early spring. Falling asleep with heavy limbs
under a gentle sun, with an ear against a naked chest in the darkness of night, so a heartbeat dictates
the steady rhythm of his breathing. Bright happiness burning his blood in every moment.

The memories slip slowly from his mind, and he clings to them for as long as he can, hopelessly,
desperately.

By the time he arrives in Tokyo that evening he can no longer remember why he is crying.

He takes another step on his own; dries his eyes and replaces his glasses. Then he exits the train,
suitcase in hand.

His flat is a cold, empty, dark place, but he’s relieved to be out of the rain that falls heavy and
melancholic from the sky outside, like it’s crying as well, like it will never stop crying.

The next few days are rushed: he has to get all his furniture back from storage, from the house in
Nagano, has to be reintroduced at Seidou. Like Ochiai he intends to watch for a while until he has a
firm grasp of the members of the baseball club. Then there is the tougher curriculum, not only is he
now working at a high school, but he’s also working at an elite school with much higher
requirements.

He still laughs at his students, still teases Kuramochi, still answers Rei with cheek.

But it’s lonely.

His flat seems bigger and more isolated than he remembers it, even if it’s smaller than the house in
Nagano. He doesn’t like it much anymore, and spends as much time as he can out and about.

When he’s left to his own devices he starts to think, and it gives him the strangest feeling that he’s
forgotten something important, like he’s lost something precious.
 But he can’t remember what.

Sometimes it overwhelms him, this powerful feeling of loss, an endless powerful pain in his chest,
like a physical wound he doesn’t remember ever having received. It leaves him breathless, and tears
trail down his cheeks, and it comes in the most random moments; watching a middle school baseball
game on television, scanning through a shoujo manga Jun sent him, praying at the shrine at New
Years.

The feeling is a constant at night, a dull ache he slowly has to get used to, a feeling that becomes a
natural part of his every day life. His sheets smell of summer grass and green apples, and no matter
how much he washes them he can’t get the smell out.

Still, he sleeps better than he ever remembers having done before. And he feels freer now than he
ever did before going to Nagano.

He smiles more genuinely, he talks to his father without apprehension, and he does an active effort to
get in touch with old friends.

Sometimes, when the sun falls through the leaves of a tree, making specks of dust glow like stars, he
swears he can hear the sound of laughter, feel the caress of gentle fingers across his cheek.

And there is solace in that, though he doesn’t remember why.

Chapter End Notes

So.
This is where the story ends for me. There is an epilogue, but as the writer... this is
where it ends for me, and you can choose to let it end here as well, or wait for the
epilogue, which will be up same time next week and that DOES have a happy ending. I
promise you that.
But yeah... this story came about because of a drawing I was making which is on my
tumblr. It was very much on a whim and I didn't even know that deity fics were a thing.
Usually when these types of stories happen I have no idea how they'll end immediately,
but when I was about two chapters in I was listening to Follow You by Bring Me the
Horizon (which is a very Misawa song for me in general), and there was a part I'd
always had trouble sharing cause I'm not a native speaker. So I looked it up. And it said
"so dig two graves, cause when you die I swear I'll be leaving by your side"
And I swear, it was like an out of body experience. The entire story just unfolded in my
mind and... this is where it ends.
But because I'm not good with unhappy endings (and this particular one plagued me to
the point where I didn't enjoy writing it all that much) I ended up adding the last few
explanations after the end, or at least the ones that are clearly spoken and not hinted at.
Together with a happy ending. And that's what you'll see in the epilogue.
However... Emotionally. And for their character development. This is where it ends.

In reality this is... or it became I guess... a sort of pastoral tale with a person going into a
countryside setting, having a groundbreaking experience and then being changed
forever when he comes out again.
It only occured to me once I was done even though I'd had an entire semester on it.
But anyway.
Thank you guys so much for reading, for your kind comments, your feedback, and for
your bookmarks and kudos. I really do appreciate it, and I think I've started sounding a
bit like a broken record in the replies.
But yeah.
Thank you.

Once this story is finished I'll start uploading a new fic. It'll be much happier and it's set
in canon - there are five chapters. I hope you'll check it out if you have the time :D
 Epilogue
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The year before he starts his first year of middle school Miyuki Kazuya spends a chilly winter
holiday with his parents, visiting relatives.

It’s a rare thing, a reprieve in his father’s schedule, and Kazuya has fun, knowing to appreciate it
while it’s there.

He gets to play baseball with kids close to where his grandparents live, gets into snowball fights with
his cousins, and watches the historical dramas during New Years.

The day they go home they take a detour through Nagano to visit some animal park that’s best to
visit in the winter; the foxes are white then, zipping in and out between the piles of snow like ghosts.
When they leave in the afternoon they drive along a highway that takes them through the mountains
and at a sudden twist in the road Kazuya looks up from the book he’s reading to see a village that he
doesn’t know but recognizes.

He lets out a yell of surprise and jumps onto his knees to get a better look. His mum and dad jump as
well, but not quite in the same type of surprise as their son.

His father swears and his mother twists in her seat.

“Kazu, what are-“

“Dad, can we go to that village, please?” he talks over her.

The two adults exchange a look.

“Sit back down first, Kazu,” his mother advices him gently.

Knowing neither adult will listen if he doesn’t do as he’s told he sits back down before repeating his
question. It’s difficult not to turn and look out the window again. The village is behind them now,
and though he knows he needs to pay attention he gets more restless with every second they’re
moving away from the village.

“Why do you want to go so badly, Kazuya? You’ve never been there.”

That’s his father’s rational way of thinking.

“I—“ he hesitates. He has been there. There’s somebody waiting for him, somebody he … he didn’t
make a promise but he’d wanted to. “I saw an article about a buddhist temple and recognised the
pictures. Can we go? I really want to see it.”

His parents exchange looks and then indulgent smiles.

“Well, you don’t ask for much, do you?”

His mother laughs and Kazuya grins.

Kazuya sprints up the old broken staircase, leaving his parents behind. They are precarious and frost
and snow stick to the dead plants sticking out between the cracks, making not slipping a matter of
concentration and careful footwork.

When he gets to the top he’s immediately standing in a field of sunflowers. The sun dances in the air,
warm and cheerful making the flowers glow in hues of gold.

He blinks and the flowers vanish, leaving only snow and winter behind.

Ahead of him he can see a small mound in the snow. He sprints up to it and shovels some of the
snow away with his hands. He uncovers broken old wood that has lost most of its red paint, and
stones that would have once made a roof of a shrine.

When he looks up he can almost see the building there, red wood and gold details, brown tiles and a
hand carved alter, and he wonders who it had belonged to. What kind of god.

But there’s still something here. Something that pulls him, making him feel restless, like he’s too late,
breaking a deadline, and Kazuya looks around for that whisper of memory.

Around him stand naked trees, ancient and with many secrets they refuse to share; stories of the
people here before they had abandoned the shrine, of monks and visitors, of sunshine and winter.
They direct his gaze, however, to a path to his right and he’s halfway across the field of snow when
his parents arrive at the top of the stairs.

“Kazuya!” his father calls in exasperation, pausing to catch his breath.

“Be careful!” his mother yells. “There’s a lake that way!”

“I know,” he replies, waving at them and grinning. “I’ll be careful.”

He doesn't notice his parents turning to each other or his father muttering “how could he know?”

Kazuya knows, however, and he recognises all the small paths that keep him away from the water’s
frozen edge. The sun almost blinds him as he steps into this new clearing and for a second he swears
he can see the temple and the house connected to it.

Then he blinks, and sees another abandoned ruin.

He stops not far from it to regard the old structure. The supporting beams still stand, some diagonally
and some in their original angle. The roof seems to have caved in, carving a hill in the snow that
covers the structure, grey and lonely now, when he can almost imagine the life that had been here
before.

“Welcome to the old Miyuki temple,” a woman’s voice says, and Kazuya turns.

An elderly woman is standing not too far from him, readjusting some objects in her basket.

“…Miyuki?”

She smiles, teeth splitting her face in silent humor, as if she knows, as if she understands thoughts of
not-quite-coincidence going through Kazuya’s mind. “Yes.”

He pauses. There’s something uncanny about her; she seems normal, but he hadn’t noticed her at all
and she should have been right in his line of sight as he came charging down the path.

“How come it’s broken? And how come the shrine is as well?”
“A decade or two ago, you forget with age, there was an earthquake and both structures collapsed.”

“What about the god that lives here? The monks in the temple?”

A laugh. “Oh, dear child. No monk has lived here for centuries. And the god …” she casts a fond
smile at the temple. “The god has been freed from his duties.”

Kazuya’s heart stills in his chest, and he looks back up at the structure in front of him. “How do you
know?”

Hope, tentative and cautious, trembles on his lips, an unsteady breath. But it still tumbles out of him,
impatient and without care for the consequences.

“The last tie that bound him here had been, not severed, but it no longer tied him to the blood of the
family or the land,” she says.

Kazuya frowns briefly at her, but he looks quickly away, back to the temple. He takes the last few
steps towards the house and stops there.

“What do you mean?”

“When the first monks resided here they purified the god,” she explains, patient like only the ancient
can be with the young and their need to knowledge, their need for clarity. “But the monk who
actually did the ritual was young and inexperienced and accidentally bound the god to his bloodline.
So when the last of his line died without another heir the god died with him.”

And the hope that had in all its cautious impatience forced him to ask, to take a chance, spreads its
wings and soars. And it evolves into something else, something like joy. It feels like liquid sunlight in
his bloodstream and he smiles at the empty building, happy for a being he doesn’t even really believe
in.

When he reaches out to touch the beam standing the closest to him, palm settling against old wood a
thousand golden butterflies spread their wings and take flight. Kazuya gapes at the sight and takes a
step back to get a better look as they separate and fly in every direction.

“What was that?” he gasps, looking back at the woman.

She smiles at him, warm and fond, like she knows him, and knows how inexplicably happy he is
right now.

And for a moment she isn't old and crippled. For a moment she’s helping him cook food in a kitchen,
she's offering him an umbrella so he and--

“Kazuya!”

His parents come into sight and Kazuya turns away briefly to yell at them that he’ll be right there.

When he turns back to ask the elderly woman what the butterflies meant once more, she’s vanished.

All that’s left is the footprints of an animal in the snow, and the tail of a raccoon vanishing in-
between the trees.

‘A butterfly is the sign of a loved one having passed on,’ a voice whispers to him.

-zuya
“Kazuya!”

The catcher jumps a little and turns from the charts on the bench beside him to look up at the other
second year boy hailing him.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“The first years are beginning to hand in their club applications,” the shortstop says, mischief in his
eyes. “Come have a look. There are some interesting people. And the coach is picking a couple at
random to see what they can do.”

Kazuya raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Well, you were one of the lucky ones who didn’t get to do that last year,” the other boy says as they
make their way over. He shivers at an uncomfortable memory and Kazuya grins.

“Don’t tell me you got hand-picked? How nice,” he sighs wistfully just to spite his teammate. “I
could’ve gotten on the first string even faster that way. I’m jealous.”

“I ought to kick your ass for bragging like that.”

Kazuya laughs. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“What? You— can he do that?!”

Kazuya’s eyes are drawn to the loud voice. It’s familiar, like the chime of bells, or laughter in
sunlight.

A scrawny kid with messy dark brown hair, wide eyes and tan skin is demanding some sort of justice
for new team-members. He laughs like it’s nothing when a third year tells him to lower his voice and
that he isn’t even on the team yet.

“No, senpai, but I will be soon,” he says confidently.

And it’s all coming back to Kazuya. In pieces and fragments; a beautiful kaleidoscope of color and
smiles and sunlight. An incomplete memory of a former life, but the most important parts.

The ones he’d been missing.

“Maybe you’d like to prove it to us,” Kazuya yells before he can stop himself.

This will be good. This will be great. This will be baseball of the highest quality, he thinks. Even if it
isn’t right now, there is plenty of time to grow. He isn’t exactly polished himself, yet.

“Wha- why do I have to prove anything?!” Eijun demands. “This is a middle school, it’s egalitari—
AH. MIYUKI KAZUYA! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!”

And Kazuya can only grin, blazing. “I told you, didn’t I? You underestimate the selfishness of
human beings, Sawamura Eijun.”

His fellow second years look back and forth between Eijun and Kazuya.

“You know him?”

 “Sort of,” Kazuya says. His face muscles are protesting at how much he’s smiling, but he couldn’t
contain his excitement, couldn’t stop the happiness he feels from spreading like fire in his veins, even
if he wanted to. “So, what? Are you going to prove to us that you’re worth attention or are you going
to keep yelling all day?”

“BOTH! Are you going to help me or not?”

Kazuya laughs. “I guess I have no choice,” he says.

He walks over to the first year and throws an arm around his shoulders. “What do you say, coach?
He seems like a pretty interesting guy. Can I catch his pitch?”

He doesn’t miss the way Eijun stands proudly at his side, his own arm resting around Kazuya’s
waist.

The coach gives them a once-over and then sighs. “I can see we’re in trouble,” he says. “Go ahead.”

“Yes, sir!”

Sunlight falls across the field, brightening their smiles, and as they sprint across the field hand in
hand, the sun catches in the dust they’d kicked up, making it glow like stars.

“You’re stuck with me this time,” Kazuya says when they’re out of earshot.

Eijun laughs. “Are you sure it’s not the other way around?”

"People think dreams aren't real just because they aren't made of matter, of particles.

Dreams are real. But they are made of viewpoints, of images, of memories and puns and lost
hopes.”

-Neil Gaiman

Chapter End Notes

And there.
While their emotional journey ended with the last chapter this settles some things that I
had only hinted at. I hope you enjoyed this end. I know it's still bittersweet but I thought
the trope fitted will with the general themes. One commenter actually guessed it really
early :D
Thank you so so much for reading this, I know I'm sounding like a broken record but I
really really mean it. Thank you for sticking with this until the end, and beyond to this
new beginning.
And thank you for all your truly wonderful comments after chapter 11. I was completely
blown away by the sudden activity and I actually cried at a few! I didn't think it had
touched anyone this much and I feel so honored that I managed.
 It feels a little weird to let this story go. Probably because it hasn't completely let go of
me. There are a million songs I listen to that will remind me of the pain I've caused these
two, and there is one part of the story that I'll probably never write, that I hope won't
stay with me too long. Or I'll end up going nuts and actually writing it at one point.
Though I'd rather not.
Idk if this is something anyone of you are interested in, but I thought I'd leave a small list
of songs here that inspired parts of this story, or helped me with the emotional themes
when I was struggling. Some of them are in Japanese but most of them are English:

Sayonara no Natsu from From up on Poppy Hill

Bring me the Horizon - Follow you
Amber Run - I Found
SID - Rain
The Devil Wears Prada - Louder Than Thunder
Jillian - Within Temptation
Owl City - The Real World
Digital Daggers - Still Here
One Republic - I Lived

End Notes

Thank you for reading the first chapter!!

I hope you enjoyed it and will find the time to share your thoughts and impressions with me
:D

Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!