Archive of Our Own

Once, in a place distant only by the measure of moons, there existed a man who stood tall as trees. Only instead of a man it was a boy, and the boy was a fat boy, and stupid looking, but he did have hair. Yet the life of a boy holds many worries, many trials. Many decisions. And this man who was still a boy had few to turn to in his tribulations, for this boy was the man to whom all others turn. Guide of young, guide of old, guide of self. Strongest, tallest. Naggiest. The man they call leader.

And so it was that lacking recourse from his many vexations the boy's fists would clench, first to the heavens, and then—finding little purchase within the clouds—into his own shiny locks. There those fists would rend their contents, again and again, over moons slim and glutted, parting tress from root till each last strand had been spoilt upon the ground.

And so beneath the sheen of the ravaged wasteland, above the arms and fists that created it, came the straining not of thin locks but of lips and brow. Came a visage fearsome enough to blister the fiercest of men. Came the replacement of his last captainhood's stressful pulling: that supremely unique facial contortion which we all know today.

Thus was the story thought to go. Thus was the story told. Thus would it keep being told, because sometimes Tajima did not know how to shut the hell up.

Izumi enjoyed a healthy respect for his captain. This did not impede him, when spaced with adequate restraint, from enjoying Tajima's story time. And it wasn't just because he'd helped out with the wording on some of the better parts, either. In Izumi's eyes, the story of Man Tall As Trees was not just an entertaining take on history but a testament to the esteem in which they held their captain. There was something to be said for a leader who'd endure such lengths to shoulder his team.

The problem was saying “shoulder his team” wasn't really appropriate in the case of Nishiura. There was a reason only one of them was expounding creation myths like a man making sense of the everyday facts of his world.

So the reaction hadn't just been sarcasm, honestly.

Izumi was bent double in his chair, still in the act of shoving the last of the books and papers into his bag. At the sound of the other boy's approach, he pointed a thumb over his shoulder and said “He's that way.”

After lowering his hand, Izumi took his time making sure everything in the bag went to its proper place before clicking the clasp shut. He wasn't the overly neat type by any means, nor the type to drag his feet on the way from the end of class to practice. But the humid heat of the classroom had its way of making every significant movement feel like strokes against a current of glue.

It was odd the way Hanai was still staring down at him after he'd finished.

Rather than crane his neck for a better angle, Izumi slouched back further in his chair, head hitting the backrest. It had about the same effect.

He scratched his head. “Also, maybe you should consider wearing your glasses more often.”

Hanai sighed, bringing a hand up to massage his forehead. “Tajima is not the only reason I ever come in this room.”

Izumi shrugged. Maybe not, but Hanai had moaned something along the lines of “For the love of God why don't you just tell him so he stops doing this?” as he'd entered. He was pretty sure there was only one person guilty of agitations bad enough to warrant no preamble. Izumi paused in the act of rubbing his scalp on the chair, debating the merits of responding with this versus one of the plethora of other unwelcome replies Hanai had just opened himself up to.

The glue seemed to be doing a number on his brain as well.

“—both of us in trouble won't do the team any good. And you of all people know the way that guy is. I realize it might not work, but why haven't you at least tried telling him already?”

Izumi blinked, straightening in his seat. The realization Hanai had been speaking was only secondary to the realization of what he'd been speaking about.

Indeed, on the subject of Hanai agitators, Izumi stood corrected.

And his grin was difficult to stifle.

“Sorry, tell who what?” he said, because he still hadn't thought of an answer.

It was hard to tell if his feint was being bought when all Hanai did was moan and glare with a look of disbelief.

Not just any look, actually.

Izumi was surprised to find himself squirming. Considering the whole team's frequency of exposure to the captain face, he ought to be used to it by now. Then again, he'd rarely been the sole target. The discomfort only increased as Hanai continued to stand above him, emotive display garnering odd looks from departing classmates.

Izumi sighed to himself before pushing out the nearest empty chair in offering. “You need to sit down?”

Hanai reached out to take the seat, though not before pausing a moment to frown down at Izumi with the disgruntled look of someone bearing strong suspicions of being mocked.

Izumi coughed.

Well, okay.

Izumi did have his sticking points. One being that when possible, the moderating of strange and embarrassing behavior should be a personal responsibility. He himself had pretend-slept through numerous Tajima-Mihashi lunchtime conversations, and stood still and commentless through enough pitcher abuse sessions he'd likely earned himself a ticket to the same level of hell as Abe. He still felt his tactic to be a good one, notwithstanding his now profound disquiet that if ever an occasion arose in which he needed to sexually please Tajima, he could do so with great erudition.

As for the current situation, Hanai didn't even have to be involved. Yet their captain had been too responsible to allow his classmate to continue returning late after every lunch period. Less than a week after the other boy had first ambled into Izumi's class with the utterly random revival of his utterly ridiculous question, Hanai had become the designated idiot retrieval team.

“Mizutani?” Hanai finally offered, now from the desk beside him. “Come on. It's almost every other day now. For weeks!”

Izumi shrugged. He supposed Mizutani's actions could fall under the displeasureable heading of strange and embarrassing behavior, but they hadn't been so bad as some things. He moved to rest his chin on the desk, turning his face away from Hanai's. “If it bothers you so much why haven't you told him?”

He could hear the other boy shift back and forth in his chair for some time before answering.

“So then it's alright if I do?”

Izumi blinked, real confusion edging in on his voice as he nearly turned around. “You were looking for permission?”

“No! I just thought you might be—” Izumi knew Hanai well enough to recognize the increased volume as a sign of embarrassment. There were a few irritated huffs before he tried again. “I'm supposed to think you'd refuse to answer a simple question for absolutely no reason? Fine. I thought maybe you knew what you were doing or something, but if you don't then it's fine and there's no reason I can't so it's ok and I don't have to worry about it! ”

This time Izumi did turn around, not even bothering to hide his grin as he answered. “Sorry. Tell who what?”

This was actually getting interesting. If Hanai had constructed some scenario in which Izumi had mysterious reasons for conspiring to keep Mizutani around him, it was probably worth hearing. So when the boy merely glared at him in answer, he tried again. “No, seriously. What are you talking about?”

Hanai sighed. “He might stop coming if you tell him, right?”

Izumi practiced his most ingratiating nod.

“So I figured maybe that was why you weren't telling him. So he'd keep, you know. Coming in here?”

It took a moment to realize Hanai had finished giving his full theory. When the fact did sink in, Izumi wondered how well he could pass off the slight gape his jaw was making as the beginnings of a vocalization.

“Whoa. Whoa, wait. You thought... I wouldn't just... And like I'd... Come on!”

As it turned out, not very well. Talking before thinking made him feel like Tajima and sound like Mihashi. And it was probably best to differentiate himself from the latter as much as possible right now. He paused to clear his head before starting again. “Look, if I wanted someone to hang out with me, I'm capable of just telling them!”

Hanai looked at Izumi consideringly, as if the the presence of such capabilities could be gauged visually. Apparently, Izumi was found lacking.

“None of us have much time to make other friends. Tajima and Mihashi are the only other guys in your class on the team. And they're always talking with each other, and Hamada said lately when Mizutani isn't around you're always just pretending to sleep. So I wasn't sure if you were just...” Rather than finish his sentence, Hanai made a few gesticulations, as if Izumi's actions could be summed up in the exasperated circular movement of his hands.

Izumi copied the gesture, localizing it more closely around his head. “Going crazy? Probably. Cause I could swear you just implied I've been trying to solve that problem by conniving to surround myself with even more idiots when all I really want to do is finish my lunch. They don't make the food taste any better, you know. Sometimes they make it go away even faster. Or hadn't you noticed?”

Hanai frowned, failing to respond to the suggestive look cast at the other lingering occupants in the room. Hamada, who was apparently a stupid tattletale jerk, was already gone. Tajima, however, took the silence as invitation—a habit no doubt connected with the aforementioned lunchtime behavior—and grinned over to the two as he moved closer, sliding atop a nearby desk. “If Mizutani really wanted to know what RICE was, he'd just look it up or ask someone else.”

Izumi blinked. The idea hadn't occurred to him before, but Tajima had a point. He remembered the first day Mizutani had come for a lunchtime visit, awkwardly large English-Japanese dictionary in tow. The boy could have borrowed an electronic dictionary, or at least a paperback that didn't take two hands to hold open. Instead, when Izumi refused to move his meal to make room for the book, Mizutani had stood behind him and plopped the pages immediately before his face, arms pressed to either side of Izumi's shoulders, definition underlined in pencil. The classroom was already warm, and the heat of the other boy had been uncomfortable. When Mizutani failed to respond to his protests and mild struggling, Izumi had dug his elbow into the other's side. Mizutani had finally backed away then, giggling giddily.

Tajima swung his dangling legs with an energy that if continued might rock the desk over backwards. “Mizutani's not really that stupid.”

Before the obligatory expression of skepticism or the pointed expression of the inappropriateness of the current judge could leave Izumi's lips, a distressed yowl echoed from past the classroom door.

Though normally a certain amount of pandemonium was considered natural to halls filled with departing students, something in the quality of the sound, or perhaps the familiarity of it—or perhaps the fact it had clearly been made by someone yelling not out in the hall but standing flush up against the closed doorway—made the remaining boys in the room turn their heads.

Before anyone could speak, the door opened.

Mizutani held one foot off the ground, supporting himself by wrapping an arm around Abe's neck, choking him slightly. To his credit, Abe merely looked impatient. As Mizutani lost his balance entering and avoided falling by yanking on the neckline of Abe's shirt, he merely looked more impatient.

“Set me down over there,” Mizutani said, righting himself as he pointed toward where the other boys had clustered. When Abe failed to move, he released his hold and began to hop over himself.

“Oh, Hanai,” he said, lifting himself gingerly onto a desk. “I hurt my knee really bad tripping in the hall. I don't know if I'll be able to make it to practice.”

“I see,” Hanai answered flatly.

“I'd really like to come with you, but I guess I'll just have to sit around and eat too much while you guys work yourselves to the point of exhaustion.”

“You have stuff to eat?” Tajima said, finally becoming interested.

“I have this can of soda.” Mizutani dug into his bag and then set it on the desk next to him. Tajima looked disappointed.

Izumi smirked a little but remained silent. He was pretty sure the fun of joining in on the conversation would be outweighed by the discomfort of knowing Hanai was watching him.

Instead he looked to Abe, still rubbing his neck and assuring the condition of the button fastening his collar. Izumi was momentarily amused by the face the other boy made as he peeled the damp part of his shirt away from his side. Abe was going to spend the rest of the day half covered in essence of Mizutani.

Catching himself, Izumi turned away. In a world where declining to answer a question could be read as a desperate cry for companionship, god only knew what accidentally smiling at someone meant.

There, though, was clear evidence that unnecessary physical contact with Mizutani was an affliction endured by all teammates. Not being touched at all would be the more unsettling thing, really. They were all close. Izumi was singled out more often for Mizutani's tickling duty, but that wasn't entirely unnecessary. It was functional. And Izumi was good at tickling. He had fast fingers. Mizutani also said he was sneaky and had warm hands, though they were rougher on the skin than Mizutani's. Mizutani had demonstrated for him.

Izumi sighed.

He sat up and turned to the window. He'd expected to see Mihashi, but the boy had moved. After Tajima made his sudden relocation, his friend had begun a slow migration across the room toward their group. Today, he must already have trekked half the classroom's length and joined a favored teammate's side. Yet the age when Mihashi's movements were been better measured in halting inches was still far from ancient history.

Hanai was definitely an idiot. If Izumi actually wanted to be around someone, he knew how to start a conversation, how to ask for a phone number, how to invite them over. Those were the natural kind of things friends asked of one another. Izumi wasn't stupid enough to be embarrassed by stuff like that.

“Hey.” Mizutani chimed across from him. “Can I rest my leg on your desk?”

The slapping noise of skin on wood, produced as Izumi's arms met hard surface a little too quickly, probably wasn't as loud or as resonant as it sounded in his head. He might have been able to let it slide without comment had his limbs not continued to grope about post-landing, as if by some arrangement they might discover a way to cover the desk space completely.

Izumi already had his mouth open as he turned toward the group, no more aware what excuse was going to come out of it than his teammates no doubt waiting to hear.

He only noticed then that Mizutani wasn't looking at him.

“I didn't say yes,” Hanai said, staring down at the foot that lay across his arms.

Indeed, Mizutani wasn't the only one not looking at him. The entire room's attention was focused at the dubiously injured boy. As the scene progressed, Hanai attempting to push Mizutani's leg off as Mizutani continuously replaced it, Izumi wondered how he'd ever taken so long to realize that his own dignity was no longer the one most in question here.

He finally turned to the group with a smile. “You didn't hear, Hanai? Not saying no is the new saying yes.”

Hanai glared at him and rolled his eyes, but he gave up on trying to push Mizutani off. Izumi nodded to the leg and looked up at the boy. “It sounds pretty bad. Shouldn't you be in a lot more pain right now?”

“I'm too tough and manly to show pain.” Mizutani beamed, his tone reminiscent of one imparting exciting and little-known information. “And don't worry. I'll get better as fast as I can, because I have control issues and can only stand seeing someone else do my job for so long. I know it'll be hard for you guys to find someone, anyway.”

Izumi tried not to laugh as he answered, resisting the urge to glance at his other teammates' reactions. “There's definitely no equivalent replacement for someone like you.”

He realized only after Hanai's look that his tone hadn't come out quite how he meant.

Mizutani sounded pleased. “Maybe if someone gives me some rice now I'll get better and be able to make it!”

Hanai must have been waiting for that part. He jumped in before anyone else could respond. “Practice is starting soon, but I can do it for you once we get to the field.” As he spoke he fixed his eyes on Izumi rather than Mizutani.

“I don't know,” Mizutani said, finally drawing Hanai's eyes away. “I'd feel awfully bad if I held you behind, captain...”

For a moment, there was an awkward pause. Izumi thought it might be related to Hanai's surprise when his next meaningful glance met with nothing but the back of Izumi's preemptively turned head. He wasn't sure the last time he'd heard a silence more satisfying.

When Hanai finally did speak, his voice had a casualness to it that sounded even more unabashedly fake than Izumi's earlier gesture of disinterest. “Well it's too bad you're out.” There was the creak of a chair as Hanai stood. “Because it really seems like some of us would do just about anything to keep you around.”

Izumi could get used to lots of things. Repeated exposure to idiotic claims, such as basically being called pathetic and lonely, would in time grow merely tiresome. For now, he could stay with his face turned, and lacking response, Hanai would go away. Some of Izumi's bottled up frustration could be let out helping Tajima play a really nasty prank on their captain. Izumi was good at waiting things out.

Yet instead he said, “Mizutani. I can do it for you, right?” in about the pissiest voice he ever let himself use aloud.

Mizutani's head twitched around at that. But the boy didn't even answer, merely staring at Izumi with his eyes slightly wider than before.

Hanai didn't look nearly so pleased as he should have, either. He spoke before Mizutani could collect himself. “We really do need to go and get changed soon. Let's just go down together and—”

“No. Just get out of here. We won't be that late.” When Hanai continued to frown at him disapprovingly he added quietly, “It's better if you all leave before Abe realizes someone in here is mocking him.”

Hanai rolled his eyes. “Abe realizes someone in here is mocking him. He just doesn't care.”

Izumi gave up the conspiratorial tone. “Good point. But you still have to leave.”

Hanai looked as if he disagreed, but after a moment he turned away. Their other teammates had at some point started their own conversation amongst themselves. Probably about baseball, Izumi thought. The thing baseball teammates were supposed to talk about. After some unnecessary commands from Hanai for them to follow, they were all gone.

When the door clicked shut, Izumi heaved a sigh and sank his forehead to the desk.

Mizutani didn't say anything. When Izumi finally raised his head, the other boy was staring down at his knee.

Izumi stretched, yawning to get his attention.

“They're probably going to have us make this time up later.” Not that he really minded. The source of his irritation now gone, Izumi found he was in no rush to reconnect with it.

“Oh.” Mizutani looked up at him more worried than there was really call to be. “We could go, then. You think we should just go?”

Izumi frowned. Though the other boy had met his gaze for a moment, after that he had looked down. To his knee, to the soda can, to Izumi's bag by the desk. He'd started moving to go before he was even done speaking.

Outside amusement value, Izumi had little desire to know what it was his teammates thought about in bed at night after practice. Still, some things it simply wouldn't do not to know for sure.

“Don't worry about it. You'll be through it in no time.” He stood up, rushing to continue before Mizutani could move far. “RICE is an English acronym. It's a first aid thing. What you do when you get sprains and stuff. So where are you hurt?”

The sound of Mizutani's nervous laugh made Izumi tense. “My knee, remember?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Izumi tried not to trip over his bag as he made his way around the desk to the side with the proper leg. “Nothing higher.”

Mizutani frowned. “No. Why?”

Izumi found the more pressing question to be why he'd even let that last part out at all. He cursed inwardly. “I guess I just thought it might have been...somewhere higher.”

Now Mizutani smiled, bemused. “Like my arm?”

Izumi gritted his teeth. A generally cheerful disposition had its own way of making someone difficult to read.

“Maybe like your brain. I get the feeling sometimes it could use some work.”

Mizutani reacted like he often did when Izumi insulted him, giving a complete lack of response that could very well have been agreement.

“The 'R',” Izumi pushed Mizutani's leg down flat trying not to make the contact unnecessarily long. “Stands for rest. So you stay off the leg. The 'I' is for ice. It's supposed to make it hurt less and take the swelling down.”

“Cool. Here.” Mizutani pressed the can of soda into Izumi's hand. Izumi stared at it.

In a way, if Mizutani had any untoward thoughts about a teammate, it shouldn't necessarily matter. Even Mizutani must have the ability to tell fantasy from the attainable. This ability meant that Hanai didn't try to hit on the English teachers—even if his scores in the class were unnecessarily high—and Hamada didn't try to convince female friends that he couldn't make rent unless he found himself some agreeable roommates.

So in a way, the question was not so much what unsettling scenarios Mizutani was nurturing, but just how well the boy could control himself. How far Mizutani thought he could take things toward the ideas in his head.

And then Mizutani bent his knee again, rolling up the pant leg.

Answer: further than Izumi's point of toleration.

“Hey. I can do it without—” Izumi choked on his words before he finished. Mizutani may not react much to insults, but the sudden irritation in Izumi's voice stopped him mid-roll. The lost, anxious look was back, carefully not staring Izumi in the face. Released, the pant leg slowly unraveled.

After his earlier assurances, claiming lack of time for such details was weak. “You're hurt.” Izumi pushed the leg back down on the desk again, the irritation still clear in his voice. “I can do it without your help.”

He placed his hand on the pant leg and shoved up as roughly as he could. Izumi found the action to have the lack of soft, lingering brushes he was looking for, but the end result left the cloth of Mizutani's pant bunched precariously above the knee. It would fall forward unless he kept his hand where it was.

It was a mental effort, to not let his fingers clench as he resigned them to their place. To not drop the can as slight cold-induced numbness and condensation made it slip under his fingers, or to not consider the picture they must make, Izumi pressing into his teammate's knee, unsure whether hard or soft was the more neutral pressure. Feeling ridiculous for even considering the idea of “neutral pressure.” Moisture smearing on each of them. One point of cold, wet contact, and a hand splayed over folds of fabric on Mizutani's thigh.

Izumi watched his hands, a water droplet dislodged by his fingers traveling gradually down the can, onto the knee, then curling underneath Mizutani's leg. He thought he felt the boy shiver, but he'd been careful not to touch any skin, and it was silly to think he'd notice it through either of the barriers between them.

“What's got you so quiet?” Izumi said, not even keeping the accusation out of his voice anymore. He'd tried to catch Mizutani's expression, only the boy wasn't looking at him, and there was hair in front of his face, and the set of his shoulders didn't tell him anything except that teenage boys have terrible posture.

Mizutani looked up at him and shrugged, laughing a little like that was suitable alternative to an answer. He turned away to rub the ring of condensation off the desk. He wiped the water on his face, though Izumi seriously doubted such a small amount could have done any good.

“That's actually kind of starting to hurt,” he said, glancing down at the can.

Izumi looked at it, blinking. “Oh, right. I think usually you put a cloth in between or something.” He removed the can, though not without grumbling quietly. “If it was cold enough to hurt you could have stopped me earlier.”

Mizutani took the soda without looking at him. “It's not so much anymore, anyway.” He stared at the can, frowning as he turned it in his hand. “You made it warm.”

Izumi rolled his eyes, flexing his numb fingers. “You should be drinking water, anyway.”

Mizutani laughed again. “Since I'm such an invaluable teammate to you?”

Izumi wasn't sure what to say to that.

He remembered the day he'd come on to the Nishiura baseball team, though. Or rather, the way his brother had teased him just days before. You're not in middle school anymore, Kousuke. Joining the baseball club with hair like that'll get you labeled team pretty boy by the end of the first week.

Izumi had waited till his brother left, but he did cut his hair. And then he'd gotten to practice, and there was Mizutani, tall and thin and hair light and long, soft looking and even wavier than his own. And Izumi had thought with him here, I've got nothing to worry about. And the next day he'd started growing his hair out again. His brother was none the wiser by the next time he saw him, and Izumi suffered nothing but the dismay of his mother, who'd paid for the haircut in honor of Izumi's willingness to clean up his appearance.

For all Mizutani's efforts to insert himself into Izumi's presence, it was the only occasion in which he had ever considered Mizutani in a way not entirely related to baseball activities. The rest was all batting and catching, cheering and practice together. And maybe once around the second week he had tried to get Mizutani labeled the team pretty boy, but it had been a joke, and a few people had even laughed. Mizutani had been one of them.

Izumi steeled his eyes and answered with finality. “Yeah.” He grabbed the soda back from Mizutani. The clack as it hit the desk was loud in the empty classroom. “That's exactly what you are.”

Mizutani frowned. “Why'd you say that, anyway?”

“Because that's all you are!” Izumi realized he'd made a mistake only after seeing Mizutani's face.

“Right.” Mizutani swallowed. “Right. But. Uh, no. I meant the other thing, actually. When everyone else was here. About not replacing me?” Mizutani's smile looked a little forced. “What was that even supposed to mean?”

Izumi clenched his teeth. “Nothing weird.”

Mizutani's hands waved when he spoke, the desk he sat on rocking slightly as he suddenly leaned forward for emphasis. “I know! I know you weren't being serious or anything. I mean...”

He had to stop abruptly, making an uncoordinated flail for the soda can now about to roll off the edge of his seat. Izumi stopped it before it fell.

Mizutani looked embarrassed and smiled. “I knew you didn't mean it.” He turned his gaze downward, starting to rub his knee, as if to get the warmth back into it. “It was just sort of weird, because...”

Izumi sighed.

Weird, because I sounded like I did mean it.

Not that there should be anything wrong with that. No one on the team was quite the same. Mizutani wasn't anything like Hanai, who'd been watching him so close that whole time. Or like Abe, standing there scowling as he sniffed his shirt. Or Mihashi, creeping nearer in a way that still felt a little silly to call “progress.” Or Tajima, staring at Mizutani's leg on Hanai's arms, like he was considering the merits of trying this game out himself.

Why would he say something like that?

Because I thought you were funny. “I thought it was funny.” Izumi bent down, mumbling the words into his bag as he rummaged through it. “You know, in that 'it's so not true it's funny' sort of way.”

Looking away had been a good idea. After the corner of his eye caught the uncertain expression on Mizutani's face, Izumi nearly smiled despite himself.

Had he been hiding his amusement a lot lately?

“By the way,” Izumi resurfaced holding an object almost but not entirely unlike what he needed, “I was surprised you were laying it on so thick with Abe right there. I thought you were sort of scared of him?”

Mizutani opened his mouth as if to make loud protest. Then he shut it.

“Abe's scary,” he stated plainly, smiling wider when Izumi finally failed to contain a grin. He made a grab for the wad Izumi had pulled out of his bag. “I guess I thought somebody might back me up.”

“Oh, yeah.” Izumi snorted, watching as Mizutani tugged on the other side of the cloth, though he wasn't sure what he was watching for. “Cause you always see me mocking Abe out loud.”

“Yeah.” Mizutani used his free hand to give Izumi a shove, then latched both hands together to double his pulling efforts. As he leaned backward past the edge of the desk, it occurred to Izumi maybe he was watching because Mizutani was, at the best of times, good free entertainment. He resisted the urge to let go, but yanked the cloth himself a couple times, ruining the boy's balance.

Mizutani twisted the cloth back and forth, appearing to enjoy the challenge. “It's only ever me you're mean to. How come I have to get all the special treatment?”

The tug of war ended then, Izumi releasing his grip without even noticing.

Sure, it was fun to tease Mizutani. Easy, too. So he'd given some gruff words here and there, maybe. Some nicknames. Pointlessly refused to answer a really stupid question. Tickling? Surprise tickling.

A list of evidence long enough that even Hanai thought...

Izumi watched Mizutani, righting himself after nearly falling off the desk, shaking out the wad of cloth he'd won. Letting the form unravel, he first looked disappointed by his find. Then, apparently noticing the dampness, he looked disgusted.

The shirt came back into Izumi's face. “Gross! What are you giving that to me for! It needs to be washed!”

“We need a bandage,” Izumi explained, thinking his face might feel a little hot, because now there was a new entry on the list: pulling out his sweaty shirt to wrap around Mizutani's bare leg.

Talk about strange and embarrassing impulses.

He watched as Mizutani looked for somewhere to wipe his hands, first glancing at his own pants, then zeroing in on Izumi beside him. It was a stupid sort of touching, Mizutani's hands running up and down the sides of Izumi's thighs in a vigorous motion more like washing a dog than anything sensual.

But even if it had been softer and slower, Izumi still didn't think he could have managed anger anymore. Instead, he noted sadly Mizutani's complete lack of apprehension with the act.

“You're going to have to take me to the bathroom after this so I can wash that smell off my hands,” Mizutani informed him.

And you're going to take my pants to wash the smell off of them? “Shut up,” Izumi said, brushing his hands away. “It's just sweat.”

How stupid to think Mizutani would have the nerve to try to seduce an unsuspecting teammate. To seduce anyone, really.

“Old sweat,” Mizutani said, handing him a wad of cloth he'd pulled out of his own bag.

“And this only has fresh sweat on it?” The handkerchief was clearly Hanai's, corners still knotted together from being fastened behind his head. The circumstances under which Mizutani had obtained it were a mystery, but Izumi couldn't help wonder if the two had had their own conversation about Mizutani's visits. Maybe Hanai hadn't gotten his impression Izumi wanted Mizutani's company from nowhere.

“Hanai keeps his head really clean,” Mizutani grinned.

“Clearly a lot cleaner than yours.” Mizutani merely tilted his head slightly, and then ran an inquisitive hand through his hair a few times. Izumi shook his head.

Yet unfortunate though the misunderstanding may have been, it did make things easier. If Mizutani only persisted because he'd been given the impression his feelings were mutual, the damage shouldn't be hard to reverse. All Izumi had to do was treat Mizutani just like he did any other teammate.

Which meant teasing only very occasional if at all, and within reasonable limits. Nicknames probably a bad idea, unless the other guys were using them too. Tickling he could probably push off on others as well, and in the cases where he did have to do it, he could at least try not to be quite so enthusiastic about it. And he was already taking care of the situation that had given Mizutani an invitation to spend extra time around him before. Now all he had to do was avoid creating another, and after that they'd only have the amount of contact that was strictly necessary for two normal members of a baseball team.

It was unsettling, the way each tick of the list filled Izumi with a weight that told him while Mizutani might have been off the mark, maybe Hanai had been right all along.

Izumi tried to fix his attention on worrying the knot of the handkerchief, face turned toward it so he wouldn’t have to look at the other boy.

“It's not that tight. What's the matter? You want me to—”

“I've got it,” Izumi said, the strain in his voice having little to do with frustration from the truly very manageable knot.

Mizutani's hand withdrew with a speed that stung a little.

No, it wouldn't be hard at all.

And yet it was Izumi that felt more pathetic the longer he tore at the knot. Pathetic, the idea that Mizutani actually had the guts to follow his perceived mutual crush around when Izumi couldn't even muster up the nerve to admit, even to himself, that outside baseball Mizutani's existence had little meaning to him save its implications on his hair style.

But then if he had, the situation would only have been worse. What would he do? Pair up with him more when they played catch? Sit next to him during games? During meditation? Invite him over to his house? Ask him out to movies? To food?

Mizutani would think they were dating. Maybe, sometime after practice, sometime in the glow of a streetlight behind some convenience store, some night at camp when the rest were all asleep, Mizutani would have leaned up against Izumi—who wouldn't even move because it was so ordinary—and kissed him with that same guileless wonder he had whenever he managed anything he'd never considered himself capable of.

Izumi threw down the handkerchief. “If you can brave Abe you can brave a day old shirt.”

Mizutani picked the handkerchief up. “That shirt's more than a day old, Izumi.” The knot slipped loose between his fingers.

Izumi was quiet for a moment, teeth clenched and staring at the other boy's hands long after they'd stopped working.

Then came the feeling of moisture on his pants. Warm and gradual and unmistakably symptomatic of some obscene and alarming thing. Throwing him into complete disbelief until he noticed the old shirt. The thing had slipped between the desk and his leg, pressure transferring some of the dampness into his dry clothing.

He backed off immediately, making a loud sound of disgust that was really half relief. He glanced at Mizutani, horrified to consider how much his face may have betrayed his earlier thoughts.

Yet Mizutani was staring at the shirt, and after a look at his face, Izumi gathered what thoughts the boy had read were not ones he would fault Izumi for having.

Namely, that obscene and alarming summed it up quite nicely.

Izumi buried his face in his hands. But there was still no hiding the laugh.

Today, he'd told Mizutani that he was irreplaceable. He'd sat alone in a classroom with him and made very uneasy indirect contact with his knee and thigh. He'd said a lot of stupid things, some of which Mizutani had laughed at him for, and he'd laughed at Mizutani. Friendship might be a lost cause, but so was cutting the boy off today. Tomorrow, maybe. But today, there was little damage he could do that hadn't already been done.

Today, wouldn't anything short of locking lips be harmless?

“Ok, I was lying.” Izumi grinned behind the gaps between his fingers. “How could you tell?”

“You smell pretty bad at the end of the day.” Mizutani handed back the handkerchief, cautiously at first, but a glance at Izumi's face seemed to hearten him. He finished with a snort. “But definitely nothing like that.”

“So what you're saying is,” Izumi began to straighten out and fold the cloth on the desk, no longer bothering to avoid grazing Mizutani's leg. When he thought about it, not touching at all really was the more unsettling thing. “In the hierarchy of Mizutani fear, week old sweat trumps Abe trumps me before I go home and shower?”

Mizutani frowned.

“Hey, I'm not judging or anything. You were braver with Abe than me.” He stretched the handkerchief over the knee. Short as it was, he had to tug to get it around even twice.

Mizutani rolled his eyes. “You're not scared of Abe.”

“Well scared might be pushing it, but—“

“You're not scared of much of anything. You barely even get nervous.”

“I think you're forgetting—“

“Maybe when you're going into something for the first time, sure. But even then all you need is to get tickled or something. After that you're comfortable with doing anything.”

Dear lord.

“That doesn't work with everything, Mizutani. Some things I'm just never going to be able to get used to! I can't just...”

He'd raised his voice too much. Mizutani's eyes were wide. When the other boy spoke, it was much quieter.

“I just thought you were cool.” He shrugged. “I could learn things from you. And stuff.”

Izumi stared. What was this, some sort of student/teacher thing? Mizutani and his thing for playing out weird roles.

He swallowed thickly. “I don't think I could handle doing that kind of thing with you, Mizutani.”

Mizutani looked confused, mouth flapping a few times before he actually started. He moved his hand, as if reaching to grab Izumi's shoulder before quickly deciding against it. “You've been doing good. You—” Mizutani's deer in the headlights expression had never been more painful to see. “You're doing it right now, see? What are you doing now, anyway? You didn't tell me.”

Izumi sighed, shaking his head and tying the knot. “Compression. That's what the 'C' stands for. It keeps the swelling down so it'll heal faster.”

“Ouch. But wouldn't it hurt even worse tying it around your knee if it was hurt?” Mizutani blinked. “Um. Like mine is.”

Izumi couldn't help but smile. “Maybe. Is it too tight?” He wedged a finger underneath the cloth to test the tension. He could barely get it in. “Whoa, sorry. It's not supposed to be like that. I'll get it off.”

Izumi tugged to retract his hand, and was surprised to find it wouldn't move. Mizutani laughed hysterically.

“You really suck at this.” Mizutani grabbed his hand and pulled with him, still giggling.

“Cut it out, you're just making it harder.” He tried to bat Mizutani away, snickering as he did so. He knew at least part of the boy's giggling was due to the finger's proximity to one of his more sensitive parts.

“I guess you really are a crappy teacher.”

“Well, I'm glad we agree.” Hand freed with a little uncomfortable twisting, Izumi untied the knot. He performed the act more skillfully now despite his tender finger. “I think this makes me more of a nurse, anyway.”

Mizutani winced a little when the handkerchief was removed. The extra finger probably hadn't done much for his circulation. “Sorry, but I don't think Mihashi'd go for you.” He rubbed his leg. “Not gentle enough.”

Izumi paused.

Ok.

Not the best territory. But there was no need to panic. The conversation could be steered in another...

Straighter direction.

“I don't think the nurses in those things are supposed to be the gentle kind, Mizutani.” Izumi smirked at him, signing to move his hand away by jiggling the cloth above the knee. “Anyway, he's definitely not my type, either.”

The suddenly inquisitive look on Mizutani's face told Izumi he may not have made the best turn on the conversational roadway.

Alright. Try again.

“Shinooka was the one that did it for Abe, anyway.”

Mizutani stiffened immediately. He looked down at Izumi's hands, which had been grazing his skin as he turned the cloth. Made a casual laugh that really wasn't. “She did this?”

Oh, right. Mizutani did like girls, too.

“Uh. I don't know. They didn't use a handkerchief.” Izumi frowned. “I think maybe she did the icing.”

“The ice...” Izumi's face burned when he saw the far off look in Mizutani's face. No doubt the other boy was considering the memory of the two of them with the soda can just minutes ago. Only maybe it wasn't Izumi's hands he was remembering there anymore.

Izumi saw him swallow slowly.

He found he didn't much like this direction of conversation either.

“Bet Mihashi'd get a kick out of that.” Izumi spoke casually, but he could see his voice giving Mizutani an unpleasant jolt from his thoughts. “Who knows, maybe even Abe didn't mind it.”

Izumi felt a little bad at the satisfaction he got from the conflicted look on Mizutani's face. “I,” Mizutani swallowed again as he spoke. “Guess she'd be the one to do it if any of us got hurt, huh?”

Despite his now loose wrapping, Izumi jerked the knot tight as he made it now. “Yeah, sorry. I only do instructional sessions.”

Mizutani twitched as he made the tie, frowning. “Like I'd want you to do it, anyway. You made my soda warm. And you suck with knots.”

Izumi stood straighter as he finished. “I told you, you're supposed to drink water.”

Mizutani picked up his soda can, turning away from him. “Yeah. Sorry, captain.”

Mizutani turned the can in his hand, cleaning some of the water off it. Izumi watched as he pressed the warming soda to his forehead, droplets still falling down and off his arm, speckling his pants and shirt. He made a noise, something grunt-like that must have been dissatisfaction, and rolled the can down over his cheek. Izumi could see the skin had a lot more give there, curving itself around the metal surface. Mizutani leaned his head back with a sigh.

“Anyway.” He spoke quietly, can bobbing as his jaw worked. “I got the soda because it was hot.”

Izumi plucked the drink from his hand, surprising Mizutani enough that his head switched up to follow it.

“Yeah.” When he brought it to his own cheek, he could easily feel which part had pressed up against Mizutani. Slightly warmer, and a little drier. It didn't chill him quite so badly as the rest.

He closed his eyes.

“...Uh. Izumi?”

When he opened them, Mizutani was smiling bashfully.

“You can keep the can if you want.”

Izumi set it down, a little shaky after all.

“What's next?”

“Um.” Izumi swallowed.

“Last letter, right?”

“Oh. Yeah.”

Last letter. He looked around them. After the last letter, they'd be done.

Last letter, practice as usual, home, sleep. Tomorrow.

Izumi began to search about the room.

“Are you feeling ok?” Mizutani spoke after a while of silence, sounding more confused than anything. Izumi had made his way to some cabinets in the back of the room containing something that might work. Started gathering what he needed.

“What?” Izumi answered without turning around. He picked up a book. “Why?”

“You're just...” The other boy paused, as if whatever it was was going to take some delicate wording to convey.

Izumi placed the lifted book carefully onto the stack he'd been building in his arms.

“...Moving really slow.”

Izumi blushed, but his movements didn't pick up much speed. “I guess I must be tired.”

He turned around with his armful.

“You don't get as much sleep when I come and bug you, huh?” Mizutani sounded guilty.

Izumi didn't answer and tried to keep his expression blank. When the books made it to the desk, his hand found its way to Mizutani's calf.

He got his fingers underneath and lifted. “The 'E' is for elevate. Just another thing to keep the swelling down.”

There were a few too many books. With his leg so high, Mizutani looked uncomfortable.

Izumi let his arm fall to his side. He was sure the other steps had taken longer than this.

Not that the extra time he'd spent with Mizutani then had done him any good. It had been confusing. And dragging it out a few more minutes was pointless.

Pointless, unless he was planning on doing something with the time.

“That's it.” Izumi stepped back and grabbed his bag off the ground in one movement. “Normally you might lay down so the leg is completely above your heart, but...” As Mizutani began to pull a desk from behind him closer to lean back on, Izumi rushed to put it back. “But you really don't have to do that. The ice comes on and off every fifteen minutes or so.”

The desk behind Mizutani skreeched as Izumi pushed it back into place. Mizutani had already turned forward again to look through the pile of books supporting his leg, folding himself forward into an even more awkward position, wheezing slightly with the trouble it gave him breathing.

The boy was such a dope.

“Ideally we could stay...” Izumi walked around to the front, dropping his bag to remove a couple of the books so that Mizutani could get himself down without toppling the stack.

“You'd stay longer. To rest. But you know the basics now, so you won't have to go asking anymore and I guess we've got to—“

“You said it was first aid?”

Izumi stiffened. Mizutani had grabbed his arm as he walked by, stopping him from picking up his bag again. “Yeah.”

“I was just thinking. You know. They say when you do first aid...”

Still at Mizutani's side but facing the front of the room, it was difficult to see him completely. Izumi wasn't sure whether he wanted to take the couple steps back needed to be face to face or not. Even now, only looking as far as he could unobtrusively turn his neck, Mizutani's blush was far too dark to hide. The grip was tight.

It had been a while since Izumi had been given a really close feel of Mizutani's hands. It seemed like maybe they were harder now, something especially tough feeling on the pads below the fingers.

“Like when we talked about it in class, I mean. I mean our class. My class. You're not in my class with us.”

Izumi could feel Mizutani's hand loosen slightly as the boy laughed, scraping against his skin a little. For a moment he thought about pulling it off to look at the calluses, only that didn't seem like a good idea right now. Anyway, for all the new roughness of Mizutani's hands, Izumi's had surely gotten rougher, too.

“But then there was other stuff, too. You know?”

Izumi rubbed the fingers of his free hand together. Abe liked girls with nice skin. And that was how most people were, probably. Hands like Izumi's must not be very appealing to most people. Girls who dated baseball players must not be picky about things like that.

“Like that thing you do pumping people's chests.”

But Izumi didn't think the roughness of Mizutani's hands was unappealing, really.

“And they said there was mouth to mouth.”

One hand now occupied with holding Izumi's arm, Mizutani's balance was even more compromised. Swaying, the boy leaned a little toward him. Toward him, then away.

Izumi cleared his throat. “Ah, it's just RICE. It's a thing for sprains and stuff.”

“So that's all there is?”

Izumi moved a little closer to make sure Mizutani didn't lose his balance.

“There's...” He thought Mizutani's voice got a little quieter. “Definitely never any mouth to mouth?”

Though Mizutani didn't bother to take his leg down from the books, he did take advantage of Izumi's closer proximity. He leaned in towards the arm, letting his balance stabilize, hand slipping a little lower down toward the wrist. For a moment, Izumi thought he'd screwed up the courage to press their sides together entirely. But he was wrong.

“Well,” Izumi rubbed his fingers together again, wondering where it was best to put them in a time like this. “It probably depends on the situation.”

Mizutani tensed perceptibly, and Izumi couldn't help but divert his own gaze downward before the other boy caught his expression.

“Like, I guess if someone was having a problem...”

He wondered how long it would take for his head to stop associating close contact with Mizutani with the urge to laugh and tickle.

“Say, behaving in a way that suggested severely diminished capacity for sensible thought due to trouble getting oxygen to their brain...”

Maybe stopping wasn't really necessary.

“Then yeah.” He closed his eyes, not wanting to see Mizutani as the other boy began to turn farther toward him.

Swallowed.

“Maybe then there'd be mouth to mouth.”

After that he had to wait.

But the seconds felt all the more acute with Izumi not really sure what he was waiting for. He'd never thought much of boys, certainly hadn't wanted to kiss one. Didn't know what he wanted from one, though he expected it should be about the same as what he wanted from girls, a thought that almost sent him reeling back in opposition.

Yet even more compelling than escape was the thought of making contact. The first press of Mizutani against his arm and shoulder. Maybe a feeling of breath over his face after it, a little moist, and a little embarrassing since it would mean Mizutani could feel Izumi's own, like the rate and depth of it might somehow lay him more bare than anything he'd just said. A slip of hair across his shoulder as Mizutani leaned back for better access. Perhaps a tightening of the grip on Izumi's wrist as the other boy made sure of his stability before moving in. Or the slide of his hand down lower. Maybe on to the desk, maybe on to Izumi's hand, fingers jumbled awkwardly atop his own, hot despite everything Shiga-sensei had ever said about nerves.

But before any of it, maybe just the creak of the desk as the side closest Izumi took on more than its fair share of a weight Izumi was feeling increasingly ready to support some of himself.

Yet instead of a creak, he heard Mizutani's voice.

“Is it that bad?”

Not near his lips or grazing his ear. The voice was no closer to him than the last time he'd heard it.

“What?” He opened his eyes.

“You're that sleepy?” Mizutani looked concerned, pulling the arm he held to make Izumi turn entirely toward him. “Maybe you're sick. Your voice sounds sort of hoarse, too.”

It was unnerving, suddenly having to look Mizutani in the face. But the other boy was looking even more confused than Izumi was starting to feel. And well, maybe he had a right, considering Izumi's behavior earlier that afternoon. Anyway, Mizutani had said himself that Izumi was better with these things. Nervous things.

Izumi started casing out his options. It was weird how relatively few involved escape anymore, or trying to get Mizutani to stop rubbing his fingers on his arm like that, but the whip lash hadn't hit him quite yet, and that was great. It helped him think.

He noticed how on the desk Mizutani had even more height on him than usual. He'd have to pull his neck down. Only it would be awkward, the journey from where his hand was down here to all the way through the air up there.

Mizutani looked down, bashful. “I mean, you're barely making sense.”

Looking down, but not leaning in at all. He wasn't going to make this any easier. But maybe if Izumi touched his arm first, traveled his fingers up the skin and over the shoulder...

“I don't really get it,” Mizutani continued, not particularly reacting to the palm Izumi placed on his forearm. “Are you saying she'd do it?”

If Izumi had gotten up the nerve to start moving, he'd have paused. As it was, his freezing was more mental than physical, mind so blank and pristine he might as well have been standing at the plate. Reading his match, powers of perception sharp, cunning.

Just as fallible.

“You were just joking, right?” Mizutani looked to the side, voice changing to a quiet sigh that seemed more for himself than Izumi. “It's hard to tell when you're joking sometimes.”

The boy's face was obscured for a moment as he ran a hand through his hair. Then his expression changed, and he turned to Izumi suddenly, shaking his head a little. “I mean, I know she wouldn't seriously do that kind of thing for a sprain. But you mentioned her and I just thought maybe...”

She, she, her?

Mizutani frowned as he trailed off. At the lack of response to his question, he raised a hand that never made it to Izumi's face. Having let go of the arm he'd used for support, his balance failed, leg swerved, books falling to the floor in a mass of creased spines and bent pages. Mizutani redirected his outstretched arm to flop down on Izumi's shoulder before he toppled over entirely, hooking it around the other boy's neck to steady himself better.

Izumi's mind lurched under the sensation of being clutched—ear and cheek encased in the heat of Mizutani's elbow, the warm dampness of the side pressed into his chest all the way down to his stomach, so firmly he could feel the expansion and release as the other boy's gut filled and emptied, the deep breaths coming again and again over Izumi's arm. So much more and so much less than he'd been prepared for.

“I...” Izumi raised his fingers to pry at the arm around his neck. “I...” There was a dumbfounded look from Mizutani as Izumi's attempt to resist using nails turned out only somewhat successful. “I need air.”

Finally free and stepping back, Izumi tried his best to huff in a way that didn't entirely reveal the extent to which he hadn't been breathing in the past minute. When he noticed a hand nearing his forehead again, he batted it off. “I'm not sick!”

Mizutani paused, hand still frozen in the air where it had been slapped away. Then he let it drop to the desk, hair falling into his face as his shoulders slumped. “Sorry.” He dangled his legs. Blushing, staring at them. “Sorry I kept bothering you about it like that.”

It? No, not it. Izumi had been right about that, at least. Mizutani had never been bothering him about an “it”—never really cared to know about RICE. Not the medical aspects, anyway.

She, she, her.

Her in the same class as him, so he could never ask any of them there with him. He'd need someone else. Maybe a someone too disinterested in his affairs to be weird or gossipy or uncomfortable about it later.

It'd be bad, having something weird and uncomfortable between teammates.

Him, them, someone.

Teammates.

Exactly what Izumi had been wanting this entire time, then.

The entire time?

He bent down to retrieve one of the fallen books, thumping it down on the desk behind him.

Entire enough. And now, Mizutani was making it easy. Easy to get what he wanted.

The desk legs rattled at the thump of the book. “Guess you figure the only chance you'd have to lock lips with Shinooka is through some sort of medical emergency?”

There was a little noise in the back of Mizutani's throat, but he said nothing. His eyes were huge, locked on Izumi. Lips just a little parted. It was a confused, shocked, hurt look. Not what Izumi's mind was still caught up thinking. Things he never wanted to think about someone it was really stupid to think about. Things it was doubtful he really thought, now that he thought about it.

He just hadn't been thinking.

“It's pretty pathetic, you know. If you wanted to know what she did so bad, you could have just asked her. It'd give you a good excuse to talk, even.”

Clearly, no one was lining up to get together with Mizutani. Pathetic was right, now he knew the whole story. Some wimp who didn't even have the guts to approach the person he liked.

Izumi's rough grasp made the second book slip out of his hand, but he didn't bother going after it again. Instead, he just stayed kneeling on the ground.

The only guts Mizutani had were the ones it took to actually admit to himself he wanted something he was painfully unlikely to get.

“Why'd you have to ask me?” Izumi kept his grumble directed to the ground. “Over and over, me.”

Some people liked to surround themselves with people they knew were even more pathetic than they were.

But Izumi hated people like that. And who was he kidding? That wasn't Mizutani.

Izumi had liked the attention. And maybe Mizutani had noticed. Maybe, if today's whole lesson hadn't been that Mizutani's attention was a little too focused elsewhere to notice a damn thing about Izumi.

What a kindness, to be saved that little bit of embarrassment.

And then there was a knee bumping his and Mizutani was down on the floor with him, picking up the books Izumi had stopped attending to.

“I said I was sorry.” Mizutani's voice was meek, but there was a sullenness to it, too. “It was really dumb, I guess.”

It was a statement, but there was a raise at the end of it, a pause, a glance. As if after everything, Mizutani still needed confirmation his courting methods were a bust. Izumi kept his eyes down.

Mizutani's shoulders deflated. “It's just really hard to tell how someone feels about you sometimes.”

Izumi shook his head to himself, yet he couldn't help but let out a small chuckle with his sigh. “Tell me about it.”

Mizutani's glance this time was perturbed.

Invincible, unflappable, able to read minds. Probably good for some advice on charming the ladies. Was that the image of Izumi the boy had in his head? Maybe he'd have a cape, too. A nickname. Maybe he was the goddamn Batman.

Mizutani looked away again. “One minute it seems like they don't mind you being around and the next...”

Izumi's brow furrowed at that. “Doesn't mind you being around? Those are some powerful standards you've got right there.” Izumi shook his head, wanting to get back in the process of cleaning but finding himself giving a defeated sigh instead. “Look, trust me, Mizutani. There are people out there who'd do plenty more than just tolerate you.”

The perplexed look didn't leave Mizutani's face, but he smiled a little, turning his gaze down to the floor. “Sometimes I was a little surprised to get what toleration I got.”

Izumi fidgeted with the bent corner of a book, suddenly feeling an entirely different kind of uncomfortable. Of Mizutani's crush on Shinooka he'd known for a while, but he hadn't been aware of how apparently torn up about it the boy was. Mizutani owning up to his crush was surprising enough. But watching him now was like being shown an exposed wound.

The fact it was something not a lot of teammates got to see gave him a shiver he felt sick to have.

Mizutani shifted, reaching for a book but not really watching what he was doing. “With some people, just that can be something.”

If that was all that Mizutani sought from Shinooka, at least he was unlikely to ever be let down.

But Izumi? Tolerated by Mizutani, sometimes. Still allowed to behave as always, tickling, teasing. Teammates. And because Mizutani was shaping up to be even denser than Izumi had initially given him credit for, he wouldn't even notice if there was anything out of the ordinary.

If, let's face it, Izumi's stare lingered just a little sometimes.

Or maybe he would notice. Notice some of it, every thing but the important part, and even if they couldn't be certain things, they could be something a little more than just teammates, too.

Izumi closed his eyes.

That thought was more than powerfully low standards. That was complete self indulgence.

Because Mizutani's knee was still touching his, and squeezed down here between the desks it seemed like any movement would chance a brush or rub. And he'd calmed down from before, really he had, only for some reason that knee was making his chest hammer like he still had a body pressed up against him and hair smell everywhere, or nothing between his fingers and skin save the choice to let his hand slip just an inch. Like he was still waiting for a kiss that would never, ever come.

He watched Mizutani as the boy continued cleaning, smoothing pages, turning to a farther off book and finally too soon moving his knee away.

They'd be together all the time. There was no reason to feel the urge to scoot awkwardly to the side for a few more minutes of—ridiculous, guilty—knee-on-knee excitement.

So he didn't.

This time.

Mizutani sighed. “But then you always wonder if you're being annoying. I really didn't mean to be...”

There was no way to know. To know how many dumb excuses for a little extra attention you might chance, or to know when you'd gone too far. No way to know if you were simply being tolerated because one had to tolerate their teammates. No way to know the point at which one moves on from being tolerated to suffered.

Maybe that was just how crushes worked. How Mizutani would have to work through his time around Shinooka.

But it wasn't anything worth calling friendship, an existence like that.

Izumi stood suddenly, breaking free of the cramped space on the floor to lift Mizutani's stack of books on to his own pile atop the desk.

“You've barely done anything, Mizutani.” Izumi picked up the books, heading toward the back of the classroom. Ready to be gone. “You're not annoying.”

There wasn't any response, which was fine by Izumi as he wasn't feeling particularly eager to hand out encouragements on the state of Mizutani's crush. He packed the books back into their place in silence.

When he turned back around, Mizutani was still on the ground. The boy looked up at him. “But you still don't want me coming.”

The confused look on Izumi's face must have spurred him to speak again. “You don't want me asking about RICE anymore.”

Izumi frowned. “I told you everything I—”

“Hanai says I am.” Mizutani stood up from his spot on ground, but only to flop down into Izumi's chair next to it. “Annoying. I said you were the one being a snot and not telling me, and I was going to keep coming till I could make you.”

Mizutani propped his leg up on the chair across from him, picking at the knot of the cloth on his leg. “He said I was going to be asking forever.”

Mizutani's voice hadn't sounded wistful saying the last part. Izumi was sure. Whatever it was the boy was talking about. After everything he'd been through today, Izumi knew he could be sure of that.

Today being such a great instiller of confidence in all the things he thought he knew, after all.

Izumi swallowed.

When the knot wouldn't come loose under the halfhearted tugs, Mizutani began pinching at the edges of the handkerchief, trying to find purchase to pull it down his leg. “I mean, I know if you really liked visiting so much you'd have come yourself sometimes and you never did, but...”

He let his arms droop to his sides, defeated.

“And I know it was a dumb excuse to come here. And that we see each other at practice, but...”

Izumi swallowed again. Swallowed and swallowed, yet there was a lump there now that just wouldn't go down.

“But Tajima and Mihashi hang out all the time. Like at lunch. They talk about food and manga and,” Mizutani's voice caught, coming out a little hoarser for a moment, “And girls and stuff. And you really didn't seem that annoyed and that one time you even had me stay longer when I was about to go back early cause you said you guys were talking about something funny. And you sat with me during stuff sometimes and told me how to do things, and I didn't know, but...” Izumi took a step forward, still silently working his throat. Advanced as if he could get a shoe in physically if not verbally. “...But I guess that's just teammate stuff, huh?”

“Just...” Swallow, swallow, swallow. “Just being teammates isn't so bad.”

Curse you, Izumi Kousuke.

“Yeah.” Mizutani finally turned away from the leg to look right at him. “Except for the part where you couldn't even stand having my arm over your shoulder just now. You acted like you couldn't breathe! I mean come on, it's not like my arm was tight enough to choke you! Or like I'd lodged something down your throat!”

The swallow turned to a choke turned to a cough he tried not to let shake.

“No.” Cough, cough, cough. “You didn't do that.”

Izumi could see concern pass through Mizutani's eyes again at the onset of a new symptom, saw his arm twitch. Almost wanted to tell him it was ok to press his hand to Izumi's forehead if he really cared that much. Bit his lip.

Izumi slumped down into the chair next to Mizutani's foot as the boy talked, watching as he renewed his efforts to untie the knot. “I just really...”

He looked up smiling a little. “You're really cool, Izumi. Like way cooler than even Tajima.”

Izumi felt stupid for blushing at that.

“I didn't mean to bother you.” Izumi thought the corners of the handkerchief might fray if Mizutani kept up the picking like he was. He put his hand out to stop him. “But you never said anything.”

Maybe the fingers had made Mizutani uncomfortable, because he finally tugged at the knot in earnest, pulling the handkerchief away, wadding it around his hand, and leaving Izumi's resting against a rough kneecap. He punched Izumi's shoulder with his cloth fist, smiling weakly. “And it's not like you ever had trouble shooting me down about stuff before.”

“I...” Izumi pulled his hand away from the knee and covered his face.

He couldn't tell if it all felt more like punishment or being thrown a bone. Weren't these things—these things he only half believed Mizutani was really saying they sounded so unreal—weren't they the only sentiments he'd ever been honestly sure he'd wanted this whole time?

You're never really sure what you want.

“I don't know what you expect me to do.” Izumi gave a short laugh. “Swap stories with you about who I like?”

“Um.” Mizutani must have seen the distress in Izumi's face. He waved his hands. “Y-You don't have to talk about stuff like that, it's ok!”

“Just listen when you do?” Izumi didn't even know what tone was coming out anymore.

“No, I mean...” Mizutani's smile widened suddenly. “What sort of music do you listen to?”

Izumi slumped back. “I don't really all that much.”

He began looking for his shirt in the pause after, shifting his eyes elsewhere before that crestfallen look got him fooling himself again.

“Oh.”

Fantasy from the attainable. Maybe some dreams are only ok because they don't come true.

When Izumi threw the soda can at him, Mizutani was so surprised he nearly didn't catch it.

The boy looked down at the can in his hands, one still encased in handkerchief.

Izumi stood to go, shoving Mizutani's shoulder as he passed. “Come on, it's late. They're going to be pissed.”

“Yeah.” Yet Mizutani sat, gaze still fixed on the soda. Then he was standing, nearly tripping as he maneuvered out of his chair while extending the can out to Izumi.

“What's it supposed to do?” he said.

Izumi forced his eyebrows to raise as he hoisted his bag over a shoulder. “I'll give you a clue. While I know the last ten minutes have been sort of mind-bending, they don't actually make lemon-lime flavored first aid equipment.”

Mizutani doubled back to slide his chair into place at the desk, laughing a little. “No. I mean RICE. You do it cause you're hurt, but what's the point? You didn't tell me. Ah, only—”

As Izumi began to speak, Mizutani raised his voice to continue above him. “Only we should really get going, huh? Since it's late. Though if you don't have time to tell me now I can always ask you again later, so...”

Izumi turned, starting towards the exit. Mizutani didn't finish his sentence, but he could hear the boy's footsteps following behind him. Getting closer as he reached the door. He stopped with a hand on the doorknob.

“You've got all the information I have.” He turned around. “If you want more you'll have to ask someone else.”

Mizutani began to open his mouth, the protest clear on his face.

Izumi continued before he could speak. “Like I said, it's first aid. So it doesn't get bad later, I guess. Nip it in the bud.”

Mizutani's brow furrowed as his mouth continued to hang open. But then he shut it, shoulders slumping as he took the final steps toward the door himself.

“But it still gets bad, right?” Mizutani looked away, focusing on his bag as he ruffled around to fit the soda and handkerchief back inside. “Abe's was still bad.”

“Well, yeah.” Izumi turned around, twisting the knob in his hand. “Abe's was just bad. If you've got it bad,” With the door open, Izumi stared out into the empty hallway. He sighed. “If you've got it bad there isn't much helping it.”

Mizutani sighed. “Why even bother then?”

Izumi turned to glance at him as he stepped out. “It just makes it easier in the end.”

“Seems like an awful lot of trouble.”

Izumi smiled at him. He let the door swing shut as he exited the classroom, not looking back to see if Mizutani caught it himself. “It's a good thing you didn't have it bad then.”

One day short of two weeks. It might have been less—or more—if Izumi had had to stay late at practice with Mizutani to make up the time they'd missed. Instead, he had a vaguely worried team on his hands, since everyone knew Izumi was no slacker, and since things must be pretty bad if even the coach believed Mizutani's testament—that the boy's judgment concerning timely arrival at practice had only lapsed due to him being devastatingly ill.

As it was, Mizutani had been absent for one late night trip to the convenience store, and nobody bothered Izumi if he wanted to spend the better part of his lunch period with his head down on his desk, arms folded tightly around his head.

And then Izumi got better. The team could tell, because instead of sleeping all through lunch time, he came to class seven and had lunch with Abe, Hanai, and Mizutani. The three usually tended more toward eating in one another's vicinity rather than together, but Izumi had insisted. Pulling them over and sitting down between Hanai and Abe, he'd spent a good half the period grumbling about irritating messages and pissing off Hanai, though by the end was speaking mostly just to Mizutani.

Abe didn't even listen to Izumi's demands the second time, though he did yell over occasionally when the conversation sounded interesting. Hanai said he wasn't going to listen to anything Izumi said ever again.

The illness must have been pretty bad, though, considering an incident shortly after Izumi's recovery. Mizutani had tickled him, and everyone had thought it pretty funny till he'd had some kind of relapse, getting sort of uncomfortable looking and crunched in on himself. His teammates felt bad for laughing. Then Shinooka had come over to ask them about it, and while Mizutani nervously explained, Izumi had come up behind him and gotten revenge. It would have cleared all their consciences, only immediately after Izumi looked even worse than before and had to run to the bathroom.

But after that, there weren't really any other notable episodes, and Izumi had returned to normal. Which was to say that instead of talking for most of his lunch period, he slept. Only he wouldn't bother going back to his own classroom to do it, instead usually settling down in Hanai's desk, which he'd pushed up next to Mizutani, pulling an earbud out of the other boy's ear, putting it in his own, closing his eyes and resting his head on his arms.

Mizutani, who hadn't been quite so slothful before, took to giving in and sleeping in his desk along with him. This was to the consternation of some girls in the class, who preferred the rather nice looking Mizutani to be in conversing condition through the break, even if they didn't actually brave speaking to him themselves.

If the two woke up to giggles at their undignified sleeping expressions, the drool down their chins or the way one or the other had leaned a little onto a shoulder that wasn't his own, Mizutani would look a bit nervous, eyes skimming over the spectators, checking, Izumi could see, for the presence of a certain face among the amused expressions.

Worse was when the laughs and comments trended more snide, and Mizutani would scoot closer, as if proximity would fortify some barrier between them and a world of potential hurt rather than what it was really going to do.

But Izumi did little but roll his eyes and wipe his mouth, wiggling a little to put the proper space between them. Then he'd go back to sleep, jabbing Mizutani a little in the side to make him stop looking around and keep his ear close enough the headphones wouldn't fall out.

Some, and occasionally a visiting Tajima, did enjoy snapping cell photos of them sleeping together. One could make a collection—perhaps someone had—of the two in various aspects of awkward repose. Combinations of limbs and hair massed atop desks, save the times one or both would lean back in his chair, neck extended backward, hair and arms hanging down and throat and chest exposed as if spread to best catch the rays of the sun, growing scarcer now the seasons were changing.

These were the quietest parts of the day. Appreciated best by the baskers, who know how to enjoy the glory times of post-lunch digestion. Both boys perhaps more industrious than they seem, for they cultivate the ability to sleep in public. It's a vital skill for some. Precursor to becoming the sort who can nap on public transport—close the eyes and trust you'll make it the right way, wake up at the right time.

It's not the sort of practice that requires partners, but there aren't any rules, either. It's enough just to sleep. Two teammates relieved of consciousness, nothing left to require the proximity of the other save a thin black cord, dangling ear to ear, channeling some noise they prefer to share over the sound of their own personal dreams.

Do broken bones really heal back stronger?

Text me that again, and I'll be more than happy to demonstrate.

Sorry. They made me get an answer. I'll stop now.

Made you?

There was a bet going that's what you'd say back.

With who?

Hanai says he had one with Hamada.

What can I say to make them both lose?

Too late. They've also got a bet whether you'll come in here pissed at us, though.

.

.

You're not going to make fun of me for caving to Hanai?

Bootlicker. Pushover. Doormat. Wuss.

Mean.

Wouldn't have done it if you didn't want to.

You think it's that easy?

.

.

.

.

I guess you're not coming?

.

.

.

Did he use the scary face?

What?

You wanna hear a funny story?