[ furuya's hand feels really, really nice in his. that's the first thing that comes to mind as haruichi gets used to the feeling. his hands are really warm despite the cold--probably because he just isn't feeling it--and his callouses are rough on his own, fingers so big they almost wrap over the top of his hand. these are hands that pitch. hands that handle a baseball every single day. the hands of a monster pitcher, as some people have called him, who can throw a fastball so awe-inspiring that even haruichi has trouble hitting it. he's hit furuya's pitches a few times in practice, but he can't control them like he wants to, like he can with almost every other pitch, because furuya's pitches are so strong. he could see why he did so badly with other people: people were scared of him.
but haruichi's not scared of him at all. he finds furuya hopelessly endearing most of the time--even when he's scolding him for falling asleep in practice because it's hot, even when he's ignoring eijun or miyuki. he's never found him difficult to understand, or even scary, mostly because he was quick to figure out that his friend just didn't know how to do a lot of things socially, and if anyone could emphasize with that, it was haruichi. he knows what it's like to be picked on (what quiet and shy kid with pink hair wouldn't?) and he knows, if he hadn't had his big brother? he probably would have turned out much the same as furuya.
so it's easy for him to be quiet with him. it's easy for their silences to lapse into companionable, easy for him to communicate with him with just a look from behind his fringe. and it's easy to talk too, because haruichi will always be patient. he knows it's there, and he knows what's there is worth it.
as he speaks, haruichi looks up at him. his cheeks are still pink, half from the cold and half from holding furuya's hand, but he tilts his head to the side a little. ] Yes, Furuya-kun?
[ Almost absently, Furuya rubs his thumb along Haruichi's, eyes down as he tries to figure out how exactly he wants to say this. Putting effort into picking the right words, instead of just saying the first thing that his mind churns out. It's hard, a lot of the time, but he wants to do this for Haruichi, to make sure that he tells him what he's thinking before it has a chance to slip away.
Not that Haruichi himself is going anywhere, considering the fact that their fingers are tangled together and their palms pressed close. He can feel where some of their callouses match, from handling a ball so often, but there are still differences. A pitcher and an infielder, and all their hard work is written on their hands. But that's not all that's there, in his delicate touch, because he's seen him practicing with that wooden bat of his late into the day, time and time again. And he has to wonder, what would happen if he used a metal bat, if he could send the ball flying further after all that time with the wooden one, after all the strength he's put into the wooden one. But there's something strangely satisfying, for someone who doesn't want their pitches to be hit, in hearing the crack of the ball meeting wood on the occasion that Satoru throws for Haruichi.
He wants to keep that. He wants to keep this companionship, and Haruichi's patience and cleverness, the easy way that they mesh. There's no stress or exhaustion, even when he's being scolded for falling asleep or pretending to eat so he can go practice faster. It's not often he wants things beyond his norm, but he figures - in a very simple way, really - that he can try. ]
Has this been a date? [ Do his cheeks flush with more color? A little, maybe. ]
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but haruichi's not scared of him at all. he finds furuya hopelessly endearing most of the time--even when he's scolding him for falling asleep in practice because it's hot, even when he's ignoring eijun or miyuki. he's never found him difficult to understand, or even scary, mostly because he was quick to figure out that his friend just didn't know how to do a lot of things socially, and if anyone could emphasize with that, it was haruichi. he knows what it's like to be picked on (what quiet and shy kid with pink hair wouldn't?) and he knows, if he hadn't had his big brother? he probably would have turned out much the same as furuya.
so it's easy for him to be quiet with him. it's easy for their silences to lapse into companionable, easy for him to communicate with him with just a look from behind his fringe. and it's easy to talk too, because haruichi will always be patient. he knows it's there, and he knows what's there is worth it.
as he speaks, haruichi looks up at him. his cheeks are still pink, half from the cold and half from holding furuya's hand, but he tilts his head to the side a little. ] Yes, Furuya-kun?
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Not that Haruichi himself is going anywhere, considering the fact that their fingers are tangled together and their palms pressed close. He can feel where some of their callouses match, from handling a ball so often, but there are still differences. A pitcher and an infielder, and all their hard work is written on their hands. But that's not all that's there, in his delicate touch, because he's seen him practicing with that wooden bat of his late into the day, time and time again. And he has to wonder, what would happen if he used a metal bat, if he could send the ball flying further after all that time with the wooden one, after all the strength he's put into the wooden one. But there's something strangely satisfying, for someone who doesn't want their pitches to be hit, in hearing the crack of the ball meeting wood on the occasion that Satoru throws for Haruichi.
He wants to keep that. He wants to keep this companionship, and Haruichi's patience and cleverness, the easy way that they mesh. There's no stress or exhaustion, even when he's being scolded for falling asleep or pretending to eat so he can go practice faster. It's not often he wants things beyond his norm, but he figures - in a very simple way, really - that he can try. ]
Has this been a date? [ Do his cheeks flush with more color? A little, maybe. ]