[ 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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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. ]