It doesn’t snow much in Nagoya. Even in the coldest winter months, the few flakes that fall are melted by the time they touch Sawamura’s skin. He’d tried making snowmen with Wakana once. It was in the middle of January, he remembers. She tried rolling a snowball into a body but it was more grass than it was snow. By the time they finished with it, Sawmaura had proudly dubbed it a mudman. Wakana swat him on the shoulder with a smile on her lips and then they went inside to drink genmaicha with the rest of the crew.
It’s a Sunday when Sawamura wakes to a white landscape—the field hides under a blanket of snow and the first thing he can think about is calling Mei.
It had happened before, Eijun still remembered the first time he saw Mei pitch. The sensation of excitement crawling over his skin, the sheer power oozing from the flawless form and cold, confident cerulean eyes that made Eijun’s spine stiffen in need to accept the unspoken challenge. Mei’s personality was horrible, but Eijun couldn’t deny that even that wasn’t enough to make him less of a prodigy. And he admired that.
But he also admired Mei when he crumbled down, when his pride was torn into pieces, when his crown was ripped off his head and trampled. There was a certain satisfaction burning in Eijun’s chest at seeing Mei like that, but there was also anger, and the hair on his neck bristled, teeth gritted tight and hands clenched hard enough to bite nails into skin.
Mei was the ideal, he was the yet unreachable goal that Eijun had strived to surpass. He couldn’t allow the man he believed to be the pinnacle of the baseball world to bow down that easily.
And Mei didn’t. Watching him rise from the ashes of his burnt kingdom, majestic like a phoenix, reborn and even stronger than before, Eijun bit his lip in uncontainable excitement as goosebumps formed on his skin. This was it, Mei was it.
When years after that they played each other again, on the field showered with reflector lights and cheers and screams of the overenthusiastic spectators, the feeling of standing on the edge was still with him. It was with him when he took the mound, it was with him when he stood in the batter’s box, it was with him when the game ended. It grew and festered over the years, and it was always there, even when he came back home to a “Good game,” whispered into his ear.
“You’re always kicking my ass, I hate you,” Eijun said, letting his full weight settle on the willing shoulder as they sprawled on the couch, watching the replay of their match on the sports channel.
Slender pitcher fingers trailed patterns on Eijun’s bare forearm, raising goosebumps in their wake like only they could. “How about I let you do something to my ass in the bedroom to make us even, hmm?”
The rush of excitement that coursed down Eijun’s spine was incomparable with anything else, because to him there was never anything else. It’s always been Mei, and only Mei. And that’s how it should be.
On every What is Wednesdays I will explain a trope, a rhetorical device, or a literary technique in a few sentences. Put in the comments what you would like me to explain next.
What is... a drabble?
What is... dead dove?
What is... archetypal characters?
What is… deus ex machina?
What is… whump?
What is... plot bunny?
What is... canon vs. fanon?
What is… a headcanon?
What is… a plot hole?
What is… retcon?
What is… WIP?
What is… a sequel hook?
What is… a crossover?
What is… crack?
What is… a rarepair?
What is… a red herring?
What is… fluff?
What is… smut?
What is… OOC?
What is… a missing scene?
What is… Coda?
What is… a trope?
What is… Alpha vs. Beta Reader?
What is… a cliffhanger?
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The fact that AO3 is down and may potentially be brought down is scary to me, as an author, who deleted all her drafts after posting the stories on site. Never in a million thoughts would it pass me that AO3 would be targeted by hackers. It's a niche of people who mind their business, please stick your nose to other issues 😣
I feel the burning of an ancient fire
lighting up my days.
I look for the source but only find
reflections of the flame.
In this maze of mirrors,
all I see is all I am.