Chapter Text
From: Hanyu Yuzuru | 8:06pm
Hey, I hope it's not too late over there. I just woke up and saw the news...
From: Hanyu Yuzuru | 8:09pm
I'm so sorry to hear about your elbow, I know how much the ability to pitch meant to you this season. It must be so frustrating. I'm not confident that I can do much while I'm this far away, but if there is anything that would, please let me know.
From: Hanyu Yuzuru | 8:10pm
...And I will try to respond this time. (/ω＼)
Shohei blinks slowly at the grey bubbles of text that appear on his phone screen one by one, no longer chewing the cheeseburger he was in the midst of eating. Initially, he had been alarmed that someone managed to message him when he had put his phone in 'do not disturb' mode for his planned evening of Clash of Clans — considering only five people were able to contact him while that's on, and usually none of them bothered him. His mom and dad, his brother and sister, and...well, Yuzuru.
Wiping the grease off of his fingers, Shohei finishes swallowing his meal and readies himself to reply. He's gotten his fair share of well wishes in the past twelve hours, answering almost all of them with a polite 'thank you very much, I will work hard to recover'. But Yuzuru is a special case, naturally. He has no interest in sending him a manufactured response, knowing that conversing with him is a frustratingly rare gem as of late. It's been a week or so since they've last properly talked, as it's typically not feasible with their mismatched schedules and time zone differences. He will admit that's disappointing, and leave it at that.
Shohei hesitates, his large, cumbersome thumbs drifting aimlessly over his keyboard as he racks his brain for the right words.
Yuzuru and him aren't technically that close — they're friends in the most casual sense of the word. But also, Shohei feels like it would be misleading to paint it as that shallow. He's been in steady contact with Yuzuru since their televised meeting four years prior, has even met up with him a few times for dinner during those brief, fleeting moments they are in the same country at the same time. It's also no secret that Shohei has greatly admired him and his contributions to the world for longer than that, regarding it as an honor to live in the same era as him and hailing him as the greatest athlete of their time.
Perhaps Yuzuru doesn't think too hard about the specifics of it, but Shohei does, somewhat. It's difficult for him not to, with some of the signals Yuzuru seems to be sending him reading as cryptic, indecipherable hints at affection. He's honestly not sure what Yuzuru is getting at half of the time, whether he wants these virtual conversations to go like their in-person ones or not, but he finds his catlike behavior greatly intriguing nonetheless.
But this message seems different, straightforward. The same kind of message Shohei got before his Tommy John and knee surgeries, before his rookie of the year award. There's no ambiguity or — for lack of a better term — flirting, only genuine, heartfelt sentiment.
Shohei exhales through his nose decisively and types his reply.
To: Hanyu Yuzuru | 8:21pm
thank you for your concern, i really appreciate it. doctor and coach both agree that i can still hit.
Perhaps Shohei has never been one with words, but it's an admirable attempt on his part.
Unsurprisingly, no indicator that Yuzuru is typing makes itself known once the message has been delivered. Shohei doesn't take it to heart, he doesn't need an immediate reply and knows he probably has other obligations to attend to in his morning. Shohei has his own issues, too, like throwing out the pile of In-N-Out branded cardboard that's stacked up beside him on his couch. And though he wants to resume gaming like he had intended to in the first place, the responsible thing to do would be to sleep. His flight to Seattle is earlier than he'd like for it to be, and he's not exactly the easiest person to wake up.
Shohei smushes the grease-stained garbage down into his (bit too full) kitchen bin with an exasperated huff. He had tried not to think about his elbow, but he'd be lying if he said it hasn't been burning with a dull ache ever since the previous day's game, nevermind the all encompassing bruised feeling he already gets to experience after every start. Yuzuru's message shouldn't have helped him forget, as it was entirely about said injury, but oddly enough it did. In some way, it made the pain fade into a more subdued discomfort, as if thinking about Yuzuru's complexity was distracting enough that anything else around Shohei was nothing more than background noise.
He shakes his head and makes his way towards the bathroom, not wanting to dwell on the intricacies of friendship while he's got french fry salt sprinkled in his mustache hairs.
LAX is the last place Shohei wants to be at 6:30 in the morning in the midst of a global pandemic, but it's where he finds himself nevertheless. He stifles a yawn into his fist, forgetting momentarily about the mask he's wearing that renders that motion mostly pointless.
It had been relatively simple falling asleep the night before, all things considered. Though, he didn't actually try to until an hour after he had laid down, as Yuzuru did eventually message him back, and Shohei decided it was of greater priority to continue that conversation than to be adequately rested. Nothing of tremendous value was said, but Shohei found it a worthwhile sacrifice anyway — stories of Yuzuru's search for a sufficiently private rink dotted with their own entertaining charms, among other things. It was more than enough to keep him company until his eyelids inevitably became too heavy to bear, and that's really all that matters.
"...Sir?" a TSA agent sighs from somewhere a few feet below Shohei. He jolts, having apparently shuffled towards the front of the security line, blissfully unaware.
In an instant Shohei is bowing apologetically, stammering a muffled 's-sorry' to the stout woman before hurrying to arrange his belongings into the provided plastic tubs as neatly as possible. It's times like these when he's thankful that flying in the major leagues provides the perks that it does, as the team handles the majority of his luggage for him. But it also reminds him of why he's travelling in the first place, and if it makes his heart sink a little he does his best to not show it in his brow.
Security goes as smoothly as anticipated, and Shohei settles down into his first class seat as smoothly as he can with his bulky frame. The rest of his team, not quite as punctual as he is, files into the cabin over the course of the next twenty minutes. It appears that today his seatmate is Noé, who shockingly looks just as rough around the edges as everyone else at the moment.
Shohei tunes out the pre-recorded flight attendant speech as per usual — considering he can't understand about half of what she's saying regardless — and instead opts to swipe through the notifications clogging his lockscreen. He's not expecting anything spectacular, as he clears missed call banners from numbers that are most likely spam and a plethora of Instagram direct message requests. He certainly doesn't expect the message that's waiting patiently for him by yesterday's UberEats receipt.
From: Hanyu Yuzuru | 6:45am
You said your flight is now, right? Have a safe trip~! (;^ω^)
Shohei stares down at the sugary words, amused. When he told Yuzuru about his travel plans, it was meant as filler material for small talk when he feared they were running low on topics to discuss — he didn't intend for him to actually remember. The digital send off is nowhere near unwelcome, though. Definitely not something he gets often, as he's jumping around the west coast so frequently it's nothing noteworthy to most people in his life.
Somehow, it's quite easy for Shohei to ignore the curious look Noé shoots at him upon a small, fond smile spreading across his face.
The hotel room that greets Shohei in Seattle is of even higher quality than he's used to — which is saying something, considering the team is required by contract to get their players the best rooms possible at every establishment they stay at. Not like that's something he's too picky about, personally. He'd sleep in a barn if it had a big enough bed, but it's never up for discussion.
There's a very real possibility the special treatment is an advanced apology for the fact Shohei's going to have to sit out a few days for rehab — and while he appreciates the gesture, it settles sourly in his gut all the same. It's a routine he's grown all too familiar with, and it never gets less frustrating. He flops onto the king-sized mattress in front of him with all the grace of a seal, exhaling harshly through his nostrils.
Now is usually when he'd be calling Ippei to pester him about what room he's in, but with the virus guidelines they're supposed to be strictly adhering to, that doesn't seem like much of a wise or feasible move. Which reminds him of something rather important he meant to do before getting sidetracked with less pressing issues.
Shohei fishes in the depths of his basketball short pockets for his phone, tapping a few times to turn off airplane mode once he's retrieved it. He never replied to the message Yuzuru sent him earlier, as he heard the call to power off electronic devices in the midst of composing a suitable response. It's most likely too late in Japan for any kind of two-way correspondence, but he quickly types away with the tiniest sliver of hope that, perhaps, it's not.
Shohei thinks that being eager to message Yuzuru is warranted, as he has nothing better to do with his time anyways. He's not going to be playing for the next couple of days, at the very least, and he knows he can't leave the hotel for any reason unrelated to that. Any form of company he can get will be more than welcome, he assumes.
Curiously enough, Yuzuru does respond five minutes later as Shohei's taking in the sounds of the bustling city twenty storeys below him, lighting up his lock screen with a loud ping.
From: Hanyu Yuzuru | 11:03am
Glad to know you made it there alright. ^_^
Shohei frowns, perplexed. If it's an hour before noon in Seattle, and Seattle is sixteen hours ahead of Sendai, then that means in Sendai it's…
He doesn't bother doing the mental math, instead seeking out the wisdom of the global clock application that came with his phone.
To: Hanyu Yuzuru | 11:05am
haha, why are u awake?
The answer to that question isn't much of a mystery, when Shohei thinks about it. Yuzuru's no stranger to staying awake at all hours of the night playing games, or laying in bed listening to music on some of his disturbingly expensive earbuds.
From: Hanyu Yuzuru | 11:07am
Wouldn't you like to know. :p
From: Hanyu Yuzuru | 11:09am
Nothing special, actually. I had to record some videos for some sponsors and might've put it off until the last minute because I was finishing a Three Houses route.
It's possibly one of the most Yuzuru justifications Shohei could've gotten, though he was guessing something more along the lines of 'image training and lost track of time'. As much as Shohei wants to lay there for a while longer and ask him about what those videos entailed, a low rumble from his stomach reminds him that he hasn't eaten today, aside from a bag of chips he grabbed on his way out. Deciding that room service is long overdue, he sends Yuzuru a polite 'you should really go to bed' and searches the nightstand for a menu.
Shohei doesn't make it too far into the resulting internal food debate ('Rigatoni or steak? Both? The seasonal market fish also sounds good. How big are the portions?') before his view of his translation app is obscured by a new message banner. 'Hanyu Yuzuru: Photo Received'.
Well, that's certainly new.
'You're right, goodnight~ (´-ω-`),' is the brief caption that's been sent alongside a selfie of Yuzuru, curled up with a beige futon in the darkness of his bedroom. Deep brown eyes peer up from behind bangs at the camera, nearly sparkling from the flash and distracting attention from the relaxed kitten smile not far below them. Shohei stares for a beat too long, trying to deduce if Yuzuru's visible collarbones mean he's not wearing a shirt, before he realizes what he's doing and abruptly swipes away from the image. He tries (and fails) to ignore the tiny thrill that made its way through his chest at that.
Many, many questions swim in Shohei's head, and none of them he can correctly articulate. Sure, friends send each other pictures of themselves all the time, but Yuzuru has never been that kind of person. At least, not with him. And why is he (possibly) shirtless? How on earth does he respond? If he were a braver man, he could send back a selfie of his own. But Shohei admires Yuzuru too much to be brave around him, and knows himself well enough to infer that the faint warmth in his cheeks is most likely noticeable. If anyone else were to bear witness to this, he knows he'd look ridiculous.
Shohei runs a hand through his hair, uncertain.
To: Hanyu Yuzuru | 11:20am
cute pic lol, goodnight
Having to get through recovery exercises with no actual trainer in the building is unique, to put it mildly. Shohei twists his face at his iPad, replaying the grainy video one of his trusted specialists back home sent to him. It's not like he has absolutely no idea what he's doing, but it would still be helpful to have someone guiding him in real-time, instead of only guessing that he's doing everything correctly. Considering he didn't actually tear his arm ligaments again, he reasons that it might not be as big of a deal if he's not as careful as he should be. It's not exactly his call to make, per se, but it's what he deduces from the muffled audio struggling to escape his airpods, anyway.
It's on the third day of this, as he's shelving the 30lb weights he was cooling down with, that Shohei allows himself a pat on the back for his efforts. Maybe one day, when he's had enough of sliding around in the mud to steal bases, there could be a career for him in personal training. He sips his strawberry whey protein thoughtfully.
Though, it wouldn't be fair to say keeping Shohei's regimen on track is a totally one-man endeavor. His text conversations with Yuzuru may have faltered for the most part the past couple of days, but he still wakes up to enthusiastic words of encouragement from his friend that may or may not be capable of giving him that final, much needed push to get out of bed. It's amazing, he thinks, how much a simple 'you can do it' can mean to him depending on who it's coming from.
Shohei ends his session with what has become the usual: a brisk kilometer walk on the treadmill, taking advantage of the empty room around him to crank his bluetooth speaker up to max volume. Ideally, he wouldn't be wrapping things up so soon, but he's long accepted that these are not ideal circumstances. His mind drifts briefly to the pronounced thuds of his trainers against the rubber track beneath him, how his knee doesn't send sharp daggers of pain through his leg with every step like it once did. He hopes it isn't too long until he can make a similar observation about the rest of his body.
If the vibrating of his phone in his pocket is anything to go by, Shohei's not alone in that sentiment either.
From: Hanyu Yuzuru | 12:15pm
What are you up to~?
Shohei nearly trips over his own feet reading this, which is either yet another reminder that multitasking just wasn't made for someone like him, or spurred by the excitement that runs through him each time he gets a message from Yuzuru. Shohei steadies himself on the guard rail and shoots back a nonchalant 'just walking' before he can fall on his face (or worse — shatter his iPhone). It's almost embarrassing how much composure he loses when Yuzuru's the focus of his attention, but he can't really help it. He's long accepted that he makes him nervous, just a little bit.
Dialing down the speed to a more subdued pace, Shohei rolls his shoulders around, loosening any remaining tension he might have. He knows he must look gross, he can feel the material of his already-tight tank top sticking uncomfortably to his pectorals and stomach. Yuzuru doesn't take long to reply, forcing Shohei to look at his own flustered reflection in his phone screen regardless of whether or not he wants to.
From: Hanyu Yuzuru | 12:20pm
So... no 250kg lifting videos today?
Shohei can't stifle the amused snort on his end, genuinely taken aback even if it's borderline sickening to think about Yuzuru lurking on his Instagram.
To: Hanyu Yuzuru | 12:22pm
haha, did u want to see that?
Shohei's not sure what answer he was expecting from Yuzuru, but it wasn't the one he ends up getting. 'I did,' he can practically hear Yuzuru sound out, lips cheekily enunciating each syllable, followed by yet another elaborate emoji creation of his that he figures would look something like Yuzuru trying to wink.
Shohei powers off the treadmill completely now, heart pounding with just enough force for him to think that there's something more to it than the rigor of his cardio.
It's not until Thursday that Shohei gets greenlit to join in on a game again — and by then, his arm is feeling much better. Or, he's got enough pent up regret to make the pain unrecognizable. Regardless, he strides into the dugout against the Mariners with a newfound determination, eyebrows sharply creased above his mask. He's still not used to the serious atmosphere of the sidelines this season, the lack of cups full of sunflower seed shells, or Mike not spitting on every patch of dirt he spots. One thing that hasn't changed much would be his team's abysmal win-loss ratio, but he still has faith they can get it together as the season draws on, despite the precariously short intended duration of it. He won't entertain the idea of playoffs with the pitching situation they're constantly in, but he thinks .500 is a reasonable wish.
To say Shohei isn't wracked with nerves walking up to his first plate appearance in nearly a week would be a blatant lie. He feels like jumping out of his own skin, thinking about how much doubt has been placed on his back after his spectacularly awful pitching start. He knows that anyone who genuinely cares about him must understand, but there's a nagging thought in the back of his mind telling him that he's letting everyone down, that his team would be better off benching him until he can get his shit together. Lately, he's had a much more difficult time drowning himself out.
Digging his heels into the reddish dirt, Shohei's gaze meets the pitcher opposite him. He's a slim looking guy, at least in comparison to Shohei — shorter, too, by a good five inches. There's a smirk on his freckled face, if only for a brief moment, as he readies himself to throw. Shohei's played baseball long enough to know what doubt and mockery look like, even from people who are generally friendly away from the field.
Stuff like that makes the loud crack of his bat — and the fallen expression on his opponent's face — all the more sweet as Shohei sends the ball lugged at him barreling through the air at an absurd speed, something he's also grown accustomed to. A fraction of a second passes before he realizes what he's done, and then he's running to secure his home run like his life depends on it, comically long legs whizzing through the air fueled solely by instinct. It's not necessary at all, but it feels good, and he thinks that's reason enough for it.
Reaching the entrance to the dugout, Shohei finally skids to a stop, accepting the cloth mask Ippei is offering him with a curt nod. Naturally, he's required to sit appropriately distanced from the rest of his teammates, but he doesn't refuse the high fives they offer on the way to his seat. They hoot and holler as if this one play of his signifies a bright new beginning, the start of some sort of redemption arc for them. There's a cautiously optimistic part of him that believes it.
The rest of the game is a nail-biting back and forth event, with the Angels ultimately coming out on top thanks to the one run advantage gained from Shohei's play. He feels good sitting in the back of his car, maybe a bit too good. A stupid amount of hard work lies ahead of him, and one good, stand-out game surely won't make up for tens of poor ones.
But it won't do him much to worry about things that haven't happened yet, so instead, as a blurred sea of neon signs surf past his window, his mind drifts to something much more grounded in the present. To a head of jet black hair, somehow even darker eyes, and rosy pink lips framing a blinding smile.
Shohei has known for a while now that he finds men attractive, even if he has nearly impossible standards for which men that attraction applies to. To be honest, he hasn't ever thought about it too hard, as usually more demanding things in his life have occupied his attention. Swimming, studying, baseball — none of these give him enough spare time to get to the bottom of why he could care less about the guys he shares locker rooms with, yet stopped and stared, with hands that were more than a little clammy, as he watched the Sochi Olympics with his mom. Or, why that girlfriend he had for a few months in high school just never felt right to him, despite being overall attractive and pleasant to be around (which were his only real requirements at sixteen).
Shohei doesn't know why he's thinking about this while he's sitting bitterly in the dugout of Globe Life Field, but he is. Maybe to take his mind off of the poetically bad performance he's watching from his team, or his own lackluster showing earlier in the evening that he'd normally be sulking about right now.
If it weren't unprofessional and generally frowned upon, Shohei would be typing away on his phone, asking Yuzuru what he's eating for breakfast. (The answer to which would be TKG, probably.) Instead, he will simply continue to sit as he is now, head plopped drearily on the palm of his hand as he feels his phone buzz every so often with a notification he can't check. An overall miserable experience, really. Ippei shoots him a look he can't quite decipher, as if he already knows how done he is with the season a mere two weeks into playing.
To the surprise of no one, the Angels lose, and any sense of relief and accomplishment Shohei might've felt from the first game vanishes into thin air. He admits that it's not necessarily realistic for him to think he'd have some grand comeback accompanied by an undefeated win streak (that would inevitably lead into a casual World Series victory, and the praise and admiration of an entire nation), but he also admits that the previous night's homer played into that fantasy just a tad.
When the following night goes even worse, somehow, Shohei grows more anxious than he'd like to be. He tries his hardest to not let that be too apparent in his conversations with Yuzuru, not wanting him to think that he doesn't want to talk to him because he's not feeling especially conversational. But Yuzuru notices anyway, because he notices everything, and offers to listen to his woes whenever he's awake.
While no amount of consoling from Yuzuru — no matter how genuinely helpful and appreciated it may be — can totally alleviate Shohei's burdens, it does prove to be extremely helpful in steering his attention away when he's not at bat. Time that would normally be spent running through replays and studying statistics is now regularly interrupted by flurries of emoticons and coy questions, and with each day it grows harder for Shohei to tell his mind 'no, focus'.
Though, getting distracted could be helping him more than he thought — he hits a double the next night, which seems promising. Granted, he still loses the game, but it feels like a glimmering spark of hope that something more impressive is awaiting him. He's not a particularly superstitious man, but if he were, he would argue that this is a sign he should keep letting Yuzuru pester him on a regular basis.
The selfie Yuzuru sent weeks prior isn't a one time thing either, interestingly enough. Shohei receives a picture about every other day from his friend, mostly of his bedhead or him eating whatever his mother's cooked that day. Shohei doesn't respond with any photos of himself, unsure if that's the appropriate thing to do or not. Instead, he gives Yuzuru what he hopes are heartfelt compliments, though in reality they primarily consist of "looking good" and "nice" with a thumbs up or blushing emoji tacked onto the end, depending on how adventurous he's feeling in the moment. On an internal level, Shohei allows himself a slightly more expansive vocabulary, and puts forth a valiant effort towards not acknowledging the warmth blooming in his gut.
The day after that double, Shohei hits another victory-clenching home run. There's something different about this one, though he can't put his finger on what that would be exactly. He is happy, of course, but it's a more measured feeling this time around — no excess tension is released from his shoulders, no surplus of optimism comes bounding forward. His head is very much still in the game, already thinking about what he can do better next time as he wipes still-fresh sweat off his face. It's familiar, grounding. He likes it.
Yuzuru likes it too, evidently. He sends Shohei a photo of him on his television, face warped from the angle it was taken at, yet clear enough to show the pleased smile he's wearing under the bright crimson mess of his helmet. Posed beside the broadcast is Yuzuru himself, a relaxed grin of his own resting on his cheeks. 'You worked hard today,' he writes, and Shohei decides without hesitation that he has to work harder.
It makes sense that the high points of Shohei's season should be his impressive home runs, or his world-shattering base steals, or hitting the first walk-off of his career. If anything can save him from total ridicule from the baseball community at large, it would be these moments, what's written down in the physical record for everyone to marvel and pass judgement on. And yet, for Shohei, victory comes in a new, unexpected form — as he's somewhere in Texas, laying in his mussed hotel bed after a particularly grueling loss. The weeks leading up to the middle of the shortened season haven't been kind to him, with more strikeouts than he thinks he's ever seen in his nearly decade-long career, and more often than not he finds his usually very subdued temper being tested to its limits.
'i feel like i'm too tired to be frustrated but not tired enough to fall asleep,' Shohei confesses to Yuzuru, unprompted. 'if that makes sense.' He's not certain why he's telling him this, but striking up a conversation with Yuzuru in any capacity seems a lot more appealing than continuing to search for distractions on his own. Weirdly, mobile games aren't doing enough to stop the cogs in his brain from whirring about noisily, and the hotel's gym isn't open at night to justify some form of stress-release iron pumping.
Shohei thinks he has a pretty good prediction for what Yuzuru's reply will be — either guidance he has off the top of his head or some long winded way of saying 'that's awful, tell me all about it'. He figures that it'll be the latter, as more and more seconds tick by without an answer. But before he has time to give up and turn over yet again in his sheets, it arrives.
From: Hanyu Yuzuru | 2:03am
Maybe this can help?
[20201011_1.jpg]
It takes a moment for the attached image to load with the building's spotty reception, and when it does...well, Shohei just about feels like dying.
Yuzuru's sitting in front of the floor mirror in his room, legs neatly placed to his side. Where a mischievous smile would normally be is, instead, a more subtle quirk of his lips. Shohei can't see the rest of his face, but that's not where his focus would be even if he could — though it isn't like he makes much eye contact with him in person either.
None of this is bad, at all, and if the list of descriptors ended here Shohei would soon be typing one of his awkward reviews. But he's not doing that — he's staring at his screen like he just witnessed the rapture, because the loose white shirt Yuzuru is wearing is all that he's wearing. Or, not entirely. He also has on a pair of underwear that Shohei can say with certainty were not designed with men as the target demographic, ruffled and sky blue and much too tight — but he may as well not be with the way his thighs demand his undivided attention, toned and smooth and looking so deceptively soft to the touch.
Shohei doesn't know what to do, other than to lock his phone and try to collect himself. Blood started rushing south the instant his eyes registered what they were looking at, and he knows it's a matter of seconds before he gets carried away with this mental movie and has a painfully unavoidable tent forming in his sweatpants. He rubs at his eyes wearily, briefly contemplating jumping into multiple freezing tubs of ice. What are the chances that Yuzuru sent him this by accident? Slim, he thinks, considering how careful someone like Yuzuru must be with extremely private data of this nature. Shohei doesn't have any incriminating photos of himself on his phone, personally, but if he did he imagines he'd be similarly cautious.
After staring at the striped wallpaper of his room for so long it starts giving him nasty looks, Shohei moves to the next option. Ideally, this would be asking Yuzuru how he knows that he's more than a little bit into him, or having a crisis over whether or not it would be safe for him to reciprocate any kind of intimacy with another high profile athlete like this. Unfortunately Shohei isn't thinking with his brain, at all, and sends back a simple 'yes' to answer Yuzuru's question before shoving his hand in his pants.
This was bound to happen, eventually. Maybe not with Yuzuru instigating it — especially not in this manner — but with the way Shohei's been giving in a little more each day to his feelings, it was only inevitable that he'd gradually stop swatting his hand away from himself in the shower and let go. He can feel his phone vibrate sharply beside him as he wraps his fingers around his shaft, and he doesn't think he's strong enough to check what that could be.
It all feels wrong, even if Shohei knows this is exactly what Yuzuru was trying to achieve. He moves his hand up and down his erection slowly, almost with caution, trying to push the image of Yuzuru's satisfied, cheeky cat grin out of his mind and replace it with something more appropriate for the situation. That isn't much of a challenge, with his memory of that text still being fresh. He groans dejectedly as he's bombarded with visions of Yuzuru's pretty lips stretched around his cock instead, dark eyes bleary from the effort he's putting forth and drooling all over. Shohei isn't one to brag, but he knows it'd be too much for him to swallow, and can't help feeling a bit guilty for letting that idea get him fully hard. 'Would he like that?' he thinks, pushing the elastic of his waistband further down by a few inches.
It seems like something Yuzuru would be into, with Shohei's towering height he has to know that he's more than well endowed. He's done enough research to know how he acts around any man over a hundred and eighty centimeters. For Shohei, the fact Yuzuru's so much smaller is both terrifying and arousing simultaneously, though at the moment he focuses on the latter. He cracks one eye open, and while it's mostly dark in his room, he can watch himself work up to a competent pace as the glide of his foreskin evens out. His phone buzzes again, and it's so tempting to see if it's Yuzuru sending him something else now that he knows the feeling's mutual. Shohei breathes hard through his nose as he starts predicting what that would entail — nothing too extremely lewd, he assumes, hopes. Prays. He doesn't know if his spirit could handle the sight of those dainty fingers spreading himself open, wet and waiting for Shohei to accept an offer he physically can't at the moment, teasing.
Shohei pauses long enough to confirm his fears before his curiosity eats him alive, and thankfully the truth isn't nearly as explicit. He pumps himself faster, audibly panting as he stares at the image in front of him — Yuzuru, bent over in front of that mirror with those frilled panties pulled down towards his knees, the sheer material straining feebly against the volume of his hips. His ass is the most obvious asset on display, and Shohei thinks about what it'd feel like to hold it in his palms, rub himself between his round, full cheeks. Not much is visible aside from them, though he can see Yuzuru's balls peeking shyly from between the apex of his thighs, dusty red and hairless. He bucks up into the tunnel his hand has made, pretending it's the warm, inviting heat that's beckoning him there instead. He knows it can't possibly compare, but it'll have to do for now.
As depressing as it should be to know this, Shohei finds that it has the opposite effect. His nerves have been wiped clean by lust, any lingering tension melting into an indecipherable jumble of nonsense and being whisked away as he thinks about holding Yuzuru close, running his hands down his slender bodyline, feeling his smooth skin pressed against him. He tries to imagine what he'd sound like, how high and breathy his voice would be while Shohei carefully takes him apart, and it's enough.
Shohei comes sooner than he would like to, biting down on his lip and catching what he can in his palm. (Though, considering how tight his balls were most of the time he was going at it, it's a miracle he lasted as long as he did.) He guides himself through his orgasm until his cock is too sensitive to handle, images of Yuzuru's blissed face still dancing across his fuzzy head until he rolls out of bed to wash the spunk off of his hands. Before he can set an alarm for the morning and crawl back under the covers, he notices a message that had been left unread while he was occupied.
'Does this mean I get to see you too, sometime?( *´艸｀),' Yuzuru had apparently attached beneath the second photo he sent. Shohei pauses, combing his mind for whatever might remain of his neurons. He's never been one to show himself off like Yuzuru does, hardly taking the bare minimum amount of annual pictures for someone his age. But...he isn't opposed to the idea, and he'd be willing to learn his angles if it means he can keep this new development between him and Yuzuru ongoing. There's a chance he would continue to receive nudes anyway even if he did say no, but it's only fair that Yuzuru knows that he shares his interest, and gets something out of it too.
To: Hanyu Yuzuru | 2:50am
next time
For reasons unknown to anyone besides his team's manager, Shohei is benched for the majority of what's left of the season. He can't say that he feels like he's missing out on too much — for each of the hits that are documented, there seems to be quintuple the misses. In a surprising turn of events, the same people who griped about him not performing as well as expected can be found insisting that he gets thrown back in under each Tweet announcing the Angels' defeats. He doesn't know if it'd actually make that much of a difference, or if they're just complaining for the sake of being contrarian, but he's flattered nonetheless.
Shohei spends most of his down time at the gym, getting back into the habit of lifting fridge-sized weights now that his elbow isn't giving him trouble anymore. Partially for the serotonin he gets from working out, partially to stay in top shape (in the event he does get put back on the roster), and partially because it drives Yuzuru crazy. He still isn't camera savvy in the slightest, but if the sweaty locker-room-mirror shots he sends can get that kind of reaction, then he supposes he doesn't need to be.
There is one upside to Shohei's team tripping and stumbling over their own feet at every opportunity, and it's Yuzuru's insistence on making sure he doesn't get too depressed over it. It's not immediately sexual, either, and for a moment Shohei fears he might have hallucinated the previous night's events — or worse: misinterpreted what Yuzuru wanted him to do with those photos. Though, he also spends roughly half an hour thinking about it, and can't imagine what else Yuzuru could've possibly meant by sending him pictures of his naked ass (that were definitely real).
The time difference between Japan and wherever-Shohei's-bubbled-up-for-the-week has always put a damper on their conversations, but it's especially problematic now that sexting Yuzuru in real time is a thing that he very much wants to do again. While midnight may be perfect for him, that would make it only around five in the afternoon for Yuzuru, and he can't say that he finds the idea of Mrs. Hanyu accidentally seeing their exchanges at the dinner table to be an arousing scenario. As a result, Shohei does as Shohei is prone to do, and spends more time thinking about how this (whatever this is) could work than he thinks about how he's actually going to go about doing it — he's never intentionally flirted in his life, much less dirty talked or sent a photo of his junk, and if anyone were to make it more clumsy and inelegant than it needs to be, it would be him.
This lack of practice isn't a problem initially, though it very quickly develops into one when Yuzuru sends Shohei an 'Are you busy~' message and he responds with 'no why, r u ok?'. But Yuzuru's patient with him, and they soon fall into a comfortable balance. Conversations go as they normally would, only now Yuzuru's daily selfies are mixed in with the most excruciating of strip teases, and Shohei learns not to open anything with media attached to it when he's not in a hotel room. He doesn't see much more than what was sent to him the first time, but he's fine with that — he'd be happy with pictures of Yuzuru's ankles, really, so he can't imagine life getting better than receiving regular shots of his thighs glimmering with bath water, or his perky ass modelling the various pairs of lacey panties he owns for whatever reason.
Shohei learns bits and pieces about Yuzuru's plans for skating, what music and costumes he's been experimenting with. He hasn't the slightest idea of what makes a quadruple-salchow different from a quadruple-axel, but he's more than happy to pretend to understand why he sounds so passionate about one over the other. What Shohei does know, however, is that both of his new costumes make him look awfully, unbearably pretty. Not to say he doesn't find him lovely otherwise — he does, and that knowledge brings him much agony daily — but something about Yuzuru in glitter and feathers and flowy pastel hues makes him look like even more of an ethereal being. He conveniently ignores the baggy faux leather pants on the short program costume for these observations.
It's not until Shohei's back in the swing of baseball that Yuzuru turns the dial on their exchanges up a few hundred notches. Maybe he finds a working man to be more attractive, or thinks that he can provide extra morale, or something. Regardless of the motive, the next time Shohei casually strolls into his hotel room he's greeted with an image of Yuzuru peeling his underwear away to show his flaccid dick, snuggled comfortably atop the curve of his thighs.
Shohei blinks, hand still on the doorknob and mask still on his face. He's had a good guess for what it looks like for a while now — nothing Yuzuru wears in his more scandalous photos (nevermind his training gear) leaves much to the imagination — but to see it as more than a small lump behind a curtain of silk is still very new. And very encouraged. He walks to his bed in long strides, never taking his eyes off the screen and tossing his duffel bag in whatever direction God decides is right for it. 'I'm bored,' Yuzuru has written. 'Is now a bad time?'
Shohei reads that and, like clockwork, he's fumbling to reply 'no, now is not a bad time at all' with the minimum amount of typos possible. It'd be good manners to show Yuzuru himself now that he's seen him, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't feel some hesitation — a combination of his general awkwardness and not wanting Yuzuru's first impression of him to be while he's still mostly soft. Of course, he has seen Shohei's outline in his boxers much like Shohei has seen his, but his sharing has been much more characteristically sparse and reserved than Yuzuru's overall. He's certain that he can stroke himself hard before he leaves him hanging for too long, though, and gets to work unzipping his jeans.
It's pathetic how little it takes to get him hot and bothered over Yuzuru. The thought of his tiny waist that leads into those obscenely wide hips, what he'd feel like sitting in his lap — Shohei's cock is standing proudly at attention before a minute passes. He stills his hand to hold it at a good position, ensures it's nicely illuminated by the lamp beside him, and takes the least shaky photo he can. He's not sure what a good dick pic is expected to look like, but he assumes this fits the bill as well as any — its a pic, and the focus is on his dick. There can't be much more than that to it, surely.
Shohei intends to spend his time waiting for Yuzuru's response wisely, picking up where he left off with his previous thoughts. He doesn't get far, though, as his phone's dinging to snap him back to reality before he can put too much brainpower into it.
'I want you so bad,' Shohei reads, and it's a little too easy to imagine Yuzuru's sighing that into his ear, hot puffs of air tickling the hairs on his neck as he makes quick work of unbuttoning his mud-stained jersey.
Shohei wants Yuzuru too, more than he can imagine. Far more than he knows how to adequately put into words.
What Yuzuru's sent him as a follow-up is another shot of him on his bed, only this time laying down and fully nude. It almost makes Shohei feel bad for the lack of artistry he puts into the photos he sends — nowhere near as beautiful as the sight of Yuzuru's hands trailing down his ribs to his cute erection, lips parted in a coquettish gasp. Shohei grunts, his hand working away as he zooms in on his chest, the planes of goosebump-riddled flesh and microscopic brown nubs he so badly longs to lave his tongue over. He figures if this is Yuzuru's reaction, his photography skills can't be that bad.
'Wait a few weeks,' he types one-handedly, before screwing his eyes shut with a groan. This wasn't how he intended to let Yuzuru know that he'll be back in Japan relatively soon, but it's as close as he can get to dirty talk — the suggestion is there that he's willing to physically give Yuzuru what he's asking for, fill him up until he can't form words, if he will allow him to.
Yuzuru seems keen on the idea, to say the least. He sends Shohei a string of three messages trying to properly type 'please', which would be funny under any other circumstance where Shohei wasn't trying his best to pretend he's balls-deep inside of him. He allows himself a small smile anyway, though it falters back into a determined lip bite almost as fast as it appears.
When Shohei finishes into the tissue he's retrieved from his bedside table, it's with a slightly greater force than usual. This seems to be a common occurrence for him, lately, as if he needs any more reminders that he's down bad for Yuzuru more and more with each passing day. Laying there afterwards and thinking about how much better it would be to have someone snuggled under his arm is ever so slightly more dismal, too.
With little fanfare and on a dull note, Shohei doesn't have to play baseball for the rest of the year. He's long since accepted that this year was not normal, no one played their best, and that all he can do is admit he gave a pathetic showing to journalists that inquire and continue to be determined to do better next time around. For the first time in his life, his focus isn't entirely on his career, instead shifted towards his off-season roadmap, and he's not sure how to feel about it.
Returning home safely is Shohei's main priority, naturally, with all of the headaches associated with international travel at the moment. But, perhaps foolishly, something else is the center of his schedule, something he doesn't even know for sure is going to happen. Though he has yet to revisit talks of meeting up with Yuzuru once he gets there, he can't stop thinking about the prospect of it. Yuzuru hasn't said anything either, which doesn't do much to alleviate Shohei's uncertainties surrounding whether or not he should bring the topic up again at all.
It requires real effort on Shohei's part to send Yuzuru an 'I'll be flying home in two days' text one morning, but he manages it. He manages to wait for a reply, too, and what he gets back makes his heart accelerate to worrying speeds.
From: Hanyu Yuzuru | 6:09pm
Can you call me?
While Shohei isn't against the concept of talking verbally over the phone, he doesn't know why this couldn't be resolved over writing. Him and Yuzuru haven't called each other in well over a year — it isn't convenient for either of them with Yuzuru's obligations and Shohei's perpetual shyness. Even now that they're comfortably more than acquaintances who strike up a brief conversation once every few weeks, he's carefully avoided anything that would require him to have to form real-time sentences around Yuzuru if he can help it. Frankly, the thought of Yuzuru audibly teasing him is the type of thing he experiences during sleep paralysis.
Strangely enough, this isn't enough to stop Shohei from pressing the 'call' button after little more than a breath of hesitation. Each ring in his ear is palpable, his mind racing a thousand miles a minute as he tries to predict what Yuzuru's going to say.
Any guesswork isn't needed once the line is finally picked up.
"Shohei?" Yuzuru's voice filters through, bright and clear as can be.
"Yeah," Shohei responds, too taken aback by hearing Yuzuru after so long to come up with anything else. As lame as it may be to admit, he's missed it. It's cute.
Yuzuru breathes a (devastating and unnecessary) giggle into the receiver. "That was... nice to wake up to."
Shohei squints. "...My text?"
"Mmh," hums Yuzuru. "I was wondering when you'd tell me the date."
Shohei clears his throat, feeling a bit silly now. "You were waiting on me?"
"Well yeah, why wouldn't I be? Unless your trip didn't involve stopping by my house at some point, of course."
"T-that's not it," Shohei protests instantly, ignoring Yuzuru's already apparent entertainment. "I messaged you because I want to see you. Very much."
There's a brief pause before Yuzuru responds. "So," he says, an impish smile visible in the way he enunciates the single vowel. "My family's out of town for all of next week. Is this valuable information to you?"
Right. He doesn't live alone. Shohei didn't factor that into his plans, but thankfully that doesn't seem to matter much as luck is on his side, for once.
He nods, before remembering that Yuzuru can't see him. "Yeah, definitely."
Shohei pays attention — for the most part — to Yuzuru as he quickly enters technical mode and starts rambling on about the logistics of their meeting. Though, it proves tempting to instead picture how pretty he must look, legs crossed politely on his bed and carefully typing away on his tablet while Shohei gives a grunt of understanding every half minute or so. How he wishes he were sitting beside him.
Yuzuru's sweet 'see you soon' lingers in Shohei's ears long after their call ends, to the doors of the pharmacy he wanders through later that evening. Being back in Anaheim, he has reason to feel on edge as he asks the cashier to unlock the 'Adult Wellness' display for him, but if she recognizes who he is, it isn't made known to him. While he had initially considered getting Ippei to run this errand for him, he knows that his nosiness would result in being asked a multitude of questions regarding his purchases that he doesn't want to answer. Not like it'd necessarily be shameful for Ippei to learn about his itinerary, or for the world to know what size condom he wears, but it's not the media coverage he's looking for, to put it lightly.
Shohei struggles to come up with a good excuse for why he can't see his parents right after landing. He's not fond of lying to them in any capacity, but he reasons that saying 'I need to stay in Tokyo a few days for a commercial shoot' isn't going to drag him down with guilt too severely. It's infinitely more appealing than the alternative of inventing a fake girlfriend to see, or thinking of any platonic friend that's important enough to go through quarantine with. He will tell them about his condition eventually, he supposes. When he's ready.
The following day, Yuzuru sends Shohei a picture of his face laying atop his pillow, phone positioned so that it's what Shohei's point of view would be if he were laying there with him — albeit much lower than what his wide shoulders would really prop him up to. His eyes are shut serenely, long lashes brushing against the tops of his cheekbones, skin glowing a pale gold against the white of his pajamas. Shohei traces his thumb across the still image on his screen, his heart swelling with the knowledge that he'll be able to actually touch him in seemingly no time at all.
Sleep comes to him only because he reminds himself that getting some will make dawn — and subsequently, the potential of this reality — arrive faster.