Plurk paste

Before the Bijou game, it was only ever a hand on his back, or an elbow to the ribs. Izumi only ever touched him to admonish him, or to move him out of the way. But then Tajima came up with his patented instant-relaxation strategy, and suddenly Mizutani realised just how wonderful and terrifying and exciting Izumi’s touches could be.

The Bijou game was the first time.

The second time was afterwards. Not immediately afterwards, when they bowed and collected their things and had to communally carry Nishihiro to the waiting row of cars. But later, back at school, when Hanai was busy talking to the coach and Mizutani was supposed to be helping put the equipment away, and instead he just pushed his head against the wall and stood stock still, overpowered by the impossible, impossible concept of *losing*.

And Izumi came over and stood beside him and slung his arms around Mizutani’s shoulders, no tickling at all, just warm, comforting weight.

And when he walked away, when the weight was lifted, Mizutani physically *ached* where he’d been touched. That was the second time.

The third time was later, when Mizutani was chasing Tajima around the bleachers, too focused on their impromptu tag game to realise the others were trying to have a serious baseball discussion. Izumi tripped Mizutani as he passed and sat on him.

Mizutani had been expecting to be tickled, and he was…not quite disappointed, but confused. It was nice, though. Izumi wasn’t crushingly heavy, just heavy enough to weigh Mizutani down. And there, pressed against the concrete, Mizutani suddenly realised that he had to make this happen, again and again and again.

Whatever it takes, if Izumi touches him, it will be worth it.

The fourth time was barely anything at all, a brush of shoulders as they passed in the hall. But Izumi hadn’t touched him in about a month, and Mizutani felt it like a jolt of fire, burning up and down his nerves.

The fifth time was a lucky break; Izumi made a sarcastic comment about Hanai’s lack of hair, and Hanai called Izumi’s hair ‘pretty’, and suddenly everyone was insulting and tugging hair all over the place. And Mizutani seized his chance, heart in his throat, and pushed his hand into Izumi’s shiny, straight fringe.

*Fuck, you are so amazing.*

More amazing still was the way Izumi just stopped, and tipped his head back a little so he could watch. Mizutani petted him for a while, his whole body tingling, before he realised that he probably needed to say something to stop this from getting incredibly weird and mock-worthy.

“Girl,” he managed, awkwardly.

It took another few seconds before he could break the contact. Izumi didn’t so much as say a word.

The sixth time was during another official game, when Izumi tickled Mizutani until Mizutani almost passed out, and then carded his hand through Mizutani’s hair.

“Who’s the girl now?” he asked, coolly, always so *calm* while Mizutani was losing control.

*I want to touch you forever.*

“I am,” Mizutani squeaked, and Izumi got up and moved away, and fuck that.

Mizutani struggled to his feet.

“We *both* are,” he amended, and then ran for his life, feeling a thousand times validated when Izumi chased him.

The seventh time was when Izumi fell asleep on him, after the whole team went for noodles and they were waiting for a lift home from the restaurant.

Mizutani wanted to kiss him more than anything else, but he didn’t, because kissing is the sort of thing you have to ask permission for. And because it was reward enough, just to see the tough little Izumi relaxed and unguarded.

And still breathing surprisingly arrhythmically. Aren’t people supposed to breathe deep and regular when they sleep?

The eighth time was the next day. A practice game. Feeling brave, Mizutani walked up to Izumi and hugged him quickly.

“The fuck was that for?” Izumi sputtered.

“Good luck,” Mizutani told him.

“I don’t need good luck,” Izumi says, offended. “I’m a *good* hitter.”

“Yes,” Mizutani says, admiringly. “I know.”

Izumi hits a fucking home run.

He doesn’t speak to Mizutani for the rest of the side, doesn’t even go near him untl just before his next at-bat.

“I guess this is a thing now,” Izumi said, looking only at his hands, which aren’t as still and steady as usual.

Mizutani hugged him again, a little bit longer than before.

The touches came more regularly after that, a few times every practice, and four or five times every game, to the point where Mizutani got miserable on Sundays because of the whole no-school-no-games-no-Izumi thing.

The twenty-fifth time, though, was when Mizutani batted in a run, managing to save them from losing a called game. When he got back to the dugout, Izumi shoved him against the wall and tickled him, like he was trying to express some sort of nonverbal congratulations. Then he kissed Mizutani on the lips, fast, faster than their first hug, faster than anything.

And then he ran away.

The twenty-sixth time was when Mizutani tracked Izumi down a few minutes later, and kissed him on the temple because Izumi refused to speak or lift his head.

“I think this should be a thing now,” he said, quietly.

After that day, Mizutani lost count.