Miyuki was never one to care too much about girls, or the amount of female attention he receives on a daily. He was big at Seidou, known for being entirely way too good at baseball, too much intellect on the topic, and sickeningly handsome despite his bad personality. You weren’t much of an exception to his antics. Sure, when you were dating, he acknowledged you as his girlfriend, but you weren’t his priority.

Baseball was. It always will be, and you’ve come to terms with Miyuki’s dream, his unwavering desire to go pro one day. But long after your break up, he finds himself looking towards the stands before the game starts, adjusting his chestplate as it was time for defense. It’s muscle memory, he assumes. Because you always sat in the third row up, it’s natural for him to look there. He’s used to it.

But what he isn’t, used to is your absence. How you don’t call him anymore, ask him about small things that were still all the more meaningful. He hates how much he feels it messing with his head—He hates that even when you’re not here, he somehow still ends up thinking about you.

You aren’t much better, really. It’s pathetic how much you’ll keep coming back for more of him. After a lot of contemplating, you did decide to show up to Seidou’s match with Inashiro. And later, after the match ending in Seidou’s win, Miyuki finds you, panting, breathing out your name in an almost desperate call.

“Ah, come on. Were you really going to leave without saying hi first?” Miyuki quips, standing straight as he sighs out, the metals of his cleats clacking on the concrete as his arms cross.