Slowly
the dogfish tore open the soft basins of water.
You don't want to hear the story
of my life, and anyway
I don't want to tell it, I want to listen
to the enormous waterfalls of the sun.
And anyway it's the same old story —
a few people just trying,
one way or another,
to survive.
Mostly, I want to be kind.
And nobody, of course, is kind,
or mean,
for a simple reason.
And nobody gets out of it, having to
swim through the fires to stay in
this world.
━━━━━━
"How'd your appointment go?"
"Three months. Three months and I'm cleared for rollercoasters!"
"I thought that was a joke."
"Whaaaat? No! January twenty-fifth —" you clap a hand on Miyuki's shoulder, grinning; he shakes his head, pulling into the parking lot of Birch Aquarium. "That's our day."
"Our? No way."
"Yes way."
He groans melodramatically and makes a perfect right swing into a parking spot. "So, what? Disneyland? Universal Studios?"
"What? Screw those guys! I'm talkin' about Six Flags, baby! It's Batman time!"
"How are you even cleared for that?"
"Well, I'm not yet. I'll schedule an appointment for the week before and if my doctor clears it, we're good to go. Speaking of, we should settle on a date."
"A date for our date?"
He's doing that more often. Mostly because the press has gotten a lot of pictures of you two hanging around the city and the more sensationalist tabloids are saying you're dating. Framing your whole meeting as one big meet-ugly that leads to a love story for the ages. You've both denied the rumors but mostly, you try not to think about it.
You flush. "No jokes or I'll drag you onto Viper."
"And what's that one like?"
"Terrifying enough to have you coming off appreciating life and loving your neighbor."
He snickers.
Realistically speaking, you probably won't be able to ride that one. Too much G-force. You'd either grey out or just straight up blackout.
Hector would kill you. If the coaster didn't do the job, anyway.
"You're all healed, then?" he asks as you approach the entrance.
"Brain bruises are gone and so is the fracture."
"Good. That's good." He hands the tickets to the attendant. You watch him.
You've been thinking about what Jerry told you for the past few days. About the incident with that little girl in Georgia. You aren't sure if you should say something. Anything. It was already a few years ago. Truthfully now, you're just...
Well, you're wondering if he is doing this stuff because he feels guilty. You don't want him to feel guilty. You want him here because he wants to be here. You want —
Nothing.
You shove the thoughts away and follow him. You'd both come early because you wanted to see the penguin feeding at one.
And plus, there aren't as many people around. Kind of a bonus. A Tuesday at noon. The second week of December. Empty. Or, well, mostly empty.
Inside, the air is cool, smelling faintly fishy. It is dark, with the light coming from the tanks, shining blue on your faces. You've come prepared with your camera, taking pictures of whatever catches your eye. You two walk through the Hall of Fishes, showcasing the diverse marine life of the pacific. The Giant Kelp Forest, with kelp swaying in cool blue water, Leopard Sharks, Moray Eels, and Giant Black Sea Bass gliding through them. Then the Sea-dragons and Seahorses display, with the aforementioned marine life as well as pipefish and other unique species.
"Seahorses mate for life, you know."
"Don't the males also get pregnant?"
"They've got it all figured out," you sigh wistfully; half of you wants to climb in that tank. "I mean, seriously, that's some soulmate shit."
"Isn't it kind of... not?"
"For me, soulmates are created, not found."
"What's the criteria?"
The question shocks you. You look at him.
He's already looking at you.
Your chest warms and you look back at the tank, where a light green seahorse speckled with black dots swims through the water.
"Why are you asking?" you ask, a little teasing, though your heart is suddenly beating out of your chest.
Quiet for a moment. Then... "I'm curious."
The thing is, he doesn't sound like he's joking or even teasing you. No, he sounds... well. Curious.
"I don't know," you say, deciding screw it and looking at him. Your hands grow clammy around your camera. You let it fall, hanging from your neck.
You tug distractedly at your shirt. It's a comfortable day, so you're in an outfit similar to the day you and he had Rico's, with your Docs, your over-the-knee black socks, denim shorts and black cherry lip lacquer. Except it's not your Wonder Woman shirt, but the Padres jersey you'd been generously gifted by the team. A rusty brown kind of color, with golden trims and San Diego written across the front. Nothing else on the back. You wear it unbuttoned, though, with a black lace trim cami underneath; the jersey is a tad oversized at your request, so the ends fall down a little bit past your hips. Your nails are painted black again.
When Miyuki saw you after picking you up from your apartment, he said if you were going to be friends, you had to have his jersey, too, so he was getting you one immediately. You said that wouldn't help your dating rumors at all. He said Do you really care what they think, tomcat?
"I don't know," you say again. Unsure if it's to his question about criteria or your own thoughts.
(But you know — your answer to whether you care what others think, you mean. Not the press, not the media, not the fans who think you're trying to steal his money — and they can die mad about it, too, because nine out of ten times, he's insisting on paying and since you only make enough to pay rent, feed yourself and your pets, and sustain a Spotify subscription, well, why the hell are you going to say no? You don't care about them, not really. You just care about him. About this. Whatever this is. Real friendship or just his guilt.
But god, you really hope it isn't that.)
"I don't think there's a specific criteria for what classifies a soulmate. That's the beauty of it. I think Jerry is my soulmate but I think Batman and Robin are my soulmates, too. My pets, I mean, not the actual characters."
He smiles. Your heart does that funny thing again.
"But you know how I am. I love love. I love humanity. I love the strangers I see on the streets being kind to one another, the baby who smiles at me on the bus. It's just... it's not hard. It's easy."
"Aren't you afraid of getting hurt?"
"What's life without a little heartbreak? Yeah, I'll get hurt and I'll lose a little part of my heart but at the end of the day, I've got people to help me fill it back up. I don't think you can go through life and get a fulfilling experience if you try to protect yourself constantly, never be willing to let someone else handle it."
You pause, a question on the tip of your tongue, unsure if you can go ahead with it.
"Ask," he says quietly. "We're friends. Friends ask each other questions."
You smile at him repeating your words from last week.
"Well... do you have people like that?"
He looks ahead, pensive. Quiet long enough that you know you won't get an answer. Not now, anyhow. And that's okay.
He's spoken of his old friends from high school. Told you plenty of amusing stories from that time. Told you about how they lost Nationals in his first and second year, then won it in his third. Told you about Kuramochi Youichi, who 'is sharper than he looks and surprisingly reliable, too,' and Sawamura Eijun, who is 'obnoxiously loud and passionate and won't ever leave you alone, but he's one hell of a guy.'
Miyuki bared a lot to you. But there's still more to him. You think that's how it will always be, you peeling the layers back one by one, discovering who he is. Then perhaps one day, you might get the privilege of holding his heart in your hands.
You continue to explore the aquarium for a little while longer.
Outside, they have tide pools, with sea stars, sea anemones, hermit crabs, sea cucumbers, lobsters, and other little creatures swim around. You can even dip your hand inside and feel them.
Miyuki refuses ("My hands are my life!") but you get him to join you, only by guiding his arm under yours, your hand pressed over the back of his. He squirms at the feeling of the creatures brushing up against his palm and you beam.
Afterward, you check out their penguin exhibit, where they have a feeding show as well. Then you start to feel hungry.
"They have a cafe here, don't they?" Probably exorbitantly priced but you know the aquarium is owned by UC San Diego and they're doing lots of conservation efforts so you don't mind. Even if the tickets were twenty-five bucks a pop.
"Not necessary," Miyuki says.
You chuckle at his matter-of-fact tone. "Why not?"
"I brought food." He opens the messenger bag he's had over his shoulder, showing you two bentos. You'd been curious about it but didn't ask. Now you know.
"Are you allowed to bring that in?" you ask curiously.
He shrugs. "They didn't say anything to me about it."
Well. You can never say no to his cooking.
The two of you find a picnic bench near the cafe. Not many people are outside but you still sit with your backs to everything else, anyway.
He made thick club sandwiches with mayo, ketchup, cooked ham, bacon, cheese, an over medium egg, lettuce, and tomato. It is paired with spam musubi, made of mixed grain rice with furikake, spam, egg, and nori, then wrapped with seaweed. It's delicious, as usual.
You eat in a companionable silence. You feel a little sleepy, too, since you slept intermittently while running the show last night. It runs on weekdays but not weekends, but since yesterday was Monday, you had no choice but to stay up late, then get back to your apartment at four where you slept until eleven.
Overhead, the sun is out, shining down warmly on you, mitigating the effects of the cool breeze that rustles your hair occasionally.
This is nice.
It's always nice but...
You find yourself increasingly appreciative of these stolen moments of peace.
You finish your food. Miyuki wordlessly offers you his water bottle, which you gladly accept, washing down your food with still-cold water. You pass it back afterward unthinkingly. You don't quite realize what you did until you see him looking at something in the corner of your eye and you turn to see, too. Only to wince when you realize he is staring at the rim of the bottle, where a dark imprint of your lips lingers behind.
"Shit, sorry —"
"It's fine," he says, shaking his head a little, then swiping a thumb over it. But the attempt to clean it doesn't work. It smears over the white of the water bottle and on the pad of his thumb instead. He blinks and stares at his thumb, the stain darker than the light brown of his skin.
"It's... long lasting," you stammer, embarrassed as you turn to rifle through your tote bag, pulling out a small pack of makeup wipes.
You pull one out, then lean over to clean the rim of the bottle, black cherry staining the wipe. He doesn't let go, so you just move into his space to do it, embarrassed for the most part.
Once the bottle is clean, you turn to his hand, cleaning the lacquer from his thumb.
"Sorry," you mutter, lifting your eyes to him.
You freeze as you realize how close you two are. You're in his space. Your legs pressed against each other, your hand on his. The heat of him bleeds through his jeans, warding off any chills from the cool breeze. And he's looking at you.
He's looking at you.
This close, you can see how thick his lashes are, amber brown eyes flecked with gold, burning through you, and you can see the faint tan lines on his face, from his glasses or from his catcher's mask, who knows, but it's a decidedly endearing tidbit of information that you tuck away behind your ribcage.
Your heart pounds fast. Heat rises within you, ballooning in your chest. You don't know what to do — you should pull away but...
You don't want to.
The realization is enough to make you feel dizzy. Or it could be that you're so close, you can smell his shampoo, something spicy and warm.
"You asked me earlier," he begins quietly, surprising you, making you pull back a fraction and your hand jerk (the two of you are in public and granted he has a cap on but still; if the press caught this, they'd have a field day). But he doesn't let you go, plucking the wipe from your hand with his left hand, while his right, the one that had the stain, closes around yours.
"About whether I have anyone," he goes on. "The truth is, I'm not sure I do."
You soften. "Why not?"
"It's only me over here. Well... there's Chris but he's in Toronto with the Blue Jays. He's... got his own life to handle. My friends from school... they're all back in Japan and truthfully, I'm not as great a friend as I should be to them. They're good, they've always been, but me..."
He finally looks away from you, sighing. You're pressed to his side since he has your right hand clasped in his right, your arms and legs pressed together. It's a bit of an awkward angle but you ignore that, happy to be this close. Happy to have him opening up even if it makes you sad.
"I'm the variable in the equation. And the fact that I'm here and not there... after everything... next to impossible."
The new information you'd learned from Jerry about his second season with the Braves springs to the forefront of your mind.
"After everything?" you ask hesitantly. You don't want to assume.
He looks at you. "You know."
Guilt curls in your chest. "I only found out recently. I didn't... Before that, I had no idea that had happened."
He looks away again, fingers tugging the bill of his cap.
"Her name is Mia. She was six when it happened. She just turned ten a few weeks ago." He digs out his phone. Shows you a picture of a little girl with a gap-toothed smile, dressed in a baseball uniform, with a glove on her hand. "She still wants to play baseball. Be the first girl to join the Majors. After everything, the least I can do is make sure she has every chance to."
"That's... really nice of you, you know."
He doesn't respond to that, putting his phone. "I assume you know how that season turned out, then."
The worst slump of his career.
You don't say that. You don't say anything. You just look at him, heart aching on his behalf.
He leans back, looking up at the sky. "They tried. They did. But up until then... accidents like that didn't happen for me."
You stay quiet. A slow breeze flutters his hair.
"When I was a kid... I was smaller than most of the kids on my team. Much smaller than them. I said things — the truth, it was only ever the truth, to make us better — and they didn't like that. I saw no use in fighting back. I'd show them on the field. But what that taught me... violence has no place in baseball. Not that kind of violence. Say what you want on the field, in your plays, but... you ruin the game by doing anything else."
Your heart aches; it feels like each beat it takes is harder than the last. "Miyuki..."
"I know," he sighs. "I didn't try to hit her. I didn't. But indirectly... it was my fault, my actions. More than that... why didn't they have netting there? Why were there no precautions in place? Why'd it take so long for someone to get to them?"
Tension bubbles in the air. Everything about him sharpens in that moment, anger taking over; a dormant anger, the kind you hold onto, brutal and unforgiving. Not something new.
He looks at you. Sunlight turns his eyes honey brown but they're hard, burning.
"Do you know what they told me? The park, MLB? They just said, that's just how things are here. Fans didn't want netting there. This is America. But that's too easy. They just don't want to lose the money in the initial stages. But people would come. They always will. But how could they make that expense? Of course not." He lets out a slow exhale, some tension unwinding from his shoulders. "I didn't let it go. They threatened suspension."
"What?"
"Her mom told me to let it go. The park would put up netting, but it would just be them. No one else would follow suit. Not until one of their fans almost died from a foul ball or a broken bat flying into the stands."
"That's..."
"I'm biding my time," he says, speaking with a kind of ruthless finality that raises the hair on the back of your neck. "A few more years before my age catches up with me and they start putting me on the back-burner. I'll do it then."
He is prepared to scorch the earth and salt it behind him, too, for this. You can't say you disagree with him.
"Anyway," he sighs, thumb idly rubbing over your hand; you suppress a shiver at the feeling, catcher's callouses ticklish against your skin. "All of that happened that year, that summer. My friends, they tried, but... nothing could be done. Things got... better when I moved out here. But the damage had been done. I couldn't try turning up pretending everything was fine. A younger me would've but I can't do things like that anymore. We made some progress but... like I said. They're there and I'm here. The variable in the equation."
"I'm sure they wouldn't mind a call from you. Anything, really. I don't get the sense they'll abandon you."
"Maybe."
"Everyone has their issues, Miyuki," you say softly. "No one is perfect. But you're trying, aren't you? Right now, you're trying. You don't have to. You could've just told me to go to hell and that... well. That would've been fine. But you're trying."
He looks back at you. The look in his eyes makes your stomach flip-flop and your heart pound.
"You remind me of them, you know. Both of them."
"Naive?"
"You and I both know you aren't naive. No... you're hopeful."
Warmth spools like cotton candy in your chest. Your face warms and you smile, leaning your head on your shoulder.
"And a little annoying. Admit it. It's okay. Everyone should be a little annoying and off-putting every now and then."
He chuckles, a small smile tugging at his mouth as he looks down at you. "A little annoying sometimes, yes. But it's fine. Think I need to be annoyed every now and then. Probably payback for all the people I've annoyed when I was a kid."
"You were just a kid. Let yourself off the hook. Though, I do agree that you should be annoyed every now and then. You certainly are annoying now. Well. A bit more than every now and then."
"Don't lie to me. I rarely annoy you. You're just so... impossible to get worked up."
"I let it go. I know you're just like that. No reason in getting bothered about it." You elbow him gently. "But there are limits, alright? You're a grown man. Act accordingly."
He laughs hard, for a reason you don't understand, but you don't care. You like the way his eyes crinkle.
"You aren't wrong!" he says when he finishes, grinning down at you. "Starting to think I should. Like maybe talking to my friends more. Maybe... give them a call like you say."
You smile. "That sounds like a good start."
"And I think... I think I should be a little more appreciative of the friend I have here with me right now."
"Oh, yeah?" you ask, beyond pleased.
"So... you should start calling me Kazuya."
"Wait — what —" you jerk and he quickly lets go of your hand to sling an arm around your shoulder and pull you low against his chest. It's not particularly romantic because he kind of has you hunched over against his stomach.
"Miyuki, what — hey, this isn't comfortable..."
"I'm sorry, who are you talking to? That bird over there?"
"That's a squirrel."
"Question still stands. He doesn't look like a Miyuki to me. He looks like a... Nori."
"Miyuki."
He doesn't acknowledge you.
Your face burns. You groan. You should be happy — you are happy. You know how big this kind of thing is. But you're also embarrassed. Why are you embarrassed?
Being given the privilege of his name doesn't mean anything other than you two are friends. And he said it himself.
You're friends. This is just what friends do.
(Yeah, you know this sounds like you're trying to convince yourself.
You are.)
"Kazuya."
"Now we're talking about me. Very nice."
He lets go. You glare a little at him as you come back up. He just smiles. It's far too bewitching for you to really be annoyed with him.
"Have any more room?"
"For?"
He rifles around the bag next to him, pulling out an orange.
You melt like butter in a pan.
"Sure, yeah."
Kazuya (gah, that's weird... but not in a bad way) proceeds to peel it expertly by hand, dropping orange peels into the now-empty bento box. Citrusy orange tickles your nose pleasantly.
He splits off a few wedges for you. You take it, pulling one free. He pulls one free for himself. You sit side by side eating the orange together wedge by wedge.
Yeah. You're thinking about it.
You know — the poem.
You know the one.
"What are you smiling about?"
"Do I need a reason to smile?"
He eyes you and the look on his face is both amused and fond but mostly fond. "I guess not."
-
[Night Owl Transcript — 20:31 — 12/14/2022]
Tee: I just... I love poetry. I think poetry is great. Mouser's rolling his eyes but that's just 'cause he likes nonfiction better, which is fine. I like both. Oh, someone on Twitter is asking what brought this on. Um. Nothing in particular at all. [Laughs]
[DNCE's "Unsweet" starts playing in the background]
Tee: But if you guys have any favorites, send them my way. I'm always happy to get new material.
["Unsweet" starts playing]
I want you unsweet
You satisfy me
That brutal honesty
Won't you pour your heart out on me?
[Off-air recording starts]
Mouser: What are you smiling about?
Tee: I just think... the universe is great.
Mouser: Right. Sure.
Tee: Soooo.
Mouser: [Laughing] What?
Tee: I've come to a realization.
Mouser: And that is?
Tee: I like Kazuya.
Mouser: Jesus Christ.
Tee: I mean, look at this queue. It wasn't intentional but... Angel Baby. Attention. I'll Be Waiting. It's so...
Mouser: [Laughing] You're in love with this guy!
Tee, Mouser: [Laughter]
Tee: Ohhh. That is so... It's fine. It's cool. It's chill. We're chill.
Mouser: Hehe, wait, are you, like, just realizing this? Like actually?
Tee: Yeah.
Tee, Mouser: [Laughter]
Mouser: [Laughing] And you're spending the holidays with him!
Tee, Mouser: [Laughter]
Tee: I know! I know... but it was just convenient. When the plans were made, I mean, 'cause my sister and Hector are going out of the country and I could spend it with the family but... then he'd be alone.
Mouser: What do the kids call that? Down bad. You are down bad.
Tee: [Laughing] I know! It's just... you don't even realize it, the way he gets to you. It sneaks up on you. And then one day — today — you're just like... Huh. He tries to seem so aloof, like he doesn't care, but he does. A lot. I think that's partially why he is the way he is.
Mouser: He's also nice to look at it.
Tee: Really nice.
[Lolo Zouaï's "Blur" plays next]
Last night was a blur
I stayed till the morning
Let you call me your girl
That don't mean I'm falling (But I think I might)
You're every single thing that I deserve
Maybe that's too boring
Tee: Hey, you know I love you, right?
Mouser: I know. I love you, too.
Tee: Good. I don't want you to think... I mean, I know you don't but, like, let me just reassure you... just 'cause I like Kazuya like that won't change anything between us. You're my Mouser. My guy in the chair. The Donna Troy to my Dick Grayson.
Mouser: You geek. You're the Chewie to my Han.
Tee: I think I'm more Han than you but since we're having a nice moment, I'll let it go.
Mouser: Andddd the moment is over.
-
You have no idea if Kazuya listens to the show.
You don't really know how to feel about it if he does.
Mostly because, around him, you're already feeling a whirlwind of emotions. More so because you've planted your white flag and given in. Given in to the fact that you do like him. That you like when he smiles, those rarities that make you appreciate them all the more, that you like the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs that stupid laugh of his.
That you like his thoughtfulness, that he goes the full nine yards even when you tell him he doesn't have to. He stopped buying shellfish for himself, even though you'd adamantly told him he didn't have to do that, that all you asked if he hung out with you when he had it was wash his hands and if you were eating at his place, avoid cross-contamination. No. He just got rid of it completely. Not like I'm cutting out fish entirely, he told you. I still have my seafood.
You like how he pays attention to you, he remembers things, like when you mentioned, a month ago, that you were trying to complete your collection of the Batman: No Man's Land omnibuses by getting the second book and you also wanted to get the Batman: Road to No Man's Land omnibus, too. They're just ridiculously expensive — Volume 2 of NML is $150 and RTNML is $125. He surprises you with them a few days after your realization, says he was just passing a comic book store and braved the geeks to get it for you and that it looked mildly intriguing, so you have to let him read Volume 1, it's only fair.
It's so surprising, so unexpected and emotionally overwhelming for you that you throw your arms around with him without thinking it through.
"And what will the press think?" he teases, but he still wraps his arms around you and there, in his embrace, everything feels right, like a puzzle piece sliding into place.
You would know. You're, like, the leading authority on puzzles.
"Screw the press," you mumble into his hoodie.
You don't want to say something like, Well, this is just a platonic hug between friends. It aches too much. Like you can pretend you don't want to stay here forever. Like you can pretend the urges to touch him freely aren't growing stronger every day, minute by minute.
But that won't happen. You know it won't. You're a hypocrite for doing this, really, but the truth is, you're selfish enough to want to keep him as a friend, if anything else. No use in ruining things by inserting feelings into the equation. You don't want to lose him. You really, truly don't.
You'll just wait for it to abate, for it to go away. It will. It's the third week of December. The new year is creeping closer and closer. On February fifteenth, he is due to report in Peoria, Arizona for spring training; pitchers and catchers report on that day, before the rest of the team. From there, he won't be back in San Diego until late March. Opening Day is April first. And from there... well. One-hundred-and-sixty-two games in the MLB's regular season, from April to September.
That's only two months away. The thought is... sobering. Makes something inside you stiffen up but you tell yourself it's fine. The distance might help. It will.
You surely won't compromise your relationship with him to get rid of these feelings, no way, they'll just... be there. And if you get help in moving on from them with his busy season, well. That's just how the cards fall.
You let go before you get carried away, leaning down to deposit your gift in the car. A cool breeze flutters through your hair; you shiver a little. The breeze is cool but the day is pleasant enough with the sun is out. Still, you find yourself dressing a little more conservatively today, in a pair of mom jeans and a brand-new eggplant purple Night Owl crewneck.
Yes, you're wearing your own merch. But this is more of a test-run, to see that it actually is comfortable before you release it.
The ocean sprawls out ahead of you, gravel leading to soft white sand, overgrown grass and weeds sprouting from the fence that separates the parking lot from the beach.
While you carefully put away the bag, behind you, Kazuya types on his phone.
He called them — Kuramochi, Sawamura — a few weeks ago, finally taking that leap. Things are on the mend for them, you think. The thing is, they text a lot.
"Texting your friends?"
He hums absently. You turn away from the passenger side and creep up next to him, deftly stealing his phone.
"Wh — oi!" He sounds vaguely panicked for a reason you aren't sure of but he has nothing to worry about.
"Relax, dude. I can't read any of this."
He snorts, looking relieved, then he switches gears, trying to look sternly at you. "Give me back my phone, brat."
"Just for that?"
Despite everything being in Japanese, you know the symbol for the camera anywhere. You click it, opening the front camera, snapping a quick selfie of you, your wine-purple lips (you gotta match, man!) spread in a grin, peace sign thrown up, while he tries to grab you in the background.
You send it just as he steals his phone back, laughing and pushing you gently.
"Bothersome."
"I get it from you."
He rolls his eyes, still grinning, types a few things, then puts his phone away. You two go back to the car, where he uses you to balance himself as he rolls up his jeans and pulls off his socks and shoes.
As he straightens, his eyes find your crewneck. He blinks, head tilting. He puts his shoes away.
"So, you guys aren't being shut down, then."
You plant a hand on his offered arm and bend down to do the same with your shoes. Since you'd agreed to stop by the beach, you'd chosen a pair of sneakers rather than your Docs. Your camera hangs around your neck.
Things are going well. Whether Night Owl is doing well because you're constantly photographed hanging out with Kazuya (and constantly being accused of dating) or because the people who listened to you out of curiosity or word of mouth decided to stay because they liked the content and the music, you have no idea.
But you don't care. Both work just fine in your opinion. Either way, KCSD isn't going to shut you down. No way. Not with the kind of traffic you get.
Questions about merch increased, which pleased the company beyond end, but you had to go in there and negotiate. They didn't get to take all the money. No. You think, after you and Jerry manning this show for several years, that you two deserve a pay raise. And updated equipment. You could probably ask for a bigger studio but you like it the way it is, honestly. Cozy.
They'd agreed, of course. The reason they're getting money is because of you and Jerry. You two are in positions to negotiate like that.
So, you and Jerry have been creating all kinds of designs and ideas over the last few weeks. You'd settled on shirts, crewnecks, hoodies, and stickers. It's eggplant purple, with a cartoonish owl and one of those old-world microphones, the silver ones.
(You couldn't do a Tom and Jerry thing, since, you know. Copyright issues. Thankfully everyone is aware of that and also don't want you guys to be slapped with a cease and desist.)
"No," you say, bare feet sinking into the sand; it's not warm but it's not cold, either. Somewhere in the middle. "They aren't shutting us down. Things are going well."
"Had me thinking otherwise since you're wearing your own merch."
You laugh. "Just testing it out. Making sure it's fit to be released to the listeners. Can't give them shoddy work."
"Does your fan base have a name? Since you're releasing merch..."
The two of you start walking.
"There's actually this organization in the comics called the Court of Owls. There's no real name for the members themselves but they do employ these superhuman beings called Talons."
"Naturally."
"But we nixed that one. They're kind of... evil. Organized crime type situation."
"Probably for the best."
"The best we've come up with is Owlers."
He snickers. You laugh.
"Yeah, I know. Not great. Night Owl's name itself is pretty self-explanatory. There isn't a lot to pull from it."
"Well, this —" he tugs at your crewneck "— probably makes up for it. Where's mine, by the way?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize —"
"You should've realized. I don't accept your apology."
You laugh loudly, your eyes taking in the tan sand and the blue waves stretching out into oblivion. Foamy tides lap at the shoreline. One part of you wants to dip your toes into it but you know you'll be disappointed. The water is too cold to enjoy.
A salty breeze kisses your face. You've missed the beach. You haven't been in a while. This one is fairly empty, with only a few people around. At Scripps Pier, a quarter of a mile from Torrey Pine, that's where you two are. It's the same area as Black's Beach, which is clothing optional but you know that if you continue south of the lifeguard tower, almost no one is around. So, no accidental eyefuls of naked people.
He grins at you, looking all kinds of dashing with the breeze ruffling his hair, his dark blue crewneck pretty against his skin, the sun shining down on him.
"So, then," he starts casually in a way that has you raising an eyebrow, "you won't be taking that offer."
You cock your head, confused, before he nods at the camera in your hands.
"Oh. Oh. God, I completely forgot about that. God. That was weird." You raise the viewfinder to your eye, capturing the swaths of empty beach ahead of you.
"Why?"
"It just is."
Click. You let your camera fall back to your neck.
"Well, if you take it, you'll definitely be spending more time around me and since you want to be best friends forever —"
You grin, face warming. "You can just say you want me to take it. That's fine."
"Hm." He tilts his face up thoughtfully. "I do want you to take it. I mean, I think it'd be nice. But I also know you're happy with Night Owl, which is admittedly cooler."
"Hey, don't disrespect your photographers like that."
He shoves you gently, rolling his eyes. "I'm trying to compliment you and this is what I get."
You grin, falling back a few steps and raising the viewfinder to your eye again, moving until he's in your frame.
"See?" he says, lips quirked, hands tucked in his pocket. "Aren't you having a great time taking pictures of me?"
Click.
"Well, if I want to take pictures of you, all we have to do is this."
He laughs and it sounds genuine. Click. "Touché, tomcat. Touché."
Warmth unspools in your chest, ballooning there until you feel like you might float up. His eyes twinkle with something warm as he looks at you. The urge to feel his arms around you swells with vicious intensity, until you're choking on it.
"Hey. Let me see that."
You let him tug the camera from your neck, resisting a shiver when his fingers brush the skin there.
"You need merchandise shots, don't you?" he asks, backing up, eyes on the screen. He knows his way around it. For the most part. You taught him that.
"I think I need merchandise shots of you. You've been great for business." You still toss your tote bag to the side.
He barks out a laugh. "As soon as I get my own patented Night Owl merch. Then I'm yours."
Your heart leaps in your chest. Like it wants to go to him.
If only.
He raises the viewfinder to his eye.
You smile, holding out your hands. "What am I supposed to do?"
Click.
"Aren't you the one into photography? Shouldn't you know?"
You laugh. Click. "Aren't you the one whose face is plastered all over GQ, Sports Illustrated, and TIME right now?"
"So, you're the person who bought all my copies at that one Whole Foods?"
"Look, you look good, but there are enough pictures of you primped and preened out there. The fact is, those guys would kill for the ones I have. You know. Candids. The natural state of being. You stuffing your face with black bean noodles from that one restaurant —"
"Those were good noodles! And I looked great!"
"The professional guy in the magazines is great, don't get me wrong. But I like this version of you, too. You know. Just... you," you say, smiling as a breeze ruffles through your hair. Click. That one surprises you.
It's maybe too honest on your part. But that's fine. You think he needs to know that. You like the oh-so-professional Miyuki Kazuya on the field and you like him off the field, too, behind closed doors, teasing you constantly with rare, unexpected bouts of sensitivity, recipe testing in his kitchen, his competitiveness coming out when you try to complete thousand piece puzzles, and binge-watching episodes of House (because of course he likes that show).
Despite what he likes to think, he is... good. Truly.
Click. He adjusts something.
"You should get your bag," he says instead of responding to that. You don't mind but —
"What?"
"I said, you should get your bag. A seagull is digging through it."
"Wha — HEY! Get out of there!"
The seagull flies off. You snatch up your bag. Kazuya laughs so hard, you think he might bust a lung. You can't help it, either. It only takes a second for you to start laughing, too.
"Did you get that?!"
Still laughing, he nods, holding out the camera. You hurry to his side, uncontrollable giggles spilling out of you.
Sure enough, in perfect clarity, he documented the entire thing.
A few days later, Night Owl's merchandise goes up, on a brand new website for the segment. The pictures before tragedy struck you on the beach go up, along with some of Jerry, and then one of Kazuya. Theirs get taken at the same beach. The Padres' socials post them, too.
And yours, documenting 'Seagullgate,' go up on Twitter as a bloopers thing. It becomes your most liked Tweet. (Especially when people find out who was behind the camera.)
-
[Night Owl Transcript — 20:48 — 12/21/2022]
Tee: Thank you guys for your continued support with the merch stuff. None of you are obligated to buy anything and honestly if you listen, that's pretty much all we need but still. Thank you.
[Pale Waves' "My Obsession" plays]
You're such a mess but you're always beautiful to me
Run your fingers across my mouth
I'm not prepared to stay here without you
[Off-air recording starts]
Mouser: Hm.
Tee: What?
Mouser: Today's queue...
Tee: Let me live, Jer. I'm pining.
Mouser: Well, don't just admit it!
Tee: Hey, we're not live, right?
Mouser: No.
Tee: Thank god. Could you imagine?
Mouser: I would laugh.
Tee: What? My best friend... my Mouser... my Donna Troy... how could you betray me like that?
Mouser: Admit it. It'd be hilarious.
Tee: In hindsight maybe. If it didn't blow up in my face. Like the kind of thing you laugh about when you're eighty.
Mouser: Oh, come on. That guy likes you. Why else would he agree to taking pictures for us?
Tee: Um. We're friends? Duh.
Mouser: Sure, but he also looks at you like you hung the moon in the sky.
Tee: Hmm.
Mouser: Why do I even try?
Tee: Hey, if this is being recorded, where does it go?
Mouser: I... actually have no idea.
Tee: We should find out. We've talked a lot of shit about the supervisors on here.
Mouser: [Laughing]
[Seulgi's "Anywhere But Home" plays next]
Baby 그런 적 없니 넌?
아무런 계획 없이 떠나고 싶은 밤
Please take me anywhere but home
Take me anywhere
Please take me anywhere
Gotta take me anywhere
Take me anywhere but home
━━━━━━ author's note
so it's not quite a slow burn. at least in my humble opinion. while the total word count itself (42k) may lend to it ... just the chapter count itself. No. don't think so. but also keep in mind that time passes within the narrative too
it's all indulgent basically. so very indulgent. also some of the songs featured ARE in fact on the fic playlist which you can find through the carrd on my profile, like 'anywhere but home' by seulgi and others didn't make the cut but are otherwise fun and should be mentioned (like unsweet... i'm sure that one's obvious LOL)
i hope you guys enjoyed <3 let me know your thoughts. we're halfway there!