I love baseball, but, damn, I'm a bit of a masochist for doing so. Walking home from practice is a pain in, well, everywhere. My thighs and calves burn from running, and throb every time my foot hits the ground, my wrist is sore from pitching, and the straps of my duffel bag, with my bat, mitt, and school clothes inside, never fail to rub my shoulder raw when I carry it home. Not that it's heavy, it's just that there's no good way of carrying the damn thing. At least my house isn't too far away from school.

The suburban afternoon is fairly quiet, with the exception of a few younger kids playing outside while their mothers hang up laundry. I turn the corner and start down the next block, and despite my weary muscles, my mouth forms an automatic grin—the noise from the Sawada residence, at least six or seven houses down, can be heard from here.

As I near the building, I hear the door slam above the din of noise, and Gokudera steps out onto the sidewalk. I jog across the street to greet him, the straps of my duffel bag biting into one shoulder, dirty cleats, tied together by the ends of two laces, thumping against the other.

"Hi." I say a little bit breathlessly as I arrive, bending over and letting the duffel slip off my shoulder onto the sidewalk, trying to quiet my lower body's protests directed toward the prospect of more exertion. He looks up briefly from lighting a cigarette and gives me a nod, then takes a drag. I stand up to my full height again, watching the greenish pallor fade from his features as he smokes.

"Hey, you alright?"

He jerks his head toward the house behind him. "Yeah, just that my sister was in there."

"Ah." A loud crash erupts from the house, dwarfing all the former noise, and making us both jump a little. "Geez, you'd think all the neighbors would've moved away by now..." He shrugs and leans in front of me, heaving my duffel onto his shoulders. "C'mon, let's go."

"Hey, I can carry—"

"'S fine, I promise." I start to protest, but instead let out a little sigh and walk alongside him, readjusting my cap as I wipe some sweat from my forehead. The smoke from his cigarette lazily drifts toward my nostrils, and I wave it away as it approaches me.

"Those things are bad for your health, y'know. Smell gross, too."

He shoots me a look. "No shit. But I'm under a lot of stress, hanging with Tsuna and the loud-ass people he attracts. Dynamite can get a bit messy, so, if I had the chance, I'd pay Sasagawa to punch all of them in the face, even though I hate him, too."

"Even me?" He grins and jabs his cigarette in my direction. "Especially you."

"Aw, you just hate Bianchi."

"She knowingly fed me poisoned food when I was a kid! That's got to be some form of abuse!" I laugh, and despite the dirty look he tosses me, he still grins. "Well, Takeshi, you smell just as bad as my cigarettes, if not worse, so you've got that going for you."

"At least baseball's healthier." I smirk as I put my arms behind my head, leaning over so he can get a better whiff of my B.O. He grimaces and jogs ahead, dropping my bag at his feet as he reaches my house. He reclines against the cement gate as he waits for me to catch up, and I, not wanting to jog, take my time doing so.

When I reach him, I toss my cleats inside the yard and nudge my bag in after, then take a moment to lean against the gate next to Gokudera and inhale the secondhand smoke—it may be unhealthy, but I'm getting used to the feeling, the smell. He finishes the cigarette and steps into the street to grind down the remains with his heel, then comes back to the gate, fingering the pack in his pocket and pondering whether to light another. He looks the other way, towards the setting sun, then back at me as he tucks a lock of hair behind his ear.

"I'll come by in the morning, same time as always, okay?"

"Yeah, see you then." I murmur as I lean in and brush my lips against his, which taste like the scent of his cigarettes, as always.

Some guys fist-bump, others man-hug.

Gokudera and I, we kiss.

He started it shortly after we first met, which, believe me, was really awkward, and I thought it was just some weird foreigner thing at first, but no, it turned out he was just kissing me. I asked him about it, and he said it just felt like the right thing to do. And it still does, I don't know why, but it does. We're not dating or anything, but sometimes it feels like we're more than friends.

We just kinda...are.