Toshiaki slipped past the worn metal gate and onto the baseball field, glancing around warily. The sky was dark and only the dingy street lamps illuminated the field. He set down his backpack, digging through it slowly.

"What are you doing out here, Toshiaki?"

He jumped, shutting his bag quickly and spinning around to glare at his company. "I could ask you same thing, Nassor!" he snapped.

"It's eleven o'clock at night." Nassor said slowly, his thin arms folded behind him.

"Who said I was staying here? Maybe I just passing through," he said, folding his arms behind him to mimic Nassor.

"So you aren't staying here," he stated.

"I never said that."

"Then you are."

"I didn't say that either."

"Then you aren't."

"Maybe I am."

"So you are."

"Stop that!" Toshiaki bristled. "Your word games are very annoying!"

"What are you doing out here, then?" Nassor asked again, his expression forever indifferent.

Toshiaki looked around for a moment before sighing faintly. "I came to practice pitch. And you?"

"I can help you practice," Nassor stated.

"You avoiding question!" Toshiaki shook his head and turned back to his backpack. He muttered in Japanese as he grabbed his glove and one of the baseballs from his bag. "Nassor, you-!" He stared at Nassor who was already sitting at the batters' plate, face mask and glove on, waiting for a pitch. "Ass," he called out to the other boy.

"Just pitch, Toshi," Nassor called back.

Toshiaki visibly stiffened, the blood rising to his cheeks. "Don't call me Toshi!"

"Pitch, Toshi."

"Stop that!" Toshiaki shouted, pitching the ball as hard as he could at Nassor's head. Nassor caught it easily and threw it back just as hard, making Toshiaki stumble. All of his attempts led to the same result.

"You seem distracted, Toshi," Nassor said as he tossed the ball back and settled next to the batters' plate once more.

"No!"

"So you aren't."

"No!"

"So you are."

"Stop that!"

Nassor stood and walked towards the dugout, carefully taking off his mask and glove as he did. "You seem distracted, though," he said slowly, placing his things on the bench before approaching the pitchers' mound.

Toshiaki stuffed his glove into his backpack and lazily tossed the ball at Nassor. "So what if I am?"

"What is it?" Nassor asked, tossing the ball back and folding his arms behind himself again.

"It's nothing."

Nassor stepped forward, looming over the other boy. "You're lying," he said quietly. Toshiaki dropped the ball, glancing around.

"No I am not...!" Toshiaki stepped back.

"You're lying..." Nassor continued to walk forward, backing Toshiaki against the fence.

"It nothing I terr you!"

Nassor suddenly stopped walking, his seemingly permanent frown now a flat line of indifference. "Good. You're not lying." He turned on his heel and walked back to the pitchers' mound, picking up the baseball on his way by.

Toshiaki stared, mouth agape, trying to process the change in attitude that had occurred so suddenly. He stomped over to the pitchers' mound and stood in front of Nassor before he began yelling in Japanese. He waved his arms frantically as he explained everything in a language no one but his family seemed to know in this town. When he finished, he folded his arms behind himself in an attempt to regain his composure.

"You do realize..." Nassor said quietly. "I understood every word of that."

"No you didn't!"

"Yes I did. I heard every word you just said about me."

Toshiaki felt the blood rise to his cheeks again. Nassor slowly set one hand on top of the shorter boy's head. "Stop that," Toshiaki grumbled, making no tries to move away.

"In response to your question, however..." he said. "I will agree to be in a relationship with you."

Toshiaki looked away for a moment before taking the baseball back from Nassor. "Arigato," he responded quietly. Toshiaki glanced up briefly. The corners of Nassor's mouth were quirked up in the tiniest of ways. "Stop that. It rooks unnaturar."