Catchers and Crashes
857 Words
Fall faded into winter.
In LA, that meant less about snow and more about colder wind, shorter afternoons, and the start of indoor practices.
Eijun, now fully committed to his dream of becoming a catcher like his niichan, trained like his life depended on it.
He studied games with Justin, asked Carter to toss balls at him during recess, and begged Wakana to time how long he could stay in a squat without falling over.
On weekends, he and Chris ran drills in the backyard or down at the park. They even marked chalk lines across the grass to mimic a home plate, with Chris crouching behind it, walking Eijun through each step.
"Set your feet. Glove low. Eyes forward."
Eijun obeyed every command, until—
"Down more."
"But… my thighs hurt so much," Eijun whined, wobbling in his squat. "That position's mean…"
Chris raised an eyebrow. “You want to be a catcher, don’t you?”
“Yes, but not a torture catcher!”
Chris smirked.
“Baseball isn’t a fantasy, Eijun. It’s hard. You don’t get to be good without pain.”
Eijun pouted but stayed in position.
Ten seconds later, he toppled over sideways like a felled tree.
---
Chris didn’t let up.
Even as Ayumi scolded him for “turning Eijun into a little machine,” Chris kept the pressure high. Every squat. Every block. Every throw-back drill had to be done ten times right before they could move on.
“Again,” he’d say. “That bounce went past you.”
“But I dove!” Eijun complained.
“Your glove wasn’t down fast enough. You have to anticipate it.”
Eijun gritted his teeth. “Fine! AGAIN!”
Kenji watched sometimes from the porch. He didn’t interrupt. Not anymore.
He’d started helping in small ways instead—fixing the backyard lights, installing netting to stop wild balls from smashing windows. Quiet support, the only kind he knew how to give.
---
But not everything was focused on drills.
Chris’s own team had moved into offseason prep, planning for the next round of travel tournaments. He was back at catcher meetings, reading pitch data, refining mechanics. But something was different.
Something off.
Ayumi noticed it first.
"You've been losing weight," she said one night, setting down a bowl of curry in front of him.
Chris shrugged. “Training’s just intense.”
“You’re skipping dinner half the time.”
“Not hungry.”
Kenji glanced up from his paper but said nothing.
Eijun, chewing a carrot stick, blinked between them. “Niichan doesn’t eat ‘cause he’s trying to become faster, right?”
Chris smiled at him. “Exactly.”
Ayumi didn’t buy it.
---
Three days later, it happened.
During a joint practice between the Hawks and another elite team from Orange County, Chris took a foul tip straight to his throwing hand.
It cracked his middle finger at the knuckle.
He didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. Just stood up slowly, cradling his hand, and walked off the field while the coaches scrambled.
Eijun, watching from the bleachers, turned to Ayumi with wide, panicked eyes.
“Niichan—?”
Ayumi was already running.
---
The doctor’s office smelled sterile and too quiet.
Chris sat with an ice pack strapped to his hand, jaw clenched. Ayumi sat beside him, her arms crossed tightly.
“You’ve been pushing too hard,” she said after the diagnosis.
“It was just a foul tip.”
“You’re not sleeping, not eating right, and now you’re playing through injuries.”
Chris didn’t answer.
Ayumi leaned forward. “Is this about Kenji?”
Chris flinched.
“I saw how hard you’ve been working. Not just for the team, but at home. With Eijun. With your schoolwork. You’re chasing something, and it’s breaking you.”
Chris’s mouth twisted.
“He told me once he wanted Eijun to shine. That he was afraid you’d cast a shadow.”
Ayumi’s voice softened. “But you’re not casting a shadow, Chris. You’re holding the light for him.”
Chris closed his eyes.
Ayumi placed a hand over his good one.
“You don’t have to be perfect to be loved, Chris.”
---
Eijun didn’t leave Chris’s side for two full days.
He even tried to cook for him once, which ended with a mildly singed oven mitt and a half-burnt grilled cheese.
But Chris ate it anyway.
“You’re a terrible cook,” he mumbled through bites.
“I’m gonna learn,” Eijun declared proudly. “I’m gonna learn everything! Catching, cooking, squatting! Even cleaning your smelly socks if I have to!”
Chris laughed, really laughed, for the first time in days.
---
The night before Chris’s check-up, Eijun crawled into his bed.
Chris didn’t shoo him away.
They lay under the same blanket, quiet.
“Niichan,” Eijun whispered. “Even if you don’t play for a while, you’re still my favorite catcher.”
Chris blinked up at the ceiling. His voice came out quiet.
“Thanks, Eijun.”
And for once, Chris didn’t feel like he was failing.
He just felt like a big brother.
---
- Writer
