Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I swear, it’s only been a few weeks now since they moved in, but I’ve already lost years off my life,” Daichi says through the phone, his voice strained from competing with the heavy blare of drums coming from the house next door.

“What?” Suga shouts back. “I can’t hear you!”

“I said—” Daichi exhales deeply and pinches the bridge of his nose. He can hardly hear his own thoughts over the deafening sound of the music. “Never mind, I’ll call you back.”

With a frown, he barges out of his house, slamming the door behind him. It’s been a whole week since he last got a full night’s sleep. Heavy bags are already starting to form beneath his eyes. He could always call in a noise complaint, but it doesn’t seem fair not to warn them in person first.

Daichi trudges up to their doorstep and pounds his fist against the door. He waits outside for a long moment, pacing outside their steps until finally the door flings open. His neighbor looks—well. He looks exactly like how Daichi might expect someone who throws house parties to look like. The blond undercut’s definitely a warning sign. Daichi’s complaints wilt on his tongue when he’s greeted with a curious smile while dark, narrowed eyes rake over his frame suggestively.

It’s only then that Daichi remembers he’s still wearing the sweat-stained t-shirt and shorts he’d worn jogging that evening.

“Can I help you with something?” the guy asks. He flexes, drawing attention to his corded muscles and the tattoos that span from the dip of his collar, over his shoulders and down to his wrists where the delicate patterns disappear beneath the man’s leather wristbands.

His black tank top hangs loosely off his chest, dipping dangerously low. Daichi’s pulse races when he spots the diamond earrings.

Oh my god, Daichi thinks, the panic starting to set in. Holy Shit. I’m neighbors with the Yakuza.

“I’m your neighbor,” Daichi answers lamely, already regretting his life decisions.

The delinquent grins. "Oh?” Eyes glinting, he stretches out a hand. "Nice to meet 'cha."

After a moment of hesitation, Daichi smiles politely and shakes his hand.

His neighbor leans in and cocks his head to the side. "Huh. I didn't see ya last month when we threw our house-warming party."

"Ah, well, y'know," Daichi laughs and rubs at the back of his neck. "I had exams." Which is really only half the truth. His friends like to tease him about it, but he's really not much of a partier. Remembering his manners, Daichi coughs and says, "I'm Sawamura Daichi, by the way. I go the university that's nearby. You are...?"

His neighbor's eyes go wide as he blinks in surprise. “I—” Lips crooking in an amused grin, he answers, "Terushima Yuuji."

The name sounds vaguely familiar but Daichi can't place where he might have heard it before. Daichi stares, lingering, until he hears the crash of cymbals in the background reminds why he's here in the first place.

"Do you think you could keep the noise down?"

Even though it's a perfectly reasonable request (Daichi has no interest in losing his hearing at the tender age of 21), Terushima gapes at him. "Noise?" Terushima repeats, voice indignant.

"Just keep it down, please," Daichi urges.

Terushima shakes his head in disbelief. He laughs. "I suppose I can try. Anythin’ else I can do for you, neighbor?"

"Nope," Daichi answers too fast. He has this creeping suspicion that if he loiters any longer, Terushima might invite him in and Daichi might do something ridiculous like accept. He swallows thickly. "I should go. Nice meeting you, though."

Terushima smiles like there's some kind of inside joke between them that Daichi's not privy to. "Yeah it's been...interesting," he drawls. He waves. "See ya around, Sawamura!"

Daichi's ears burn as he descends the stairs.

Even as he hears Terushima turn and instruct his band mates to shut it, he can't quite shake the feeling that this isn't over.

~*~

Daichi’s suspicions are confirmed when he finds himself running into Terushima—first at the supermarket, then on the train on his way to school and now, outside the coffee shop surrounded by a mob of mostly women pawing eagerly at him. He’s wearing thick rimmed black shades and a downturned snapback, but Daichi would recognize that blonde undercut anywhere.

“Ladies, please, there’s no need to fight!” Daichi hears Terushima yell over their squeals. “Plenty of me to go around.”

His words don’t seem to have any effect as the crowd around him continues to swell. Terushima’s eyes meet Daichi’s from across the street. “Save me,” he mouths.

Daichi hesitates.

For all he knows, Terushima could be a criminal.

Besides, this is really none of Daichi’s business.

Hell, I’m going to help him anyway, aren’t I? Daichi realizes as he pulls up to the sidewalk on his red moped. With a resigned sigh, Daichi cranes his head and pats the back of his seat. Terushima’s answering grin in a blinding.

“Hey guys, look who it is! I think I see—could it be? Futakuchi Kenji!” Terushima points off into the distance. The crowd shrieks. All eyes turn in that direction while Terushima ducks out from between them and runs.

“Sawamura, you’re my hero,” he coos, leaping onto the back of Daichi’s bike. He casts a nervous glance at the women turning their heads around in search of him. “Go, go, go. Please.”

Terushima whoops, loud and exuberant when Daichi speeds off, a cloud of exhaust billowing behind them. He tucks his face against Daichi’s shoulder, breath warm against the shell of Daichi’s ear.

“Who were they?” Daichi asks. The wind whips at his cheeks and ears, turning his face a blotchy shade of red. He feels Terushima shiver against him.

“My fans.”

“Fans?” Daichi frowns.

“I’m an actor,” Terushima explains.

So he’s not a criminal, then. Daichi exhales in relief. More likely, Terushima’s a theater student.
When Daichi glances back, he sees Terushima arch his shoulders back, his blond hair rippling in the breeze, teeth bared in a maniacal grin as he waves his arms above his head. That’s definitely not proper safety protocol.

Daichi bites the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t have a helmet to offer him but the least Terushima could do is hang on properly. “Put your arms around me,” he chastens.

“If you insist,” purrs Terushima. He wraps his arms around Daichi’s waist, his thighs straddling Daichi’s. It feels impossibly warm where Terushima’s pressed flush against Daichi’s back. Even worse, every bump and groove in the road sends Terushima rocking forward with a quiet grunt.

I have nobody else to blame. I did this to myself, Daichi acknowledges with a resigned frown, his face burning as he turns down another street.

Terushima pokes his fingers against Daichi’s ribs. “Oi, are you taking us home?” He tuts. “Bo-ring. C’mon, there’s another café right up the straight over there—” Terushima points, “—and you haven’t had your coffee yet, right?”

“Terushima—”

“It’s just one coffee! What harm could it do?” He can hear the pout in Terushima’s voice.

Daichi tries not to find it cute and fails. “Fine,” he relents. “One coffee, and then I’m driving home. With or without you.”

He hears Terushima bark out another laugh. “You’re a cruel man, Sawamura Daichi.”

~*~

Just as they slide into the booth, they’re greeted almost instantly by a waitress wearing glasses and a look of suspicion as she regards Terushima’s ‘disguise.’ “What can I get you two?” the waitress asks. She plucks the pencil from behind her ear and a few strands of her wavy black hair fall free.

“I’ll have a vanilla milkshake and he’ll have—?” Terushima glances over at Daichi. He could still try to make an escape, but the café smells of freshly baked bread and cocoa beans. So instead of leaving, Daichi smiles politely and straightens in his seat.

“A cappuccino, I guess?” Daichi replies.

Terushima beams. “A vanilla milkshake and a cappuccino then!”

The waitress lingers a beat longer, her notepad drooping in her hand as she crowds into Terushima’s space. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

“Nope, don’t think so!” Terushima smiles uncomfortably. “Guess I have one of those familiar faces.”

Daichi just barely suppresses a snort. Terushima does not have a ‘familiar face’—there’s nothing typical about those high cheekbones, dark lashes, electric brown eyes, crooked lips.

“Maybe…” their waitress hums, looking just as doubtful as Daichi, casting a final speculative glance in Terushima’s direction before disappearing to tend to one of her other tables.

“What was that about?” Daichi whispers when she’s out of hearing range.

Terushima makes that same weird undiscernible look on his face that he’d made when Daichi asked his name. “I told you earlier – I’m an actor, remember?” He smirks. “Could it be you were maybe too distracted?”

“By your disregard for safety? Absolutely.” Daichi smiles despite himself. He folds his hands beneath his chin. “So you’re an actor, huh? I saw that the community theater was doing Rent. Are you in that?”

Terushima stares for a long moment. And then another. “Me? Community theater?” He gestures widely to himself, nearly knocking the salt shaker off their table.

“Community theater’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Daichi reassures him.

“That’s not—” Terushima lets out a frustrated breath. His tongue sweeps across his lower lip and it’s only then that Daichi notices the metallic stud. Hell.

Throat suddenly dry, Daichi desperately hopes the waitress won’t take too long with their drinks.

Terushima must notice the staring because he repeats the action, this time slower, eyes gleaming when he tugs the stud between his teeth, tongue flicking out in a teasing gesture that has Daichi feeling warm all over. Terushima leans forward and grins. “So, I noticed there haven’t been any noise complaints lately.”

A flush creeps along the back of Daichi’s neck. “I noticed you stopped playing loud enough to wake the dead,” he counters.

“Shame. That sounds like a party.” Terushima glances down at the table between them, his finger drawing a circle against the wood. He bites his lip. “Y’know, I almost considered cranking up our amps, just to get your attention.”

“I would have just called the cops,” Daichi shoots back, unimpressed.

Terushima cocks his head to the side. “You hate our music that much?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious. “Or is me you don’t like?”

Admittedly, Daichi doesn’t mind their music. Every once in a while, he even finds himself humming along to the tune of one of their catchy rock pop songs, he just wishes they wouldn’t rehearse in the middle of the night when Daichi’s trying to catch what little sleep he can get before his early classes. “The music’s just—you’re distracting, is all.”

“Distracting,” Terushima repeats, drawing out the word. He drapes an arm across the headrest of the seat next to his. “Like a neighbor who goes for jogs every morning, wearing nothing but shorts and a tight tank top?”

Before Daichi can answer, their waitress returns with a milkshake and coffee seated atop of her tray. She slides them their drinks. “Anything else I can get you?”

“We’re good, thanks.” Daichi hopes the stern look he gives Terushima adequately serves to remind him that Daichi only agreed to a single coffee.

With a nod, she disappears again.

“Y’know, we’re actually throwing a party this weekend—”

Shocker, Daichi thinks. He just barely restrains himself from rolling his eyes at the ceiling.

“—you should stop by! You could meet Kuroo and Bokuto. When you dropped by last time, you bolted before they could introduce themselves.”

Daichi pulls a face.

“What?” Terushima raises his brows. He licks along the side of his straw, lapping at the vanilla cream dripping along the side. The pink straw bobs just out of reach and Terushima chases after it with his mouth, only paying half attention. Daichi watches the dance with a mix of chagrin and fascination.

“I’m not big on parties,” Daichi explains just as Terushima’s straw pokes the blonde in the nose.

“Ohhhh, I get it.” Terushima catches his straw between his fingers, squeezing it into submission when he brings it to his lips and sucks noisily. He licks his lips with a satisfied grin. “You’re one of those types.”

Daichi bristles. “One of what types?”

With a casual shrug, he stretches his lean arms behind him, the black fabric of his croptop hitching a little higher. “You’re one of the mature, responsible types,” he mocks.

“Oi, I’m not a goody-two-shoes, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Daichi protests, folding his arms across his chest. Only a few months ago he’d made a daring save that had sent him slamming against the gym floor, his length crushed beneath him. He’d recovered fast enough but he still bore the red scuffs on his cheek that proved he wasn’t afraid to take risks for his team.

Terushima purses his lips, unconvinced. “Ever been drunk, Sawamura?”

“A few times. Didn’t care for it.”

“Played hooky?”

Daichi narrows his eyes and says, “You can't have poor attendance and be captain of a volleyball team.”

“Of course,” mocks Terushima. “How ‘bout skinny dipping?”

Daichi coughs.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Terushima hums. His shades fall a little, brown eyes shining in the light pouring in through the window beside them. “You know what your problem is?”

My noisy, ridiculously attractive neighbor? Daichi almost answers.

“You needa loosen up! Live a little. You’re squandering your youth!” Terushima complains with another loud sip of his milkshake. “Look—” He tugs up the shoulder of his sleeve, revealing something scrawled in thick, messy cursive—possibly his own handwriting.

“Carpe diem,” Daichi reads. “You got a cliché tattooed to your arm?”

“It’s my motto,” Terushima announces, voice bright with pride. “And I live by it. Sometimes you just have to go with the flow—see where life takes you.”

Daichi scoffs and brings his coffee cup to his lips, inhaling the warmth as he takes a sip. He can hardly afford to ‘go with the flow’ when he’s balancing a full time job and a university degree. Spontaneity is for those without bank loans, Daichi reasons.

Terushima glances at him, gaze assessing. “Tell you what… you forget that term paper of yours that you’re working on and spend the rest of the day with me instead, and I can guarantee you you’ll have a good time. If you keep an open mind, that is. “

Teeth burrowing into his bottom lip, Daichi says, “Never said I have a term paper.”

Terushima dismisses him with a wave of his hand. “You didn’t have to. You scholarly types always have a term paper you’re working on. So what do ya say?” Grin as sharp as a razor, Terushima lifts a finger to his slackened pink lips, drawing it into his mouth to suck at the last of the sweetness. “Seize the day with me?”

“If I don’t enjoy myself, what then?” Daichi challenges.

“You will,” he insists, arms crossing. “But if you turn out to be an even bigger stick in the mud than I’d guessed—”

“Hey!”

“—then no more house parties.”

Daichi blinks slowly, his lips set into a tight line as he waits for the punchline. It was like trusting a cat not to knock a glass off the counter, or trusting a wasp not to sting.

And there it is, Daichi thinks when Terushima winks and finishes, “At least not past your bed time.”

“Okay, fine. I’m game,” Daichi decides, and the open-jawed surprise written on Terushima’s face makes it completely worth it. “I have one term of my own though: no ink.”

“You sure? You’d look good with a tattoo,” he purrs, giving Daichi’s arms an approving look.

Daichi tugs at his sleeves self-consciously. “No tattoos. Otherwise…I’m at your mercy, I guess.”

Terushima throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

Chapter Text

“Don’t touch it,” Daichi hisses, cupping a hand over his ear self-consciously. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

Which is a lie. He’s beginning to suspect that all it would take is for Terushima to flash him one of his grins and Daichi would agree to just about anything the blonde asked of him. Except a tattoo, Daichi reminds himself. He clings desperately to the little bit of resolve he still has.

Sure, Daichi had held his ground when Terushima had steered the two towards a tattoo parlor, but with his ear stinging, skin puffing up around his new ear piercing, it hardly felt like a victory.

“You said no ink,” Terushima had agreed. “You didn’t say anything about piercings!”

Daichi glances at himself in the glass window of a pet shop, head turning tilting to the side while he inspects the small stud.

“I didn’t wanna touch, I just wanted to see.” Terushima traces a finger along the shell of Daichi’s ear. “It looks fuckin’ awesome,” he assures Daichi. “And the pain will stop soon, but not if you keep poking and prodding at it. Ohhhh, let’s go there next!”

As Terushima ushers him towards a dive bar, arm linked with Daichi’s, Daichi hardly puts up a fuss. Inside the bar, it’s toasty and warm, an instant relief from the wind that’d been nipping at Daichi’s cheeks and ears. Daichi strips off his jacket, draping it over his forearm while he takes a seat on the stool next to Terushima’s. The room smells of salty peanuts (there’s a full bowl in front of them), cloyingly sweet perfume, and the choking fumes of cigarette smoke, even though a sign hangs on every wall reminding patrons not to smoke inside. Daichi scans the room, taking in the neon lettering of the words written on the windows, the street signs dangling from the low ceilings, and the flickering lights that line the bar.

“Isn’t this place cool?” Terushima asks, eyes wide with awe.

Daichi gives him a strained smile. “It definitely has…personality.”

“What, you don’t like it?” Terushima leans forward on his elbows and waves over at the bartender, ordering them both a shot before Daichi has the chance to protest. Just as Terushima digs some coins from his pocket, the bartender slides the two shot glasses across the table. The blonde nods in thanks. “Y’know, I considered the arcade, but you can’t do this at an arcade.”

He hooks his arm with Daichi’s, clear liquid swishing as he lifts the shot glass to Daichi’s lips. With shaky hands, Daichi mimics Terushima and holds up the glass to the blonde’s mouth, his throat uncomfortably dry at way Terushima’s eyes turn dark and lidded.

“Cheers.” Terushima winks.

With that, Daichi tilts the shot glass, his own lips slack and waiting while he hungrily tracks the bob of Terushima’s throat. He winces when the bitter taste hits his tongue but he swallows anyway, heat catching and searing its way down his spine like forest fire when he hears Terushima groan.

Terushima pulls back with a laugh. “C’mon, enough of that for now. I want you to be sober enough to remember tonight.”

Daichi only has enough time to chase the burn of his throat with a cool glass of water before he’s being tugged towards the pool table. “You’re right,” Daichi intones. His lips quirk in a smile. “Kicking your ass in pool’s definitely going to make tonight more memorable.”

“Oi, don’t get cocky,” Terushima chides, excitement flashing in his eyes like lightning. He plucks a pool stick from one of the stands. “I’ve got some moves of my own.”

Daichi sets the triangle onto the green felt of the table and raises his brows in challenge. “Let’s see ‘em then.”

Terushima steels himself with a quiet breath then bends down, grip lax, eyes almost cat-like when he props the stick over his right shoulder and takes aim. Is that pose necessary? Daichi wonders, incredulous when the white ball comes shooting forward and slams against the cluster of colored balls with enough force to send the balls rocketing across the table in every direction. At least two drop into the table’s pockets with a heavy thud.

“Fairly certain that’s not how you’re supposed to hold a pool stick.”

Ignoring him, Terushima grins and repositions himself for his next shot. “So, you don’t like parties or bars,” he says, holding the stick taut across the broad line of his shoulders. “How do you get your kicks then?”

Daichi considers it, stroking a finger along his jaw. “Sports,” he answers, finally. “I like being captain of my team. And I like music, too – but only the classics, like Aerosmith, Journey and Bon Jovi.”

Terushima takes his shot. The white ball slings from one side of the table to the other, knocking only the orange ball out of its path before slowing to a stop. “Shit.”

Daichi consoles him with a pat on the back. “Better luck next time.”

“Tch.” Terushima takes a seat on one of the nearby stools while Daichi circles the table. “Okay, so you like music. What else? ….Movies?” he asks, voice hopeful.

Shrugging, Daichi hunches his shoulders and crooks his fingers against the stick, propping the pale white tip against the jut of his thumb like you’re meant to. “I like some.” He squints, one eye squeezing closed as he flicks the tip between the V of his fingers. “I love anything with Clint Eastwood. Oh! Also Indiana Jones, Star Wars, Die Hard, Terminator...”

Terushima gasps. “And here I wasn’t sure you owned a TV!”

Daichi makes an indignant noise, but concentrates on his shot. He stretches his elbow back and shoots. He straightens and tracks the ball’s path, watching with satisfaction when he nicks one of the striped balls, sending it sliding into one of the pockets with ease.

“Fine, you’ve got moves too,” Terushima allows. He props his chin against the flat of his palm, eyes sliding over Daichi’s frame. “What did you think of the new Star Wars movies?”

Daichi blinks up at him. “There’s a new Star Wars movie?”

“Pftt, good one.” Terushima chuckles, the sound tapering off when he registers the confused furrow of Daichi’s brows. “Holy shit, you’re serious. Have you seen any movies that were released after 1990?”

Daichi rolls his eyes and takes another shot, this time sinking two of the balls. He shifts again, laying his stomach flat against the table, fingers furling and unfurling as he bites his lip and then thrusts the stick between the crevice of his fingers. This time he comes up empty.

“Oh, I get it!” Terushima hollers behind him. People swerve around to see what the fuss is about, but the blonde doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, he leans in, his palm dipping down to the small of Daichi’s back, breath hot against Daichi’s neck. “You’re a time traveler!”

“I just like the classics,” Daichi mutters.

“Dude, this explains so much.” Terushima takes Daichi’s hands in his, gaze bright and intense. “It’s okay, we can still fix this! Come over to my place and we’ll watch movies until you’re caught up. Given, that could take a few weeks—”

Face turning red, Daichi yanks his hands back. “It’s your turn.”

Terushima reaches around Daichi to pick up his pool stick where it’d been propped against the wall. “Watch this! You’re about to see something impressive,” Terushima announces. He hops up onto the ledge of the pool table, his legs hitched over the side, eyebrows waggling.

Daichi folds his arms. “I’m watching.”

“Here’s what’s going to happen—I’m going to hit that ball first—” he points to the yellow ball. “It’s going to bounce off the side and hit the purple ball just as it falls into the pocket. The yellow ball’s going to shoot into this pocket—” he taps his stick against the right corner “—but not before dragging the striped green ball and the striped purple ball down with it.” He glances up again, his smile impish.

“No way you’re making that shot,” Daichi scoffs.

In answer, Terushima crouches, shoulders drawn taut and then the stick and the white ball collide with a thunderous whack. Daichi stares, breathless, as each of Terushima’s predictions come true: he sinks all four balls in one seamless motion.

“Booyah!” Terushima whoops and pumps his first in the air.

“That was impressive,” Daichi concedes, his lips quirking when Terushima does a victory dances.

“Shouldn’t have doubted me,” says Terushima, his head held high. He playfully bumps his hip against Daichi’s before ducking down to line up his next shot. “Watch, I can do it again,” he boasts.

After the last shot, Daichi believes him. He stares, pool stick gripped tight beneath the crook of his chin, heart beating faster in anticipation. Terushima’s stick heaves forward, sending the white ball whirling...straight into an empty slot.

Daichi's shoulders tremble, his teeth biting down hard on his bottom lip, but it's not enough to stifle the peals of laughter that escapes him when Terushima groans and sinks onto his knees in dejection. "I shouldn't laugh. I just," Daichi wheezes. "Wow."

Ears turning pink in embarrassment, Terushima winces and rubs at the back of his neck. “I guess I’m sorta...”

Daichi’s lips twitch. “Hit or miss?”

Terushima levels him with a vexed look.

"It's good to see you're enjoying yourself, at least." He pouts and harrumphs, and Daichi feels a sudden, irrational urge to draw closer to press a quick kiss to the dimples of Terushima's cheeks.

"Hey, game's not over yet," Daichi points out. "You're going to have to step it up if you expect me to one of your parties." If Suga was there to witness Daichi's awkward attempt at flirting, there's no way he'd let Daichi live it down, but he couldn't help it. Whenever Terushima pushed, he wanted to push back.

Terushima’s mood lifts instantly. He flashes Daichi a roguish grin, his silver piercing peeking out between his lips. “Well, in that case,” murmured Terushima. He flexed his fingers. “Bring it on.”

Terushima loses two of the three games.

As it turns out, Terushima’s pool skills waver between god-like and complete amateur, with little variance in between. “Maybe if you’d tried holding the pool stick right,” Daichi suggests, one arm draped around Terushima’s shoulder as he guides them out of the bar.

A cool breeze rustles past them, stirring the crumpled leaves on the sidewalk and pricking at Daichi’s skin, raising goosebumps. By now, he can feel the alcohol buzzing through him, and it's not the worse feeling but his face feels hot and every gust of wind feels like a wave crashing over him.

Terushima tuts. He rests his head against Daichi's shoulder. "There's no fun in doing things the way people expect you to." Eyes the colour of malt whiskey scan the busy city streets. "Where do ya wanna go next?"

Daichi shrugs.

Disapproval is written clearly on Terushima's face as he shakes his head and sighs. "My dude, have you not learned anything tonight? The world's your playground, Sawamura." He pulls away and twirls, face bright like a child discovering snow for the first time. Daichi feels a pang in his chest, a feeling he's not ready to name just yet.

With a fond look, Daichi corrects, “I think you mean oyster.”

“Eh?” Terushima’s nose scrunches. “Why would I want the world to be an oyster? That doesn’t even make sense. What I said was way cooler.”

The shots they took earlier must be kicking in because Daichi's half tempted to agree. Dazed, Daichi gazes out into the distance and it’s then that he spots the soft orange glow of lanterns. "I know where we should go next."

He reaches down and intertwines his fingers with Terushima’s. The blonde startles. The blush that blooms across his cheeks reminds Daichi of cherry blossoms. Cute, Daichi thinks as he weaves them through the large throng of people. He grins and lets his sense of smell guide him; his stomach growls at the scent of food being grilled nearby. Chicken. Pork. Squid? Any of the above are likely.

“Is this—this is okay, right?” Daichi asks belatedly, once they’ve successfully maneuvered their way through the crowd. He can’t shake the discomfort he felt at suddenly taking charge of...whatever this is.

Terushima beams at him. “More than okay. I thought you were going to pick the gym next and I was going to have to judge you but this is awesome.” He squeezes Daichi’s hand unconsciously. His eyes flick from one food stand to the next, eyes hungrily taking everything in. “Man, I love festival food! Everything tastes better on a stick.”

Daichi snickers. “Finally, something we can agree on.”

He buys them both yakitori, this time insisting on paying for it because Terushima had paid for everything else so far.

“I told you, it’s no trouble. I’ve got cash to spare,” Terushima says as he plucks one of the chicken pieces into his mouth.

Rich bastard.

They walk around together, Terushima dragging Daichi from attraction to attraction, his hand warm in Daichi’s, their fingers fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle. It’s a cheesy thought, one Daichi shakes from his head, his ears still red when Terushima catches his attention again.

“There.” Terushima points to the stand where a lady’s scooping ice into a cone. “It’s not a festival unless I’ve had my sweets.”

“Seriously? It’s just ice. With syrup.” It could be worse, Daichi supposes. Earlier he’d noticed Terushima eyeing the caramelized sugar.

Terushima pinches Daichi’s hip. “Killjoy. Nobody asked you.”

Even so, Daichi ends up paying.

They find a bench to sit on. Terushima presses his shoulder against Daichi’s. He doesn’t say anything when Daichi wriggles free of his jacket and drapes it over Terushima’s shoulders, but Daichi sees the corners of his lips quirk in a small, private smile.

Sighing happily, Daichi shifts his weight against Terushima and tilts his chin to look up at the vast, unending sea of stars, each shining as bright as the lanterns, the moon full and round. It’s the perfect night to just close his eyes and just listen to the thunderous pulse of the music, the murmur of excited chatter, the shrill chirps of cicadas. He remembers the last time he’d been to a festival – last time he’d come with Suga, Kiyoko, and Asahi. Daichi’s eyes spring open again when he hears Terushima yelp beside him.

"Ow ow ow. Fuck, brain freeze," Terushima hisses, frown deepening when Daichi snickers. He coughs a little and sticks out his tongue to show how the syrup has stained his mouth red.

With more than a little satisfaction, Daichi murmurs, “Told you so."

A furrow forms between Terushima brows. He’s notably more cautious this time when he dips his head to lap and mouth at the sugary treat. “Don’t you ever get tired of sayin’ that?”

Daichi makes a show of considering it. He taps a finger against his chin and hums, “Nope.”

Terushima guffaws, the sound derisive and contagious and Daichi can’t help but let out a laugh of his own.

“Hey, you’ve got—” Daichi gestures awkwardly to the stray lash on Terushima’s cheek. He huffs. “Here, I’ll get it for you.” He scoots forward and strokes his thumb across the sharp curve of Terushima’s cheekbone, catching the lash against the calloused pad of his finger. He doesn’t miss the quiet hitch of Terushima’s breath or the way his red lips part in surprise. Daichi holds the lash between them, unsure what to do next when suddenly they hear the snap of a camera. Someone’s flash goes off, immediately jolting Terushima out of his trance.

Daichi turns his head, stomach churning when he realizes a small crowd’s gathering around them, some of the people whispering and pointing and holding their phones in front of them.

Shit. How long had they been watching without Daichi noticing? And what kind of life did Terushima lead that he couldn’t go to a coffee shop or attend a festival without being flocked to?

Daichi feels Terushima tense against him, the blonde’s smile turning apologetic. He opens his mouth, possibly to actually apologize, but Daichi doesn’t give him the chance. Instead, he reaches for Terushima’s hand again, pulls him to his feet and runs.

His legs push him forward, fingers clenching tight against Terushima’s. They keep running. Daichi doesn’t slow when Terushima complains that his slushie’s toppled out of his paper cone. They disappear into the forest, not stopping until the lantern lights dim into tiny pinpoints of light. From the distance, they look like fireflies.

Terushima and Daichi both pant when they finally come to a rest, a giddy smile splitting Terushima’s face when he slouches against a tree. As his knees give out beneath him, he digs his fingers into the rough bark, gripping it for support. “Unnecessary,” Terushima says, imitating Daichi’s muttered tone from the bar.

Daichi rolls his eyes and playfully nudges Terushima with his elbow. When he catches his breath again, a thought occurs to him. “Man, who are you?” he demands.

“Tonight?” Terushima gives him a measured look. “Just Terushima Yuuji, if that’s okay with you?” He bites his lip, brown eyes pleading.

Not for the first time that night, Daichi caves. “You’ll explain everything tomorrow?”

Terushima nods. “Can’t promise you’ll believe me, though.”

That earns Terushima an eyebrow raise from Daichi, but he decides not to push it. There’s something about being with him—the way Daichi’s heart speeds up in his presence, Daichi’s walls dismantled with a single smile—it feels a little like magic. And it’s still too soon for the clock to strike midnight.

“Do you see that?” Daichi tilts his head and points just above the tree line. Sparks surge higher and higher before bursting into a fizzling eruption of oranges, reds and golds.

“Woah,” gasps Terushima.

Daichi hums in agreement. Another cluster of fireworks explodes above them, sparks cascading down like rain, sizzling out a moment later. “What is it?” Daichi asks when he catches Terushima peeking up at him.

Terushima swallows. His face is blotchy red but Daichi can’t tell if it’s from running or something else. “Nothing, I just—” He bites his lip. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have teased you earlier. That was sort of a dick move, huh?”

“Teru—”

Voice soft, Terushima continues, “I was wrong about you, Sawamura. You’re a cool guy. You’re…dependable.” He places a hand on the curve of Daichi’s hips. “Loyal.” He takes a step forward, closing the short distance between them. “Charming.”

Daichi makes an affronted noise. His face heats when Terushima crowds in close. Eyes narrowed, Daichi asks, “Are you making fun of me again?”

Terushima shakes his head and smiles.

He’s close enough that Daichi could count each of his dark lashes if he wanted. When did that happen? Daichi’s pulse throbs in his ears. Daichi’s eyes flit down to the curved bow of Terushima’s lips, the tangy cinnamon scent of his cologne infiltrating Daichi’s senses.

“Not teasing you,” Terushima tells him, voice low as his nose grazes Daichi’s.

Daichi press their foreheads together, skin prickling at the knowledge that Terushima’s lips are only a fraction from his. It’d be so easy to kiss him.

All he’d have to do is tilt his head to close the space between them. It’s a dangerous thought. He feels like he’s balancing on the taut line of a tightrope, his restraint wavering when clever hands smooth their way down his stomach then lower, sliding down to the jut of Daichi’s hips.

“I think I was wrong about you too,” admits Daichi. He wonders if Terushima hears the quaver in his voice.

“Yeah?” Terushima’s face lights up.

“Not about your music, though. My opinion still stands.”

Terushima buries a laugh against the crook of Daichi’s shoulder. “Excuse you, my music’s awesome. Sounds like I might have to give you a private show.”

Daichi’s cheeks burn at the implication. “Tonight was…nice. I needed this, I think.”
He catches Terushima’s wrists and threads their fingers together, his hand flexing against Terushima’s.

The blonde’s gaze turns questioning. “Sawamura?”

What is it that Terushima had told him before? Go with the flow. Maybe there’s something to be said for diving into life head first, consequences be damned. The flares of pink and orange fireworks reflect in Terushima’s eyes, his mouth stained red from the ice cone and Daichi really, really wants to kiss him. So, he does.

He leans in, his fingers sliding through Terushima’s blonde undercut as he presses their lips together. Sparks blast overhead, loud as canon shots but neither of them pay it any mind. Terushima kisses with vigor. He licks along the seam of Daichi’s mouth, silver stud stroking Daichi’s tongue as he curls his fingers in the collar of Daichi’s jacket. Daichi’s gasp and tilts his head back against the tree behind him.

A storm ripples beneath Daichi’s skin, lightning striking through him. He grips Terushima’s hair harder, already half-drunk on the shuddery groans Terushima lets out. Their lips meet again and again until Daichi’s dizzy with it. Until they’re both breathless and giddy. Until Daichi can taste the raspberry syrup on his own tongue, his own lips smeared red from kissing.

“That was—wow,” Terushima croaks when Daichi pulls away to catch his breath.

Daichi nods and laughs, teeth tugging at his own lower lip as he strokes his thumb along the line of Terushima’s jaw.

Terushima smirks and clutches Daichi’s collar tighter as he ducks forward to steal another kiss. “Yeah, I definitely misjudged you,” he purrs. Then, a beat later, “You do realize this means I won the bet, right?”

Chapter Text

Daichi wakes up the next morning with six missed calls from Suga. He tosses his covers aside, and blinks down blearily at his phone, mouth tugging into a frown as he clicks the button to call Suga back.

“Suga? Is something wrong?” His voice’s still rough from sleep. “I couldn’t understand any of the texts you sent me last night.”

There’s a prickly static noise on Suga’s end, and then Daichi hears Suga blurt out, “Sawamura Daichi, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you know Terushima!”

Daichi’s frown deepens. He rubs his eyes. “He’s my neighbor. The loud one I told you about, remember? Wait, how do you know Terushima?”

“How do I—” Suga heaves a frustrated sigh. Daichi can perfectly imagine him pinching the bridge of his noise. “I’ve really failed you as a best friend, haven’t I?”

When Daichi doesn’t answer, Suga explains, “He’s one of the top actors in Japan right now. The movie I went to see with Asahi a week ago? Terushima was in it. He’s almost always cast as those flirty bad boy types. Oh, he’s also in a band. He’s practically got idol status at this point. Here, let me show you—”

Daichi opens the photo Suga sends him. It’s a picture of the billboard outside his house, a blonde with a devilish grin and oh.

Terushima’s famous.

He gives it a moment for that truth to settle in. His mind works like the clicks of clogs finally churning forward as he pieces it together.

“Daichi,” Suga says, interrupting Daichi’s thoughts. “There’s more.”

“More?”

“There’s pictures. All over the internet. Nobody’s identified you yet, but it’s only a matter of time.” His tone’s heavy with concern. “I mean I saw those thighs and I knew right away.”

Daichi’s head spins. It’s a good thing both of his parents already know about him, but still— “Is Terushima okay?”

“I think you’re in a better position to answer that,” Suga teases. And then, gentler, “But he’s been out as bi for at least two years now, if that’s what you’re worried about. It was a pretty big deal.”

Daichi exhales in relief, some of the tension in his stomach uncoiling.

There’s a long pause between them.

“I can’t believe you’re dating Terushima Yuuji,” says Suga, voice wistful. “I’ve had a crush on him since he starred in that racing movie a few years ago. Man, Tanaka’s going to lose it.” He pauses again, like a thought’s just occurred to him. “You need to introduce us! Maybe I can get him to sign my—”

“Suga,” scolds Daichi, barely holding back a laugh.

“My DVD copy,” Suga intones, “is what I was going to say.”

Daichi makes a dubious noise. “And Terushima and I aren’t dating, by the way! We’re….”

What are they, exactly? The night before had been…intimate. But Daichi has no idea if that was a one-time thing or not. Besides, someone as famous as Terushima probably had a different date for every night, right?

“I can hear you panicking,” Suga complains. “Look, if he’s your neighbor it should be easy enough to just walk over there and ask him what’s what. Pretend you need to borrow some sugar or something, and then casually slip it into the conversation like ‘Hey are you interested in us seeing each other exclusively?’ Not that difficult, right?”

Daichi gapes down at his phone. “I can’t do that.” He swallows thickly. “Besides, I’m still processing the whole movie star thing. Everywhere we went people were trailing him around. If we dated, it’d be like that all the time. The paparazzi would be prying into my personal life…”

“It’s a good thing you don’t have one then,” hums Suga.

“Suga.”

“I’m just saying! I think you two could be good together! I saw the pictures. You deserve to be happy, Daichi. And I think if you don’t take this chance, you’ll regret it,” Suga warns. “Also, have you seen what he looks like in loose tank tops?”

Yes, Daichi thinks miserably. “I don’t even know any of his movies,” groans Daichi. “God, I must have seemed like such an idiot.”

“Just talk to him,” Suga urges.

Daichi mulls it over, fingers twisting in his red bed sheets.

“You owe it to yourself to at least try.”

“Fine,” Daichi sighs. He pushes his hand through his short hair.

Suga cheers. “Good! Now go get your man! And then call me back immediately—I can’t live vicariously through you without details.”

Daichi snorts. “I’m hanging up now.”

“Good luck! Oh! And ask Terushima if he has any actor friends that are single—”

Daichi shakes his head and hangs up on his best friend. Despite Suga’s encouragement, he doesn’t march up to Terushima’s house, nor does he call him. Instead, Daichi goes about his day as he usually would: he makes himself breakfast, goes for an early run, and resolutely doesn’t think about the comment Terushima had made about his shorts. There was nothing improper about his workout clothes. Sure, the shorts cling a little too tight to his thighs, but Daichi’s never found a pair of shorts that don’t.

A few days later, he’s out running errands when he gets a text from a number he doesn’t recognize.

[From: ???] Heya it’s Terushima!!! U gave me ur number the other night. I hope it’s OK that I’m texting u?

Daichi’s heart seizes in his chest. He glances around, suddenly paranoid that someone might guess who he’s texting. Just as he’s inputting Terushima’s name, another text comes in.

[From Terushima:] Theres a party this week at a friend’s house n I was hoping u’d honor the bet by coming! I can text u the address

Daichi bites his lip. A moment later, his phone chimes again.

[From Terushima:] I realize maybe ur not texting me bc u saw the pictures? If that’s the case…I can explain! Pls just give me a chance to explain at the party

[From Terushima:] And if u havent seen the pictures yet…shit. This is probably a crappy way to find out. I can make it up to u tho! (Come to the party!)

Daichi’s fingers hover over the phone’s keyboard.

[From Terushima:] Fuck my friends tried wrestling my phone away from me. Apparently I’m making myself seem ‘desperate’

[From Terushima:] I just miss u.

[From Terushima:] u looked good this morning btw ;)

A flush creeps along the back of Daichi’s neck. Later that day when he spots a magazine rack with Terushima on the cover, he buys a copy out of instinct. He poorly veils his embarrassment, his smile forcefully cheerful as the cashier bags the rest of his things

“What am I even doing?” Daichi asks himself, clutching the magazine to his chest.

It’s fine. He’s still got everything under control. At least he’s resisted the urge to Google Terushima.

When he gets home, he starts up his computer. I’m not going to Google him, Daichi tells himself. But what if I—

He types Terushima’s name into the search bar before he can talk himself out of it. More than a million links pop up. “Dear god,” he whispers.

He searches through the first set of links—“Terushima Yuuji goes Hollywood,” “Bad Boy Actor Gets Clean,” “Terushima’s Long List of Flings,” “Rising Star Comes Out as Bisexual.”

Daichi closes the pages and sags back in his chair. He sighs and glances down at his phone again, heart skipping when he sees Terushima’s texted him the address and time, just in case. What am I even doing? he asks himself for the second time.

He picks up his phone and texts, “I’ll be there. We need to talk.”

Daichi’s heart tremors in his chest, his stomach lurching as he rings the doorbell. Before he can lose what little nerve he has, the door swings open to reveal a tall, gangly guy with messy hair and a crooked smile. His ears are gauged and there’s thick black tattoos cording the lean muscles of his arms, the patterns coiling like vines.

“Sorry, am I at the right place?” Daichi asks, as if he can’t feel the tell-tale throb of house music vibrating through the walls. He peeks over the guy’s shoulder. “I’m looking for Terushima.”

Tall and Gangly grins at him. “You must be Sawamura! Yo! Bo, Teru, come here!”

A moment later, another guy appears at the door. His white hair’s streaked black and heavily gelled so that it sticks upright. He gives Daichi a broad smile. “Hey! You must be one of Teru’s friends. I’m Bokuto, this is Kuroo.” He points a thumb at Tall and Gangly.

With chagrined frown, Daichi notes, every single person who lives here looks like trouble.

Kuroo whispers in Bokuto’s ear, “That’s Sawamura.”

“Oho?” Bokuto’s golden eyes widen with interest as he gives Daichi a quick once-over. “He’s hot.”

“He’s short,” Kuroo observes.

Terushima suddenly shoulders past them. “Oi, we’re the same height.”

Kuroo smirks and amends, “You’re both short.”

A flush burns across Daichi’s cheeks. “I’m standing right here!”

Kuroo and Bokuto both snicker, but Daichi’s attention’s focused only on the tentative smile curling Terushima’s lips. Terushima ducks his head, sheepish, his hands shoved in the back pockets of his jeans and for a moment everything between them feels simple again.

Terushima strokes his fingers through his short hair. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Daichi returns Terushima’s shy smile with one of his own. He peers around. “Can I come in?”

“I—yes! Yeah, shit, of course!” Terushima grabs Bokuto and Kuroo by the collar of their shirts and hauls them back into the house. He gestures for Daichi to follow.

With an audible swallow, Daichi closes the door behind him.

Inside, the music’s practically deafening. There’s hollers and whoops coming from the kitchen (if Daichi had to guess, beer pong’s the culprit), and people crowding around the stairwell and couples making out on the living room couch and a small blonde with dark roots crouched on the stairs, petting a tabby cat.

“So, these are my roommates-slash-bandmates,” Terushima says, gesturing to them. “Kuroo’s our singer and bassist and Bokuto’s our drummer. And the host—Bobata—should be around here somewhere.”

Daichi nods at them. It’s weird finally meeting the people personally responsible for his sleep deprivation.

“We taught him everythin’ he knows,” Bokuto announces proudly.

Terushima huffs. “I’ve only known you guys for like 2 years!”

“Point stands,” Kuroo says, shrugging. His attention turns to Daichi. “Can we get you something to drink?”

When in Rome… “A beer, thanks,” Daichi answers.

Terushima arches a brow at him.

“I said I don’t party much,” Daichi mutters, arms folding defensively. “Didn’t say I was a saint.”

Kuroo returns a moment later with Daichi’s beer in hand. “Here you go.” The gaze he gives Daichi is sharp, assessing. Catlike, almost. “Y’know, I don’t think I’ve seen Teru this hung up on anyone before.”

“Kuroo,” hisses Terushima.

“And those pictures caused quite a stir. We’ve gotten more questions about Teru’s new boyfriend than we have about our new single.” Kuroo grins and slings an arm around Terushima’s shoulders. “Not sure how I feel about our boy Teru dating someone who hasn’t seen Pacific Rim, though.” He ruffles Terushima’s short blond hair, grinning hard when Terushima blushes.

“We’ll just have to make him watch it with us,” Bokuto suggests, his brows wiggling.

Daichi takes a long swig of beer.

“You’re gonna to do shots with us, right?” Bokuto asks. His face lights up. “Teru was just about to do a keg stand—”

Terushima wriggles free from Kuroo’s grip. “Sorry guys, another time!” He wraps his hand around Daichi’s wrist and steers him towards the stairs.

Bokuto pouts. “But you said—”

Kuroo nudges him with his elbow. “Priorities, Bo.”

“Sorry about that,” Terushima murmurs to Daichi, voice low as he maneuvers them through the sea of partygoers. “They’re—”

“Trouble makers? Like you?” Daichi accuses.

Terushima tilts his head back and laughs. “Yeah, pretty much.” His expression sobers slightly. “They’re harmless, though. Well. Mostly.”

“And are you? Harmless?”

Terushima’s lips quirk in a wolfish grin. He lifts Daichi’s hand to his lips, breath ghosting over Daichi’s knuckles. “Well I wouldn’t go that far,” Terushima answers.

His mouth grazes Daichi’s skin, nearly a kiss, and Daichi shudders. Just then a drunken couple stumbles down the stairs and knocks Daichi and Terushima into each other.

Terushima catches Daichi by the waist. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Daichi says, voice strangled.

“Whoo, get some Teru!” someone yells from downstairs. It’s only then that Daichi realizes the implication of heading upstairs with someone during a party.

Terushima must realize the same thing because he steps into Daichi’s path and soothes, “I just want to talk. I promise. It’s quieter up on the roof, but if you’d rather go outside—”

Daichi’s fingers tighten where he’s clutching at the railing. “It’s fine,” he repeats.

Terushima watches him for a long moment, taking in the stubborn jut of Daichi’s chin, the steely resolve in Daichi’s stare. “Okay. C’mon then.”

He leads Daichi up the stairs, into a bedroom, through the open window and then up the rusty ladder that leads to the roof. “This seems shady,” Daichi says, as the ladder creaks beneath him, white paint chipping off in flakes.

“You’re not gonna slip,” Terushima reassures him. He holds out his hand and Daichi takes it, letting Terushima hoist him up onto his feet. With a smile, Terushima hands him back his beer. “See, you’re safe. I wouldn’t let you fall.”

Too late, Daichi thinks and then winces.

Terushima watches him in interest. “What?”

“Nothing,” Daichi mutters. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Y’know.” Terushima hooks his fingers through the loops of Daichi’s jeans. “You’re cute when you’re all flustered like that.”

Daichi clears his throat, his eyes darting across Terushima’s face. Terushima’s standing close, too close for comfort. His cheeks are stained red, but whether it’s from the alcohol or the cold, Daichi’s not sure. His blonde undercut looks disheveled and windswept, his grin almost feral. A sliver of moonlight’s reflected in the light of his caramel brown eyes and, god, he looks good. Kissable, even.

Terushima sways forward.

“We should—” Daichi pulls back and averts his gaze. “We need to talk, remember?”

Terushima’s face falls. His hands drop from Daichi’s hips. “Right, yeah! Sorry. Fuck, I guess I just thought—hoped—things could still be like before?” He chews on his lower lip, sighing as he sits on the ledge and stares out at the night sky. “Stupid, huh?”

“Not stupid,” Daichi says, taking a seat next to him. “I want that too. I’m just still trying to figure this out.”

Terushima rubs his hands together. “Let’s talk, then.”

For a long moment, neither of them says anything. Daichi wracks his mind in search of the right words. “So,” he starts, voice as dry as sandpaper. “You’re famous.”

Off to a great start, then.

Terushima ducks his head. “I wasn’t trying to hide it, I swear! I just—”

“You told me you were an actor,” Daichi agrees, mortified. “And I asked you if you were in the community theater production of Rent.”

A burst of laughter escapes Terushima’s lips. “It’s really not that big of a deal!”

Daichi narrows his eyes in disbelief.

“Okay, fine, I was sorta offended at first,” Terushima admits, still grinning. He squeezes his knees against his chest. “I mean, I’ve won three Japanese Academy Prizes. I’m on billboards! My shitty band’s music was featured in a commercial, once.”

“Oh, a commercial, huh? Very impressive,” teases Daichi.

“Three Japanese Academy Awards! Three!” Terushima sticks up his fingers for emphasis. “And an Oscar nomination, once!” He shakes his head, his expression turning contemplative. “I couldn’t believe it when I realized you had no idea who I am! Kuroo said I should just get over it and invite you to one of my movie premiers or something. But then I saw you later at the coffee shop and...I don’t know.”

His fingers graze along the side of Daichi’s hand. The lingering touch burns a hole through Daichi’s pitiful resolve. “You were so genuine and sincere about everything,” Terushima tells him. “And it felt good. To be treated like a person for once.”

Daichi looks down at where Terushima’s thumb is tracing patterns across the back of Daichi’s hand.

“I Googled you,” blurts Daichi.

Terushima’s brows disappear into his hairline. “You—”

“I know. It was invasive and wrong and I shouldn’t have, I just…”

Exasperated, Terushima interrupts, “Sawamura.”

“—and now it just doesn’t seem right that I know everything about you but you don’t know anything about me.” The internet is a dangerous place, Daichi’s learned. Ears burning, he recalls the old photoshoot Suga had linked him to earlier that morning. Terushima had been wearing fishnet tights, leather gloves and not much else.

“Hey.” Terushima’s lips thin into a tight line. “What I do…what they write about me isn’t who I am. There’s still tons you might not know about me.”

“Yeah?”

“Like...” Terushima stares out at the cityscape, the bright lights glittering like stars. “…that I’m a vegetarian.”

Daichi cracks a smile. “I knew that one, actually.”

“Okay, okay.” He snatches Daichi’s beer and takes a sip. “Back before I got famous, I was in another band. It was just me and high school buds. We were actually pretty good, even booked a few gigs, but they kicked me out.”

Daichi props his chin against his hand. “Should I even ask why?”

Terushima smirks. “I kept switching the setlist minutes before we’d go on to play. Once, I improvised a song we’d only rehearsed once or twice. I sounded good, too. My band was pissed though.”

“Of course, you did.” Daichi shakes his head.

“Secondly, I’m a good brother. I have a little sister. She’s 10 and I still go to all her dance recitals with my family, even on days where I’m filming. I’ve snuck her onto set a few times,” Terushima confides.

“That’s actually…really cute,” admits Daichi. “What else?”

Terushima snorts. “What else…oh! Okay, here’s something you won’t learn from the tabloids: I can play four instruments.”

“Four?”

Terushima waves him off. “I get bored easily. I like to switch it up.” He strokes his fingers through his hair. “I can play four instruments…but I can’t hold a note to save my life.”

“Oh, my God, it all makes sense,” Daichi whispers. “That’s why you never suggested karaoke.”

Terushima buries his face in his hands.

“Come on, there’s no way it’s that bad.” Daichi bumps his shoulder against Terushima’s.

Terushima grimaces.

“Humour me, then.” Daichi nudges Terushima again. He bites his lip and tries his best imitation of the blonde’s doe-eyed pouty look. “Please?”

Terushima face reddens. “Shit. I’m clearly a bad influence on you, but fine. Just remember, Sawamura—you asked.”

He lets out a long exhale and then croaks out a song that Daichi doesn’t recognize. Terushima’s voice, usually smooth as melted caramel, sounds like a strangled, high-pitched mewl of a cat.

Daichi nearly draws blood as he bites down on his lip to suppress a laugh.

Terushima opens his eyes again. “So?”

“It really wasn’t that bad!” Daichi tries, but his snicker gives him away. He pats Terushima on the shoulder, tone teasingly grave when he replies, “Thank you for trusting me with this knowledge.”

“Fuck you,” says Terushima, with affection. He tilts his head, and nuzzles Daichi’s nose, the phantom warmth of his lips prickling Daichi’s skin. Terushima pulls back again. “Fourth thing.” He lifts the corner of his shirt up past his stomach to reveal a jagged scar on his ribs, the skin around it pale and stretched. “Got this scar when I was younger,” he explains. “A friend I had a thing for was there, and I may have been showing off on her behalf. I had to get stitches and everything.”

Daichi lifts his hand. “Can I…?”

Terushima nods. “Magazines always photoshop it out. Guess I could get a cover up tattoo, but I dunno. I kinda like it,” he says, shrugging. He shivers, his eyes lidded as Daichi gently traces a finger over the jagged, barbed line of the wound. “Besides, dudes dig scars, right?”

“You’re an adrenaline junkie,” accuses Daichi. His fingers dip a little lower, stroking over the grooves of Terushima’s muscles, along the sharp planes of his hips. He watches the rise and fall of Terushima’s chest, ebbing like a tide.

Terushima lets out a raucous laugh. “Nothin’ wrong with being high on life.”

Daichi’s face contorts. “That’s the worst thing you’ve ever said.”

“I mean it, though!” Eyes bright, Terushima grins and moves a little closer. “I love that moment, y’know? The moment right before the leap—right before the rollercoaster drops and your heart’s beating so fast it feels like it’ll burst out of your chest.” He captures Daichi’s hand and lifts it to his heart, pressing his palm over Daichi’s so that he can feel the heavy pound of Terushima’s pulse beneath his fingertips. “It knocks the breath out of you and for a split second you’re scared out of your mind that you might not survive this. But then you do. You can hear your own pulse loud as a fuckin’ church bell ringing in your ears and every breath feels like—” he inhales deeply, “—like ecstasy.” Terushima’s eyes flutter open again. His lips twist into a smirk. “Don’t frown at me like that, I don’t mean it literally, you nerd.”

“I knew that,” Daichi lies.

“S’addictive though.” Terushima’s lips twitch, his gaze lifting to the dark sky. “It’s like in that moment, you feel…alive. Invincible, even. Feels sorta like—”

Terushima turns, his hand clenching Daichi’s as he captures Daichi’s lips in a kiss. It’s painfully brief—just the quick but firm press of Terushima’s lips. Like he’s still trying to be cautious. Already, Daichi’s breathing harder. Terushima makes a move to pull away and that’s…not what Daichi wants at all.

Frustrated, he tugs on Terushima’s hand where their fingers are laced together and drags him down for another kiss. Daichi’s free hand twines in Terushima’s short hair, his lips parting, head spinning when Terushima groans and draws him into his lap. Daichi can feel the curve of Terushima’s grin against his own tingling lips. There’s nothing cautious about the way Terushima nips at Daichi’s chin or how he strokes his tongue across over Daichi’s lower lip, sucking it between his teeth.

Daichi’s fingers tighten in Terushima’s hair. “I think,” he pants, “I think I see what you mean.” He can hardly hear over the steel drum pound of his own heart.

“Fifth fact,” Terushima says, his voice just as shaky. His hands slip beneath the hem of Daichi’s shirt. “I’ve thought of nothin’ else but kissin’ you again since our last date.” He leans their heads together and then they’re kissing again. His fingers curl against Daichi’s back. Terushima trails open-mouth kisses along the line of Daichi’s chin, across the arch of his throat, down the slope of his shoulder. “And that’s five things. Four things only very few people know about me. And one secret, for your ears only. How’s that?”

Daichi hums and presses a kiss to the corner of Terushima’s mouth. “It’s a good start.”

Terushima’s lips tug into a smile. “A start, huh? I like the sound of that. Does that mean you’ll give me a chance?”

Daichi cocks his head to the side. He strokes his thumbs over the nape of Terushima’s neck. “A chance for what, exactly?” Not for the first time, he feels completely out of his depth.

“A chance to take ya out on dates where you don’t scowl at me like you’re bein’ abducted.” Terushima lifts his hands to comb his fingers through Daichi’s hair. “A chance to introduce you to a whole decade of movies you’ve missed out on.” He fiddles with the button on Daichi’s polo shirt. “A chance to ride you until—”

Daichi flushes hard and clamps a hand over Terushima’s mouth.

“I, uh, think I get the picture,” mumbles Daichi.

When he drops his hand, Terushima blurts, “Date me?” When Daichi blinks at him he clears his throat and scrubs at his face where his cheeks have turned red. “Fuck, I’m not doin’ this right, am I? I’ve never really done the relationship thing, but this is…it’s not that I believe in soulmates or whatever but don’t you feel like some people come into your life just when they’re supposed to? Like Bo and Kuroo…they may seem shady but they keep me on the right track. They’re like two overbearing weird uncles. And now this—” he gestures between them, “—it feels right, doesn’t it?”

“You’re comparing me to Bokuto and Kuroo?” Daichi answers, faking disbelief.

Terushima deflates slightly, and Daichi has the conscience to feel bad about it. “Not the point.”

“It feels right,” Daichi murmurs in agreement.

“I want this,” announces Terushima. “But what happened with the pictures, before—I should’a protected you from that. I should’a known it’d happen. I was selfish and I don’t wanna be selfish with you. I’m sorry.”

Daichi shushes him with a kiss. “It’s okay. I get it. It was a Roman Holiday sort of thing.”

“A what?”

Daichi laughs and shakes his head. “See, now I don’t know if I can date someone who hasn’t seen Roman Holiday.”

Terushima’s lips twitch. “We’ll just have to extend the movie marathon, then.” He wraps his arms around Daichi’s waist, pulling him flush against his chest. “I mean it, though. You date me and the paparazzi will be swarming you, too. There’ll be more pictures. And questions. And you’ll hafta wear a tux to all my fancy premiers.”

Daichi makes an offended noise. He cups Terushima’s face and kisses him again. “I own a tux.”

“You sure you’re thinking this through?” Terushima challenges.

“Nope.” Daichi bends down to suck a hickey against the slope of Terushima’s collar, knowing that’ll be more than a little inconvenient for his makeup artists to cover up. “Go with the flow, remember?”

“Sawamura.” The sound’s wrenched from the back of Terushima’s throat as Daichi tugs at Terushima’s lip with his teeth.

“I’m at a house party,” Daichi argues, “drinking beer. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want this—if I didn’t want you. I should warn you, though—dating a full-time university student’s got its difficulties. It’s long hours. And I’m always going to be working on academic papers, remember? Think you can handle that?”

Terushima laughs and tilts his head to press a kiss to Daichi’s chin. “I think so.”

“Good talk, then.” Satisfied, Daichi wraps his arms around Terushima’s shoulders and slots their lips together. A frisson slides down his spine at the soft gasps and choked noises he coaxes from Terushima. Daichi’s nails scratch lightly along Terushima’s scalp. He does it again, harder this time, when he hears Terushima whine.

“S-Sawamura?”

Daichi makes an absent noise between kisses.

Terushima’s lips are swollen and red. Distracting. “I know Clint Eastwood’s phone number,” he says, breathless. He waggles his brows.

Daichi can only imagine what his face must look like because Terushima snorts.

“God,” Daichi pants. His face stretches into a broad grin. “I’m so into you right now. I think you’re right, this must be fate.”

Terushima laughs again and Daichi cuts him off with his lips.

Later, he’ll figure out the logistics, but for now, he enjoys the feeling of Terushima against him. His hands against Daichi’s skin. His lips kissing Daichi all over.

Daichi rests his head against Terushima’s shoulder and smiles.

~*~

“Troublemaking starlet Terushima Yuuji tries out for local community theater,” Daichi reads. “Fans around the globe are apparently baffled by this odd career move but reviewers say Yuuji’s acting chops have never been more impressive.”

Terushima peeks up from beneath the covers, his fingers idly tracing patterns across Daichi’s ribs. “Thought you didn’t read tabloids.”

“This one’s interesting.” Daichi smirks and makes a show of flipping through the glossy pages. “Look, they even included a review of Rent, right there! Apparently, ticket sales for our community theater’s skyrocketed.”

Terushima makes a rumbly noise at the back of his throat. His fingers skate beneath Daichi’s boxers, hitching the fabric higher, teeth nipping at the sensitive skin of Daichi’s thigh.

Daichi hisses and buries his fingers in Terushima’s hair, back arching when Terushima bites down harder.

Terushima presses a soft kiss to the marked skin. “You sure you have to get up already?” he asks. Sulking, he pillows his face against Daichi’s bare thigh and clings.

Daichi laughs, touch soothing as he strokes his fingers through Terushima’s hair in apology. “I have to get up for my early morning run, remember?”

Terushima nods but doesn’t budge. “M’gonna burn those shorts,” he mumbles.

Snorting, Daichi tries to stand but it’s difficult with his boyfriend’s arms wrapped around his leg. “And I have an early class, remember? I can’t be late.”

“You can’t be persuaded?” There’s more than a hint of a challenge there and Daichi knows from experience that it’s a dangerous thing to indulge him.

“Nope.” Daichi bends down and kisses the crown of Terushima’s head. “My prof’s not going to accept ‘my hot boyfriend wouldn’t let me out of bed’ as a legitimate excuse.”

“You could play hooky,” suggests Terushima. “Pull a Ferris Bueller?”

Daichi hesitates. Terushima’s smile is almost impossible to resist. Almost. “Nice try but I am not going to be swayed by good movie references.” He pries Terushima’s arms off of him and immediately misses the warmth.

With a pout, Terushima flops back onto the bed. He folds his arms behind his head. Daichi’s wearing only his boxers but he still feels like Terushima’s taking his time to undress him with his eyes. His gaze is almost reverent, flitting from Daichi’s red tinted ears to the firm planes of his stomach before dipping lower, to where Daichi’s tenting in his boxers.

“Still leaving,” Daichi says, his voice hoarse.

Terushima licks his lips and for a split second Daichi reconsiders. It won’t be the end of the world if I miss 10 or 15 minutes, or maybe I could cut my jog short, he contemplates. Daichi kneels one knee on the bed, hand curling against the back of Terushima’s neck and then kisses him. Slow and firm and filthy, catching every sigh and hiss between their mouths. Daichi draws back again and smooth his thumb across Terushima’s swollen lower lip.

“You’re the worst,” Terushima groans against him. “Today’s tabloid should read, ‘Cruel Farmboy Mercilessly Teases Boyfriend and then Ditches him for Class’.”

Daichi smiles. “Sounds a little wordy. Look, I won’t be gone for too long,” he promises. “I really can’t afford to miss a lab.”

“Nerd.” Terushima brushes his fingers against Daichi’s. “You’re comin’ to my premiere, right?”

“Of course. Couldn’t leave you without a date on your arm. Imagine the controversy that’d stir up.” Daichi tugs on a t-shirt.

Terushima grins and fiddles with the bed sheets. “You’ll have to buy a tux.”

“I have a tux!” Daichi sticks out his tongue as he slides on a pair of shorts. “You’ve seen me in it before!” His eyes fall on the magazine again. There’s a picture of them on one of the pages. In the picture, Terushima’s sitting cross legged on the stage, arms filled with the flowers Daichi bought him and Daichi’s below, arms folded, leaning against the stage. Their noses are touching and Terushima’s smile is as blinding as the morning sun that’s pouring in through their curtains.

“I like that picture of you,” Daichi tells him. “You look happy.”

“I am happy,” Terushima answers. He reels Daichi in again, a broad smile stretching his lips as he presses a kiss to the crown of Daichi’s tilted head.

Daichi nuzzles against him and beams. “Yeah, me too.”