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he sweeps into your life with no warning and little introduction—the barista shyly slipping into the seat that meant for your date. it’s been an hour since you were stood up.
he was the one who served you the now empty cup of mochaccino resting on the low coffee table an hour earlier.
you were suspicious, of course; understandably so. your heart is riddled with rips and holes, and you had just been about to chalk up this latest date as just another one of many.
but sugawara, as he introduces himself, makes it clear from the start that he wasn’t after anything: he just wants to make sure that you were okay. to prove his point, he doesn’t stay beyond ten minutes, doesn’t even give you his number—only a promise that the next time you come during his shift, your drink would on the house. an apology for the trouble he had caused by talking to a stranger.
you feel strangely guilty after that.
*:･ﾟ✧
torn between wondering whether his motives were genuine or merely an elaborate plan, you go to the coffee shop on another side of campus for a while. eventually, however, the fact that the coffee in that shop was your favorite outweighed the lingering doubts you had.
the bell tinkles as you enter, and you can’t help the smile that spreads on your lips when you inhale the warm smell of brewed coffee. the lull of overlapping conversations ever present in café’s such as this one is strangely calming.
it isn’t hard to catch sight of him; not many people walk around with grey hair, after all. his back is turned to the counter, a slim figure with the green strings of his apron meeting in a knot on his lower back. you approach the counter.
his coworker greets you enthusiastically, chipper voice and loud orange hair a startle to your senses. your response is a little soft, but he still turns around when he hears your voice. he grins, the kind that encompasses the entire face, turning his eyes into crescent moons.
it’s too genuine for you to not return.
“hinata, her drink’s on my tab.” he smiles again, softer this time, a soft crinkle on either side of his brown eyes. “as promised.”
“sugawara-senpai?” the orange boy shoots him a questioning glance.
“no no!” you wave your hand before beginning to fish in your bag for your wallet. “there was no trouble at all, and you don’t need to apologize.” before you can hand over the money on the tray, he swipes it away from the counter.
“nope, too late, it’s on me! one mochaccino coming right up!” he flounces away with a hum. the other boy—hinata—just chuckles awkwardly. you never expected him to be this playful, not with the way he shyly sidled up to the seat across from you.
the drink is just as good as you remember.
*:･ﾟ✧
“senpai!” hinata approaches him in the changing rooms. “the pretty lady from earlier asked me to give you this!” he waves a paper napkin, slightly wrinkled from when the boy had slipped it into his apron pocket. sugawara takes it curiously.
on it are two things: a sequence of numbers and a small note.
thank you for the drink :) -y/n
*:･ﾟ✧
you see him wave at you some ways away. he jogs a little, covering the last meters of distance in the span of a couple of seconds.
“am i late?” he huffs slightly. you check your phone. a smile tugs at the corner of your lips, and for the first time in many dates your reply is the truth.
“you’re just on time.”
he breaths in relief before straightening up. “still, i’m sorry to have kept you waiting. shall we go?” you blink.
perhaps he thinks such behaviour is nothing, but his thoughtfulness means so much. another smile tugs at your mouth, the second one, and it hasn’t even been five minutes.
“… sure.”
he’s in a different department—that explains why you don’t see him in your classes. you had become some form of friends by now, texting and hanging out during your shared free time. he loves studying in the library and in café’s just as much as you do, and those constitute much of the time you spend together.
it’s easy to hold conversation with him: refreshingly so. laughter comes to him easily, a bright sound, devoid of any kind of weight. it somehow makes your heart lighter no matter how bad the day had been. you don’t even know if you said anything funny.
*:･ﾟ✧
you warned him, not directly, perhaps, but you know that he knows: your view of love isn’t sunshine and rainbows. the last boy who tried to mend your heart did a shoddy job, full of loose strings and dirty do-overs.
and it’s here perhaps that he shines the brightest. he makes it clear that what he said the first time you spoke still holds: he’s not after anything. when you ask him why—why talk to you, why bother, why try when he doesn’t get anything out of it—he just shrugs.
“i like to think people can be nice.”
it’s pure and innocent, so unlike nearly everything that you had been experiencing for the better part of six months. you turn over the words in your head until late in the night, unable to fall asleep. the fact that you’re already wishing for him to be different is terrifying.
you’ve never let your hopes climb so high and so early on.
*:･ﾟ✧
of course, you know nobody’s perfect: not even sugawara koushi. this first makes itself clear when you find the eyebags that have been rimming his eyes, the strained smiles and reluctant way he’d pack his things even when the library was about to close.
“you’re overworking yourself.”
he stiffens slightly. “l/n, i’m okay.” he sends you a sweet smile. your frown deepens.
“sugawara-kun, you’re human too. you have every right to be burned out and to take a break. it’s not selfish.”
gently, you reach over and close the textbook he’s been reading. he doesn’t stop you, but doesn’t meet your eyes either. you know there are many things running in his mind, things that you know aren’t easy to say.
i like to think people can be nice.
not everyone is though, you think to yourself sadly.
“come on,” you stand, nudging his shoulder. “i’ll treat you to ice cream, no takebacks.”
*:･ﾟ✧
sugawara has always known. he knew, with an inexplicable confidence, that it was almost certain that he would find himself falling in love with you. he was sure he hadn’t fallen for you then, but he just knew that he will. it was inevitable.
of course, knowing was one thing, but actually doing so was another thing entirely. he still had a choice, at the end of they day. sugawara knows what he signed up for when he mustered up the courage to sit in front of you that fateful day. it meant he was answering to the nagging feeling in his bones, the magnetic pulse that would happen every time you happened to come in during his shifts at the coffee shop.
and perhaps that really is what love is. not just to fall, but to choose to stay. so that’s what he did.
the process of mending a broken hearts hurts; he first has to pull and cut the threads haphazardly stitched by those who came before him. pain will lace each prick and unthreading, but does his best to be gentle.
and as time passes, what he had first known becomes all the more evident. you’re smart, witty, and fierce. months pass. you’re close now, inextricably so: netflix marathons at each others’ apartments become a regular occurrence, and so do late night runs to the convenience store after said marathons.
you find yourself smiling wider. laughter comes more easily, as does affection.
and you’ve helped him too, so much more than you know. sometimes you use his habit of checking up on you against him. your sixth sense is scary: you always seem to know when he needs to hear something: to rest, to stop doing so much favors for the TA (he has enough extra credit, and even then, it’s not worth butchering his sleep schedule), and even other, more serious things like a small message that he’s working hard and doing well.
he draws out your kindness, the inner parts of you that you had kept away for so long. with each laugh and smile you draw out of him, he finds himself farther and farther in, until he knows that there’s no going back from it.
he knows what he signed up for when he said he didn’t expect for anything, because he genuinely, truly meant it. he will mend your torn pieces with threads plucked from his own heartstrings if need be. he just doesn’t expect you to do the same.
in nights like these, with your head tucked so perfectly on his shoulder, that he wonders how long he can have you like this.
*:･ﾟ✧
sleep isn’t coming to you tonight. you shift, turning your body to your right side, heaving a sigh.
you come to understand, as you feel yourself drift off on the couch, head leaning on his shoulder, that somewhere along the way you have done the unforgivable—developed feelings. despite everything, it’s the kind of realization that still makes old dredges of dread creep into your bones.
it shouldn’t be logical: your worst heartbreak is building itself up to be over someone who wasn’t really yours to begin with. to make things worse, the person whom you’re supposed to open up to about these sort of things is the very source of your current dilemma. you’re too many stitches in to hope to untangle yourself from the mess you had gotten yourself into.
you move again, returning to your previous position of lying on your back. beside you, a voice groans.
“stop moving.”
“i can’t sleep.”
“just close your eyes.” his voice is threaded with sleep, a half pitch lower.
“wow, what amazing advice. i’m impressed.” he just hums before drifting off, too drowsy to reply. you count his breaths, waiting for them to even out again.
when you’re sure he’s asleep, you whisper the words into the air, hoping that it will ease the weight on your chest.’
“i’m in love with you.” you test the words out on our lips, feeling the taste of the l-word falling out for the first time in a long while. you test out a different sentence. “sorry, but i’m in love with you. i love you.”
the mattress creaks beside you, and you freeze. shit. shit. shit. you’re too scared to move, absolutely mortified of your mistake. he shifts from beside you, and you feel him come closer. shit. his arms snake around you, and you feel his legs tangle with yours. you’re absolutely frozen.
he tugs you closer, insistent enough that you relent and face him. it’s too dark to clearly make out his face, but you know where he is. the arms that encircle you pull you in, caging you in his arms.
“say it again in the morning.”
you say the most intelligent thing you can muster. “huh?”
“i don’t think i’m dreaming… but… mmm… wanna hear you say it again.” he hums again, starting to drift off. “i love you.”
you’re light, so so light. what would you say tomorrow? how can you fall asleep now? he is all around you: his arms, his sweater, his smell—you’re surrounded by sugawara koushi’s presence, and yet you feel far from stifled.
each of your hearts carry threads from the other; from neat stitches to embroidered flowers. he stitches you back together, embellishing your heart with flowers carefully embroidered with all his affection and care. the least you can do is make them grow.
you’ll turn his flowers into a field, and stitch it to be under a sky filled with stars that match the color of his hair.
sugawara pulls you closer, the faint scent of your shampoo and feel of your body against him stitching itself into his memory. he can’t wait for the morning, for when you whisper i love you again. that you’re worth everything and more. he’ll stitch every thread of love he has to offer into both your hearts, and line it with red string so that not even fate will pull you apart.