Chapter Text
The first time Daichi meets Suga, he literally trips over them.
It's a Tuesday afternoon near the end of semester, and the sun's heat is a brand on his neck. Fewer students are on campus, and the ones who are have sequestered themselves away in alcoves and at every available computer station or desk to churn out final papers or flashcards or mock exams.
Which is why Daichi's entirely taken aback when, cutting absently across the grass toward the social work faculty, he suddenly finds himself half-in someone's lap, folder of notes thankfully not scattered too far since the air is stiflingly still. The lanky, dark-haired kid whose knees he's close enough to kiss makes a noise of disgust and gets up, beginning to gather Daichi's papers.
"That hurt," the person he's still draped over muses, more amused than startled, and Daichi finally comes to his senses enough to roll off and onto his back.
Then he immediately feels twice as bad, because the sweet-looking student he's just run over has a cane propped neatly against their satchel. Shit. He's going to lose his license before he even gets it, for... tormenting the disabled or something.
"I'm so sorry!" he finally says, sitting up. "Are you okay?"
"As okay as ever," they say, offering him a wry smile. "Sugawara Koushi. You?"
"Ah... Sawamura Daichi. I'm finishing up my fourth year in social work."
"Kageyama Tobio," the surly-looking beanpole from earlier drops back to the ground and interjects, making him jump. Carefully, as if it's a practised phrase, "What are your pronouns?"
It's immediately endearing. "I'm a he, thank you." Daichi's done a long enough placement with a charity for queer youth to not be taken aback. Well, by anything other than tripping over someone and being asked for your pronouns immediately after.
Kageyama nods, handing him back his notes. If anything, they're more neatly stacked than they were before.
"Thank you. Uh, what about you?"
"Same as you," Kageyama says. "Sugawara-san uses they pronouns. I'm a journalism student. It's important to learn to respectfully represent all kinds of people."
That... makes some sort of sense.
"He's only in his second year and already writing regularly for Chillmag," Sugawara stage-whispers. "Another couple of years and Newsnet'll be sending him out on all the tough ones nobody else wants to do."
The slightest edges of a smile take root on Kageyama's face. It transforms him entirely, bringing him to life as a shy, earnest teenager who probably still has knobbly knees. It makes Daichi want to ruffle his hair, which is unacceptable. He's not that old.
"I'm interviewing Sugawara-san," Kageyama announces with sudden enthusiasm.
It's impossible not to humor him. "Yeah?"
"Yeah! My professor said I needed some feel-good community pieces for my portfolio. I pitched a profile of five changemakers at our university to Chillmag, and they liked it!"
"Then he realized he had to find five changemakers," Sugawara laughs. "He found me on Twitter, actually, while tearing through the university's mentions." They sigh wistfully, looking off into the distance. "One day, whatever poor comms major is running that account will finally get permission to block me."
Daichi suddenly realizes he has no idea what's going on, or how he ended up in this conversation. Kageyama, shuffling on the grass, has pulled a tablet back out of an improbably large pocket in his sports jacket, and looks about ready to pull the stylus to pieces.
"Ah, I should probably get going. I'll let you get back to your interview. Sorry again about earlier!"
"Don't worry about it. You'd better run if you've got a class!"
There's no class, but it's a good enough reason to dust himself off and haul his creaking body back to its feet.
"It was nice meeting you, Sugawara-san. I'll catch you around?"
"You'd better! And call me Suga." Suga smiles up at him, so wide the force of it scrunches their eyes up, and Daichi feels his heart skip a beat.
He nods back, hoping he's smiling, then flees.