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This is happening.
They are really going to do this.
This is really happening.
Or, it will be happening. If Suga can ever manage to put a shirt on.
He groans, staring down at his bed. Every potentially date appropriate shirt, sweater, and jacket in his wardrobe is spread across the top of his comforter. They had started as neat piles, of course, and, as he sorted through them with ever increasing panic, they’d become a tangled mess of colors and fabrics.
“What am I doing?” He groans, demanding the pile of fabric to give him some direction. Predictably, they don’t answer. He buries his face into his hands, letting his frustration bleed out on another groan.
He can’t do this. He can’t.
He’s going to text Daichi and tell him nevermind. Tell him that Suga’s changed his mind, this wasn’t a good idea and he’s canceling the whole thing. There isn’t a single article of clothing that Suga owns that is befitting of this occasion and that must be a sign. He’s just going to text Daichi and cancel.
Of course, this is when his phone gives a little chime. Specifically, the chime that is set to Daichi’s messages. He had only set them to a different sound because of volleyball. They were in charge of the team together, he was Daichi’s vice-captain. He needed to know if there was anything important that he had to respond to immediately. It had nothing at all to do with the little bubble of warmth that popped up in his chest when that sound went off. Nothing at all.
Suga drops his hands from his face when the ding repeats itself. He digs under the various shirts and jackets strewn across the bed to locate the phone. He finds it, dropping down onto the mattress and sprawling onto his back.
Just leaving my house. I’ll be there in ten minutes.
Ten minutes. He only has ten minutes.
He only has ten minutes.
He calls Asahi.
“Suga!” Asahi’s friendly tone sends something soothing rushing through Suga’s brain. “What’s up?”
“I need your help,” Suga groans.
“Oh?” The tone on the other end of the phone turns serious. “What do you need? Are you okay?”
“What? Oh! No, I’m fine,” Suga assures him, waving his hand through the air even though the other can’t see it. “I need you to tell me what my color is?”
“Your color?” Asahi laughs.
Another groan of frustration pulls itself through Suga’s throat. “Just tell me what color I look good in, Asahi! I have a date in ten minutes and I’ve been shirtless for over an hour.”
This time when Asahi speaks it’s teasing, feigned disinterest. “A date, huh?”
“Yes, Asahi. A date. Please help me!” He isn’t above begging. He’s been staring at the contents of his wardrobe for over an hour and has come up with nothing. If Asahi and his eyes for fashion can help, then Suga will beg.
“And this has nothing at all to do with the suspiciously similar phone call I got from Daichi about twenty minutes ago, does it?”
Relief washes through him. Good. Daichi is nervous too. Somehow, that makes Suga feel better. This is important and Daichi knows it too.
Suga purses his lips, lets a breath blow through them, rolls the sound so it echoes in Asahi’s ear. “I… can neither confirm nor deny this.”
“Well then, it’s a good thing that Daichi already told me everything.”
“Asahi,” Suga wails, throwing a hand up to cover his eyes. “We’re keeping it casual. We just want to see if it works out.”
“I know, he told me.’
“And if it doesn’t…” The thought makes his stomach clench uncomfortably with all sorts of emotions that he does not want to address. “ If it doesn’t then it’s no big deal. We let it go and we just stay friends.”
Asahi makes a noise of assent as the sound of something sizzling comes through the speaker.
“Are you cooking while I am having a crisis?!” Suga demands, forcing himself up into a sitting position on the edge of his mattress, resting his weight back onto his free arm.
Another agreeable noise comes from his friend and there’s the click of a stovetop burner. “Unlike you, the love of my life isn’t taking me out to dinner tonight, so I am being forced to fend for myself.”
Suga’s grin sharpens, teasing and bright. “And what is Nishinoya doing this evening?”
There’s the sound of clattering metal and Asahi gives a small yelp. “It’s not… We aren’t… It isn’t like that.”
He hums, unwilling to argue the point. Their energy-packed libero would almost certainly be taking Asahi out to dinner anytime he wanted if the taller boy would just get over blaming himself for the fight they had over the summer. Asahi knows it just as well as the rest of them do and Suga’s time limit is down to six minutes so he lets the point go. He’ll bother their ace about it later.
“Okay, fine. Back to my crisis. What do I wear?”
Asahi exhales a breath of relief, grateful for the change of subject. “What do you have?”
Suga stands, facing the pile with a critical eye and begins to list every article of clothing that is currently scattered about his room, reducing his time to make himself look presentable down to two minutes once he’s finished.
Asahi listens to them all, humming thoughtfully a few of the choices, but allows Suga to finish before he gives any opinions.
The doorbell rings and it echoes through the empty house. Suga curses, fumbling with his phone as it buzzes at his ear. “Asahi! He’s here and I’m still naked!”
“Green sweater, gray jacket.” Asahi sounds firm, sure of himself. Thank god. At least one of them needs to be confident about this whole thing.
“You’re the best. Thank you so much.” Suga hangs up in the middle of Asahi’s reply.
The phone buzzes in his hand again as he pulls it away from his face.
I’m here. Whenever you’re ready.
No rush.
Suga doesn’t respond, drops the phone onto the bed, scrambles for the olive green sweater. The jacket is tugged on over it and he gives himself a glance in the mirror, runs a slightly shaky hand through his hair, and decides this will have to do. At least with Daichi waiting patiently at the front door, Suga doesn’t have any more time left to overthink this.
The walk down the stairs to the front door somehow lasts no time at all and an eternity. It’s agonizing. Suga’s hands are definitely trembling now. He slides his shoes on, pulling in deep breaths. In through his nose, out through his mouth. Slow, steady, and concentrated. The way his teacher had pulled him aside to coach him through during a particularly difficult test during his last year of middle school. It’s old habit at this point and Suga’s body responds to the grounding push and pull of air, settling the trembling in his fingers just enough that he gets his shoes tied.
There’s a herd of butterflies making their home in his stomach as he settles his hand onto the doorknob. When he turns it, they begin to riot. He faintly thinks that he might get sick.
But then he’s opening the door and Daichi is waiting on the porch.
He looks good.
He looks really good, his dark shirt blending wonderfully into the warm tan of his skin. Hair meticulously styled. Hands shoved into his pockets in a way that would look effortlessly casual if not for the tension thrumming through his rigid posture. Warm, chestnut eyes light up as a smile crosses his face. A smile directed at Suga. Just for Suga.
The butterflies whirl into a tornado inside of his chest.
The sun is setting behind Daichi, the sky a luminous wash of orange and pink. Suga tries very hard not to focus on the fact that he thinks the eyes shining down at him are about a thousand times more beautiful than the glow of the sky behind him.
He steps out onto the porch to join his friend, shaking the thought from his brain.
“Hey,” Daichi greets. His hands come out of his pockets. They hover in the air between them, just long enough that an awkward tension snaps into place around them, and then he lowers them down to his sides.
Suga tries his very best not to feel relieved that it’s entirely evident that Daichi is overthinking this just as much as he is. He doesn’t succeed.
“Hey,” he replies, his own smile sliding into place as he turns back to lock the door and pocketing his keys with a small, dramatic flourish. “Ready?”
Daichi nods and gestures for Suga to lead the way off the porch. “Are you hungry? I was thinking we could eat dinner first?”
“First?” Suga inquires, falling into step beside him as they make their way down the sidewalk, heading further into town. He’d been under the impression dinner was the whole plan.
“Yeah,” Daichi looks over at him, hands sliding back into his pockets, his shoulder scrunching up slightly with the tension visible in his back as they walk. “I had another place in mind to take you.”
“Oh?” Suga isn’t sure what to do with his hands. Are they supposed to hold hands? Is it too early for that? Does Daichi even want to? But isn’t that required for a first date? Daichi’s hands are in his pockets now though, so Suga copies him, sliding his hands into the warmth of his jacket. “Where’s that?”
“It’s a surprise,” Daichi informs him, nudging their elbows together, grin firmly in place.
Suga smiles back at him, looking up just slightly, leaning in, not moving his elbow away. “Well then, I expect to be thoroughly wowed.”
Their arms press together more firmly as Daichi swerves his path every so slightly, closer into Suga’s space. “Dinner first?”
Suga’s stomach flutters at the amused little smile Daichi has directed at him. The one reserved for their quiet moments and private jokes. “Dinner first.”
They walk in silence for several minutes. It isn’t exactly comfortable, but it’s familiar. They’ve been dancing around this for so long, the fact that it’s actually happening now seems unreal. But walking with Daichi, pressed to his side like this? Suga does this nearly every night on the way home from volleyball practice. This, he can handle.
At least, he can until Daichi takes a deep, steadying breath and the words tumble out of his lips like he’s forced them to. “You look good. Nice! You look nice.”
Heat floods his face and Suga can feel the tips of his ears turning red. He keeps his gaze fixed firmly on the sidewalk in front of them. If he looks at Daichi he’ll combust on the spot. He forces his mouth open and the words slide out, strained but full of false confidence. “Thank you.” And then, quieter, but still audible in the silent evening air: “You look good too.”
The arm brushing against his with every step nudges him a little more firmly, and Suga smiles.
Dinner is good.
Nice.
Dinner is nice.
Dinner is easy. It’s simple. It’s something they’ve done before. Familiar enough that Suga actually manages to enjoy the food that they order and split instead of pretending that he isn’t panicking the entire time.
They talk. Mostly about volleyball, some about school, a little about their families. Upcoming tests, recent homework assignments, their training schedule for the next few weeks. The topic strays briefly into college plans, but they’re both waiting to hear back from their schools and neither wants to explore the subject too deeply at the moment.
It’s comfortable. Suga could nearly bring himself to forget that they’re on a date.
Nearly.
But about three minutes after they’d slid into the booths across the table from each other, Daichi’s foot had been a warm presence between his own, his ankle pressed just so against Suga’s so the point of contact between the remains unbroken. Suga’s leg starts aching about ten minutes after their food comes but he can’t bring himself to move away from the contact. He’d rather his leg go numb.
It does, eventually, but then Daichi is passing money to their server, thanking them for the lovely meal, and the contact is gone. He’s standing, extending a hand to Suga to help him slide out of the seat. Suga is so focused on forcing himself to pretend that thousands of tiny pinpricks aren’t racing through his leg with every step that he doesn’t notice their hands are still connected until they’re standing on the sidewalk outside of the restaurant.
“Well,” he says, turning to face Daichi, way too far into his space for it to be casual, keeping their hands linked. “I am ready to be wowed.”
Those soft, warm eyes trail over his face with some emotion that Suga can’t place. He takes a moment to send up a silent prayer that whatever the emotion is, it’s something matched to the glow of affection swelling up in his chest as he watches Daichi’s gaze track across his face.
“Yeah,” Daichi agrees, his voice a little rough. He clears his throat and repeats it. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”
It’s an arcade.
Daichi takes him to an arcade across town. It’s small and surprisingly empty for a Saturday night. Only a few other couples (couples? Are they a couple? This is only a first date, they don’t count as a couple yet, do they?) are present. There’s a small group of children holding fistfuls of tickets, their faces pressed up against the glass of the prize displays. Sticky fingerprints and greasy forehead marks litter the entire wall of glass.
The lighting is low enough that Suga can really only focus on Daichi next to him, it’s too dim to make out anyone else in the room. Dark carpet lit by plastic colored strips of red and yellow and green covers the entire floor. There’s music playing, just slightly too loud for the space, something upbeat and pop. Suga doesn’t recognize it, but it adds to the close, safe feeling of the space.
Various sounds echo around the room, just under the buzz of the music. Beeps and whistles and whirs call attention to the dozens of different games scattered neatly throughout the space. Suga is faintly aware of the fact that his fingers are still laced between Daichi’s, but it feels different now. Encompassed by the low light and the loud music, it feels safe, warm, comfortable.
“So?” Daichi’s voice breaks through the din. Closer than Suga thought he was, inches from being pressed against his back, a warm forearm brushing against the back of Suga’s jacket as his arm twists in front of him, keeping their hands connected, albeit at an awkward angle. “What do you think?”
Suga turns to face him, lacing the fingers of his free hand with Daichi’s other hand, pressing close into his space again. He feels bolder than he has all evening. It probably doesn’t have anything to do with the way the neon strips of light reflect and shine in Daichi’s soft eyes. Probably doesn’t have anything to do with the nervous smile the other gives him when Suga moves into his space. Probably nothing at all to do with the way Daichi takes his other hand, doesn’t push him away, keeps him close. Nothing at all.
Suga’s grin is bright, the butterflies in his stomach fluttering back into existence as he realizes just how close they are. This time, it doesn’t make him want to cancel the whole thing. This time, it makes him want it to last forever. He shrugs a shoulder, casual and full of feigned nonchalance. “I mean, it’s great, but I wouldn’t say that I’m wowed quite yet.”
Daichi quirks an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
Suga shrugs again, likes the way Daichi’s arm moves with him at the pull of their hands. Likes the way it makes those darn butterflies whip themselves up into a frenzy when Daichi’s hands squeeze his, big and warm and familiar. Likes the way Daichi’s eyes narrow slightly and darken at the teasing challenge issued. “Guess you’re still going to have to wow me.”
“Guess so.” Daichi squeezes again, releases one of his hands, and turns to make his way toward the counter, tugging Suga behind him.
They don't get many tokens to start out with. Just enough to try a few different games. Daichi insists on paying for those as well. Something wars in Suga while he does so. Daichi paid for dinner, Suga should pay for this. He wants to. Wants to treat Daichi as well as Daichi is treating him. But he also likes the warm feeling that bubbles up inside him at how much thought Daichi has put into this evening, how he shoves Suga’s hand away when he reaches out to pay, the quiet murmur of “don’t worry about it, I got it.”
The two contrasting feelings battle it out inside of Suga long enough that Daichi gets away with it. There’s a small stack of tokens set onto the countertop by the bored looking cashier. Daichi releases Suga’s hand to tuck them neatly into his pockets and Suga tries very hard not to feel disappointed as he follows the other back out into the game room.
“What do you want to play?”
Suga glances around, taking stock of the games and trying to decide what he has a reasonable chance of winning at, if only to impress his date. Any decision he’d been in the process of forming flees his brain as Daichi’s knuckles brush lightly against Suga’s. He does it again a moment later, bumps the back of their hands together ever so slightly, like he’s asking permission. Suga grants it in the way he twists his hand around, giving Daichi the freedom to slide his fingers back into the spaces between Suga’s.
“You pick,” Suga tells him. All his decision making skills have apparently decided to take a vacation in order to lend power to the portion of his brain hyper-focused in on the way that Daichi’s hand feels in his.
Daichi gives a couple suggestions and they settle on the air hockey table. It’s tucked into the back corner, only pulled far enough away from the wall to make playing feasible. Suga is loath to let his hand go again when they reach it. Doesn’t want to be all the way at the other end of the game. But Daichi slots the necessary token into the game and gives him another one of those soft, private little grins. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you win.”
“Oh, really now?” Suga asks him, squeezing the hand in his before he releases it. “What makes you think you’ll need to let me.”
The only response he gets is a challenging little smirk. One that is, gratifyingly, wiped off of Daichi’s face when Suga lands three points in a row. It’s apparent when Daichi actually starts trying, the shots are a little harder for Suga to make. But still, Suga beats him.
Daichi, to his credit, murmurs an apology for underestimating him, and suggests a rematch.
Suga wins.
Resoundingly.
He gloats all the way through their next two games, which he also wins. After his fourth loss, Daichi suggests they play something different.
They play several different games, some of them in competition, some of them on the same team, each taking a side of the controls. Suga’s favorites are the ones where they are pressed close together in front of a machine, elbowing each other lightly, nudging the other to try and distract them. The way Daichi laughs low and warm in his ear when he succeeds in distracting Suga makes those little butterflies fly laps around and around inside his chest.
Daichi doesn’t make another comment about letting him win, but Suga still does. Wins every single game they play. Loves the competitive little fire he can see in Daichi’s eyes when the other looks over at him. Loves even more the affection layered behind it when Suga crows his victory after another win.
Eventually, they have nearly run out of tokens and Daichi’s competitiveness seems to have run itself dry. Suga is typing his name into a high score chart when Daichi presses close behind him and drops his chin onto the other’s shoulder.
Suga’s breath catches, but he doesn’t say anything, keeps typing.
“Why don’t we call it quits? I’ll buy you ice cream?” Daichi offers, his voice low and warm against the side of Suga’s face.
“Let me buy and you’ve got yourself a deal.”
“No way,” Daichi says, straightening up as Suga finishes.
Suga doesn’t have long enough to be disappointed about the lack of contact because as soon as he’s turned around, Daichi is threading their fingers together again, tugging Suga toward him.
“You’ve paid for everything else,” Suga insists. “Let me get ice cream.”
Daichi shakes his head firmly. “No, I want to.”
Suga sees the machine behind Daichi and an idea occurs to him. He reaches his free hand forward, slides it into the others pocket, and pulls out the last two tokens. “Why don’t we make a deal?”
A quirked eyebrow is the only response he gets, those warm, brown eyes staying trained right on his own.
“That game.” Suga points. It’s a tiny basketball game, different point levels marked out in concentric rings of plastic. “We each play. Loser buys the ice cream.”
Daichi appears to think it over, and he nods, seemingly confident in his losing streak from the rest of the night.
Suga loses. On purpose. It’s fun how easy it is to let Daichi think he’s won for real, the other achieving a moderate score with the aim he’s earned in his years of volleyball. How his face lights up, all smiles and teasing as Suga purposefully sinks the ball into one of the lower point rings with razor-sharp accuracy. He feigns disappointment, letting Daichi take his hand once more in commiseration.
“Should have called it quits when I suggested it,” Daichi tells him as they head out into the chilly night air. “You would have had a perfect winning streak.”
Suga, for his part, fakes a pout. “Unfair.”
The laugh that tumbles out of Daichi’s mouth is more than enough to fight off the chill of wind pressing in around Suga as they cross the street to the little ice cream shop. “You repeatedly kicked my butt all evening and you think one loss is unfair?”
Suga huffs, all fake offense, as Daichi tugs him into his side, releasing his hand to put an arm around his shoulders. “Well, I was almost wowed.”
“Almost?” Daichi teases.
“Obviously I would have been completely wowed if I had finished out on a winning streak.”
“It’s your own fault,” Daichi murmurs, brushing his lips just barely against Suga’s temple as they duck through the door together.
Suga snuggles into his side, lets himself be tugged toward the counter and keeps his gaze firmly on the menu hanging from the wall. If he stands still enough and doesn’t look over, he can pretend that he isn’t about three seconds from losing his mind over the little push of Daichi’s mouth against his skin.
In contrast to the arcade, the room is shockingly bright. All white tile and steel countertops, walls washed in neon pinks and blues. It doesn’t make Daichi’s eyes gleam the way the glow of the low lights in the arcade had. Suga’s sure the blue-tinted fluorescents aren’t doing him any favors either.
“You guys picked a heck of an evening for ice cream,” the girl behind the counter teases. Suga thinks he recognizes her from school.
“Ahh, I lost a bet so I’m buying,” he tells her with a smile.
Daichi’s arm tightens around him. “No, let me.”
Suga gracefully shoves an elbow into the other’s ribs and steps up to the counter, only minutely sad for the loss of the warm arm around his shoulders. “I’m buying, don’t let him pay.”
She laughs and Daichi steps forward to bicker further, citing all of his losses prior to Suga’s as his reasoning. Suga insists that this wasn’t the deal they made, that he owes Daichi an ice cream. Daichi insists that Suga really doesn’t need to pay for the both of them, what if they just get their own.
The girl working is what saves them from an actual argument over the ice cream.
“Just split something?”
They pause and look at each other, coming to silent agreement.
“Yeah, that will work. But I’m paying,” Suga says firmly.
Daichi sighs and surrenders. “Fine, but you pick what we get.”
It seems a fair enough trade, so Suga goes for something fun and orders his favorite. The girl behind the counter passes it over with a smile and tells them to have a nice night.
Daichi is staring at him when Suga turns around, holding the little ice cream creation in his hands, two spoons tucked neatly into the treat on either side of the container.
“What?”
“Let’s go sit outside?”
It’s cold and Suga almost protests. But the lighting in here is harsh and bright. It’s empty, save for the lone employee and Suga knows anything they say will echo against the tile. Besides, the cold gives him an excuse to press into Daichi’s space, hopeful for an arm draped around his shoulders again. “Lead the way.”
They settle into one of the picnic tables behind the building, tucked away underneath one of the big trees framing the edge of the park. Daichi doesn’t say a word when Suga settles on the bench beside him rather than taking the seat across, just presses their knees together underneath the worn-out wood of the tabletop.
The seating area is marked off neatly by lights strung from the corner of the building and out underneath the tree. They cast a soft glow over the table and that soft little gleam in Daichi’s eye is back as he looks over at Suga. “What did you get us?”
“My favorite, “ Suga informs him as he settles the treat onto the table in between them.
“Which is?” Daichi picks up his spoon and nudges it into the swirled ice cream. “Vanilla and something pink?”
“Try it,” Suga prompts, shifting his weight so they’re fully pressed against each other's sides on the bench.
Daichi looks skeptical, but scoops a moderate amount of the ice cream up with his spoon. He holds it out between them with a raised eyebrow.
Suga blinks. “What?”
“You first.”
“I didn’t get anything bad, Daichi!” Suga insists, nudging the other with his elbow, sending the spoon wobbling a little dangerously in the air. “I promise it’s good.”
“I know,” Daichi shrugs, pushing the spoon forward a little more insistently. “It’s your favorite and you paid so you get the first bite. I don’t make the rules.”
“You are literally making the rules right now,” Suga grumbles, but he leans in and closes his lips around the plastic spoon, not taking his eyes off of Daichi’s as he does so.
It’s good. As it always is. The mix of the sour raspberry and sweet vanilla combine on his tongue, offset perfectly by the little pieces of candy mixed in. He’s careful to keep his face neutral as he swallows the bite.
“See, not bad.”
Daichi’s smile goes soft at the edges and Suga feels the now familiar flutter in his chest as they look at each other, the spoon still held in the air between them.
Suga breaks eye contact to locate his own spoon, scooping up a sizable amount of ice cream. He nudges it against the spoon Daichi is still holding aloft and the other drops it back into the bowl. Daichi leans forward and takes the bite of ice cream and Suga feels his breath catch when those warm, amused eyes meet his gaze again.
The confusion crosses his face a moment later. Daichi’s eyebrows furrow, his nose scrunches up in a way that Suga refuses to identify as adorable. It is though. As what’s happening registers, Daichi narrows his eyes and mumbles around the mouthful of ice cream. “What is that?”
Suga’s peal of laughter echoes in the otherwise empty air around them. Daichi sticks his tongue out. It should be gross, the tiny, fizzing candies popping against his tongue, surrounded by the unswallowed bits of melted ice cream. It, frankly, should be disgusting. Instead, Suga wants to lean in and taste it.
Stop it. He orders his brain to behave as he laughs at Daichi’s confused expression. The thought of the candy fizzing against both of their tongues if Suga were to lean in and press their mouths together is pushed firmly to the back of his mind.
“Pop rocks, Daichi!” He sets his spoon back into the dish and reaches a hand out to tap his finger against the other's nose and Daichi’s tongue disappears back into his mouth. “Please tell me you’ve had pop rocks before.”
“Not in ice cream, no.” Daichi sighs, a long-suffering sound that Suga’s heard him direct at the team at least a thousand times. Heard it enough times that he knows the exasperation is all fake, a coverup for affectionate amusement.
“It’s good though, right?”
He makes a noncommittal noise, but picks up his spoon and takes another bite. Suga follows suit.
It really is far too cold for ice cream. The air cooled significantly with the setting of the sun, the wind sending tiny shivers through both of them every time it blows over cold fingers and their exposed necks. Suga can’t really bring himself to care, not with the way he’s still pressed into Daichi’s side. The way that Daichi is leaning into him just as much. At some point, Daichi’s arm comes back up around his shoulders and Suga settles against him, resting some of his weight on the other.
They talk. Mostly, Suga teases Daichi about his numerous wins at the arcade. Daichi shuts down his gloating with a reminder of their last game. Suga fights down the laugh as a look of realization slides across the other's face.
“Suga!” Daichi snaps, indignance drifting into his tone. “You lost on purpose!”
Suga licks a drip of ice cream off the edge of the spoon, too delicate and controlled to be nonchalant. “You can’t prove that.”
“You’re a setter,” Daichi accuses, his eyes narrowed. “You absolutely have the accuracy to kick my ass at a game that involves tossing a ball with accuracy.”
Suga shrugs again, scoops another spoonful of ice cream up, knocking his full spoon against the empty one Daichi is waving at him, all accusation and fake disappointment. Before the implication of the statement can process, Suga is demanding a rematch.
The length of time that they sit in silence after that feels like an eternity. Daichi’s piercing gaze tracking over Suga’s face, lingering for just long enough that Suga feels like he could throw up. Was that too much? They’d agreed on the one date to test things out. Maybe Daichi isn’t as into this as Suga is. Tension crawls its way back into his body, straightening his spine and making his muscles feel tight.
Daichi’s arm around him shifts, drops. Eventually, he nods. “Yeah, sure. Here.” He holds out the spoon again, the last bite of ice cream, laden with all the pop rocks settled at the bottom of the bowl.
Suga leans in to take it, this time keeping his eyes lowered. He’s careful to not lean in too close, not stare too long. They’d agreed on the one date. Suga had taken this way too seriously, fallen too easily into the casual touches and warm smiles and close laughter. Gotten far too comfortable with the way he felt tucked close to Daichi far too fast. He needs to reel it back, doesn't want to make Daichi feel pressured. Just because Suga’s sold, convinced he could do this for the rest of his life, confident that he wants to spend the rest of his Saturday nights laughing and teasing and snuggled close to Daichi, doesn’t mean Daichi has reached the same conclusion. He needs to tone it down.
The awkward tension that had slowly been fading between them since Daichi met him at the door is back full force. Suga is overthinking everything now. Every point of contact between them. The way Daichi’s arm is sliding off of his shoulders. The way he sits, rigid and still, as Daichi begins to stand, picking up their empty ice cream container and walking it to the trash.
Suga takes the moment alone to focus on the tabletop, take a few of those long, steadying breaths, reign in his disappointment. When Daichi comes back, he forces himself to stand.
“It’s late,” Daichi says. Suga tries desperately not to be upset that his hands are firmly settled inside his jacket pockets. “Ready to head home?”
He pushes his own hands into the warmth of his pockets and nods. “Sounds good.”
It doesn’t sound good, but he’s not going to argue. Not when Daichi is suddenly looking less confident than he has all evening. Not when that lack of confidence is echoing around inside of Suga’s brain, rethinking every move he’s made all evening. Not when Daichi had gotten uncomfortable and distant as soon as Suga had hinted at a second date. So they head home.
The walk is mostly silent; the few attempts at conversation that either of them makes are weak at best and none of them last more than a few responses back and forth. Daichi’s elbow nudges against Suga’s as they walk together. He tries to avoid desperately missing the easy way their fingers had tangled together, the weightless feeling in his chest when Daichi’s arm came around him, the comfortable, safe weight around his shoulders when he was tucked up close to the other.
But this is what they’d agreed to. Last week after practice. Hinata had made a passing, teasing comment about Daichi and Suga’s relationship. Their co-parenting of the team. The easy way they work and fit together. The way they understood each other without words. Made some little comment about the two of them just needed to date already and then flitted away toward his own home.
Daichi had tentatively broached the subject later, after they’d parted ways with Asahi and it was just the two of them. Neither of them had been able to deny that they were interested, intrigued enough to give it a try. And so they’d come to an agreement.
One date. No pressure. They’d go on one date and they’d see how it went. They were both interested. Both attracted enough to be curious. But a date could change that. If it turned out one of them wasn’t interested, wasn’t comfortable with moving their relationship from friendship to something more, if it turned out the gentle teasing and casual flirting was just the undercurrent of curious attraction, they would drop it. They would stay friends. Things wouldn’t be weird. There was no need for them to be after one date.
At the time, it had seemed like a fantastic idea. A brilliant solution to something that neither of them wanted to be a problem. No pressure. But now, on this end of the date, on the other side of a night full of flirting and affection and sliding further and further into each other's orbit. Now? Now it feels like pressure, an overwhelming amount of it squeezing Suga’s lungs tight in his chest, melting those little butterflies into what is undeniably just nausea.
Suga is sure. He knows how this date has gone for him. Knows that he’d happily allow their relationship to slide into this easy familiarity they’ve been operating in all night. If he’d paused to think about it an hour ago, he would have been near sure of Daichi’s answer. Would have put money on the possibility that Daichi was feeling the same way.
Now?
Now Suga wasn’t sure at all.
He spends the rest of their walk home analyzing every word Daichi had said to him all evening. Every brush of contact, the way their elbows were still bumping softly together while they walked, neither of them moving closer, but neither moving further away.
All too soon, they’re standing outside of Suga’s front door. The house is dark and he only briefly wonders if his parents have elected to spend the night with his grandmother. They’d left to visit that afternoon and it was too early in the night for them to have gone to bed already. Depending on how these next few minutes go, he’s unsure if he’s going to want to walk into an empty house or not.
Daichi turns to face him, the light from the house across the street giving just enough illumination that Suga can mostly make out his features. He’s staring at Suga the way he always stares at particularly difficult math problems. Like he knows he’s been given all tools to solve the problem, but he isn’t quite sure how to use them to do so. Staring at Suga like he’s analyzing the whole evening. Like he’s trying to decide what he thinks, how it felt, if he wants to leave it as is or go rushing forward into more.
Suga, for his part, desperately wants to be kissed.
He tries not to show it, wants to give Daichi the space to make up his own mind about the evening without the pressure of Suga’s expectations. So he keeps his expression carefully neutral, keeps his hands in his pockets, tries not to stare at the others face. If Daichi wants to do this, then he’ll say so, he’ll lean in and capture Suga’s lips with his own.
Daichi’s gaze lingers on his for another moment, and Suga can pin exactly when he makes his decision. The expression goes shuttered, eyes flickering down and away from Suga’s, shoulders shrugging up with tension, hands pushing aggressively at the insides of his pockets so it comes out in front of him like a shield.
“Goodnight, Suga.” He turns and leaves the porch.
“Night,” Suga whispers, quiet enough that he isn’t sure Daichi heard him. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t watch him go. Blindly, his hand pulls out his keys and he fiddles with them, fumbling to get them into the lock and open the door before the moisture gathering in his eyes spills over.
He barely makes it inside, the door shutting firmly behind him with a push, before the tears slip their way out of the corners of his eyes. The keys fall to the floor somewhere beside him as both hands come up to cover his face, muffling the tight little hitches of breath spilling from his mouth.
At some point, Suga becomes aware that he’s standing in the dark, crying silently into his hands, gradually sliding his body down the front door. He straightens, aggressively wipes at the tears.
That’s that then.
This is what they agreed, so he’ll abide by it.
The keys are rescued from the floor and his phone dug out of a pocket. There’s a text from his mom, confirming his earlier suspicion that his parents are staying at his grandmothers for the night. He’s grateful for the empty house, he decides as he climbs the stairs and flicks the light on in his room. The mess of clothing still strewn across his bed greets him. He can’t muster the energy to clean it up tonight and slides off the jacket and sweater, digging through the pile of clothing until he comes up with his favorite sweatshirt. It’s at least a size too big, hangs off him, envelops his frame in a way that feels cozy and secure.
He’s glad his parents are gone for the evening, glad to have the house to himself. This is what they’d agreed. This has been the possibility all along. Suga can abide by that, he can allow himself the memories of the best date he’s ever been on, can enjoy the soft warmth in his chest he’ll feel when he remembers the way Daichi had tucked him into his side and pressed a brush of lips to his head. He can stay friends, refuse to allow things to be awkward, move on and pretend that he’s as happy with the decision as Daichi is. He can do all of that. Tomorrow. He can do all of that tomorrow.
Tonight, Suga is going to wallow.
And wallow he does, settling onto the couch with a mug of tea, snuggled into the oversize sweatshirt and comfy pants, his mother's handmade afghan tossed over his legs. Some mindless romcom playing on the television as he stares into the depths of his cup. Eventually, the tears slipping their way down his cheeks dry up. He ignores the puffy feeling of his eyes, ignores the fact that he’s sure they’re red and the skin underneath them belies the fact he’s been crying softly for at least the past hour.
He also ignores his phone after the first few messages. He responds to his mom, tells her to give his grandmother his love. The text from Asahi comes in as he sends the message.
How was it?
Tell me everything.
Suga sets the phone down, loses it somewhere in the blankets and pillows his legs are tangled in. Ignores it as it dings again. Ignores it again a few minutes later. And again the next time. The fourth time it goes off, Suga reaches down and turns off the phone, doesn’t look at the name on the screen. It can’t be important enough that it can’t wait until the morning. Tonight, Suga just wants to be sad.
The main character in the movie is in the middle of making some stupid mistake that’s going to cause a miscommunication and potentially ruin everything. Suga hasn’t really been paying attention, but the plot isn’t that hard to follow. He’s mentally berating the classically handsome sweater wearing romantic interest for refusing to apply logic to the situation and adding to the miscommunication when the doorbell rings.
He debates ignoring it, but their only common late night visitor is the old lady across the street. Her pet “escapes” frequently and she always implores Suga or his parents for their help. The cat inevitably turns up inside her house, too old himself to want to bother with the energy it would take to actually sneak outside. Privately, Suga thinks that she’s lonely.
What the hell, he decides. He’s feeling a little lonely himself tonight. Might as well.
It rings again, more insistent, multiple little dings as Suga untangles himself from the blanket, mug of tea clutched in his hand. He furrows his brow in confusion. She normally doesn’t ring it more than once, maybe the cat has actually escaped tonight.
“Just let me get my jacket,” Suga begins as he pulls the door open. “I’ll be right.... Daichi?”
“Suga. Hi. Can I come in?”
Suga violently ignores the little flicker of hope that springs to life inside of his chest as he steps back. “Uh, yeah. I guess.”
Daichi pushes through the door, shuts it behind him. He’s out of breath, cheeks flushed, eyes shining. Did he run here?
“Suga, listen.”
Suga sets the mug down, crossing his arms around himself in a parody of a hug. “I’m listening.”
“I know we agreed on one date. I know we said we’d try it out and if it didn’t work then we’d let it go. I know we agreed no pressure. And I’m so sorry I pushed it too hard. I’m so sorry I made you uncomfortable.”
What?
“What?” Suga asks, confusion furrowing his brow, tightening the corners of his lips.
“Please let me finish,” Daichi begs. He begs and Suga nods, keeps his mouth shut.
“Suga, I don’t want one date. I want to take you out again. And I know you aren’t feeling it. I know it’s not what we agreed on. Let me take you out one more time. Anything you want to do.” Daichi’s hands are practically flailing between them as he gestures with the words. “Please. One more chance to wow you.”
It clicks then, exactly what he’s talking about.
“You’re so stupid,” Suga informs him, dropping his arms to his sides.
Daichi blinks, hurt flashing across his expression. It doesn’t have long to rest there, because Suga is stepping into his space again, pulling the others' hands into his own.
“You wowed me the first time,” Suga whispers, soft, voice full of gentle affection. “You don’t need to try again.”
“Suga, I’m in love with you.”
The words crash over him like a wave, the frustration and despair of the past hour washed away in their current. Suga releases Daichi’s hands to throw arms around his neck. Daichi’s hands come up to his waist, wrap around him and tug him close.
“Well, that’s good because I’m in love with you too.”
Daichi’s gaze flickers down to his mouth and Suga’s lips twist up into a smile. He looks back up, seeking permission in his expression. Suga wants nothing more than to grant it.
“Hey Daichi?”
“Yeah?” The word is barely audible, even in the minimal space between them, riding a current of gentle awe.
“Wow me.”
Their mouths crash together. It’s a little uncoordinated, a little messy, a little sticky from residual ice cream flavor stuck to lips. Suga can still taste it when Daichi opens his lips, the sweet and tart mix of the ice cream, the faint flavor of the pop rocks that had spent so long clinging to his tongue. Suga’s sure that the residual flavor can’t pop and fizzle like the candy in their mouths, but the moment feels electric nonetheless.