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There was a certain kind of balance to Daichi and Koushi’s relationship.
Where Daichi pushed, Koushi would pull.
Where Daichi was sturdy and steadfast, Koushi was spirited, always moving.
After three years of being best friends, Daichi notices this dynamic like it’s second nature. He doesn’t think much on it, it just is.
It’s reminiscent of the way he breathes and blinks, the way he remembers to lock the door at night (his mom always forgets), and the way he receives. Despite being the antithesis of stillness, Sugawara Koushi was a constant, sewn into the very fabric of Daichi’s being.
Time spent with Koushi often resembled a routine; there were steps and guiding principles that all formed the careful gestalt of Koushi and Daichi’s friendship.
For instance, at lunch, Suga always has an extra snack, despite barely finishing his own bento most days. Asahi always asks why he’d bother packing so much food if he knows he won’t eat it. Suga just shrugs and makes some joke about his eyes being bigger than his stomach, but Daichi knows the answer—it’s carefully contained in the way that some days Koushi makes a big show of being full before offering Daichi the extra food, while on others he just wordlessly hands it to him.
On days when Koushi walks into practice looking paler than usual, dark circles standing out under hazel eyes that Daichi swears never look that dull, the two walk a different route to class, conveniently passing the first floor vending machine where Daichi decides to get rid of some spare change. He’s never thirsty, so he always settles on a can of coffee for Koushi.
It never fixes everything, neither of them expect it to, but by the time class starts, Daichi catches the familiar hazel glow of his best friend’s eyes and knows that things are at least a little bit better.
Daichi doesn’t mind silence. He has four younger siblings and is the captain of what may be the rowdiest volleyball team on the planet, so he relishes in moments of quiet whenever he can.
Suga, on the other hand, hates it. He tried to explain it to Daichi once, gesticulating wildly to get him to understand. All Daichi has to do is give him a look. Like most things they do, it communicates everything without saying anything.
I understand you, even if I could never relate.
You never have to justify yourself to me.
I’d give up silence my whole life if it meant making you happy.
So as they walk to and from school every day they have a routine that bleeds into a majority of the time they spend together, Suga talks and Daichi listens.
Yet something about listening to Koushi is different; he doesn’t know what, just that it is. Koushi’s voice is melodic, reminding him of a spring breeze. He always speaks softly, yet no matter what they discuss, his voice is filled to the brim with passion and emotion. When Koushi talks, Daichi never feels tired, he feels at peace. In fact, it’s better than silence.
Koushi’s mind travels a mile a minute, he’s always thinking and he always tells Daichi exactly what’s going through his head.
Sometimes, he talks about the poetry anthology Shimizu gave him for his birthday, telling Daichi all about the poems he would absolutely love and then all the ones he’d think are pretentious and melodramatic.
Usually, in the mornings, he asks questions, some ridiculous and some serious, but all treated with the same level of validity.
Koushi recounts details that only he’d notice; like the faintest blush on Shimizu’s face after Tanaka had enthusiastically thanked her for handing him a water bottle, or the way Tsukkishima seemed less prickly after Coach Ukai told him his serves were getting much better.
The fifteen-minute walk to and from school was special to Daichi. It was just him and Suga, which garnered importance in its own right, but it was also so much more than that. It had become the slightest glimpse into the way Koushi saw the world. Every evening after they parted ways, something in Daichi’s chest would feel lighter and warmer, the world felt more vibrant, and the silence that filled Koushi’s absence was faintly painful. Daichi would tell himself that this must be how Koushi feels, that he missed him because he knew that this image of the world was temporary, and that this beauty was a byproduct of the routine that was so embedded into every fibre of his whole being.
This makes the disruption of said routine so much more painful.
It’s on the days where Koushi doesn’t even try to fill the silence. Where the two walk slightly further apart than usual; not stealing any of the usual glances. Where if their hands brush, Koushi jumps away like it burns.
The warmth in Daichi’s chest is replaced by a hollow feeling, almost as if someone cut a hole in the centre of his ribcage and replaced it with a cold and vast void. Every explanation as to why sits on the tip of his tongue, but Daichi could never verbalize it, even if he wanted to.
So Daichi talks instead.
He knows his stories are nowhere near as engaging as Koushi’s, that the timbre of his voice is too staccato to flow like Koushi’s voice does, and that the unusually quiet silver-haired boy beside him was only half-listening, his head still going a mile a minute.
But that’s okay. Neither of them minds much anyway.
At least, they try not to.
If Koushi’s parents are home, like they are today, Daichi grabs his wrist at the junction where the two usually split. He meets his best friend’s eyes and gives a wordless invitation.
Sleep over. Don’t let them get to you.
Silence blankets the moment, draping over them like a viscous goop, making the chilly evening feel colder than it should be.
He finally breaks and decides to ask aloud, “Can you stay over, Suga?” Another beat of silence, “Y’know since that English homework has been kicking my ass, I figured we could do it together.”
Normally, Koushi would try to resist a little, arguing that Daichi’s mom isn’t expecting them, or that he’s fine to go home.
Today, he just nods, which should be a good thing, but the impartial response just makes the proverbial hole in Daichi’s chest wider.
Daichi’s hand slips downwards a little bit and his fingers end up intertwined with Suga’s, squeezing twice before he starts to tug him along. They stay that way until they get home, and Daichi needs both hands to open the door.
Once they get inside and Daichi calls out, declaring that Suga’s staying over, things get louder and Koushi puts up a mask. Despite the fact that he hates to see him like this, he finds a small bit of pride in the fact that Suga never has to hide this side of himself from Daichi, that he’s different compared to everyone else.
After fighting off the twins, who are almost more excited about Koushi sleeping over than Daichi himself, Daichi ushers Suga upstairs, insisting that he takes the first shower. Daichi then grabs the extra pair of clothes Koushi had habitually begun to leave at the Sawamura house, smoothing out the creases and handing them to his best friend with care.
By the time Daichi is finished showering and he can smell dinner cooking in the kitchen downstairs, the aching in his chest begins to subside, and Suga starts to look like himself again.
Daichi sits at the foot of the bed, flipping through the poetry anthology that Koushi had annotated and given to Daichi to read. Koushi is lying on his back further up the bed. Daichi’s speaker softly plays music, to disrupt the silence. Every once in a while, he’ll tell Koushi that he was right, he loved that last poem and the one before that was dull like he said it would be.
Daichi remembers some weird philosophical thought experiment that Suga told him about last year, where a man is cursed by a demon to live his life exactly as it currently was for eternity. He doesn’t remember what the point of the theory was, just that if the rest of his life was sitting in his room at peace with Koushi, he could die the happiest man alive.
When Daichi’s mom calls them down to dinner, Koushi smiles at him, just a bit, and the familiar lightness in his chest comes back.
Dinner is still spent with Daichi filling the silence—something that really isn’t needed in the Sawamura house, but he can tell Koushi appreciates it nonetheless. It allows Koushi to stay quiet, it puts less pressure on him to act like everything is normal. He asks about the test he helped his sister study for and then tells his mother about practice.
Somewhere in the middle of his story, Koushi’s hand slips into Daichi’s palm. The lightness in Daichi’s chest jolts up and his face must be flushed for some reason because his mom is asking if he’s okay.
Koushi starts to pull back, but before he can, Daichi is tightly gripping Koushi’s hand.
He squeezes once, it’s okay, it says.
Koushi squeezes back, a wordless thank you.
Daichi and his mom wash up together after dinner is over and Suga sits in the other room, teaching the twins to draw the various animals they keep requesting.
At one point, his mom looks knowingly at where Suga is and then back to him. She smiles and says, “You know, I’m really proud of you, Daichi. I’m so glad you’re happy.”
Daichi feels like they’re sharing a secret, except he isn’t too sure exactly what it is.
When the kitchen is clean and they both go back upstairs to do homework, Koushi has the same sad look in his eyes. He drags his feet all the way through their English homework, and Daichi decides to read the chapter Takeda assigned for homework in their Literature class aloud so Koushi doesn’t have to do it himself. They really should be studying for the Biology test on Monday, but when Koushi moves to open his textbook, Daichi stops him, declaring that it was late and they’d work on it tomorrow.
Daichi takes the spare futon while he insists that Koushi take the bed.
The room is completely silent, with the only disruptions being the occasional sound of Daichi’s mom getting ready to go to bed or the sounds of a car on the street outside.
Daichi listens, waiting. He can hear Koushi, breathing softly from across the room; it’s disturbed, so Daichi knows he isn’t asleep yet.
“Dai? Are you up?” Koushi asks, the dark amplifying the softness of his voice.
Daichi looks up expectantly to find that Koushi is already staring at him. The look in his eyes is weary and his mouth is downturned, almost a pout.
“I can’t sleep.”
“That’s okay, neither can I,” Daichi replies, steadfast and present.
“Can… actually nevermind, it’s okay. Sorry to bother you,” Koushi looks away, but Daichi is still watching. The moonlight leaking in from the cracks in Daichi’s curtains illuminates Koushi’s silver hair, almost mimicking a halo. Despite the intensity with which Daichi can feel the other boy’s pain, he finds himself wondering what good he did in a past life to end up with an angel in his bedroom.
He wants to hold Koushi until nothing can hurt either of them anymore.
He wants to run his hands through his silver hair, smoothing every cowlick and curl.
He wants to kiss his best friend.
Instead, he finds himself answering, “You couldn’t.” Koushi just looks confused now and Daichi realizes that he must’ve stayed quiet for too long, “Bother me, that is. Even if you were trying.”
Koushi looks away again, lying back down. Daichi thinks he isn’t going to answer, until the tenor lilt of his voice cuts through the silence, “I just… I was wondering,” he trails off again.
“Do you think you could lie up here with me?”
Daichi bolts upright and Koushi looks like he’s nearly jumped out of his own skin.
“I’m sorry. Shit, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep. Can we just pretend that never happened?”
But Daichi’s already standing up, stepping gingerly over the futon. He sits down on the edge of the mattress, feeling it sink underneath his familiar weight, “Don’t. I was just surprised, okay, Kou?”
“…okay,” he replies, his eyes are on the comforter as he wrings it in his hands, long and slender fingers stretching the fabric taut.
Daichi adjusts himself until he’s lying on his side, facing his best friend. The boy in question eventually lies back down, first on his back until he turns, facing Daichi.
For a while, they both just watch each other. Daichi’s eyes are scanning over Koushi, taking in every breath, blink, and movement. In turn, Koushi watches too; his glance is less analytical, and Daichi almost thinks he’s looking for something.
After what could have been ten minutes or an hour, Daichi opens his arms to Koushi, “Come here,” he says, his voice so quiet, Koushi wouldn’t have heard him if he wasn’t only a few inches away. He knows that they both want to. He knows that’s what Koushi’s been searching for this whole time.
Koushi shuffles closer, a bit awkwardly, until he’s in Daichi’s arms. One of Daichi’s hands comes up to his back while Koushi turns and buries his face in the crook of Daichi’s neck. His other hand goes up to Koushi’s hair, trailing his hands through it; he finds that it’s just as soft as he imagined it to be.
Koushi inhales, shuddering a bit, and Daichi can feel his t-shirt begin to be stained by warm tears, but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he just hugs him tighter, their chests flush.
The only noise now is Koushi crying. The rest of the house sleeps, and there are no cars outside. Daichi lowers his head, gently kissing the crown of Koushi’s head. “It’s okay,” he mumbles into his hair, “It’s gonna be okay, alright?”
Time passes differently, the seconds intermingle, overlapping and filling the room with a sense of unrealness.
After a while, Koushi stops shaking, and gingerly he pulls back to look at Daichi. Without his face pushed up against Daichi’s shoulder, the wetness on his shirt feels cold, but he doesn’t care. He’s too busy, enveloped in examining every inch of Koushi’s face through the darkness.
His eyes are puffy and his cheeks shine where the tears had trailed down his face, he’s sniffling a bit. Daichi still thinks he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life.
Koushi laughs wetly, and despite the fragility of the moment, Daichi recalls spring breezes and golden afternoons.
“I’m kind of a mess, huh,” he giggles, voice raw from crying. Daichi finds himself watching, still. He doesn’t think he’ll ever stop.
“I think,” he responds after a moment, “you don’t give yourself enough credit.”
Suga’s eyebrows crinkle again, and he starts pouting.
“Also, you got snot on my shirt,” Daichi grins.
“Good. Prick,” he says sticking out his tongue, but Daichi feels no malice as he holds Koushi tightly.
They’re close, noses almost touching, but Daichi has never felt more comfortable in his life. And when Koushi leans even closer, he reciprocates, their lips brushing chastely.
Koushi kisses him, his soft lips gently pressed against Daichi’s own.
He’s read stories of soulmates kissing, describing it as a burst of electricity, shocking every nerve in one’s body.
Kissing Koushi doesn’t feel like that.
Instead, it feels like a familiar warmth in his chest intensified, spreading to the top of his head and to the tips of his fingers which are still buried in Suga’s hair.
The world could be ending outside Daichi’s window, the sky could be falling, and Daichi wouldn’t be able to notice anything but Koushi’s lips, Koushi’s hands, Koushi’s chest as his heart hammers against his own, there was nothing but Koushi.
As far as Daichi is concerned, nothing else could exist in this moment.
They both pull back, catching their breath.
Neither of them say anything more, but it was only because they didn’t have to. Every breath they both take, every time Koushi traces circles on Daichi’s back, every time Daichi’s fingers comb through silver hair, the words I love you resound, filling every nook and cranny of Daichi’s bedroom. Maybe they’ve been there all along; maybe he just hasn’t been looking for them.
Eventually, Koushi’s hand slows, as he drifts off. Daichi waits until his breathing evens out.
He doesn’t remember when exactly he falls asleep, just that he does it with the stupidest grin on his face.
The world is fickle, Daichi knows that much. The only true constant is that life is filled with curveballs and no matter how much you hate that, it will persist. Hell, sometimes he wonders if life throws random shit at you just because you hate it so much.
But when he wakes up the next morning, his limbs tangled with his best friend’s, he can’t bring himself to care. All he can care about is the way Suga’s eyelashes flutter a bit in his sleep; the way the golden light of morning reflects on his hair in a way that is so different from how it did last night, yet so familiar at the same time.
Daichi finds comfort in the familiarity, the way that he can feel Koushi’s every inhale and exhale against his chest.
Most importantly, he finds comfort in a practiced balance, the equilibrium of his love for Koushi. The way that this love is so deeply ingrained into him that he feels it with every breath he takes, in tandem with the angel in his bed.
Loving Koushi is impossibly easy, so magnificently easy he doesn’t even have to think about it. Daichi thinks that loving him must be sewn into his very being, alongside the other fundamental things that make him who he is.
Koushi mutters a bit in his sleep, frowning at the light, then burrows himself further into Daichi’s chest.
I could get used to this, he thinks, smiling softly.
I think I already am.
I think I always have been.