Archive of Our Own ^beta

“You need a day off.”

Sugawara squints pointedly at Daichi. It’s not intimidating in the slightest, because he’s straining to peer over the top of his monitor to glare at him. His best friend does that quite often—a groundhog of sorts—peeking and popping up to ask him along to coffee runs or confirm details about current deals.

“Just one more quick run through,” Daichi says, not even glancing up from his slides, “This deck isn’t quite finished yet...” He’s sure Sugawara can see the reflection of the screen in his blue-light glasses. Despite that, he can feel his best friend’s concerned gaze on him. 

“Daichi. You’re working on a pitch that’s due at the end of next quarter,” Sugawara doesn’t let up, ever, “Why don’t you work on something more pressing? Like getting a haircut.”

At the jab, Daichi peers up with a look that teases, Are you happy with yourself?

The hairs at the nape of his neck are a tad bit longer than he normally likes—he prefers keeping it clean and closely cropped, low-maintenance but neat. He knows he looks a little overgrown, and Sugawara rubbing it in his face is just enough to get him to tear his lazer-like focus from his work.

Sugawara grins, Yes, yes I am happy with myself.

He’s succeeded in his task to get Daichi to stop working. The plain, austere clock on the wall reads 8:37pm, and it’s about that time of day where Daichi will develop a migraine if he stares at an email for five more minutes. He begins packing up as Sugawara does the two key-click to logoff of his own desktop. Wordless routine ensues. The two leave their desks, pack their bags, push in their wheely chairs, and wave goodbye to Ennoshita at the front desk, then take the elevator down from the thirteenth floor.

The elevator clangs every even floor, but it’s a sound they’ve gotten used to.

“I was serious about you needing taking a break,” Sugawara says, twirling his tangerine-tinted lanyard around his finger.

“I know you were,” Daichi hums, as the elevator floors blip upon each floor they pass.  

Silence hangs between them. Daichi just wants to be home. He’s tired and planning any sort of break sounds like an additional step he just doesn’t have time for. Laying in bed seems like an easy option—but he’s reliably Sawamura Daichi—and he sees no point in laying in bed unless he is sick. Laying in bed when nothing is wrong is simply a luxury.

“You haven’t used a single vacation day. If I see you come in on Monday, I’m wringing your neck. Do something with Kuroo. If even if doing something is doing nothing together.”  

Daichi lets out a weak laugh, or maybe it’s a sigh. The two sound quite similar.

“I’ll think about it, okay Suga?”

He doesn’t turn, simply rubs the back of his head—through his slightly overgrown hair—as Sugawara considers him. The elevator door opens and the two wave goodbye outside the building as they head back to their apartments, in opposite directions. He knows without looking that Sugawara will glance over his shoulder at him. So, he can’t look back.

---

Sugawara is a powerful force of nature.

This is precisely why Daichi finds himself in Kuroo’s apartment on a Saturday night, rummaging around Kuroo’s closet to see if he has appropriate hiking gear. He has the spare key to Kuroo’s place, and he knows Kuroo won’t mind him looking through his closet even though he’s currently absent, who-knows-where with his drinking buddies, Taketora and Lev, on a Saturday night. Finding a lightweight, red athletic shirt that’s featherlike to the touch, and a pair of mesh black shorts, Daichi folds them and places them on Kuroo’s bed.

He’s in the middle of looking for a pair of suitable shoes for a hike when the phone rings. Daichi decides to let it ring, since whoever is calling is probably looking for Kuroo anyways. The call goes to voicemail and the message plays through on speakerphone: “Tetsurou—I’m calling to let you know that the offer I made to you in office yesterday still stands.”

The raspy voice echoes through the living room into Kuroo’s bedroom. Daichi passes by the phone in the living room to get to the entryway, where Kuroo keeps his many shoes stacked on shelves by the door. His dress shoes for work are on the lowest shelf since they’re used the most.

“…It would be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you to travel…” Daichi smiles, knowing Kuroo loves going on the occasional business trip. He looks over the second tier of Kuroo’s shoe-shelf, which houses his athletic shoes.

“…You’re young, you have the energy,” the voicemail continues, “And most of all, you have the love for the sport,” Kuroo does love volleyball, it would be hard not to notice.

“So being a global spokesperson,” Daichi furrows his brow, intrigued.

The static voice continues, “…For not just the Japanese National Volleyball but Olympic volleyball worldwide—Kuroo, why am I having to sell this to you? It sells itself!”

The raspy voice grows strained as though Kuroo’s boss on the other end is rubbing his temples in frustrated confusion. There’s a sigh in the background of the recording and an intake of breath. Daichi’s holding his own as he pretends to ruminate if a pair of old tattered volleyball shoes or some sparkling running shoes Kuroo’s probably received for free are better for hiking.

“Tetsurou,” the voice levels with more certainty, “This is a dream job,” the answering machine continues, “I can’t think of anyone better. We’ll pay for your flights, and we can find renters for your apartment when you’re ever out of the country for more than three months at a time,” Daichi stills, his fingers freezing, barely touching the laces of Kuroo’s shoes. The fingers don’t feel like his, they’re numb and clumsy. Daichi commands them to flex, though it feels unfamiliar.

The voice continues, droning.

“…won’t have to lift a finger,” Daichi listens, unwillingly, “Listen, I don’t have a backup in case you say no because I don’t want you to say no. We’ll talk Monday.”

There’s a harsh click that signifies the end of the call, and Daichi snaps out of his eavesdropping. Is it eavesdropping? Yes, it is, I shouldn’t have listened, that wasn’t meant for me, Daichi thinks. What else was he supposed to do, plug his fingers in his ears? Suddenly, he feels like he shouldn’t even be in Kuroo’s apartment. It feels like he doesn’t belong.

So, like a thief in the night, Daichi wordlessly picks up the tattered volleyball shoes—just in case Kuroo doesn’t want his new shoes dirty—and then hurriedly grabs a pen and a sticky note from Kuroo’s desk.

Wanna go hiking? Pick you up at 10.

He caps the pen and leaves the sticky note on the folded clothes on Kuroo’s bed, placing the shoes carefully by the bedroom door. Daichi knows Kuroo will be a more-than-a-little tipsy by the time he returns, and a light headache in the morning is a likely outcome. They’re nearing their thirties, so drinking nights are less intense than they would have been back in college. Regardless, Daichi knows Kuroo is not a morning person, so having his clothes already chosen for him for their date will be one less headache for him, severe hangover or not.

---

Jus’ woke up. Hiking?! Like man vs. wild!?!?

Kuroo Tetsurou, 9:32am

Upon the text notification, Daichi chuckles and continues shoving trail mix and bottles of water into his backpack. He is used to being made fun of this way by the city-slicker Tokyo native. Regardless, the thought of hiking had put a smile on his face. It would be a refreshing change to get a breath of fresh air and to sweat in an environment that wasn’t air-conditioned. After spending a Friday evening of web-searching, Daichi had settled on Henkan Mountain as their destination, which had a variety of moderate trails to choose from and which wasn’t too far of a drive from the city.

The best time to hike is the morning. However, for Kuroo on a Sunday, “morning” means about an hour before lunchtime. At eleven, Daichi finds himself on Kuroo’s doormat, ready to have to take out the spare key should Kuroo be unresponsive. Surprisingly, Daichi had not even the time to knock before Kuroo had bust the door open exclaiming, “I’m ready to go!”

Kuroo rarely gels his hair on the weekends, and today was no exception. He had answered the door with a yawn but was otherwise ready for their outing with Daichi’s preselected athletic shirt, shorts, and tattered, well-loved sneakers. As a publicity ambassador for Japanese volleyball, Kuroo sure looks the part. Even if his shoes are old, his easy smile and his well-toned body are picture perfect, revealing that just because he’s not an athlete professionally doesn’t mean he isn’t an athlete at all.

Kuroo pulls Daichi close for a good-morning peck, Daichi making a muffled grunt of surprise. He pulls away before Daichi can taste even more of the instant coffee on his lips, and they’re off.

After an hour drive, skyscrapers morphing into grass fields, Kuroo and Daichi settle into their normal rhythm. Kuroo tells Daichi about the latest athlete who he had run into—this time a badminton player on China’s team—and Daichi nodding and occasionally checking the phone to make sure he was on the right path. Daichi summarizes the latest self-improvement book he’s reading, a book that compiles the latest psychology studies related to achieving the best results whether it be in work, life, or love. Kuroo listens, fingers tapping the dashboard as the forest appears outside of their windows, grass plains whisking by. They melt into a comfortable silence, an aftereffect of several years of dating.

After thirty minutes into the drive, Daichi gets a call from his boss. He hesitates in wondering if he should answer, because it’s a Sunday, and even further, Daichi had made sure to email Ushijima that he would not be reachable today, unlike other Sundays.

In the moment he hesitates, he catches Kuroo’s eye, which is unreadable.

Daichi hurriedly presses the button to hang up and stop the phone from ringing, but he wishes he hasn’t as the silence after the ringtone cuts off is now uncomfortable, now unrelaxing, when it had been soothing just a second ago.

---

Somewhere around the bend of the river creek and before the intense incline that leads to the halfway point of their hike, Kuroo slows down besides Daichi.

Tufts of Kuroo’s hair are plastered to his forehead, Daichi himself can feel his hair stuck to his own under his baseball cap. The sun is high above them, but despite the intense heat, it really is a pleasant day. A cool gust of wind lifts some moisture from the river and Daichi shivers in quick relief. Kuroo sidles up beside them as they catch their breath, the barely-there space between them comfortable even though it’s muggy.  

Daichi opens his backpack and takes a swig of water, then hands some to Kuroo, whose arm is already outstretched for some of it. After Kuroo empties half the bottle, he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and puts the bottle back in Daichi’s backpack.

“Spill. What’s the deal with this?”

Kuroo gestures all around them at the scenery, as though pointing to the greenery around them clarifies what his confusion is. Daichi lifts an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”

Kuroo asks, “Why are we hiking? We never do this.”

Daichi chuckles, “Because it’s a nice change of pace.” Kuroo isn’t exaggerating. Typically, Kuroo and Daichi frequent cafes on Sunday, or spend time at each other’s apartments watching movies—if they’re feeling especially fancy, maybe dinner at a rooftop bar. Special events such as friends’ weddings double as fancy dates for them. There hadn’t been recent need for any first-date kind-of-dates when they’ve been plus-ones for each other many times before.

Speaking of changing the pace, Daichi is reminded to continue on the path in front of them, though he can still feel Kuroo’s gaze on his back. 

His boyfriend presses, “Nothing else?”

There really is no reason, at least not one Daichi can think of, other than the itch to get out of the city. Maybe his Miyagi roots occasionally call out to him. He had just felt an overwhelming compulsion to try something new with Kuroo this weekend. Or, perhaps Sugawara is more convincing than Daichi admits. 

Daichi turns around, “Can I not take my boyfriend out for a hike without getting interrogated?”

At the joke, Kuroo seems to relax a little. His voice, which Daichi thinks sounds a lot like caramel, morphs back to normal consistency, “Not when we’ve never done this before, Mr. Predictable.” He enunciates the teasing nickname and draws it out just a bit to ruffle Daichi’s feathers. If this were any other situation, Daichi would fire back any quip on hand—one becomes armed with them after a good chunk of time with Kuroo. Yet today doesn’t feel like any other day. 

“I don’t know,” Daichi feels himself saying, “I used to go hiking a lot with my siblings. Us country bumpkins like that, I guess.” The air lightens a bit and Kuroo huffs out a surprised laugh.

“Isn’t any walk in the countryside basically a hike?”

“Oh, shut up.” Daichi calls over his shoulder, walking a bit faster to egg Kuroo on into having to catch up.

Not one to be outdone, Kuroo simply strides fast to stay next to Daichi. Daichi curses, because Kuroo’s long, lanky legs make it easy for him to go fast, when Daichi has to almost-jog to keep a good pace. This trail is not to be taken lightly, but when Daichi had asked what level of difficulty Kuroo had wanted to hike, of course Kuroo said, “Harder hike means a better view, right?”

That was precisely how they have ended up on a level five trail that totals seven point five miles. In any case, Daichi figures he would have had an easier time at the gym.

He forgets the soreness building in his calves when he catches a glimpse of Kuroo by his side. Like always, he must look upwards when seeing Kuroo. It’s worth it to see the gentle, soft smile Kuroo wears that’s only reserved for Daichi, the one makes him feel safe no matter how long it’s been since they’ve started dating. Kuroo meets his eyes, playfully nodding to Daichi. Daichi feels his already quick heartbeat swell three times and create even more heat in his chest. Though they’re a solid hour drive from home, in the countryside, the familiarity of Kuroo’s panting and the comfort of his presence next to Daichi make the new seem like an old memory. 

When they reach a clearing, Kuroo pauses, catching his breath. The higher altitude has made the air thinner. Beyond the clearing, there is not a clearly marked path that continues up the rest of the mountain. Daichi scratches his head in temporary confusion, sweeping his eyes around the scenery to look for any hidden trails or overgrown signs.

There are none.

Not wanting to turn back, Daichi bristles at the thought of their hike being cut short. They will finish this hike, they will enjoy this hike, if Sawamura Daichi has anything to do with it. Pointing to a direction up the mountain that he feels particularly good about, he takes a big step and swings his right arm forward to jumpstart his momentum.

He calls out, “This way.”

“There’s no path here,” Kuroo observes, lagging closely behind.

Daichi smiles, feeling particularly confident, “Since when were you the goody-two shoes of us?”

“Just checkin’,” Daichi can feel Kuroo eyeing him curiously, and wishes that Kuroo would just catch up so they can get to the top of the mountain, faster, to enjoy the view together.

---

Sugawara snatches Daichi’s phone, and as always, Daichi is a little too slow and not quite motivated enough in time to stop it from happening. Quickly, nimbly, and delightedly, Sugawara navigates to the dating app he’s installed on Daichi’s phone, the one with a little heart and an arrow, one that Daichi does not touch. He’s left it collecting dust in his folder of apps that he uses less, but every time Sugawara and Daichi have lunch break, Sugawara snatches the phone, types in the password—it’s Daichi’s birthday—and sends messages to random strangers, convinced Daichi needs an overly involved wingman.

Daichi knows better than to fight it. 

“SCORE! He said yes,” Daichi munches on his tempura while pondering who he is, or what he has said yes to. Unimportant, he should be worrying about the top-sheet analysis he’s supposed to send out later today. Then Sugawara bounces, “Looks like someone has a date for tonight!”

By tonight, Sugawara is referring to the sports festival thrown every year in their province. In recent years, it’s become quite the tourist trap, with booths and merchandise for the most popular sports teams, including the volleyball team, which his former high-school underclassmen, Hinata and Kageyama are on. There are also several performances by local bands, dance troupes, and most notably—the taiko drum team, which Saeko Tanaka leads. It’s a blend of a cultural festival and a celebration of athletics, and so a fusion of traditional enjoyment and modern entertainment.

It really is quite a fun time, flying solo or not.

Clearing his throat, Daichi retorts, “I don’t see why I need a date to come to the festival.”

“Because, no offense, Daichi,” which means Daichi is about to be offended, “You should start dating. Why not give it a single try tonight? If you hate me for it, I’ll delete the app tomorrow.” Sugawara gives him a dogged, challenging smile, but one that promises he will keep his word.

That’s promising, though it was inevitable. Daichi acquiesces by shooting Sugawara a dirty look that says, Fine, you win for now.

Between bites of lunch, Daichi asks, “Are you just tired of me tagging along with you and Oikawa?”

“Never! …A little!” Sugawara snickers, but then his face softens, “Never! I just want you to be happy, too!”

Sugawara navigates to Daichi’s own profile, pointing out how he had to use pictures of Daichi from college because he hasn’t taken any “fun” ones recently. Daichi does look happy in those photos, and the relaxed, at-ease, younger Daichi seems like an entirely different person. The first time he had scrolled through the profile Sugawara had made for him, it had made him feel bittersweet.

There’s one with him sandwiched between Tanaka and Noya, who both have a beer in hand, red-faced and wildly giggly, both leaning on Daichi, who has a bashful smile towards Kiyoko, who was taking the photo. You look reliable in this one, and since there’s alcohol in the photo, they’ll know you’re still open to coming along for a good time, Sugawara had said.

Another is a picture of him at the gym, snapped by Asahi, the only one who would come with him in the morning before classes to workout. It’s a mirror selfie of the two of them post-workout, a picture that particularly highlights Daichi’s figure, since Daichi is the type to wear compression-wear to the gym. Asahi had sent to Sugawara when Sugawara had desperately texted, We’re making Daichi a dating profile. Send pics ASAP.

Is this good? *1 picture attached*

Perfect. See, you know what I’m talking about. This is why you’re my favorite, Ashley.

Please do not call me that.

Sugawara had laughed for approximately five minutes straight, and then set that photo saying, Every profile needs at least one thirst-trap.

And then the best photo, the one Sugawara had put first, what he called, the bait and hook, is the only photo that makes Daichi genuinely embarrassed, even though the last two were embarrassing enough. It’s of Daichi before his first day of work, taken by Sugawara. He’s in his best suit. He had been proud, excited, ready that day, and his smile is wider than in any of the other photos. 

Why do we have to put this one? Daichi had asked.

This particular photo only makes Daichi uncomfortable because it almost feels personal to him. The other photos he’s fine with others seeing, but this one had seemed a little special. A very special time to him.

Because it’s you, Daichi. You look like you in this photo. Do you like it?

Daichi had contemplated the photo. He did like it, he had decided.

Sugawara has quite an astounding job of marketing Daichi to the throngs of men and women available in Tokyo, so much so that he almost doesn’t recognize himself.

He technically has twice the dating pool, yet he has about negative interest in anyone. Online apps seemed like too much effort for such little reward, and besides, Daichi favored organic meetings. But in this day and age, Sugawara is right. An organic meeting for Daichi would have to be at his favorite grocery store, the gym, or the office, and as a creature of habit, Daichi knows the dating pool from those three places is instead a dating puddle.

Daichi wouldn’t know where to start.

Daichi sighs, “Do I really need to meet up with someone to be happy?” There must be something crestfallen and defeated in Daichi’s voice because Sugawara softens his razor-like intensity.

“Daichi, no you don’t,” He comes close and gives Daichi’s shoulders a light, reassuring pat, “But you know, meeting someone new could be really exciting!”

His voice picks back up to a chipper tone as Daichi’s screen lights back up, signaling a message notification from the dating app. The sound notification is ridiculous, one that sounds like a whistle and a tinkle of bells at the same time. Picking it back up, Sugawara taps hurriedly, grin growing a mile a minute as he texts away. How Sugawara texts so fast is beyond Daichi, who prefers to use the swipe-keyboard and still manages to text slower than his best friend.

“His name is Kuroo Tetsurou,” Sugawara says, slowly and carefully, in between texting on Daichi’s behalf, “Says he’s wearing a red yukata tonight. That should be really easy to spot.”

Too easy to spot.

In fact, Daichi spots him from a mile away that night, standing at the edge of the crowd near the stage, where the taiko drum team is about to perform. Saeko and her ensemble of drummers are lining up next to the stage, wheeling the wooden-barreled drums near the ramp to get to the platform. Sugawara shakes Daichi’s left arm and nods his head at the conspicuous yukata-wearer, as if Daichi isn’t already aware of his presence, trying to look anywhere but the deep-cherry yukata and the mess of jet-black hair. His prospective date’s suave exterior and relaxed demeanor make Daichi hyperaware of his own uneasiness. In retrospect, the amount of time he had spent choosing between a black tee-shirt and a white one seems a tiny bit ridiculous.

Sugawara’s whisper sounds more like a hiss, “Go over there and introduce yourself!” Sugawara then gives Daichi a gentle push which takes him back to high school days, when Sugawara was convinced that he used to have a crush on Michimiya and would none-too-gracefully try to help him out during breaks and lunches.

Daichi sighs, steels his nerves, and skirts around the edge of the crowd, gulping down uneasiness the whole way. He’s glad when the announcer booms out, “Please welcome the Miyagi Taeko Drum Team!” Because then, all the faces turn to the stage, even Kuroo Tetsurou’s. Daichi excuses himself and apologizes while weaving his way through the crowd, trying to get to the back, and is glad he has some obstacles to give him time to think about how he’ll introduce himself.

But he reaches the edge of the crowd so quickly, and somehow, he finds himself two people away from Kuroo Tetsurou. Just as Daichi’s about to clear his throat and introduce himself, onstage, Saeko raises her right arm and a thick wooden drumstick over her head, and the crowd falls silent. Then, a thundering beat of drums begin, powerful, unrelenting, and impossible-to-ignore. Saeko’s drum routines are always a marvel, and always magnificent, but the hammering adrenaline in Daichi’s chest is somehow beating it out this time around, being so close to the first romantic prospect Daichi has had in a while.

The drum team joins in with Saeko, and the routine commences, ten times more demanding and engrossing as it was before. Daichi can feel his palms sweat.

Yet, with all the noise, Kuroo Tetsurou seems to sense Daichi’s presence next to him and looks side to side, eyes lighting when his gaze falls on Daichi. This is it. Upon closer inspection, Kuroo’s yukata is a deep, rich red, with a thread-count higher than Daichi’s sheets, and he’s tall. So much so, that Daichi must tilt his head up a bit. A flicker of amusement, recognition, and a change in energy seem to take over his face, and suddenly Kuroo is saying something to Daichi which he can’t quite hear with the beating of the drums. Struggling, Daichi shakes his head, and points to his ear. Kuroo tries again, and Daichi tries to read his lips.

It looks like he’s saying, “You’re so lame.” 

“I know I’m lame,” Daichi flusters, already confirming in his head that this night is not going to go as well as he might secretly have hoped, his worst fears coming true, “I don’t normally… go out too often.”

Kuroo’s eyes widen and he tilts his head. Then, he pulls Daichi back from the edge of the crowd and leans in to talk into Daichi’s ear, which if anything only makes Daichi’s palms even sweatier.

“I didn’t call you lame,” Kuroo explains, “I asked you for your name, to make sure it was you. But Mr. I-Don’t-Normally-Go-Out-Too-Often, do you have something shorter I can call you? Sawamura, right?” Daichi nods, and Kuroo smiles, which for some reason, somehow relaxes him despite every nerve in Daichi’s body telling him that he’s doing something he’s never done before, flight, flight, flight when all of Daichi’s steady determination is usually fight, fight, fight.

“Why would I ever think you’re lame?” Kuroo chuckles wondrously, eyes now turning from Daichi to Saeko and her team. Then his eyes skate back to Daichi, who straightens up, because one’s posture often can help with confidence. Kuroo nods his head over to a table nearby, toward a stray food stand, which will be a little further and allow them to talk without having to yell. Daichi falls in step with Kuroo, and it’s both refreshing and intense when they sit down at the table, and suddenly Kuroo is much less taller than Daichi and there is nowhere else to look but Kuroo.

“You are so funny over text,” Kuroo offers. Daichi stiffens. Now his posture is too pin-straight, and so he takes a deep breath, to will himself to relax. It doesn’t work.

“That’s because you were talking to my friend Suga,” Daichi manages a laugh as he admits the slightly embarrassing situation, and then the truth comes out easy, because he’s talking about someone other than himself, “Suga downloaded the app and is basically my dating PR representative. You can call me Daichi.”

There’s a pause, but only because Kuroo lifts an eyebrow, “PR, huh? That’s what I do for a living, and Suga’s doing it for free? A good friend.”

“Yeah, he is. The best,” Daichi stares through the wooden table they’re sitting at, not sure what people talk about on first dates. Not sure what Kuroo Tetsurou would like to talk about.

“Somethin’ got ya down?” Kuroo asks, “You look a lil tired, or something like that.”

Daichi considers his own body and takes a second to think about how he’s really feeling. After assessing how he feels, he slumps a little, “Just a little tired from work. Not a big deal. Sorry, don’t mean to bring down the mood.”

“Hm, then it’s good you came out for some fun tonight,” Kuroo smiles, and because of it, Daichi doesn’t feel like a burden. The beat of the drums quickens, intensifies in the distance, and Kuroo and Daichi look over at the stage. A projection on the stage wall behind the drummers has turned on, and now there is a montage of the different Japanese sports teams being honored at the festival. Daichi doesn’t miss the way Kuroo’s eyes sparkle at the sight.

Kuroo points to the projection, which shows a familiar raven-haired boy, clad in a volleyball uniform, “You follow volleyball?” Daichi nods, and Kuroo follows up, “Do you know Kageyama Tobio?”

“I do. I was his captain in high school,” Kuroo’s eyes widen in shock and surprise at Daichi, and it’s a lot of pressure, to keep someone’s interest when you want to be interesting to them. Daichi swallows and asks, “You know him too?”

“Yes!” Kuroo is so excited his voice almost escalates to a shout, “I helped him sign his sponsorship with Mikasa. How does sitting courtside for the Adlers sound? Or any team you wanna watch? Close enough to smell the players’ sweat and everythin’.”

Sitting that close courtside to the players is a thrilling concept but sitting close to Kuroo is also a thrilling concept.

Daichi tries to fake-grimace but he’s smiling anyway, “Do we have to sit that close?”

“Not if you don’t want to sit that close to the court,” Kuroo quips, shrugging, “I’d only be staring at you anyways.”

Though the current date hasn’t been going so smoothly, the invitation to another date, hypothetical or not, is interesting. Any feasible retort from Daichi is caught and dies in his throat, too surprised by the cheesy forwardness to do anything about it. Kuroo smiles wanly, and if Daichi didn’t know any better, he’d think Kuroo was a tad embarrassed. Kuroo seems to cough to clear his throat, and Daichi feels more like himself, feels like laughing again. Kuroo is simultaneously hard and easy to be around. 

“Do you always…” Daichi ventures, into the unknown, “… sweet-talk randoms at traditional Japanese culture festivals?” He leans in a bit to Kuroo, who places his chin on his hand, and smirks.

“No…” Kuroo cheeks, “Just you.”

Daichi scoffs, pretending the cliché compliments aren’t working, even though he’s not sure who this is more embarrassing for. Sugawara did find Kuroo Tetsurou on a dating app, after all. These lines could be rehearsed, though Kuroo doesn’t seem one to would try the same trick twice, for the challenge of it. Daichi takes the time to compose himself, turning his gaze back to the stage, now showing clips of the Japanese Olympic swim team as Saeko’s drum team begins the finale. Daichi tears his eyes away from the performance when he thinks he’s ready to try at conversation again, and meets Kuroo’s eyes, which seemed to be trained on him.

“What’s this, getting a head start on staring at me before our next date?” The words are out of Daichi’s mouth before he can think about them, which doesn’t happen often. He freezes.

“Our next date? So you will come with me to a game,” Kuroo laughs, with his whole chest and his sleeves of his yukata fall as he claps his hands, “What are you planning next, Sawamura, our honeymoon?”

“You wish,” Daichi fires back, defensively, because Daichi is the type to make plans before they might be necessary. “You can call me Daichi.”

“Daichi, you’re a little competitive,” Kuroo says, looking him up and down, “I can feel it.”

“You are too,” Daichi comments, thinking all the while, You are like me.   

“I know what I want,” Kuroo says simply.

The rest of the night is passed in easy back and forth, about where they grew up, when they started playing volleyball, when and why they stopped playing.

Talk of volleyball meanders into talk of anything and everything, of best friends, one with silver hair and a cheeky grin, the other with a quiet voice and yet the firmest determination; of past loves; and of their dreams. Kuroo’s dream is simple—to spread love for volleyball, to live life as it comes. Daichi’s is unclear, he starts forming a thought and realizes it’s difficult because he doesn’t know how it should come out. He knows it involves being his best and pushing his limits, but he doesn’t know how or where or if he’s even on the right track.

Yet even in his verbal stumbling, Kuroo listens to Daichi, then engages. Kuroo has a knack for picking out what Daichi is about to say before he even says it, with his suggestions, interjections, and questions. He’s a sculptor, giving form to Daichi’s incoherent pile of thoughts, drawing them into beautiful shapes Daichi would have never known how to carve with his own hands.

Daichi has never wanted to learn more about someone else, listen more to someone else, someone whose voice is sweet and deep and rich but also lighthearted and carries the perfect notes of humor with the gentlest of grins.

Kuroo regales him with tales of working with athletes and of his frequent business trips around the world, his paid-for vacations with Kozume Kenma, his famous streamer best-friend, and all the paparazzi-ridden fashion shows he gets to attend, courtesy of the Haibas. Every story sounds like fiction, but the sparkle in Kuroo’s eyes tells Daichi they’re anything but. Special things happen to special people. Daichi couldn’t even dream of having conversation-fodder like this. He’s been bested in this regard.

He finds himself hanging on every word of Kuroo’s, finds himself smiling too long after jokes, or nodding his head too emphatically at every single paragraph. Kuroo seems to find it entertaining because he points it out, “Now you’re staring, Sawamura.”

Then suddenly, Kuroo stands up and moves from his place from across Daichi to the seat on the bench right next to him. Then, Daichi can feel a heat in his esophagus and his chest that is only a heartbeat from detonation. But somehow, Kuroo laughs, the tension loosens, and they’re back to the back and forth.

The night grows late, but Daichi isn’t tired, and somehow Kuroo’s legs and his own are intertwined under the birch table and Daichi only realizes when Sugawara sneaks up behind them, the festival now over, reminding him it’s time to carpool home. Daichi responds by jumping up, ready to go, and his knees knock against Kuroo’s. Daichi’s jeans will miss the comfort and heat of Kuroo’s proximity.  

They exchange numbers as Sugawara watches, bemusedly and curiously, but with the silent grace to not point it out. They say goodbye for the night, though both don’t want to. He’ll see Kuroo again. Daichi deletes the dating app from his phone that night.

---

There’s a muted boom in the distance.

It’s not a taiko drum.

Daichi hears it the same time he steps on a tree branch, so he thinks it might be a trick of the mind even though his heart knows it’s not.

Stiffening up, Daichi groans. The air hadn’t felt thicker, each breath hadn’t felt heavier for no reason. 

And then, all at once, there are moist drops on his skin, gentle, cool blobs that plip and plop on his arms as he tries to shield his eyes to look at Kuroo. Kuroo also feels the rain and immediately startles, instinctively turning to Daichi and to meet his eyes. Kuroo hates the cold, and though Daichi doesn’t mind it, becoming sopping wet doesn’t seem ideal either.

A storm is just what they need. They’ve been lost for about an hour. Strolling off into the woods without a path may not have been Daichi’s best idea, even if they were trying to get to the peak of Henkan and presumably all Daichi had to do was take them upwards. Any way upwards goes to the peak, shouldn’t it? In any case, they hadn’t been successful in finding it. The oncoming storm is not helping anything.

There’s a crack, and the charged air immediately becomes several degrees cooler, sending a shiver through Daichi’s previously warm, sticky arms. The onslaught of the rain becomes quicker and less forgiving, and Daichi rushes over to Kuroo’s side, guiding them over to the nearest tree as he rummages through his bag for any sort of covering. The tree does not provide much shelter, as it is spindly, and its leaves are barely bigger than green grapes.

“How long until the storm—” Kuroo is cut off by another lightning strike, and the harrowing thunder after it forces Kuroo into defeated silence. Daichi subconsciously swears under his breath, half a prayer to the sky to stop its sudden tantrum, half a curse to himself for not bringing anything else from home besides a light water-resistant windbreaker.

Deciding it’s better than nothing, Daichi threads the sleeves of his windbreaker through the lowest-hanging branches of the scrawny tree that is now their home base. He tries to make a small roof with the jacket, unzipping it and spreading it horizontally to shelter himself and Kuroo. It helps some but can’t stop the raindrops that are blown sideways by the erratic breeze, which has been picking up ever since the first sign of a storm.

“You okay?”

Kuroo nods, silently, squinting so the drops blown wayside by the wind don’t sting his eyes. They sit together under the pitiful makeshift awning. What was humid and sticky is now cold and damp. Daichi presses up against Kuroo’s side, and Kuroo weaves an arm around his back, hand resting on the comfortable crook of his hip. They listen to the patter of rain on Daichi’s windbreaker, their only saving grace at the moment. The situation would have been sweet they were not stranded.

“Sorry, I thought this would have turned out better,” Daichi heaves, “Now we’re lost and freezing.”

“I’m not mad. As crazy as this might sound, it’s kinda nice,” Kuroo pulls and nervously plays with some of the moss and grass at their feet, “…Better than expected, even with all the rain.” He shakes off some of the rain from his foot by shaking it slightly.

“Better than expected?”

“Daichi,” Kuroo says, turning to him, eyeing him, and a moment comes where Daichi finds Kuroo’s expression unreadable, “I thought you took me here to break up with me. You know… Brought me on a hike to tell me to take a hike.”

Kuroo nervously chuckles, picking at the grass under their feet. Daichi’s head starts reeling. He knows something’s been off between them recently, but he wasn’t sure if it was hitting the four-year relationship dating wall or if he was imagining things. This is not imaginary. Kuroo is being real.

“What the hell?!” Daichi is not one for cussing usually, but sometime a long time ago he had let his guard down around Kuroo.

Even so, he tries not to, but the horrified shock comes through, unfiltered. Kuroo winces, and it makes Daichi upset. Before Daichi can ask any more questions, Kuroo strikes.

He starts, not making eye contact, “I know it doesn’t make much sense because you’re so straightforward and honest, but you’re also this big romantic, abstract sap at times,” Kuroo uses his hands to explain, as though he needs to explain his own thoughts to himself as well, “When you suggested we take a different path, I thought that was metaphorical or something—I thought you were going to leave me somewhere stranded in the woods after letting me down easy, I don’t know…” Daichi can only shake his head in disbelief.

He begins, “Kuroo, I wouldn’t break up with you like tha—” and he can see Kuroo cringe, as if the thought of them breaking up physically hurts him. Daichi catches himself.

He quickly, loudly—so hopefully Kuroo understands—corrects himself, “I wouldn’t break up with you, period.” He feels like this is coming from left field. Sugawara calls him dense, but how has he let this pass him by.

Kuroo’s eye twitches, and he hesitates, Daichi can see Kuroo thinking. His sharp eyes, the ones that can see through anything, stare past Daichi. He sighs. Daichi always has a plan. He knows what to do, most of the time, and this time, there is not a single intuition in his mind. 

“Then why have we been dating for four years and have not moved in together? Even though half my closet is at your place, and we only live a ten-minute walk from each other? We’ve been to five weddings together, when is ours? It’s all I can think about recently.”

“I—” Daichi reaches out to touch Kuroo’s shoulder, but Kuroo shifts away, his hand leaving Daichi’s hip, not wanting to be silenced.

“Why have you met my dad and pretty much every single second and third cousin of mine, why have you met Kenma Kozume and Yaku Morisuke…” he grumbles, low and thick, “…when I have not even met a single one of your five siblings or seen a single hair on either of your parents’ heads?”

The rain starts to fall harder, pattering onto Daichi’s windbreaker. It offers little protection now, sagging under the weight of the water. By now, Daichi would have poked it at the bulge in his jacket, to drive some of the water out, but now is not the time. Kuroo strains his voice further, stray raindrops flattening his jet-black hair. He doesn’t seem to care.  

“And why do you throw yourself into your job even further when you can take it easier? You even said yourself that you’re next in line for the promotion. I’m not even at the office but Suga tells me you leave everyone in the dust. Are you going to leave me there, too, maybe?” 

“No, I’m not the one leaving,” as it often happens when he’s with Kuroo, he tends to say things without careful deliberation. Kuroo’s eyes flash.

“What?”

Kuroo looks uneasy, nervous. It’s not a typical look for him, nor a good one.

“I heard about… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” Daichi deflates, as he confesses, “But I know that you got made a job offer you can’t refuse. I want you take the job. It’s made for you.” He really means every word he says, even if every admission feels like a knife to the chest.

Kuroo’s voice sounds so far away, “You want me to leave?”

“No–no,” Daichi says frantically, commanding his voice to stay level. He’s not hearing me. He won’t hear me. “I want you to do what you’re good at. I want you to do what you love.”

“You’re doing the Daichi-gives-advice thing,” Kuroo’s voice gets faster and faster, “You’re telling me what you would do—Holy shit. You’re telling me what you would do if you were me.” Kuroo’s hands are in his lap, slack and defeated, no doubt wondering if Daichi would leave if the situation was reversed. That had never been a concept in Daichi’s head. What would he do if Ushijima asked him to relocate? Would he go?

His heart sinks, knowing this dilemma, the uncertainty, is exactly what Kuroo must feel.

“That’s unfair,” Daichi’s voice cracks, “I’m not telling you what I would do—Tetsurou, stop.”

Then the unthinkable happens.

Kuroo starts to cry.

It takes Daichi a minute to realize it’s happening because he’s never seen this happen before. Sure, he’s seen Kuroo upset. Mildly. Kuroo is hard to upset. Usually, because he himself is the infuriating one. Daichi can count on his fingers the number of disagreements they’ve had on his fingers.

It’s silent, but Daichi stares in horror as Kuroo turns his face from him, quickly wiping his face and clearing his throat, in an effort to stop. Daichi reaches out to touch him, trying once again, but Kuroo senses it and scooches as far as he can away from Daichi, but still under the cover of the jacket. Now, Daichi feels like crying. Something about seeing Kuroo’s back turned to him, having to watch the uneven breathing that follows crying, knowing Kuroo felt misunderstood enough to cry, makes Daichi want to wish the day had never happened.

The only way Kuroo would feel better is if Daichi wasn’t there, but they’re stuck in the rain.

---

There’s a knock at the door, and Daichi closes his book so he can get up and answer it.

Rather, he snaps it shut with a ferocity that surprises even himself. He usually finds it hard to put his books down. Rushing over to the door, he pulls out a pair of spare slippers for the guest he’s expecting, jostling his doorknob as though it can’t be open fast enough. 

“Hey, you!”

Kuroo Tetsurou stands framed by the doorway—actually, he has to crane his neck a little—in a pair of grey sweats and a well-worn tee-shirt that has seen better days. His hair is as untamable as ever, a style which Daichi would never dream of pulling off, but one that he thinks suits Kuroo perfectly. Yet with the couch-potato outfit, Daichi almost has to slap himself out of his reverie, a daydream about of how cozy Kuroo might be to the touch.

Daichi can barely control the smile on his lips, “Hey.”

There’s still some residual awkwardness. Daichi tries to dispel it by shoveling Kuroo in through his door, which would be easier if Kuroo wasn’t hauling the world’s largest duffel bag with him. It’s the first time Kuroo’s been over to sleep at his place, approximately two months into seeing each other.

Daichi pokes the large bag, “What’s in here?”

“Snacks!” Kuroo states simply, as though it were obvious.

“You know I do have food here, right?” He’s cooked dinner for Kuroo before, some candlelit, some microwaved, yet Kuroo seems to have brought a lifetime supply of potato chips with him.

“Yeah, but I sorta figured it wouldn’t be sleepover food. Your cooking is great, but tonight none of us should have to make any food.”

“Sleepover, is this the sixth grade?” Daichi grins, and Kuroo sulks for a second, before setting himself on Daichi’s couch. The idea of Kuroo sleeping over is a new one, and he’s excited, but maybe it’s just nervousness. He’s pretty antsy around Kuroo. They still don’t know each other all that well.

“Don’t sound too excited, I can make a kickass fort right now if you don’t try and stop me.” As if to demonstrate, Kuroo makes a motion as though he’s going to dismantle Daichi’s couch pillow arrangement, and then thinks better of it when Daichi throws a throw pillow at his face.

“You can sleep in it then, if it’s so great.”

Kuroo laughs, then turns to the television.

“So,” Kuroo nervously coughs, and suddenly Daichi’s face heats up. The playful tone is out of Kuroo’s voice, which typically means Daichi is going to have no idea how to respond when he can’t banter back.

Then Kuroo puts on a stupid face and asks, “What romantic comedy do you have in mind for us tonight?”

Daichi sighs in relief, then stone-faced responds, “Criminal Minds.”

“No way, I love that show,” Kuroo’s eyes glint, and he plops down on the couch, reclining with his arms behind his head. His socked feet prop themselves up on Daichi’s coffee table, and Daichi joins him, pointing the remote to the television to turn it on. Daichi playfully knocks Kuroo’s feet off the coffee table, he just cleaned it yesterday, and Kuroo goodnaturedly pretends like he’s just been punched in the leg when all Daichi did was gentle prod him into moving them off the table.

When they’re done threatening to wrestle each other, Daichi hits a few buttons to put on his favorite show.

Simply, Kuroo asks, “This is what you do every Thursday night?”

Hesitant, Daichi wonders if Kuroo had something more exciting in mind. After all, Daichi is a creature of habit. It’s the first time they haven’t really had a set agenda for a date.

“Yeah–”

“Amazing,” Kuroo says to him, grinning wider than should be anatomically allowed, and brighter than kerosene, like Daichi just gave him a million dollars. “Then can I come over every Thursday?” He shifts closer to Daichi, so that their arms are touching, and Kuroo swings a leg over Daichi’s own.

“Y—yeah, if you want to.”

It scares him how much he doesn’t mind Kuroo’s heavy leg on his own thigh, because of how normal it feels and because of how little of a deal Kuroo is making this all out to be. It’s comfortable. Daichi’s in his pajamas, his new dating-app-ordered-possibly-boyfriend is right next to him, and his favorite show is playing. It’s hard to understand that Kuroo Tetsurou, friends with A-list celebrities and superstar national athletes, thinks Daichi watching primetime television on a Thusday evening is amazing. That is amazing. Or a fluke. 

Five minutes into the episode, Kuroo blurts out, “It’s the doctor—he switched out the meds.”

“How—”

The doctor had only appeared for thirty-seconds in the introduction, but as soon as Kuroo claims his prediction, Daichi can see all the dots connecting. He’s watched this show too many times to not know the inevitable patterns and tendencies of the writers.

He groans in realization and slaps his forehead, while Kuroo careens in laughter.

Thursday night will never be the same, Daichi will never be safe from spoilers.

Kuroo shrugs, “I’m good at guessing.”

“C’mon,” Daichi sulks, “Now I don’t want to watch anymore.”

He doesn’t want to watch, and in the dark room—they’ve turned the lights off for what Kuroo said would be “dramatic effect”—he can still see Kuroo’s face. Kuroo’s looking back at him—with this look that Daichi can never quite meet—because he’s not used to being looked at like that. It makes him antsy, self-conscious, it makes him feel like his internal organs are a thousand degrees, but it also makes him feel good about himself, which is such a foreign feeling.

Sure, Daichi feels content with himself and has a relatively good self-image, but his brain goes into overdrive and challenges him to think that he can be daring, because Kuroo’s look makes him feel so, so recklessly confident. Daichi’s confident when he’s prepared, when he’s planned out his work, when he’s practiced his receives, when he wakes up at six in the morning, just in time to work out. But this feeling—it is almost cockiness.

There’s no basis, justification, for this feeling. The feeling he gets when Kuroo can simply ignite him with a single look.

Daichi can’t meet Kuroo’s eyes, so he closes his own and leans in, riding off some of the high. He doesn’t even know what he’s doing, but somewhere along the way Daichi ends up in Kuroo’s lap and they’re kissing for the very first time. Daichi doesn’t dare open his eyes lest he lose any of this unfounded spirit. The kiss riles him up.

It’s intoxicating and about thirty-different sensations at once, and then he feels Kuroo’s hand skirt underneath his shirt, like this is natural.  

The more Daichi thinks more, the more he knows he’s falling deeper, and he can’t have this happen when they haven’t even defined the relationship. For all he knows he’s one of many flings. It doesn’t feel like that, but Daichi has never asked. He pulls back.

Kuroo’s hair is mussed, probably from Daichi’s hands. Oops.

“What’s wrong?” Kuroo asks, slightly slurring. Then he sits up, gently removing his hands from Daichi, “We don’t have to do this.” He straightens up and considers Daichi. It’s the first time Kuroo has had to look up at him, since Daichi’s still sitting on his lap.

“No—no, I do want to,” Daichi gets out, “I want me to be the only one you do this with, though.” It comes out a lot less calm than he wants it to sound.

“Not a problem,” Kuroo runs a hand through his own hair, relief entering his expression, “Wasn’t planning on other people. Sorry for not being clear, didn’t know that I needed to be.”

As quickly as Daichi had pulled away from the kiss, he initiates it once again, a muffled sound of surprise escaping Kuroo’s lungs and making its way into Daichi’s mouth. It’s hot and sticky between them, and the rhythmic sound of Daichi’s washing machine laundering extra sheets for Kuroo for their “sleepover” thrums to the beat of their breaths.

After a little lull, Kuroo pulls away first this time, wiping some of the spit ungracefully with the back of his hand, yet even that still has its charms to Daichi.

The look has returned, and Daichi is swallowing fire. Unable to take the sweltering heat from Kuroo’s gaze, Daichi buries his face in Kuroo’s hair. Kuroo weaves his arms back around Daichi’s waist to pull him in close.

“You’re the only one I can even think about,” Kuroo confesses, “You take up most of the space in my head.”  

Daichi falls over the edge.

---

It feels like hours since the rain has stopped.

Daichi has just woken up, having drifted off to sleep as he and Kuroo had tried to wait out the rain—and their fight.

His back is against the tree, and he’s surprised he hasn’t fallen over onto the ground at this point. It’s a little past sunset, from the shade of lavender the sky is, and with every second the air around them grows darker and thicker, the day quickly descends into night. Shivering himself awake, he immediately looks for Tetsurou.

Beside him, Tetsurou is curled up, his clothes that Daichi had picked out for him the prior night damp with the lingering traces of the storm. Daichi clicks his tongue, wishing he had given the “twenty-percent chance of rain” more credence, because Tetsurou is prone to colds. Sighing, he stands up to reach his windbreaker, fussing it free from the branches and shaking off the residual wetness. Kneeling, he spreads it over Tetsurou, whose sleeping face is slack, yet looks beyond tired. From the new feeling of the new jacket-blanket, Tetsurou stirs. He blinks open his eyes and looks at Daichi. Daichi can’t entirely make out Tetsurou’s gaze

The way Daichi’s jacket only covers part of Tetsurou’s torso is so pitiful, and he wishes he somehow could pull a larger blanket out of thin air, when he sees Tetsurou subconsciously shiver.

An owl hoots in the distance, a reminder that Daichi and Tetsurou are in for a long night. It’s too dark to make their way down a mountain when they don’t even know the correct path down, so it would be best to instead try their luck in the morning.

So instead of trying to come up with a plan of attack for the morning, or even overthinking about the fifty kinds of foxes and coyotes that might be on the prowl, or even letting himself wallow in the slight pang of hunger in the pit of his stomach, Daichi pushes those temporary feelings away for the only concern he really should have right now.

Instead, he sits back down on the mossy grass, reclines next to Tetsurou, and curls up next to him, wrapping an arm around Tetsurou’s waist and drawing their bodies as close together as he can, to share warmth. He prepares to be pushed away, or to have his hand moved by Tetsurou, since Daichi is still technically receiving the silent treatment, and this is the least amount of punishment he could receive.

Instead, amazingly, nothing happens. Daichi feels Tetsurou’s breath continue evenly, and though the ground is soggy and hard, thoughts of coyotes, owls, and the previously thunderstorm fade away. He’s here with Tetsurou, and they’re here together. For all it’s worth, they could have been back at his apartment, falling asleep together on any other night.

“Do you still love me?” Daichi whispers, into the lavender dusk.

There’s no response, Tetsurou is likely asleep.

Daichi exhales, not sure if he is relieved or terrified that there’s no response from Tetsurou. Just as Daichi is about to settle into a shivery sleep, Tetsurou softly slaps his hand, then just as quickly, squeezes it.

---

It was so easy for Daichi to fall in love with Tetsurou, so easy, in fact, it shouldn’t have surprised him when it could happen multiple times.

That’s the thing, though. Daichi never knew what falling in love had ever meant. If anything, the sudden overwhelming emotions that he could never explain did not have to mean that he was falling in love. They had Daichi second guessing if falling in love was meant to be a single moment, or an all-consuming flood that would eventually wash over him.

“Thank you all for coming,” Ushijima gestures to the large crowd around him, piercing eyes considering all of the first-year new joiners in the room. The clean cut, close-cropped beard he wears Daichi is sure he gets barbered everyday by a personal assistant. As he makes the motion for everyone to be seated, the glint of his cufflink—in the shape of an eagle—twinkles. Even his dark, oaky hair shows no signs of graying, though the young CEO bears enough stress that any ordinary man would crumble under.  

Daichi looks around for Sugawara, who has disappeared from his side since they’ve entered the reception hall of the fancy hotel the company has rented out for the afternoon. He doesn’t need to look around for much longer though when he feels a familiar nudge.  

“Didja get a chance to smuggle some free food?” Sugawara smiles, hands full with a paper plate stacked with goodies.

“No, I was too busy looking for you, not food,” Daichi says, before he’s cut off by Sugawara stuffing a puff pastry in his mouth. Reluctantly, Daichi chews and the soft cream puff dissolves on his tongue, light and airy and creamy.

As they hurriedly sit down, Sugawara whispers, “Feels like day one, huh?”

He means that the big event in this hotel ballroom feels like when they first joined the company, when there were events with free food galore to excite and entice the new joiners to stay. In a way, the excitement in the air does remind Daichi of those times, and there’s a strange feeling in his stomach as he realizes that he and Sugawara have been at the firm for exactly a year.

Once most everyone is seated, Ushijima gets to speaking about the firm’s performance for the past year, providing ice-cold objective statements loaded with analytical observations, surely from studying reports his subordinates have brought him. But for every astute fact Ushijima lists out, he provides an encouragement, not cheesy or overdramatic, but measured and confident, because he has the knowledge to back it up. He is truly a leader, Daichi muses.

It looks like Ushijima’s about to wrap up. Daichi prods Sugawara, sitting to his left, for another snack, but regretfully, they’ve already both eaten everything.

“I will now take this time to recognize one of our standout first year recruits,” Ushijima continues, “Every year I ask the managers to send recommendations for their best first years and I make the final selection.”  

“This person has demonstrated immense perseverance and dedication, which can often be overlooked as simply ‘doing what needs to be done,’ but in fact, we trust these people time and time again because they always deliver–that if they didn’t, it would be strange–because we rely on them. In many ways, this embodies the very spirit of our firm—the goal to unfailingly deliver.”

“They have been performing levels above what is expected of a first year and have already demonstrated leadership through encouraging their coworkers and guiding everyone to do their best.”

“It’s you,” Sugawara smiles, excitedly teetering on the edge of his own seat. Daichi chuckles.

“Yeah, right.”

“Please join me in congratulating Sawamura Daichi, from our Tokyo office.”

Suddenly, Sugawara is prodding Daichi in exuberant encouragement, and Daichi is walking himself up the aisle between the seats toward Ushijima, who seems much taller when he’s onstage. Ushijima smiles and hands Daichi a small wooden plaque that reads EXCEPTIONAL ACHIEVEMENT in gold lettering.

“Congratulations Sawamura. Looking forward to working with you,” Ushijima says, while shaking Daichi’s hand.

Daichi’s head is still reeling in confusion from receiving the award that he barely has time to process that Ushijima has hinted at Daichi working with him in the future. For now he smiles, waves, and sits back down, his body still not feeling like his own even in the seat next to Sugawara.

After the ceremony concludes, the first years file out of the ballroom and Sugawara cannot contain himself, insisting that they need to get drinks, in honor of Daichi—and paid for by Daichi—who apparently is going to be promoted twenty-billion times, according to Sugawara. Sugawara loosens his own tie and waves it above his own head, cheering for his best friend, and the display has Daichi laughing in good cheer as well.

“Okay, okay, we’ll go out. I need to get my backpack from the office though first,” Daichi says, realizing his wallet is back at the office across the street. Sugawara nods, taking the initiative to then plan out what bar they’ll go to, first.

As he taps on his phone, Sugawara says, “I’ll be out here waiting!”

Daichi hums and strides into the office lobby, ready for a fun, spontaneous night, with his best friend. For the first time in a while, it feels like a Friday. As he passes by the front desk, Ennoshita calls out to him.

“There was someone looking for you. Maybe a client? They were in a suit. I sent them to your desk,” Ennoshita reports.

“Ah, alright, thanks Chikara. Try to get home early today!” Daichi says, huffing past the desk to the elevators.

He’s not sure what client would stroll into an office near six in the evening on a Friday, but this job surprises him every day. Suddenly worried about his appearance, he checks out his reflection in the stainless steel of the elevator and straightens out his tie. A client is nothing that Daichi hasn’t handled before. He will be ready, even if celebrating with Sugawara will have to wait. He has been singled out as exceptional, by doing what he has been doing, so he will keep on at it.

As the door opens, he makes his way to his desk when he recognizes lanky figure sitting at his desk chair, languidly scrolling through his phone.

“Busy day?” Tetsurou asks, looking up from his phone, shutting it off when he sees Daichi.

Though they’re both in suits, it’s clear they’re somehow not in the same line of work. Daichi’s navy-blue tie seems conservative compared to Tetsurou’s red-striped one. Tetsurou’s tight-fitting vest accentuates his lean figure, whereas Daichi keeps it simple with his sport jacket and nothing else.  

“Today wasn’t too bad,” Daichi says, coming down to earth. It’s the first time Tetsurou has visited Daichi at work, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Nothing in particular,” Tetsurou says, shrugging then smiling, the way he always does. A special person appearing out of the blue, for no particular reason, for him. Daichi feels spoiled.  

“Just wanted to spend the night together,” Tetsurou continues, and Daichi can trace a little bit of bashfulness in the sentence, because Tetsurou avoids direct eye-contact. It’s only been a week since they’ve officially established their exclusive relationship, and so everything feels new, again.   

“What’s that?” Tetsurou says, perking up, catching sight of the plaque in Daichi’s left hand.

“Oh—” Daichi says, cut off by his ringtone. Sugawara’s contact photo—one of him from high school in their old volleyball uniforms—flashes on his phone screen.

“You should get that,” Tetsurou points out. Daichi makes an apologetic face and answers the phone.  

As Daichi places his phone to his ear, Tetsurou smoothly manuevers the plaque from Daichi’s left hand, eyes widening as he reads what’s engraved on the wood.

“Daichi!” Sugawara’s voice cuts through the speaker, demanding all attention. “I’m so sorry because I know we were going to celebrate together… but in my extreme happiness for you I totally forgot that I have dinner plans with Tooru because it’s his birthday and—”

“Suga,” Daichi interrupts, also remembering that Sugawara had been agonizing over a birthday present for Oikawa last week.

“Yeah?”

“Go, it’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” Sugawara presses, out of consideration, “Maybe you could come with, I’m sure he wouldn’t—”

Daichi knows Sugawara won’t let up without knowing Daichi will have other plans, so he says, “Tetsurou’s here at the office—”

“What?! He is?”

The shock reverberates through the speaker, and then the silence turns into a string of ohohoho’s which mean that Sugawara is two seconds away from teasing Daichi. Daichi hangs up. He has been nothing short of insufferable, claiming the title of “Ultimate Wingman,” which is not entirely unwarranted, but not something Daichi needs to hear for the thousandth time.

“I’m glad I came tonight,” Tetsurou says, still looking at the plaque, “We gotta celebrate.”

“We don’t have to,” Daichi says, suddenly feeling like Tetsurou is making a big deal out of it, when Daichi already feels like he has been made a big deal of.  

“What do you mean?” Tetsurou sets down the plaque, “This is amazing. You’re amazing.”

Tetsurou stands up from Daichi’s chair, stepping close to Daichi. They’re barely a foot apart. Daichi looks up at Tetsurou, who looks so proud. Modest deferral and downplays are the normal, socially acceptable way to accept praise, and just one look from Tetsurou feels like all the praise in the world. Somehow, though, Daichi feels like downplaying his achievement will be met with resistance from Tetsurou, who seems to make it his personal mission to believe Daichi is the best thing on the planet.

So instead, Daichi admits, “I—I’ve been working hard.”

“You have,” Tetsurou agrees, nodding. He reaches his hand out, and Daichi takes it without a second thought.

“Let’s go, I want to know the story behind this over dinner,” Tetsurou’s eyes warm.

On Monday, Daichi stops by Ennoshita’s desk on his way up.

“You knew that wasn’t a client.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ennoshita hums, typing away at his computer, “Strictly prospective clients and employees are allowed on the upper floors…” He finally tears his away from the screen to give Daichi a big wink.  

“Have a good Monday, Daichi.”

“You too, Chikara,” Daichi mutters, knowing that he now has not one, but two wingmen. It’s embarrassing that he needs this much help in the romantic department, but sometimes it takes a village. Or in this case, two overly involved coworkers.  

---

Daichi opens his eyes to a periwinkle sky. It’s about to be sunrise. It’s a calm silence around him, save for the soft exhales from Tetsurou. They should get moving down the hill to get back home. Daichi lifts his hand from Tetsurou’s waist, right where he left it, and Tetsurou stirs. It could be any other morning at his apartment together. Daichi hopes everything will be okay.

Tetsurou sits up, rubbing his eyes. Daichi gives him a minute, then turns to him. He’s had this playing over and over in his head, a culmination of everything he’s ever meant to say to Tetsurou but never found the right words for. He’s still not sure if they’re going to come out right, but they need to come out now or it’ll be too late and Tetsurou will be gone. He stands up, feeling like he needs to have proper posture to tell Tetsurou what he wants to say. Confused, Tetsurou also stands.

Daichi steels himself, before saying: “I’m sorry. You said I am straightforward. That is true, but with you I tend to do entirely new things that I never would have thought. This time it was keeping something from you.”

Tetsurou doesn’t say anything, but Daichi takes his hand in his and he doesn’t resist, so Daichi continues.  

“It’s a shitty excuse, but I think inside I’m afraid you’re going to get bored of me, or that what you’re onto is bigger and better than anything I can give you.”

“…You, your job, your friends, your family even—they’re all ten times more exciting and it seems unfair if I’m holding you back. I want you to go to wherever you’re going to go, I don’t want you to be tied to me, even though it’s all I want. I want you to take the promotion and travel the world, maybe inside I just wish it was with me.”

Daichi can feel the burn of Tetsurou’s gaze on his cheek, but Daichi can’t meet it right now or else he won’t finish. It’ll be too much.

“Maybe this is related to why you call me a workaholic. It’s true, I am a workaholic,” Daichi would call it rambling for the amount he is talking, but he is talking to get at what he’s really trying to say, and he’s close, “I like what I do and I know I’m good at it, but it’s not glamorous. I just do the right thing.”

“And maybe I’m working twice as hard because I want to be ambitious like you in my own way, but maybe I’m also doing it because if—when you leave, I’ll have something that I’m still good at other than being your boyfriend. It doesn’t compare. I never said it made sense, but here we are anyways.”

“Daichi—” Daichi can hear the concern in Tetsurou’s voice, none of it upset or mad, which strikes at Daichi’s heart. Even though Tetsurou has been mad, has been upset, he’s not anymore.

Daichi struggles to catch his breath.

“I need to say this all at once, Tetsurou, or I know I’m going to regret it. I didn’t want you to move in with me because I’m afraid one day you’ll get tired of waking up and seeing that it’s me there when every day you tell me about the new athletes you meet or when you come back from a business trip and you’ve made yet another friend and they invite you back for dinner at their place.”

“But Tetsurou, last night. Just us.”

“Side by side, not a blanket or a mattress or a bed frame or even a roof over our heads. And it didn’t matter because it was with you.”

“Move in with me, I don’t care if you’re gone for long stretches of time, but I want to be the person who you come home to. I want to be your North Star, even when I know your heart guides yourself—maybe I want to be your home base. If not your entire home, at least where you can come back when the world gets too busy, and I can give you your normal.”

Daichi finally gains the courage to face Tetsurou, and when he does, he sees Tetsurou with misty eyes.

“I can give you routine, I—I can’t say I’ll give you the world because you already have it, Tetsurou.”

“Daichi!” Tetsurou almost exclaims, like saying “Enough!” but not in a bad way—more like: “This is enough for me, I know every meaning of every word you are saying and what you are trying to say.”

The cold shivers are replaced with shivers to the touch as Tetsurou brings Daichi’s face close to his own, kneeling ever so slightly, bending at the waist to meet his lover. Daichi’s chest is still pumping, moving up and down as he tries to regain all the oxygen he’s lost from all the words that have freed themselves from his chest. Yet all the words he could say and all the ones he has said fade from his mind as he drinks in the sight of Tetsurou.

Tetsurou’s eyes are sharp and conniving, clever and witty, at all times, except for now. Now, they are warm and bright like a topaz just polished, and anyone else might think they were a tad snarky, but anyone else doesn’t know him well enough to know that’s what he looks like when he is completely and wholly content.

It’s his look of triumph, his look of yes, this is what I’ve been waiting for—what I wanted, yet it’s not haughty, arrogant, or righteous in any way. It’s Tetsurou, and suddenly there’s a lot of Tetsurou, as he leans in to close the barely-there gap between them, and kisses Daichi full on the lips as though they’ve never kissed before.

When Daichi feels Tetsurou’s hands through his hair, it’s the same time he feels the warm press of Tetsurou’s chest against his, which is the same instance where he instinctively pulls Tetsurou’s hips to his own, as they continue kissing as though that’s what they are made to do. Maybe it’s a little clumsy, maybe it’s almost funny when Tetsurou’s lips purse slightly just when Daichi open his own, as though they aren’t in sync—but it’s fitting, like they’re just learning how to kiss again for the first time—because really, it hasn’t been this new in a while.

And just as slowly but surely, they fall back into sync, and this time when Tetsurou’s hands run through Daichi’s hair as Tetsurou takes Daichi’s tongue in his mouth, Daichi thanks the gods he has neglected his hair—would grow it even longer if Tetsurou would weave his fingers through his hair forever—god it feels so good. This time, when Daichi rocks forth on the balls of his feet to get even closer to Tetsurou, he steadies his balance while kissing fiercely into him by placing his hands on Tetsurou’s chest. Tetsurou catches him as they continue, the sound of their kiss louder than any of the thunder from the previous night. Tetsurou catches him as though Daichi weighs nothing, steady as a rock and instinctive like a cat.

Daichi closes his eyes, pulling back, panting, because it is the first time where he realizes where he has been mistaken all this time. Everyone, everyone thinks Daichi is the steadfast constant, the designated driver, the friend who would pick you up from the airport. Except maybe this whole time, Tetsurou has been the one he can count on, at least, Tetsurou is the one Daichi can count on.

“Back up for air?”

Daichi feels the fire in his chest, challenging Tetsurou, “I’m going to make you shut up.”

“Oh, please do,” Tetsurou winks.  

“You sure about us moving in together?” Tetsurou asks, “Not doing this just because I asked, right?”

Daichi responds, “I am so sure,” and shuts Tetsurou up with another kiss before he can ask any more questions.

On the way down the mountain, thankfully they start recognizing foliage and eventually find a well-marked path labelled “To Parking Lot.” Now at ease, Daichi can even get a phone signal. They’ll make it back home alive.

Tetsurou thinks out loud, “Would this be a good time to tell you I wasn’t ever going to take the job?”

“A good time would have been an hour ago, before I made that long speech and came to terms with you taking the job,” Daichi jokes, but he becomes serious. He had fully expected Tetsurou to want to take the job.

“When I joined the JVA, you know, the Japanese Volleyball Association, all I wanted to do was make volleyball popular in Japan. And I know that maybe I should have bigger aspirations than that, but I grew up here, and getting other people to play volleyball, my neighbors, Kenma, that is who I can convince. I love it here, and I can’t see myself being as persuasive anywhere else, where I don’t know the people.”

“You’re the most convincing person I know, Tetsurou,” and to that, Tetsurou lets out his laugh. Daichi smirks.

“Well, if you don’t want the job, fine. But I think you’d be the best at it, and I’ll wait for you no matter where you go, it’ll be hard but it’ll be okay.” 

There’s so much for Daichi to do. He has to schedule a haircut. He has to introduce Tetsurou to his family, each and every one, and the extended family, because he’s serious about Tetsurou, finally. Then, they have to decide whose apartment they’re going to keep, or possibly look for a new one together, and then figure that out. He’s plenty sure there’s much more he can do to make up for being such an emotionally dense boyfriend recently. Eventually he’ll propose to Tetsurou, or Tetsurou will do it first, whatever happens, happens.

But first, they have to get down this godforsaken mountain.