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“KAGEYAMAAAAAAA!”
Hinata throws himself out of Saeko-san’s van like it’s on fire, scrambling across the sprawling sand in front of him. “THROW ME A TOSS!”
Kageyama, for his part, scowls across the sand at Hinata, as though he hasn’t been mindlessly shuffling around by the nets since he arrived with Daichi, Asahi, and Suga 20 minutes ago, looking very much like a kicked puppy while the older boys had set up their collection of folding chairs and layed out a couple blankets across the sun-heated beach. Daichi recognizes the scowl now—not one of anger, but more just the face Kageyama makes when he experiences any sort of emotion—and despite his apparent frustration, Daichi sees the telltale flex of his fingers as Hinata approaches, even from all the way across the beach.
Kageyama tosses the ball towards him in an easy arc, jumping to follow Hinata’s bump not a moment later, and for all the shuffling 15-year-old awkwardness the kid has off the court, he’s instantly graceful and focused as he sends the ball high and precise towards the net, right into Hinata’s path.
Hinata, spectacularly and predictably, crouches low like a loaded spring, slips across the shifting sand, and falls flat on his back. Kageyama’s precision pays off as the ball falls back to earth right into Hinata’s nose.
The second years climb out of the van shortly after Hinata, and Asahi’s shriek of terror as Nishinoya tries to climb him like a beanpole is almost perfectly timed with the beginning of Kageyama’s extended shouting and name-calling in Hinata’s direction. Ennoshita drags a large cooler out of the backseat as he exits, shouting after Tanaka to help him carry it.
The cooler is dragged down the beach, additional chairs are set up, and soon enough Kageyama and Hinata have dragged Asahi and the second years into their game. The beach quickly fills with sounds not unlike that of the gym back at school, and even Tsukishima, who had informed Daichi he was determined to actually relax— for once, even if the idiot duo is gonna be there , he had said—is sitting up on his elbows, trying his best to look uninterested although his hand is loosening itself from Yamaguchi’s grip and he keeps shifting with a restless energy he would be angry to know reminds Daichi a little of Hinata. Shimizu is playing referee, and Hinata is shouting that he can do it this time, really, stop laughing Kageyama , and the smack of the volleyball in the open air is novel and familiar all at once.
All of this is to say that Daichi is now practically alone, and when Suga turns back to him from where he’s dipping his toes in the water, letting the ocean slowly sink his feet further into the sand, the soft smile he sends over his shoulder is meant only for Daichi.
He extends his arm behind him, opening and closing his fingers in a clear bid for Daichi to join him, and Daichi quickly scrambles up out of his beach chair, shuffling down towards the water.
Suga grins as he approaches, snatching his hand up when he’s close enough like this is just something they do now. Daichi supposes it is, even if he doesn’t really understand how or why or when Suga decided he would just start holding Daichi’s hand like it was the most normal thing in the world, like Suga’s soft, perfect, little setter’s hands belonged in his. He certainly isn’t about to stop him now, not when the sun in Suga’s eyes is making him squint and the waves are lapping at their ankles and the sinking sand beneath them is making usually-graceful Suga a little unsteady on his feet, swaying with the push of the water as he grips at Daichi for support.
Suga tugs at his hand and pulls him further in so the cold bite of the water is nipping at their knees, and although Daichi can feel his skin protesting the sudden change he feels warm all the way through.
When Suga turns to him and grabs at his other hand, too, he thinks he might actually overheat .
The corner of Suga’s mouth twists up in that evil little smile of his. “Do you have anything in your pockets?”
“What?”
“Your phone or your keys or something,” Suga says. “Are they in your pockets?”
“No?” Daichi says. “Why, do you want me to— oof !”
Suga uses the grip he has on Daichi’s hands to pull him in closer, chest to chest, wrapping his arms around Daichi’s back as he lets himself—and Daichi along with him—fall backwards into the water, but Daichi doesn’t even have time to register wet or cold or oh god was my phone in my pocket because in the next instant he’s on the ground with Suga—practically on top of him, Suga’s knees boxing him in—and Suga’s now-soaked hair is plastered to his face at a weird, beautiful, perfect angle, and when Suga laughs, deep and loud and delighted, Daichi is close enough to feel it rumble in his chest.
Daichi splutters and coughs, which only makes Suga laugh louder, as if trying to practically waterboard his best friend is his new favorite activity, but Daichi can’t bring himself to mind. Suga pushes a hand back through his hair, but his bangs fall right back into his face, and that one little curl of hair still sticks up right at the center of his scalp, and Daichi thinks it might be impossible for him to mind anything Suga does to him, even if it is adjacent to torture, and even if he is an evil little bastard.
Daichi tells him as much—the evil part, not the other things, because even though Suga has been holding his hand and creating a lot of convenient opportunities to get their faces close together lately, Daichi isn’t that brave yet—and Suga just cackles, shoving at Daichi’s shoulders before he lunges forward to tackle him into the next wave.
This time Daichi gets back above the water first, and he’s glad he does; not just for the tactical advantage, but for the distinct pleasure of getting to watch Suga follow. His hair is a little longer than it usually is, just enough that it’s started to collect at the base of his neck, and there’s a piece of seaweed clinging to his swim shirt, and his skin is tinged by some perfect combination of sun exposure and physical exertion that makes him pretty and pink all over, and Daichi wants to kiss him so bad.
“What?” Suga says. His mouth is still twisted at the corners, and only then does Daichi realize his gaze has been fixed on that little twist for approximately five seconds too long. That twist is going to kill him if Suga doesn’t succeed in drowning him first. “You’re staring, Daicchan.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Suga nudges him with his knee. “What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing in particular,” Daichi lies. Suga’s lips look red and sun-kissed.
Suga slugs him right in the arm. “You’re never thinking about nothing. C’mon, tell me.”
“Ow!” Daichi yelps, although at this point it’s a conscious effort to lean away from Suga instead of closer to him, and Daichi suspects Suga knows that, considering how often his poor arm gets this exact treatment. “Can’t I just relax for once? Can’t I just be enjoying my day at the beach with my best friend?”
“No!” Suga ducks down to dig a hand into the soft of Daichi’s side just below his ribs, jumping away as Daichi reaches to retaliate. “Not you, you boring old man. Tell me.”
Suga ducks down to poke at him again, but Daichi grabs at his wrists, and for all his playful teasing and sly flirtation, Suga blushes all the way up his neck and tucks his chin to his chest as Daichi tugs his forearms up in front of him.
“You’re a menace, you know that?” Daichi says, keeping his grip firm as Suga tries and fails to wiggle out of his grasp. “You’re a goddamn menace.”
“You love me though,” Suga says, and for a moment that’s enough that Daichi’s grip loosens, and Suga takes the opportunity to pull his hands free and grab at Daichi’s shirt, wrestling them both into a cold crash of water across their faces. “And you’re dodging the question.”
“I’m not dodging anything.”
“Oh yeah?” Suga pulls away from Daichi to get up off his knees and crouch, spring-loaded, a couple feet away. “Dodge this.”
Suga launches himself through the water, tackling Daichi to the ocean floor with the full force of his body weight, and Daichi, predictably, does not dodge. For a long, intoxicating moment, it’s just him and Suga, wrestling in the water, with no lost tournaments or college applications or final exams or impending ends. Just Daichi and Suga and the sun on their faces and the greasy sunscreen on their skin and the taste of salt, bitter and sharp and nostalgic on their tongues. Daichi hopes it lasts forever.
Unfortunately, his team is made up exclusively of nosy, insatiable volleyball freaks who can’t leave him alone without pleading for a game for even a moment, and Daichi loves them enough that he doesn’t even mind.
“Daichi-san! Suga-san!” Nishinoya calls from up the beach, waving his arms over his head. Suga turns, but his hand is still fisted in Daichi’s shirt, and it’s a real effort for Daichi to follow suit. “We need two more for a full game! C’mon!”
Suga throws his head back and laughs, and as he stands he offers his hand to Daichi.
“Well, captain?” he says, and his swim shirt clings to his skin and the sun frames his head from behind like a halo, and he is so, so beautiful, and Daichi is so screwed. “Our team is waiting for us.”
Daichi takes his hand and lets himself be pulled up the beach, and even when they leave the water, Suga doesn’t let go. He doesn’t drop Daichi’s hand when they reach the nets, and he doesn’t drop Daichi’s hand when the other boys begin to bicker over team assignments, and even when Nishinoya pulls him away to be the setter for his side, Suga doesn’t so much as let go of Daichi as much as he just lets Daichi’s fingers slip through his, like a pause instead of an end.
Suga settles into the front row on one side of the net, Daichi into the back of the other, and as Kageyama serves the first ball across the net and over his head, Daichi gets to watch Suga jump for the ball and send it flying into their first point.
Daichi misses spiking his tosses. Not that it’s been long—maybe a couple days since the last practice where Daichi got the opportunity to be on the receiving end of a ball tossed high and delicate from Suga’s long fingers, arcing up through the gym and back down right into Daichi’s waiting palm—but he misses it all the same. Kageyama is definitely some sort of weird freaky setter genius, someone Daichi will brag about knowing in ten years when the kid is famous and rich and Daichi still sees him once in a while for lunch, but Suga—Suga is familiarity. Suga is home and comfort and the unwavering certainty of teammates, of a setter and his spiker, of captain and vice-captain.
Suga is also crushing him soundly, sending ball after ball to Asahi and Tsukishima on the other side of the net, pumping his fist and shouting as he and Nishinoya celebrate every point like they’ve just won a championship. Daichi’s a good receiver but he’s no Noya, and the sand under his feet means when he dives for the ball he doesn’t go as far as he’s used to, and by the time the sun is beginning to dip behind the horizon, all pinks and oranges and blues in the fading daylight, Daichi has sand in his hair and his ears and under his fingernails and on every exposed stretch of skin, and very few points to show for it.
By the end of the fourth set (3-1, Suga-Daichi), the team seems to be itching for the water, and although Kageyama and Hinata are adamant on another— we’ll get it right this time, Captain! Hinata shouts, insisting he’s overcome the obstacle of the sand right as Kageyama pelts a ball into his stomach with terrifying accuracy—they’re left alone up by the nets as the rest of the boys race down to the ocean.
The sun sets quickly after they all storm into the water—washing off the sweat and the sand and letting the saltwater sting their sand-battered knees—and Daichi watches as Ennoshita hauls the other second-years out of the water to help him set up the bonfire. Kageyama, Hinata, and Yamaguchi follow close behind, and soon, Daichi can see the flicker of red and orange radiating like a beacon from the shore.
“You know you can tell me anything, right?” Suga’s next to him on a blanket in front of the fire, a towel wrapped over his head like a shawl and the skin of his thigh just barely brushing Daichi’s. “Like, I was joking around earlier, but you don’t have to keep stuff from me. You can trust me with anything.”
Daichi looks at him. Tufts of silver hair poke out from underneath the makeshift towel hood, and the orange light from the campfire deepens all the shadows on his face, and Daichi smiles.
“I know. I do,” he says. “Trust you, I mean.”
Suga nestles himself into Daichi’s side, and for a moment Daichi seriously worries he’s going to develop some sort of heart condition from everything he's been put through today.
“Good,” Suga says. His hair is damp and soft against Daichi’s shoulder. “You better.”
Daichi laughs, at least partially for the pleasure of feeling Suga’s weight move with him as he does. “You’re my best friend, Suga. Of course I do.”
“Good,” he repeats. “Me too, y’know. With you.”
“Good.”
Daichi lays back fully, tucking one arm up behind his head and the other behind Suga to avoid the numbness that will surely build if he stays how he is, with Suga’s full weight on top of it. Suga shifts for a second, to allow Daichi to reposition himself, and for a moment Daichi is afraid he’s ruined it, but as soon as Daichi extends his arm Suga slots right back in, like he belongs there, like he wants to be in Daichi’s arms as much as Daichi wants to hold him there.
Fully on his back, Daichi can’t see the bonfire anymore, but he can feel the heat of it on the soles of his feet still, can smell the sweet scent of burning sap and feel the prickle of the smoke at the corners of his eyes. Besides, he doesn’t need to see his team to be able to hear what they’re doing; Nishinoya and Tanaka are needling poor Asahi (as if Daichi wouldn’t be doing the same were he less preoccupied), Hinata is prattling away about nothing at all while Kageyama sits silently next to him and listens, a ball twirling in his hands and an intent, listening frown on his face, and Tsukishima is doing his best to appear aloof despite his unwavering focus on Yamaguchi’s every word. He doesn’t need to see them to know any of that, so clear in his mind’s eye and so ingrained in the routine of his life he isn’t sure how he’ll be able to live without it in a few short months.
But he can see the stars in the now-dark sky, and he can see Suga’s silver hair at the edges of his vision, and when Suga inhales like he’s going to say something, he’s close enough that Daichi can feel it on his skin.
“Are you really not gonna tell me what you were thinking about?”
Daichi raises an eyebrow, but he suspects whatever taunting he might do will be seriously undercut by the arm he still has wrapped under Suga’s shoulders. “Why are you so sure I was even thinking about something? Can you read minds now?”
“Just yours.” Suga digs his fingers into Daichi’s side, and Daichi jumps and swats at his hands, but then Suga leaves his hands there , fingers light and hesitant on Daichi’s waist—like all of a sudden he thinks Daichi is breakable, like there’s any reality where he might recoil from Suga’s touch—and Daichi thinks Suga really must be trying to kill him. “You’re too easy to read, y'know. Everything you think is right on your face.”
“Yeah?” Daichi questions, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “I’m not cool and mysterious? I’ve been trying so hard to cultivate that.”
Suga shakes his head, faux-serious, and god does Daichi love him. “Nope,” he says. “You’re a boring old open book, Daicchan. Emphasis on the old.”
“You’re older than me.”
“Irrelevant,” Suga scolds. “We’re not talking about me right now.”
Daichi laughs—feels it deep in his chest, feels the rumble of it right near his heart, right where Suga has rested his head—and Suga returns it, bright and clear and the best sound Daichi’s ever heard. The rest of the team around the bonfire seems to have faded away. Kageyama and Hinata’s shouting and Tanaka’s elaborate storytelling and Tsukishima’s semi-feigned disinterested groans are nothing against the sensation of Suga’s fingers at his waist or Suga’s ankles against his or Suga’s eyes on him, wide and round and focused in the darkness.
“I promise I’m not hiding anything from you,” Daichi says, quiet, after Suga has been silent for a minute and he can no longer feel the beating of his own heart, viscerally loud and present in his chest. “It’s just embarrassing. It’s nothing, really.”
Suga hums thoughtfully. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he says, eyes fixed in towards the fire. “But if this is about your feelings for me, I already know about that.”
Daichi feels the very distinct sensation of his heart attempting to break free from his rib cage and throw itself into the coarse sand below.
He must make a face—although he isn’t sure he could have the presence of mind to figure out what it was if he had a million years—because Suga throws his head back and laughs, as if all of Daichi’s organs haven’t decided to revolt at the same time and try to shove themselves out through his esophagus, as if Daichi isn’t sure he’s going to stop breathing any second now.
“Asahi told me,” he says, tone still inappropriately light. Playful, even. Playful , at a time like this, in the last moments of Daichi’s short life. “Sorry.”
Daichi whips his head up to find Asahi opposite them on the other side of the fire. He’s lying in the sand, sitting up on his elbows, trying to look unaffected with Noya sprawled across his lap, and failing miserably. The poor guy is the color of a steamed beet, all the way from the tips of his ears to his collarbones as Nishinoya sets his head not-so-gracefully down across Asahi’s legs and kicks his feet up on his backpack, and Daichi doesn’t feel bad for him at all—not in the wake of this monumental betrayal.
Asahi manages to peel his puppy-eyed gaze away from Nishinoya for a moment and makes the mistake of making eye contact with Daichi instead. Whatever lovestruck pining he had going on fades immediately to make room for cold terror at Daichi’s best angry captain face.
“Why would he tell you something like that?” Daichi grits. Asahi has started to look like he might cry from the stress of it all if he keeps it up much longer.
“Well,” Suga says through a laugh bigger than his body, bigger than Daichi knows what to do with. “Because I told him I liked you.”
“Oh.”
Daichi feels his heart speed up in his chest before he even really processes the words. “You do?”
“Oh,” Suga mimics. “I do.”
Daichi would like to think he’s generally a pretty smart guy. He needs to be, to be a good captain, to be able to consider all possible outcomes and think about what’s best for his team. He needs to be thoughtful and rational and level-headed to balance school and the team and his family and still have time for his friends and hobbies outside of all of that. Generally, he thinks he does a pretty good job of that. Now, however, when Suga sits up and slides his hand up the inside of Daichi’s wrist, when Suga looks at him like it’s the easiest thing in the world to say something that turns Daichi’s whole world on its axis, when his eyes flick down to Daichi’s mouth—still agape in shock—before flicking back up to his eyes, Daichi feels like he’s probably the dumbest man alive.
“Just kiss already!” Nishinoya shouts from his place across the bonfire, now firmly positioned in Asahi’s lap. “We’ve been waiting all day!”
“Well,” Suga says, still laughing, hand on Daichi’s cheek. “Can I?”
Daichi nods.
Suga tastes like sunscreen against his lips.