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“You can’t!”
Daichi jolted at the sudden screech - because holy shit why’s dad screaming wait that’s not dad oh my god who’s in the house wait where am I who am I - before belatedly realizing that oh yeah, he’s had a roommate since a week previous. But as he glanced over at his clock, its ‘3:32AM’ blinking cheerily back at him through the darkness, it slowly occurred to his still sleep-addled brain that wait, screaming at ungodly hours in the morning isn’t really normal, either.
Maybe his new dormmate - Sugawara, his mind supplied helpfully - just had a nightmare and happened to have a severe case of fear-induced sleep talk. Daichi propped himself up on one elbow, listening keenly for any other noises. With any luck, Sugawara would just go back to sleep and the RA wouldn’t come knocking to check on a call of bloody murder on his floor.
Instead, Daichi managed to catch a scandalized “how could you say that, you monster,” quickly followed by a loud bang and a "take that, you felon!”
Now if that wasn’t concerning.
Daichi lurched out of his bed, shivering slightly in the sudden chilliness, but fuck it, his pants could wait. He’d venture a guess that Sugawara wouldn’t be too offended by his boxers, given he seemed to be fighting criminals in their dorm room.
He slid out his room, padding warily towards the common area (the Kiving Room, Sugawara had fondly deemed it the day of orientation, because what better name to call our kitchen and living room fusion, right, Sawamura?). “Sugawara?” Daichi called. No response. He dropped into a slight stoop - weight on your back foot, Daichi, don’t you remember anything from your four years of Tae Kwon Do training - and inched down the hallway, slow and careful, hands held high and tense in front of himself.
And then Sugawara stumbled around the corner.
Daichi had to smother a yelp when Sugawara - all delightfully rumpled bed-hair and clad only in boxers - came launching headfirst into him. “Sugawara?” he repeated, righting the other and peering dubiously into his face. “Wha - are you okay?”
Sugawara slowly lifted his head, staring vacantly up at Daichi, his lips parted slightly in dazed confusion. “The man,” he started, his voice rather deceivingly soothing.
“Man?” Daichi stared at Sugawara, horrified, because fuck, that is so not soothing at all. “What man?”
For someone who had just apparently fought off this - man - of questionable intentions, Sugawara seemed awfully unconcerned. Shaking Daichi off to wander towards the way Daichi had come from, he mumbled, “The man. The man who doesn’t believe in Edgar Allan Poe.”
“Excuse me?”
“Edgar!” He whirled around (and narrowly avoided what would’ve been a rather unfortunate meeting with the wall). “Believe in Edgar!”
“Okay, I believe in Edgar Allan Poe!” Daichi yelped, alarmed, leaping forward to catch his roommate before he could slam a hand against the wall to right himself. Sugawara’s apparent enthusiasm for old American writers was great and all, but - “Seriously though, what man?”
If Daichi said the look that Sugawara gave him next wasn’t quite possibly the saddest thing he’d seen in his entire eighteen years of life, he’d be lying. “The crow,” Sugawara muttered. “Quoth the crow.” He gazed mournfully at Daichi’s left ear. “Why won’t he listen to the crow?”
“Probably because it’s a raven, not a crow,” Daichi grumbled, sputtering slightly when Sugawara handedly pushed him away by slapping a hand at his mouth. “Aren’t you an Education major? Shouldn’t you know this?”
The hand at Daichi’s mouth pressed tightly against his upper lip, pushing it flat against his teeth, as Sugawara held up a finger to his own lips. “Shh,” he said rather unnecessarily, as he fumbled to squash Daichi’s lips shut, “I must protect the crow. Oikawa -” Sugawara lowered his voice conspiratorially, “has a crowbar.”
“Ews Ogh-awa,” Daichi said through his flattened lips.
“I like crows,” Sugawara added sternly.
“Euhhh-ay.”
Eyes still worryingly vacant and lidded, Sugawara offered a small half-grin and reached up with his other hand to pat Daichi on the cheek. “The snowmen will attack at dawn,” he cooed. Then turned, slammed open the door to Daichi’s bedroom, and wandered in.
Daichi stared incredulously after him. The teen was either high, drunk, still asleep, or a combination of all three.
Figuring Sugawara could take care of himself for half a minute without setting his room - and everything he held dear - on fire, Daichi quickly checked the living room for knocked out Edgar Allan Poe non-believers, just in case - wait, was that his laundry basket that was knocked onto the floor? - before heading back to his room. It was worth checking out the damage dealt, at least.
Daichi came back to find Sugawara glaring intently at his rather disheveled looking covers, as if they had admitted to personally having thrown his dog down the garbage chute. Not a promising look, but hey, at least his room looked more or less intact - that’s gotta count for something.
“C’mon, Sugawara,” Daichi groaned, leaning heavily against the doorway. He didn’t particularly expect much, but well, he’d try. “Go back to sleep.”
“Not with these traitors here,” was what he received in - a rather scathing - reply.
Figures. “What’d they do,” Daichi said tiredly, wandering in to attempt to tug loosely at Sugawara’s wrist. “Eat your Twinkies?”
“Tanaka’s been kidnapped because of them,” he muttered - though perhaps with more bite than his last nonsensical ramblings, if Daichi listened for it, “Kidnapped. I gotta fight them, I gotta -”
Daichi watched helplessly as Sugawara launched himself bodily into his blankets, weakly tugging at them before flopping over, glassy gaze fixed on the ceiling. He wasn’t muttering to himself, and well - Daichi couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or not, but some peace and calm was certainly nice.
“You ready to go back to sleep now?” he whispered, kneeling next to his bed (his bed, he thought petulantly). “Wait, oh no you don’t -” Daichi scrambled to throw an arm out in front of Suga when he attempted to prop himself up in response, because fuck if he was giving this opportunity up, sacrifice of his bed or not.
“How will the deer fight without me?” Suga whispered - oh look, that’s got to be a plaintive tone, Daichi thought dryly, as the other peered under hooded lids at him.
“I’m sure they’ll live,” Daichi answered.
Sugawara snatched his hands in a surprising show of dexterity, lacing his fingers with Daichi’s and tugging them towards himself, offering what was probably supposed to be an imploring look. “You have to fight for me,” he murmured, “Remember who you are.”
“Alright, Mufasa,” Daichi groaned. “Now will you go to sleep?”
“Yes,” Sugawara said, then promptly shut his eyes.
What. “Wait, what about my hands?” Daichi glanced helplessly at the appendages in question - locked between Sugawara’s misleadingly slender fingers, one set of intertwined fingers already tucked neatly beneath the other’s neck. “Sugawara?”
No response.
“Why,” Daichi hissed, tugging - gently, lest he wake the finally sleeping weirdo - his hands before groaning, letting his head fall onto the soft bedding. Was this karma for the number of times he’d laughed at Asahi in the past week? He hadn’t thought that it was a crime that he’d assumed the gentle beauty that he’d landed was a better deal compared to Asahi’s new miniature embodiment of a boombox of a roommate. I’ll never judge a book by its cover again, he thought miserably, peering up at the delicate features of what was currently the bane of his existence. I promise I’ll call home more often and always finish my food, just - mercy. Please.
But mercy didn’t come and Daichi spent the rest of the night drifting in and out of consciousness, the sharp corners of his nightstand digging into his spine and all ability to feel slowly draining out of his arms.
(At least, it helped that Sugawara apologized profusely and treated Daichi to a large soy latte the following day, but Daichi was fairly certain his left hand would never be the same again.)