Archive of Our Own

i. first memory

Suga is five when they first meet.

The earliest thing he can ever recall is lying, flat on his back and staring at the cloudless sky, blinking with the thought of 'what?' ringing through his head to match the sound in his ears. Pain tingles in his spine. He's a little afraid to try and sit up in case it spreads or intensifies, so he lays there, quite in shock and in the dark about what just happened.

Then something is interrupting his view of the sky, and there's a noise, a kind of a buzz, but his eyes are a bit blurry and his ears are still making that annoying sound so he can only stare, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. He feels like his mind is struggl ing to catch up with what's happening, like he can't move at all, not even his mouth to ask where he is . As his eyes finally begin to focus, he sees a boy, dark hair and dark eyes and pink lips, which are currently moving at a terrifying pace, so quick they seem to be still.

Suga says, “Nngh.”

The boy's lips stop moving in favour of him staring at Suga, eyes wide and frightened, mouth now pressed into a tense line. There's a really long pause in which Suga's hearing seems to, thankfully, crawl back to him. His eyes are watering, blurring his sight again as he begins to understand just how sore his back is. It really, really hurts.

The boy l ook s even more panicked , slowly tugging on his elbow to guide him, softly, to sitting on his own. He's close enough that Suga can hear him mutter, “Don't cry, please don't cry, don't cry…” So he doesn't, just wipes his eyes on the cuff of his shirt, sniffling softly.

One hand remains on the small of his back, as if ready to catch him if he goes flying again, the other clutching his arm, as if he's a balloon that needs a weight . A soft, shy smile appears on Suga's face as he turns to look at him, the scared expression he has on his face easing only somewhat as they sit there, this boy upright on his knees and staring intently. They sit like that until the other boy swallows and speaks. “I– I'm Sawamura Daichi,” He says. His voice is shaking. “And I'm– I'm really sorry I knocked you over! I'm so sorry, I wasn't watching what I was doing and I tried calling out but I don't think you heard me and I'm so sorry, my mom would kill me if she saw that , I'm really sorry–!”

Sugawara Koushi's first memory is of a cloudless day in the middle of a white-hot summer, the kind where even the saliva in your mouth seems to evaporate and leave it dry, with a stranger's high-pitched, wobbly voice in his ear, apologising desperately like someone has a gun to his head, and the feeling of an aching back and a smiling face. And, he thinks, it's only fitting that his first memory would be his first meeting with Daichi.

ii. first friend

He makes his first friend about three minutes after his first memory.

“I'm Koushi Sugawara,” He interrupts quickly when Daichi pauses for a breath, “But my mom calls me Kou, so I guess you can too!” He smiles, bright, toothy, with his eyes closed and his nose crinkling. “And I'm fine, by the way! Stop saying sorry. It's okay.”

He feels the air shift slightly and opens his eyes to see Daichi closer than before, the worried expression slowly melting off of his face with every word that comes out of Suga's mouth in a strong, unwavering voice, contrasting with his own shaky stutter, worried that he'd really hurt the other boy. Relieved to see him able to talk, his hands slowly release Suga and he sits back on his heels. He looks over to where he had been playing with a football; he didn't really enjoy the actual game, but he did enjoy just kicking it around occasionally when he had to wait for his parents to decide it was time to go home. That was until he'd kicked it too far, right into the path of Suga's foot, who had then rolled for a moment and then landed on his back.

“Are you here alone?” Daichi asks, panic fleeting briefly over his face as he considers the possibility he may need to help this stranger home.

“No, my mom's over by the duck pond, but I'm afraid of the ducks.”

“Oh,” He says, and then stands, brushing the dirt off of his knees and then hesitating, deliberating before he holds a hand out to Suga and smiles, almost tentatively. “…Wanna play 'til she comes back over?”

Suga takes his hand and eases himself to his feet, rubbing the small of his back slightly. It feels better now that he's standing, rather than concentrating all the pressure into that one point. He smiles brightly at Daichi, as if trying to get him to smile with more certainty, trying to transfer the happiness over to him. “Yeah!”

So they play, kicking the ball around for a while before they tire of that and end up tossing it back and forwards to one another. Suga's mother comes over and smiles, proud to see how happy her son is, and, with no immediate plans to go anywhere, sits, leaning against a nearby tree to keep an eye on the two. Suga and Daichi play until their arms tire, and then talk and giggle until their jaws tire, and then just lay down in the grass in a companionable silence for a while.

Suga sits up on one elbow, looking at Daichi. “Where do you live?”

“Hm… that way?” He points toward the general direction of his house without getting up.

Suga lights up, his eyes sparkling with curiosity . “Me too!” He exclaims, grinning so wide it looks as though his face is about to split. His voice is filled with the kind of wholesome, pure excitement only a child could produce; the kind that warms your chest and breaks your heart to know this kind of excited-about-everything attitude fades with time. “Hey, hey, you think we can play together again?”

Daichi smiles his first sure smile in front of Suga that day, one that doesn't tremble or waver or spell out his nervousness. “Yeah!” He says enthusiastically, sitting up again and grinning at the other, and then he holds up a finger. “Pinky promise!”

S uga doesn't even hesitate. Their fingers link and they grin broadly at one another as they shake on it.

The next day, they find each other at the park again. When he's older, Suga will swear it's fate.

He won't realise their parents are the ones that brought them to the park to play again.

iii. first sleepover

His first sleepover is when they're six years old, a year on from their first meeting. Daichi's parents are going out of town for a funeral of a distant relative, and ask if Suga's parents would take care of Daichi while they are away, seeing as the boys have begun school pretty recently and don't want to upset his routine. Suga's parents comply happily. It isn't as if the two don't spend every waking moment together anyway.

And they do. Suga's first thought of every morning is if he's going to see Daichi that day, followed by the hope that he will. They're friends, after all.

Suga flings open the door and throws his arms open wide before Daichi even lifts his hand to knock. His parents step in to thank Suga's, just as the boy yells, “The whole night! You're staying the whole night, Sawamura! That's the entire night! ” And he grins like he's just been told they're combining his birthday and Christmas and making it tomorrow.

Daichi laughs as Suga continues his excited babbling, clutching the strap on his backpack that hands loosely over his shoulder as he slides out of his shoes. The second he steps out of them, Suga is already tugging on his arm, “let's go, let's go to my room!”

“I'm coming, Kou!” Daichi just laughs more, racing Suga to his room, slipping and sliding over the wooden floors in his socks, nearly crashing into a wall as he turns a sharp corner. Their laughter bounces off of the walls as they run around, finally making it to Suga's room, Suga crashing into the bed with a triumphant yell. “I win!”

There's more yelling as Daichi tackles him, laughter as he yelps, “No fair, no fair! You saw me sliding around and just kept running!”

“It's a race, you don't stop to help the enemy!”

They both start giggling again, falling to the bed and staring at the ceiling. “So, what do you want to do? You're here for the whole night you know.”

It doesn't take long for them to find themselves outside, in Koushi's backyard, that beat up, slightly deflated football still in Daichi's possession, as they start throwing it to each other and laughing when they manage to hit one another in the face with it. They tire themselves out, playing around until they have to eat, eating, then going back outside to play for another few hours. They're trudging back to bed before his mother even has to call them in.

They're sharing the bed, because the spare futon was broken by the last overnight guest they had. Neither of them mind; the two of them end up spending a few hours mumbling to one another when they're supposed to be asleep anyway. By the time Suga's half asleep, in the happy space between asleep and awake, he hears a quiet, timid voice say, “Kou?”

He rouses himself from sleep, groaning quietly. He's pressed against Daichi's back, his nose tickling his spine. “Yeah?” He mumbles, sleep thickening his words.

Daichi holds up a pinky finger in the air, illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through the window. Suga watches it, eyes drifting between open and closed. “You're my best friend.” He says. His voice is a little shaky.

Suga smiles, links their little fingers together lazily. “You're my best friend too.” He replies, a yawn stretching the last word out.

Their fingers are still looped when his best friend says, “Forever and ever?”

Suga giggles, prods at his back with his nose lightly. “And ever and ever and ever.”

Their hands drop apart, with the darker haired boy mumbling, “Good. I like it at your house, Suga.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh. Makes me feel warm.”

“S'probably the heater.”

“Yeah.”

Their talking drifts from loud to softer, softer, until they're whispering on the very edges of their breath, talking only when they breathe out. “Let's… be together… forever, okay?” Daichi breathes.

“Okay.” Suga agrees, the last word he says before sleep overtakes him, a smile remaining on his face. He's had a good day.

iv. first set

They find volleyball in middle school, years on from their first sleepover of many, and years on from being shy kids in the park. Daichi is a little more assertive now, more confident. It used to scare Suga slightly – what if he leaves him behind? – but no matter where they are or what they're doing, Daichi always turns around and smiles at him, making sure he's still there and relieved to find that he is.

As if Suga would ever go anywhere.

They're in physical education, in a rotation block which means they're allowed taster sessions of all kinds of sports in an effort to get some more people some more interested in their school's teams. The two of them hate baseball, because neither of them are very fast, and so they get tagged out more often than not. Football, again, is something neither of them are cut out for, but they already knew that from hours of attempting a kick about in the park (the keyword being attempting). Basketball is more their style, one where speed isn't essential and there's an ability to stop and think a little. But Daichi finds there's not enough urgency, that he takes too long making a decision and ends up getting the ball stolen off of him anyway. Suga finds that he may have some good ideas, but when it comes to executing them, he kind of drops the ball on that one.

Literally.

When they find volleyball, it's like they don't need to keep playing any other sport.

Daichi loves it. The urgency forces his indecisive mind to make a decision so quick there's no room for him to change his mind thirty times before settling on a safe option. It forces him to take risks. He's not too good when he starts, but Suga reasons with him that everyone who begins has to start at the bottom of the ladder. Then, with a grin, he says, “And I'll be playing and practising with you the whole way.”

Suga loves it, too. He's no good at the spiking, which requires power and a good jump, which he has neither of, and as for quicks – forget it. But, he finds when practising with his class, he actually enjoys the sport. He enjoys watching the other team, at first, figuring out where the ball's going, who's going to do what and when. The middle school coach tells him he has an eye for figuring out what's happening, and quickly. He puts him as the setter for their first ever mini-tournament.

It's a place he fits. He applies the things he's noticed about the other kids – little things, like this guy usually sets to this person, or this one's going to spike to this place in the court – and uses it to his advantage.

So it's their first ever game, their first ever time trying this sort of thing properly, and they're all a little nervous. It's typical school-kid behaviour; everybody wants to do well, but no one wants to put their 100% in if it's not going to work and they come off looking like an idiot. It takes a little while for the first spike to get over the net.

When it does, it's complete pandemonium as they try to remember the rules – no holding the ball, don't let your libero spike, remember who's the setter – but then the ball's on their side, in the air, they're passing it to Suga–

He acts on pure instinct. He sets the ball clumsily, too far away from the net and a little too high, towards Daichi, who jumps up and slams–

He misses it. It falls out of bounds.

But he did it. He set the ball and threw it towards who he trusted implicitly, who followed him up on it, who jumped and tried for him, even if he did get laughed at for missing. The coach commends him and Daichi on their teamwork and suggests they try going to the Volleyball club.

Daichi turns to Suga with an unfiltered grin, his eyes wide and sparkling, his face splitting as though he's been told he has the week off of school. It's right then, that moment he pinpoints as being the moment he realises that volleyball is definitely the sport for them.

Because that's what it is, isn't it? Whenever he thinks about joining something or doing something new or changing his daily routine, it's always with the other boy in mind. They're a package deal. If someone turns Suga down, it means they're turning Daichi down too. If Daichi had liked baseball, he would have said no the minute he saw the look on Suga's face.

It's that bond that moulds them to become such a duo on the court. It starts to take a glance – one quick one – and they know what they're doing, where they're going with it. Daichi turns out to be better at receiving than he is at spiking, so Suga doesn't set to him as much as they did when they had their taster session, but he doesn't mind. Not when they're having such fun, and when their ability to read each other and their movements are so highly regarded.

Hopefully, someday in the future, they'll meet a terrific spiker that can read them as well as they can read each other, and become a formidable three man team.

v. first consultant

Most kids talk to their mother about what high school they want to go to before anyone else.

But as the topic keeps coming up at the dinner table, Suga keeps managing to deftly avoid it, not wanting to give them an answer just yet. Not when he doesn't know where his favourite volleyball player is going first.

So as Suga works on his sets and Daichi works on spiking them as they wait for a few more people so he can work on his receives, he strikes up the all-important conversation. “Hey, Daichi?” He asks, a laugh catching in his throat after a spike ends up on their side of the net. Daichi, his face screwed up in concentration, makes a little noise of acknowledgement. He goes to pick up the volleyball, and then he says, “Which High School are you going to?”

That stops him. He shrugs, motioning to Suga to come and sit in the sun soaked grass. They sprawl out on their backs, in the very park that they met in, in the same place they sat and talked and giggled for hours when they were four years old. It feels weird, like it wasn't really that long ago. And now Suga's going to High School with Daichi and it's all a bit terrifying, really. It's why he wants the comfort and the familiarity of going to the same place as his best friend.

“Actually,” aforementioned best friend says, “I was going to ask you the same thing.” He laughs a little, turns to flash a smile. Suga returns it and shrugs, happy not to be the only one to be thinking this way.

“I don't mind, as long as it's the same one.”

“Me too.”

They sit in silence for a while, watching the clouds pass by. Suga says, “Place where there's volleyball?”

“Of course.”

“Powerhouse school?”

“If we can.”

“Hey, I mean, if you get into a powerhouse and I don't, then go for it! Don't let me hold you–”

Daichi snorts an interruption, sits up and raises his eyebrows at the silver haired boy. “I don't want to go to a school where you're not in it,” He says matter-of-factly, as if he didn't just say something that's actually quite embarrassing. Suga stares at him, wonders when he got so confident in his own words. Then his face breaks out into a beaming smile, the sun bursting through the clouds.

“Well, good. Me neither,” He announces. “We're this weird, freak-reading duo, right? It's not going to work if we're on opposite sides of the court.”

Daichi nods. “Exactly.”

They laze about for a while longer, the sun seeming to add extra weight to their bones and making it more effort to move around. Eventually they pull themselves up and trudge back to Daichi's house, wrestling for the desktop computer in order to do some proper research for their school.

“Shiratorizawa's the best school for volleyball in Miyagi,” Daichi mumbles, squinting at the information on the screen. Suga leans over his shoulder, snorts.

“They don't generally accept people that aren't from that list of middle schools, though…”

“Yeah…”

He clicks around and about, coming up with different schools – Aoba Johsai, Johzenji, Kakugawa – none of them stick. There's a problem with each of them, some way or another.

“Oh, here's one,” Daichi says, his tone increasing in interest. Suga sits up and looks over again.

“Karasuno?” He reads aloud. “Oh, that's the one with Coach Ukai, right? They're supposed to be really good.”

“Yeah, but look at the entrance requirements,” He says, grinning. The academic side will be no sweat for either of them, and as for the volleyball – this place seems ideal for the both of them. It's an instinctive yes from the both of them, an example of their ability to speak to each other without the words, smiling at each other over a computer screen with fire alighted in their eyes. Karasuno it is, then.

At dinner that night, he tells his mother, “We're going to Karasuno.”

His mother raises an eyebrow at the use of his plural, but presses him no more about it.

vi. first hand to hold

They're lowly second years the day they trudge back from the school together. They're all here; Asahi, their third-year senpai's along with the first years: Tanaka, Nishinoya, Ennoshita, Narita, and Kinoshita. Every single one of them has a similar expression of horror mingled with resigned acceptance. It suits none of them.

The night air nips at their uncovered fingertips, mocking them for forgetting their gloves, and pouring salt in the wounds created at today's bitter and rather quick defeat in the Winter Tournament. A silence blankets over all of them, suffocating them so much that even if they wanted to speak up, they couldn't. With this tension laid over them, their team Captain makes them wait outside the store, buys them all some meat buns, then turns to them. His voice is thick, and he can't look at any of them properly, instead staring at some interesting dirt on the ground. “I'm proud,” he says, measured, slow, “of the way you played today. No matter what anyone says, you played well. Fiercely.”

“Not well enough,” Nishinoya mutters, which really doesn't do anything for morale.

“Did you hear what they called us?!” Tanaka demands through mouthfuls of food, “The Flightless Crows. What the fuck is that?!”

“Ryuu, language,” Suga scolds, and then says, “But I agree, what the fuck is that?”

Chuckles are drawn from the group, and Daichi shoots him a smile from his side, one that congratulates him for knowing just what to say, as he always does. Suga smiles back , tired and strained, because those words took more out of him than he'd expected them to. They went down painfully and settled like an ulcer in his stomach: jagged , hard to ignore and permanent. He had tried his best.

It wasn't enough.

The buzz of a voice snaps him from the thought, and he quickly tunes into what their captain is saying . “…one more chance left. We have to really kick ass at the Spring Tournament. We may not have a coach any more, but,” He looks out at them, his jaw set and his face suddenly determined, a flash of anger in his eyes, “I hope you guys are prepared for the most intense practice of your life.”

There's a long pause, only broken by–

“All right!” Nishinoya hollers, punching the air and promptly squeezing the contents of his meat bun all over himself. He blinks, as though he really wasn't expecting it, and then turns to Tanaka. “Bro…”

“No way!” Tanaka yells, shoving the entire thing in his mouth and then staring at Nishinoya with something in his eyes that is remarkably close to regret. Nishinoya stares back. Tanaka turns around and stares at the group, his cheeks puffed out and his eyes saying help me. The group stares back, their eyes saying no.

“Um, Noya, you can have mine,” Asahi says quickly, handing his untouched snack over to him quickly to avoid the inevitable playfight. Nishinoya grins at Asahi, leaning over to smack him on the back enthusiastically.

“Knew you were my favourite for a reason.”

“Bro!” Tanaka whines – or tries to whine, but ends up spitting his entire meat bun onto the ground. He stares at it in horror, before turning to Nishinoya. He grins. “Fight you for it.”

“You wish, baldy, I'm not stupid enough to bet my meat bu– hey!” Nishinoya yells as Tanaka tackles him around the waist with a vicious roar and starts swiping for the food, throwing in a few friendly punches that actually do hurt, thank you very much.

T here ' s some more laughter, the blanket lifting high enough for them to begin breathing again. Their captain dismisses them after the rough-housing begins, and the three second years begin making their way back to their own places. Asahi waves goodbye after a while, leaving Daichi and Suga to walk in a contemplative silence. He thinks of every wrong move he did today, every rotten serve, every off-course set, every movement he read wrong, every broken receive. He counts them all, and there are a lot. Too many.

He's broken out of his self-deprecating thoughts when he feels a pressure on his pinky. He looks down to see his pinky entwined with Daichi's, and then watches as Daichi cautiously, softly, moves their hands closer together, palm to palm, fingers lined up. Suga looks away as he tangles their fingers together carefully, heat rising to his cheeks despite the chill of the night air. Their walking slows, their hands swinging lightly, their grip too tight, as if they're afraid the moment will end without having memorised the feeling. They've never done this before. Suga's never done this before.

“You played well today, so don't dwell on what they said.” Daichi says, looking straight ahead, almost avoiding his stare. Through where they're connected, Suga can feel the tingle of his words in his palm. He's trying to cheer him up, Suga knows. It was ridiculous to think that Daichi, who has grown up with him, who knows his every expression, every sigh, every movement on the court, wouldn't notice how badly the words had cut him. Suga sighs, shrugs as if it could be true, but it's not a certainty. “Really, you did. We all did. Defeat doesn't mean failure.”

Suga blinks, contemplates staying quiet. The moment drags on too long, so Daichi is surprised when he says, “Doesn't it?”

“No,” He turns to look at him as he shakes his head gently, but confidently, as though he believes in every words passing through lips Suga remembers were once clumsy. “You need to experience defeat in order to succeed. In order to appreciate your success.”

“Huh.” Suga looks up at him and stares, his mouth hanging open slightly, eyebrows pulled together, a small crease appearing between them. He appears to be really scrutinising him, the way he does when he's analysing a whole new opponent. The intensity of it makes Daichi flush and turn to look ahead of them again, his grip on his hand a little tighter. His palm begins to sweat.

“What?” He asks.

“…I'm just wondering when you got so wise and self-assured,” Suga admits, dropping his gaze once again, “It's weird to think that you're that shy, stuttering small boy I met one summer.”

Daichi laughs loudly, his whole body shaking, and Suga joins in, his shoulders feeling lighter than they had this entire day. It's almost as though as though his worries leaked out through his fingertips and were now halved with Daichi there to support him. But then it had always felt this way. Like anything could happen, and as long as Daichi was standing next to him with a smile and a word of encouragement, everything would be okay. Suga had never really thought much of it.

“You know I was stuttering because I thought I'd killed you?” Daichi says, a carefree grin splayed over his face, “I was thinking my mom was really gonna be mad.”

Suga gasps in mock outrage, but he's unable to keep the corners of his mouth from pulling themselves upwards. “So you kill me and you're worried for yourself? Wow, Sawamura, I had no idea you were so selfish. Here I am, thinking of my next captain being a selfless, wise man and here you are revealing these atrocities–”

Daichi's laughing too much to hear him, laughing carefree and effortless, the way he always is around Suga, and Suga really hears it, like it's the first time Daichi's ever laughed in front of him, and he almost… feels the sound in his gut. It's a new feeling, it's hot and happy and strong and confusing, but gentle, in the way that it makes him want to smile for hours until his cheeks give out from aching. So, slowly ambling home with his hand clasped in Daichi's, that smile starts. He can't stop smiling, not even when he says bye and lets go of his hand and goes inside. Not even through his shower or his dinner or when he lays in bed.

He still feels the warm, comforting pressure of Daichi's hand in his, as if he's there, next to him.

As Suga's eyelids become too heavy to hold open, he finds himself inexplicably wishing that was the case .

vii. first crush

Suga puts off thinking about it for exactly one week.

In that one week, a rigorous new training programme is put in place in the club, Suga's arms hurt from setting so frequently to Tanaka and Asahi, Nishinoya manages to put a hole into the club room ceiling on what he described as 'a bet with Tanaka in which there were no winners' with a look in his eye so haunted that Suga refuses to ask about it, Ennoshita nearly breaks his nose tripping on a prank Narita swears he didn't set up (although he giggles a lot when he lies and he was seeming to find the floor extremely amusing), and their elders nearly have a breakdown about the lack of practice matches they're managing to bag on their own.

And every day, when they're walking home, Daichi inches closer, the tips of his ears pink, and links their pinkies, leaving Suga to close the gap and lock their fingers together. They don't talk about it, and Suga certainly forbids himself from thinking about it, because that would open all sorts of doors he really doesn't have the energy to open right now. Instead, they chit chat about mundane things, joke around and go a little red every time they accidentally make eye contact.

There's nothing weird about this. Nothing at all. There is also nothing weird about the fact that whenever Daichi smiles at him, something in his chest pulls. And there is also nothing weird about the fact that whenever Daichi laughs, it's like warmth has transferred from Daichi's hand and fills Suga's body up with a warm, fuzzy, gentle feeling, toes tingling and belly jumping. And there is also nothing weird about the fact that Suga keeps going to bed with his cheeks hurting from smiling so wide, which only prompts another when Suga realises he doesn't care about the pain.

Nothing.

Weird.

That's the mantra he repeats to himself, over and over, when he finds himself staring at Daichi a little longer than strictly necessary when they're changing, or when he's talking to Asahi and has to get shaken out of his thoughts when they drift to Daichi, or when he finds himself blushing because Daichi held the door open for him with a quiet, “After you, Suga.”

He spends the week very firmly not thinking about it. And if he does, it's only to remind himself, and any possible hidden mind-readers out there, that it is not weird.

That sort of stops being the case the night Suga wakes up from a dream featuring his best friend.

It's nothing big. It's not huge. It's just a dream in which they went on a date, one to the park they'd met at as kids and the one that had been the staple of their childhood, with a picnic, and at the end Daichi had walked Suga home and kissed him, and Dream Suga thought, I don't ever want this to stop, please, don't ever let him stop…

Okay. It may be a little big.

The clock next to him blares 03:37 in harsh red lettering, too early for this sexuality-feelings crisis just yet. His head throbs a little. He keeps his eyes open so he doesn't see the scene play out again over the backs of his eyelids.

He couldn't stop thinking, though, as if the dream were the acid to rot the barrier against these thoughts away, as if a harsh river had finally broken open a dam. Not thinking about it for so long only gave him so much more to think about in order to compensate for it in the first place. He lies there, barely blinking as he wonders what it means to dream your best friend is kissing you, sweet and soft and slow and deep, making him feel like they have all the time in the world to live in that one moment.

He sits up sharply when the realisation smashes into him like a derailed freight train.

He has a crush on Daichi.

He has a crush on Daichi: his best friend.

He has a crush on Daichi: his best friend from childhood who he also sees every day and spends nearly every second of the day with and who occupies his every second thought.

Or at least, that's what it has to be. He's never had a crush on anyone before. He was too busy running around with Daichi when he was younger and too busy focusing on volleyball with Daichi in middle school.

(It only sets it in more for him when he realises just how much of his life Daichi makes up.)

Romance had never been an entirely essential part of his life up until now. But that's the only explanation he can come up with to describe why he's feeling the way he does. Which, right now, completely crazy, and his mind feels hazy, like a blank sheet of paper with only the words 'crush on Daichi' scrawled over it in huge capital letters. In the corner is smaller writing. A question. 'What am I supposed to do now?'

For everything he had said definitely wasn't weird, having these feelings toward Daichi was definitely weird. He can't deny that, not when he's just dreamed of having the other's lips press against him as if he was fragile, a delicate entity that could shatter from a push too rough. This is weird. This is uncharted territory. This is… this is wrong.

(He ignores the spark of light at the end of the dark tunnel, the hope he feels when he remembers walking home this past week, the warmth of their hands pressed together, the feeling that Daichi's the only thing keeping him on the ground, and it's him that started it, so maybe–?)

No. No. He refuses to think about it. He refuses to let himself hope when there's so much riding on this. Not just their friendship, but the team, too. Daichi will become captain when the third years leave, they all know that, and Suga can't, won't, interrupt that with his own selfish desires. He won't jeopardize their friendship or the easy bond they share on the court where they don't even have to talk to communicate, just look at each other and make a split-second decision. Feelings could overcomplicate it. Feelings could put them off their stride, and he knows there's nothing Daichi wants more than to win Nationals someday, and Suga wants nothing more than to show the world Daichi's carefree, unfiltered grin that he wears so often around Suga.

No. He won't put that in danger.

He sighs at the decision, turning onto his stomach to dig his face into his pillow and groan quietly as the next in a line of extremely awkward questions spring to mind.

Is he… gay?

And what if he is? Is that okay? Is he allowed to be? He's never discussed that with his parents because he never thought of it as a possibility. What if they hate it? What about children? Do they want grandchildren? Does Suga want children? What about society? What about their school? What about their volleyball club? What if they want nothing to do with him? What if they kick him out?

He's seized in a grip of fear and paranoia, muscles locked into place as he imagines Asahi with a surprised expression with a tint of disgust, as he sees Tanaka pretending to vomit and shoving Suga away from him, as he conjures images of Ennoshita quietly but firmly avoiding his gaze and the pleads Suga would throw his way. His heart throbs painfully in his chest as though being squeezed in a vice, and he feels bile burning the back of his throat.

He buries his face further into the pillow. Sleep avoids him the way he imagines his team would if he came out.

When he looks up again after what feels like years of nightmarish images played on a loop in his messy head, it's 06:32. Light is slowly appearing, the sun peeking it's head over the horizon as though checking it's safe to come out. Suga tilts his head to where his uniform is hanging, ironed and ready to be put on, waiting for him.

The idea of facing school makes him feel sick.

Instead, he fishes out his phone and shoots off a text so Daichi won't waste his time waiting for him at their usual meeting spot.

[To: Daichi]

Can't make it in today, sick. Don't bother waiting. Have a good day, tell Captain I'm sorry!

His phone buzzes in his hand before he can set it down.

[From: Daichi]

Are you okay? Do you want me to bring you soup or anything at lunch or after school? Want me to stay off with you? I can take care of you if your parents have work.

His heart aches at his kindness. A whine catches in his throat as he stares at the message. How can one person be so selfless?

[To: Daichi]

No, it's fine, thanks though. See you when I see you!

The pause is longer this time, hesitant. But then his phone goes off and he sees–

[From: Daichi]

No problem. I'll miss you today.

Suga stares at his phone, his jaw dropping open, before he glares and throws it somewhere across the room, his face reddening. “Damn you, Sawamura Daichi,” He grumbles to no one in particular. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries exceptionally hard not to think about the curve of Daichi's smile, or the hearty reaction he has when Suga performs a perfect set, or the idea of losing him to this stupid, dumb, irrelevant feeling.

viii. first acceptance

All is going well.

Suga has to hand it to himself. He is a spectacular liar.

He comes back to school after his off day, which he spends over-thinking himself into oblivion, but eventually comes to the conclusion that in the grand scheme of things, he probably prefers boys to girls. Not that he's had much experience in that matter, considering Daichi's the only person he's had a crush on, but he figures that it is the word that explains a lot of things in his life: why he feels this way about his best friend, why he can talk to Kiyoko better than most of the boys on their team can, why he's been more relieved than bothered that everyone around him are getting confessed left, right and centre and he's got none. He's still not completely to terms with it, but he's closer to being comfortable with it than he was.

The only thing is Daichi. He hates keeping this from him, but telling him would probably result in him guessing it all came about because of this massive, raging crush that grows with every passing second. So instead, for the next two months following this revelation, he acts like everything is normal, and that he doesn't have to fight the urge to kiss the future captain whenever he grins at him, or says his name, or generally exists near him. He does his usual duties of setting to the spikers, participates extra hard in his practice, focuses as hard as possible in his lessons, and walks home every day with Daichi – without holding hands.

“You did it to cheer me up after the match, right?” Suga had said with a smile and a thumbs up. “Well, I'm cheered!”

The hesitation from Daichi was so quick that he was sure he had imagined it. “Y-Yeah! Well, that's good. I'm glad you're feeling better about it.” And they said no more about it.

He is acting totally normal. Completely normal. He is normal.

So imagine his surprise when Daichi turns to Suga during a break in their practice, tugs him over to a corner far away from the rest of the team and says, in a gentle tone he thought was reserved for cooing at scared cats, “What's wrong, Suga?”

Suga can only stare in blank surprise. “Um… with what?”

“With you?” He replies simply, his eyes boring into Suga's, trying to see into his thoughts, pressing his head uncomfortably close. “There's something wrong, right?”

Suga shouldn't be surprised. They've been friends since they were five, after all. Daichi knows him. He would be the one to notice if he started acting strangely, if even only slightly. He contemplates acting as though he doesn't know what Daichi's talking about, but he really hates lying to him. Besides, he'd be able to tell anyway. It would only worry him if he caught him lying again.

He sighs, closes his eyes. Before he can speak, Daichi leans away from him. His cheeks are shaded pink, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his head. “Um, sorry I'm being so forward. I'm just– You've been acting a bit off for months. I've been worried about you, you know.”

His belly flips. “You don't have to worry about me, Daichi.” He whispers, soft.

Daichi stops. Their eyes link again. He replies in kind. “I always worry about you, Suga.”

The world seems to stutter to a halt, and they stare at each other, really stare, and Suga wants to ask if he's the only one who has a heart that's bruising itself on his ribcage right now, thumping so loudly it's a wonder Suga can hear his steady intakes of breath. He closes his eyes and breaks the delicate moment, inhaling deeply and holding it, steadying himself for what's to come. His fists clench at his side.

The words rush out on the exhale. “I think I'm gay.”

He hears a gasp and he can't open his eyes. They're glued together. He wants to be sick at the silence.

And then he's warm, because there are arms wrapped around him and a hand patting his hair, a voice by his ear saying, “You know that's okay, right?” A few times, letting Suga just stand there, frozen.

He melts when he feels tears in his own eyes, and wraps his arms around him in return, pressing his face deep into Daichi's shoulder and just letting himself be held. “Thank you,” Suga whispers, desperately, “Thank you.”

“You don't have to be worried about the team knowing,” Daichi says, his ability to see right to the heart of what Suga's feeling still shocking him, even now, “They won't care. And if they do, I'll defend you. I'll leave, too. I'm not letting you go anywhere without me.” His voice is deep, and calm, and filled with certainty, as if this was the way it was always supposed to be, just Daichi and Suga, there for each other, side by side.

Maybe it was.

“Thank you.”

“You're so brave, Suga. I'm so proud of you.”

He chokes on a laugh, an ugly sound, mangled by his tears. “Thank you.”

Daichi pulls back and flashes him the greatest smile he can muster, one that hurts to look at, but hurts even more to look away from. He says, “I'll be right here when you want to tell the team.”

The way he looks at him makes him feel like he could get away with robbing a bank or jumping out of a plane without a parachute or knocking off the vice-principles wig. He says, “Now. Let's do it now.”

He smiles even wider, and when they move back to their teammates, they walk a little too closely, but it works for them.

iv. first kiss

'It works for them' becomes their kind of catchphrase, or at least four words that describe how they stumble through the next year together. It all begins three months after he comes out; it's May, Daichi has been made team Captain, and Asahi and Nishinoya both left and both returned, they won a practice match against Aoba Johsai. They even have a coach now. They've climbed out of rock bottom that the last Date Tech match left them in and, as a result of the new first years that have joined the club, have surpassed the level they were at before. Actually, it's going so well that Suga makes some remark about how he thinks they're on a lucky streak as they walk home.

So maybe the feeling of being on a lucky streak is what makes him do it. Maybe he'll just blame it on being high off of the feeling of making a comeback.

When Daichi lifts his hand to wave goodbye at his door, Suga makes a split-second decision, stumbles forward a little, grabs the back of his head and pulls him into a kiss.

He lands awkwardly, and there's too much teeth and not enough tongue, and Suga's lip nearly splits because of the angle he lands at. It lasts only a few seconds before Suga pulls off, thinking that that wasn't the sweet, soft kiss he'd always imagined having with–

Daichi.

Suga's eyes lift to meet his gaze, his mouth dropping open as his fingers reach up to touch his lips. When he realises yep, that just happened, his cheeks flush a deep red as he realises the magnitude of what he's just done. He skitters a few steps backwards, prepared to make an all out dash for his house and possibly just lie there until he sinks into the depths of his mattress.

He doesn't quite get there, however. Probably because Daichi reaches out and grabs his wrist with a, “no, wait–” and pulls Suga back to him, dipping his head to slot their lips together again.

Suga's second kiss is much better than his first.

It's firm, and it's sure, and it's like he's telling Suga that this is it, this is what they should have been doing this entire time, and asking why they haven't done it sooner. Daichi tastes like black coffee and the raspberry icepop they'd bought on the way down to cool themselves down from the mounting heat, and he feels secure. Something settles inside of Suga, like a ball of warmth in the pit of his stomach, and it feels the way it does when he returns home after a trip. Relief. Comforting. Safe.

They could have stayed there for two minutes or two years. Suga's not quite sure. When he finally pulls off and takes a breath, the sky is the same dusty pink and the air the same still, warm pressure as when he left it. He figures maybe the world stopped just for them. Just for a while.

Their foreheads are pressed together, Suga's hands touching Daichi's waist, Daichi's hands fisted in Suga's school shirt. He's not quite sure when that happened, but he decides he's okay with it.

They just stand there a minute, panting slightly, taking the time to just be.

Then Daichi straightens up, dropping his hold on the other boy and smiling beatifically at him. “See you tomorrow?”

Suga doesn't even hesitate before he smiles. “Of course!”

And then he turns around and walks back to his house.

So starts their routine. It would be strange to anyone else, so they don't tell anyone else, because above all, it works for them. Walking home, they restart the ritual of slowly and carefully building up to holding one another's hands, and when Daichi gets to his door, they giggle nervously at one another before falling into each other. Just for a few seconds. Sometimes a few minutes, maybe. Perhaps once or twice Suga steps inside to kiss him goodbye behind the door so that whoever happens to be outside that day can't see them.

They don't even talk about what they are. Why should anyone else get the opportunity to?

And maybe, only sometimes, Suga offers to lock up, and Daichi stays with him, and when Suga wheels the ball bin into the storage cupboard, Daichi follows, turns him around and kisses him in a way that's something more than what they're allowed to do in front of the house, something frantic and desperate, pleading, pressing him against the wall and kissing him until his lips tingle and he has to pull away to gasp for breath, leaving Daichi to kiss softly down the column of his neck, and maybe he occasionally pulls his shirt down a little to nibble at his collarbone to hear the sinful sound that comes out of Suga's mouth every damn time.

But only maybe.

Whatever. It works for them. Asahi's even commented on how they're both smiling much more lately, and how Suga's sets are more on point recently, and how Daichi's much more focused on the court, able to take the receives with a tiny, almost inconsequential smirk.

They're playing better, they're happier, and honestly, Suga doesn't even mind not having a conversation with Daichi about what they are. They can communicate just fine without the words. All he knows is Daichi is his person, and Suga is Daichi's person, and that no one has to know.

x. first argument

“Oh, Suga-saaaaaaaan?” Tanaka says in a voice filled with a kind of vicious glee, five months on from the start of this happening as they're changing for practice, “What's that?” He's eyeing his chest pretty heavily, an untrustworthy smirk playing on his lips.

Suga stares down at his body, horror filling him to the brim as he sees the source of Tanaka's commotion. It roughly registers what the hell it is at the same time Nishinoya yells, “Is that a hickey?!”

He barely gets the chance to open his mouth before Hinata's screaming “what?!” and he has a crowd of teenage boys staring at his bare chest. He swallows, resisting the almost overpowering urge to look up and see what kind of expression Daichi's making, but he's moving mechanically behind him, ever so slowly pulling his gym shirt over his head. He heaves a sigh before he stands up tall, glares at his team. He pulls his hands up, leaning into a defensive pose, karate chop at the ready. “This,” He announces, his tone calculated calm, “has to be illegal in some sort of way.”

Nishinoya says, in his usual loud, brash tone, “I cannot believe you got laid and didn't tell us about– urk!” The sentence catches in his throat as Suga yells a battle cry, smacking the boy in the middle of the head. Nishinoya collapses, dazed, leaving Tanaka to cry out and fall to his knees next to the small body.

Suga hears him mumble, “C'mon, bro, don't do this to me. If you don't come back, I'll– Kiyoko will be all mine, you hear!”

Nishinoya springs to his feet very quickly.

The vice captain keeps the pose, swivelling his eyes across the group who are beginning to look more terrified by the second. “Any other comments?” He dares. There are some very vigorous shakes of the head that follow from every member of the group. Before he can say anything more, the clubroom door opens, and Suga turns back to see Daichi, dressed and leaving the room.

“Practice starts in five minutes,” He says, and his voice is strained, dark, as if he's resisting the urge to punch something, “And there will be a penalty of 100 diving receives for any latecomer.” He shuts the door softly behind him. A long pause follows his leaving, Suga wondering what had just made him so angry.

He's not the only one. “Dude, what'd you do?” Tanaka breathes, looking fearfully up at Suga.

Suga blinks, and then throws his shirt on quickly. “He must just be having a bad day. Now c'mon, c'mon, hurry up! We don't want anyone doing that penalty, do we? Hinata, give Tsukishima his glasses back and get dressed. Kageyama, stop trying to hide Yamaguchi's clothes and put your own on.”

They all arrive at the gym, thankfully on time, and Suga turns to see Daichi talking with Coach Ukai. The questions that rest on his tongue are swallowed down for now; if Daichi is in a bad mood, it'd probably be better to wait until everyone's left, anyway. Although he's not entirely sure what about, considering they'd walked to the clubroom together and he had seemed okay then.

He tries not to worry too much, but finds his sets to Asahi get progressively worse, his receives are borderline awful, managing to hit himself in the face with one of them, and only one of his serves make it over without hitting the net or going out. With every failure, he sees Daichi tense up slightly, and by the end he is so high strung that it looks like his muscles are permanently locked up.

Suffice to say, it was a disaster.

Just when they think they're making progress, it feels like Suga is setting them back today.

He offers to be the one to lock up that day, the anticipation of what usually happens in these times settling in his fingers, making them shake a little. He looks forward to these stolen little moments he can have with Daichi. The storage room, just the two of them, feels like a different universe. A secret one. One they can use to escape. He hopes he'll be able to get over whatever he's angry about in there, maybe.

But he can't just leave it at that. When it's just himself and Daichi, he takes a breath, and then says, “Hey, Daichi?”

The boy doesn't even look up. Just grunts an acknowledgement of him hearing Suga speak.

“What's up?”

Daichi shrugs, collecting the balls from around the room slowly. Suga frowns, follows him around. Sort of like he always has.

“Dai?”

“I think we should stop this.”

His blood freezes. His mouth flaps uselessly. All he can do is stare and be thankful he wasn't holding anything. He definitely would have dropped it.

“Wh… What? Why? I– I thought you liked it.”

“I do. But– I mean, look, Suga, look how close we came to being found out today.” He looks up, pain etched across his face. Suga wants to kiss him until it smooths into one of pleasure. Of happiness. The way he usually looks around Suga. At Suga. “If they found us out– If they found us out, everything would change.”

“Not necessarily!” Suga argues, “And even if it did, it wouldn't for very long – aren't you the one who told me how accepting the team is? Remember? Besides, you heard Asahi! We're playing better than ever!”

“Then what about today?” Daichi snaps, dropping the balls to the floor as he turns toward him, arms folded, “What was with today? You missed every serve!”

Suga stops, swallowing. He hates it when Daichi gets angry. He's never been angry at him before, not for anything, more angry at other people for upsetting him every now and then. It takes a lot to get Daichi mad. It takes even more to get him mad at Suga. A thrill of shame shoots down Suga's back when the anger is turned onto him, and the only coherent thought he can pull from his tangled head is, “Not every serve…”

“Okay, you got one serve. Is that us playing better? You may not be the best at serving, Suga, but you're never usually that bad!”

Suga sighs, his bottom lip beginning to stick out ever so slightly. He doesn't want to do this. It's too much. They've never spoken to one another like this before. He tries to make it a little less heated, forcing his voice to be calm. “I… I was worried about you. Daichi, even Tanaka could tell something was wrong.” He breathes out heavily. His voice is trembling. “I didn't know what was wrong.”

“Well, now you do.” He starts collecting what he'd dropped, only to stop when Suga storms over and grips his arm.

“Stop it, Daichi! You can't sacrifice your happiness on the off chance that our team might find it a little weird. What will it change? We're not going to suddenly start making out in the middle of the court–”

“If we win Nationals,” Daichi interrupts loudly, in a tone that conveys that any argument after this announcement will end in certain bloodshed, “If we win Nationals, I'll be happy.”

Suga blinks, stares, blinks again.

If we win Nationals, I'll be happy.

Without you.

He doesn't say it.

He doesn't say it, but he may as well have.

“What–” His voice is shaking almost as bad as his hands are, his lips weighed down with a heavy frown. “What happened to 'I'll defend you'? What happened to 'I'll leave too'?” It takes every single ounce of strength for Suga to look him between the eyes and speak the next thing to leave his mouth. “What happened to 'I'm not letting you go anywhere without me'?”

Daichi swallows, looks as if Suga's gaze is a dart that has him pinned to the ground, immobile. “Suga,” He whispers, “Please. We're– We are so close.”

“Right,” He says, quietly, his voice sounding odd strangled to his ears. He's staring at Daichi, trying to find his Daichi, the one that was stuttering and whimpering on a hot Summer's day, the one he can read so easily on the court, the one that isn't just hungry for success.

He can't quite find him.

Suga takes the keys out of his pocket and drops them to the floor. “I'll leave you to lock up then.” He quickly turns, for once, not wanting his best friend to see the tears that threaten to spill over his cheeks. He hears Daichi say the first syllable of his name, pity laced through the sound, and he slams the door as hard as he can when he leaves.

It's a long walk home.

xi. first time

He doesn't even bother trying to kid himself into not thinking about it. He just gets to his room, thankful his parents are away on a business trip, and lays on his bed motionlessly. Two words bounce all over his head. Without you without you without you. They don't stop, and he whines pitifully. Daichi had always been the one to turn around and check if Suga was still there. It scares him that it feels like today Suga finally turned around and was met with no-one.

The doorbell goes. His parents are out, so he'll have to get up. Ugh. Suga doesn't want to answer it. He stays in bed, feeling foolish, drained, and holding his pillow mournfully.

It goes again. If he just lays there, will they go away?

They're knocking now. Persistent. If it's this important, his parents might be irritated if he misses it. Suga rolls out of bed and trudges toward the front door, each step seeming to pull him lower and lower into his sadness, like it's a murky, bottomless swamp that's slowly pulling him down. He hates feeling this way. He hates the fact it feels like he dropped his heart on the walk over and now can't find it, an empty spot in his chest where a steady beat should be.

He swings open the door, and stops.

“I…came to apologise,” Daichi says simply, rubbing the back of his head and looking to the side, the way he always has when he's sheepish. His face is pink. His eyes are worried. It makes Suga smile to realise that he's still the same. Maybe different, but not an entirely new person. He's still Sawamura. The same over-thinking, nervous little kid that he used to be. That he doesn't now just have a one track mind to success. That he's not leaving Suga behind without warning. Actually, just seeing him and hearing the tremble to his voice makes him feel better. Better, but not perfect. “I– I was nervous. About how… us getting found out would affect the team. I took it out on you, and I said some things that I'm not proud of, and that I certainly didn't mean. And I'm sorry. You're right, I shouldn't have to sacrifice my happiness for a chance to win. My mind would be on you, anyway, because it would be a very bittersweet victory without you standing next to me, and I'm so sorry, Suga, I'm really, really sorry, please forgive me–”

He's rambling. It almost makes Suga laugh, almost makes him cry with relief. He's rambling, the way he did, the way he does when he's truly sorry, when he's trying to find the words in his simple head to express just how apologetic he is.

But their first argument cut deep, and it's not like they can't just not address the fact that his pleas had been met with silence. So he says, “What you said hurt.”

“I know,” Daichi says, and it sounds like it hurts him to acknowledge it, “I know, and I'm sorry, Suga, I– forever and ever, remember?” He holds up a pinky, and memories rush back, ones in his room, half asleep and making a promise they were going to be together for the rest of their lives. His eyes light up. He can't believe Daichi remembers that, even now. It puts the nail in his coffin of doubt. He doesn't need to hear any more of this.

Maybe Daichi wasn't ever behind his back. Maybe he was at his side all along.

“You're always confident,” Suga surprises him by saying, changing the topic. “Not in a loud, proud, Nishinoya and Tanaka way, but more… quiet. Like you don't need to prove yourself. Like your belief in your words is firm. So it's weird to hear you say you were nervous.”

“I'm not always so confident,” Daichi argues, finally looking at him with a corner of his mouth quirked upward.

“No?”

“Not around you,” He amends. He smiles, speaks in that straight-up way as if he's an expert in the matter at hand. “You've always made my knees shake. Even that first day.” He reaches out to twist a lock of silver hair around his finger. “I thought I'd killed an angel 'cause of this hair, and this face.”

His face is burning. He must be bright red, he's sure of it. He is so glad he can't see himself right now, because he must look as flustered as he feels. “Th-this face?” He manages.

“Yeah,” Daichi says, as if the words he's stating are world-renowned facts, “beautiful.”

Oh.

“Oh,” Suga breathes, his whole body feeling as though he's just injected sunlight directly to his veins, and all he can think about is this feeling, this feeling and how much he wants to kiss the beautiful, secretly clumsy, idiotic boy before him. A lifetime contained in a moment passes between them, eyes interlocked, asking who's going to be the one to make the first move.

And then they're kissing.

The door's wide open and anyone could pass by the scene of Suga's back to the wall, Daichi pressed up close, his hips laying heavy over his own, but Suga just can't bring himself to care, can only focus on the feel of Daichi's tongue swiping over his lips, and the taste of Daichi's mouth, and the sound he makes when he bites on his bottom lip and pulls it out. Obscene. Desperate. Needy. His hands tug at Daichi's hair, wrap around his neck and pull him closer, closer, leaving no gap between any part of them, wanting him, needing every inch of skin he's allowed to have. When they have to part, panting, lips kiss swollen and red, it's Suga that turns his attention to the other's neck, kissing and licking fervently, trying to keep the noises to himself as Daichi whines his name, caresses it with his tongue, passionately, the way a devout religious person says the name of a holy man.

Suga's found his heart. It comes back with a vengeance, slamming itself on his ribs. It feels like it's about to burst. Like he's about to go crazy.

Hands fumble, namely his own with the buttons on Daichi's shirt, reciprocating his favourite move and nibbling on his collarbone, just this side of rough. The noise that leaves his lips makes him curse lowly against his skin, licking at the beads of sweat that appear and yeah, that's right, it's getting quite hot in here, isn't it, even with the door open–?

And then Daichi steps away, completely flushed and chest heaving, eyes lidded and looking at Suga like he's going to tear him apart. He brings a hand up to rub his lips, says, “I– I have to go–” and makes for the door.

It's Suga that grabs his wrist this time, and it's Suga's knees that are shaking this time, and God, he's so nervous, but he's never wanted anything more than Daichi in this one moment. “Wait.”

Maybe it's the breathy tone of his voice, or the tight clutch he holds his wrist in, or maybe, just maybe, he wants it too. “Please,” he begs, voice quiet, almost a whisper. Daichi turns to look at him, his face conflicted. “Please, Daichi. Stay. I just– I want you to stay.”

The words make him straighten up. Suga can see his hands shaking.

But he smiles, something comforting, but bordering on predatory. It makes him shudder.

He steps towards Suga again.

The door clicks softly, firmly, behind him.

xii. first love

The first rays of morning sun are dancing across Daichi's face, highlighting his cheekbones, his chin, his slightly swollen lips that Suga wants to kiss again. He always wants to kiss them nowadays, so he restrains himself in favour of watching the other's peaceful sleeping face. He looks so young like this, not friendly-but-stern like he is with the club, or calm-and-cool during pop quizzes in class. He looks like he's at peace with himself. Suga certainly is.

He reaches up to swipe some unruly hair from his eyes, gazing down at him, his heart syncing with the rise and fall of his lover's chest. There is nothing in the room but the sound of them breathing, the feeling of warmth that envelops both of them, and love. Complete, honest, pure love, the kind that's been bubbling under the surface for a while. Maybe since that first memory. Suga doesn't know, can just remember promising Daichi when they were six years old and bone-tired that they were going to stay together forever. The conviction then was as clear and heartfelt as it is now. They'll be together for the rest of their lives.

When Daichi stirs, he leans up and plants a soft, barely-there kiss to his lips, smiling so wide it's hard to pull his own lips together for a minute to enable him to do it. The dark haired boy cracks an eye open as Suga rests his chin on his chest, grinning up at him with a playful glint in his eyes. “Good morning,” He whispers.

Daichi replies softly, as if talking too loud will shatter the moment that's nothing short of magical. “Yeah, it is.”

Suga breathes a laugh and Daichi dips to kiss him. They're both smiling so much it's more a press of the teeth than anything, which only makes them giggle more, gentle, nothing more than shaky breaths mingling together due to proximity. His heart is thrumming full force under Daichi's gaze, who looks at him as if he's a rare treasure, an ancient artwork for his eyes only. He's smiling so hard his cheeks ache.

This is them. Soft. Gentle. There's no big gestures or need for huge romantic nights and cheesy presents or any need to put a label against it. They're tentative kisses at the doorstep, early morning smiles fogged with sleep, the feeling of butterflies when you feel his hand, warm and secure in yours, anchoring you to the earth. It's comfortable. It's familiar. It's home.

Daichi kisses his temple softly, leans down, his breath tickling his ear. “I love you, you know.”

His chest squeezes, his stomach erupts into butterflies, he feels the words reverberating in his heart. A tear wells up in his eye, but he turns, kisses him once, twice, three times. “I know. I love you, too.”

Daichi grins. “I know,” He says, but there's relief in his eyes.

Suga sighs a satisfied sigh, his fingers coming up to draw doodles on Daichi's bare chest. “How could I not? You've been my first everything.”

They both chuckle lowly, smiling at each other stupidly. Giggles pass by them with every second of eye contact. He feels light, like he's in anti-gravity and he's just swimming in his happiness. Daichi flips them over, holding both of Suga's hands in his and pressing them against the mattress, smiling as he starts kissing him again, deeper, longer. When he pulls away, he tells him, in that confident, passionate voice, “I'll be your last everything, too.”

The idea is more than okay with Suga.