Work Text:
“What do I even wear to one?” Michimiya is saying, her hands flying up as she talks. They’re on one of the benches outside school and she’s been talking like this for a breathless minute, her voice getting higher in pitch as she gets deeper into the subject. “A skirt? Jeans? What would you wear?”
“To a goukon?” Daichi asks, hiding a smile behind his hand. “Well—not a skirt.”
She punches his shoulder. “What would you expect a girl to wear, though?”
“Um—either?”
She sighs heavily. “You’re no use. I guess you don’t have to worry about this stuff.”
“Choosing between jeans and skirts?”
“No, you big oaf. Dating. Meeting people.”
He raises an eyebrow. “I don’t? Because of volleyball?”
Her expression changes—from the laughing, excitable Michimiya he knows to a contemplative Michimiya he’s slightly scared of. He’s not sure what brought on the change, but something about it unsettles him.
“Well, yeah,” she says, and her smile is back—but it’s a little feeble compared to her usual. “And Suga-san. You know.”
“Hm? What about him?”
She blinks. “He—you—oh, god. No way.”
Then she’s hiding her face in her hands, and Daichi has no idea what’s going on. Michimiya is mortified—mumbling into her hands, fending him off, and she’s been reduced to this because of… what? Something about Suga?
He blinks. No. No way. She thought…? But they’re not—he isn’t even into guys—he had a crush on her for a while, even—
Holy crap. How many people think this? Does Suga know? He’s better at reading people than Daichi is, generally, but if it involves him, he might not have caught on, and what will he do when he finds out? Will he be horrified? Will he laugh? Or could he—
No. That’s not really worth thinking about, is it? He knows Suga. Suga doesn’t have a crush on him any more than he has a crush on Suga. But others don’t know that.
Daichi groans, trying to untangle Michimiya from the ball she’s rolled herself into. “It’s fine, it’s fine, I know now. No, we’re not—like that.”
“I just assumed!” she wails, her voice muffled by her hands. “I’m so sorry, you must be so embarrassed!”
“More concerned than embarrassed. Here, come on, tell me more about this goukon. Maybe I need to show my face at one, if everyone thinks Suga and I are dating.”
She groans into her hands, and he spends the rest of lunch teasing her until eventually she gives up and decides to laugh about it. Daichi does his best to laugh about it, too.
A week later, he still hasn’t told Suga.
He meant to, of course. He even thought of how he’d broach the subject—with a smile, laughing, saying the weirdest thing happened—but whenever he sees Suga the words die in his mouth. His limbs feel heavy. He isn’t sure he’s ever felt this unsettled about anything, which makes no sense, because the whole thing is laughable—a hilarious misunderstanding.
Isn’t it?
Except when he begins to think of why Michimiya could possibly have thought they were dating, he doesn’t come up empty. A million small moments rise up in his mind: hanging an arm around Suga as they talk to the first years, falling asleep on Suga’s lap on the bus and waking up to fingers running through his hair—pretending to still be asleep, so Suga won’t stop touching him—all the late nights together, all the small touches that he barely noticed before.
He notices them now.
Walking home with Suga becomes a quiet affair as Daichi begins to tally all the times their hands touch, all the times Suga nudges him or tugs at his jacket. He notices the softness of Suga’s hair, all his varying expressions, the timber of his voice. Somehow, after three years of close friendship, he’s become aware of Suga in a way that makes friendship difficult, and he doesn’t know how to feel about it.
And of course, Suga notices.
“You’ve been so quiet lately,” he says as they’re walking home together. He says it easily: brows high, voice light. It’s an open invitation to talk about it, and Daichi doesn’t know whether he wants to take it, even though he’s been trying to find a way to bring the Michimiya thing up all week.
He’s silent for a moment as he considers his reply—and then he's blurting, “What girls do you like?” without even meaning to.
Right. There’s any dream of a detective career right out the window; can he be any more obvious?
“Hmm? You have a girl on your mind?”
He doesn’t—and he hasn’t for a while, which he should have noticed earlier. “No! I just… wondered if you did. We never talk about that stuff anymore.”
Suga shakes his head, which answers exactly no questions—but it does make a strange sort of relief bloom in Daichi’s chest, and he thinks of Suga’s fingers in his hair, that time.
“You seem worried,” Suga says, and this time concern creeps into his voice. “What is it? Did something happen?”
Daichi stops walking. His hand tightens around the strap of his bag, and he sighs. “It’s weird, okay?”
“Mhm?” Suga’s stopped walking, too, a few steps ahead of him.
“Michimiya…” he starts, and sees Suga brace himself, though for what he isn’t sure. He breathes out heavily and tries a smile, hoping Suga will see the humor in it. “…thought we were dating.”
Suga’s breath leaves him in a rush. “Oh,” he says, and then his smile is back, a little stiff. “That’s funny. Did it bother you?”
“It was just strange,” Daichi says, shrugging, beginning to walk again. There: he’s said it, and it’s in the open now. But he doesn’t feel relieved at all, and he can’t bring himself to nudge Suga or crack a joke. In fact, as they fall back into step, the space between them seems larger than usual. “Does it bother you?”
“Not really,” Suga says. His tone is light. “Besides, anyone looking at you could tell you’re not into guys.”
“They could?”
Brown eyes slant at him scornfully. “I remember when you groaned that time we had mandatory co-ed swimming in our first year.”
Daichi laughs, scratching at the back of his head. “That was a bad week for me.”
“Or a good one, depending on how you look at it.”
“Ugh, don’t go there. I’ve grown up a lot since then, you know.”
“Oh?” Suga’s tone suggests this is highly doubtful, and then, finally, the distance between them is bridged—by a shove, as Daichi’s old embarrassment overtakes the new. Suga laughs at him, ducking away from the hit, and when their eyes meet Daichi’s heart jumps a little.
He realizes Suga is pretty, with the late afternoon light slanting across his face—that wide grin—and he hears Suga’s words in his head: anyone looking at you could tell you’re not into guys.
What if I am, though? Daichi thinks. What if you’re the one guy I am into? Is that a thing?
He’s not sure, and the thought steals his laughter away, because if he is into Suga, he’s in deep. Why did he pretend to be asleep, that time?
“What about you?” he says, faking calmness. “Are you… what would people think, about you?”
Suga folds his arms, assuming a thinking posture. “Hmm, well—awesome senpai, best-ever vice captain—maybe even better than the captain, who knows—great at English, soothing personality, above average hand-eye coordination—”
“I… meant…”
The levity leaves Suga’s posture, his shoulders slumping. “I know what you meant.”
Daichi regrets the question immediately. “You don’t have to tell me! I’m sorry. It’s personal. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, it’s fine. I guess—I sort of wondered if it would ever come up.”
“What, you were going to live like a hermit? I think who you’re into would have come up, anyway.”
Suga snorts. “Hey, the hermit life can’t be so bad. But I—like guys. So, um… I’m not offended that Michimiya thought I was gay, because I am.”
Daichi feels his face flush. “Oh-okay. Thanks for telling me.”
Suga’s brow rises. “You don’t have a follow-up question?”
He shakes his head. “Just feel a little stupid for not thinking of it sooner. I mean, looking back, you never talked about girls. I’m pretty sure I should have noticed that in the course of three years.”
“Who could get a word in edgewise, with you?”
“Hey!”
“Kidding, kidding.” Suga smiles. They’re approaching the spot where their paths diverge, and Daichi can’t help but hate the timing.
“Walk you home?” he asks, but Suga shakes his head.
“Go home and get your studying on. You need it.”
Daichi frowns. “Is it me, or are you especially mean today? If the first years heard the way you speak to me, they’d lose all their respect for their captain.”
Suga laughs. “I’m sorry, Sawamura-sama. Your humble subject forgot who he was talking to.”
The sardonic tone makes Daichi smile, and after mutual goodbyes they go their separate ways easily—but when Daichi gets home, the last thing on his mind is studying; he can’t stop thinking about his best friend. His apparently-gay best friend, who he thinks he might have a crush on.
It takes him a long time to get to sleep that night, but when he does, he dreams of a quiet tenor voice and careful fingers in his hair.
It’s not a bad dream.
Suga isn’t at school the next day.
Daichi can’t believe it. He waits at the crossing where they usually meet for a full five minutes, but eventually he gives up, thinking Suga probably went to the gym early—but he didn’t. Suga is absent from class, and when their Japanese teacher asks for a volunteer to deliver the weekend homework packet to Suga’s house Daichi sticks his hand in the air before the teacher has quite finished the sentence.
There’s no way he’s letting Suga shut himself away, after yesterday.
“Suga!” Daichi shouts, knocking on the bedroom door. Suga’s father stands behind him, flinching at the noise but far too nice to kick Daichi out.
“He is sick today,” he says, in typical Suga’s dad fashion: that is to say, ridiculously doting, and willing to believe anything his only son says. Whereas Suga’s mother is a sass machine, his dad is the kind of guy who’d let anyone walk over him if it would smooth things over. Which comes in handy, at times—but letting his son skip school, really? That’s just bad parenting.
“Ojisan,” Daichi says reproachfully, letting his face do the talking for him: you and I both know he’s lying. Suga’s father smiles, just a little, and he stops looking quite so mousy.
“Fine, fine, I won’t meddle. Koushi, you’re on your own! Take your scolding with dignity, okay? I’m stepping out.”
He shuffles out the door, and Daichi resumes his knocking.
“You better not be naked,” he says. “Because I’m co—oh, hey.”
Suga stands in the doorway, looking decidedly rumpled. His hair sticks up in a mess, and he’s in pajamas: a white, long-sleeved T-shirt and blue pajama pants dotted with yellow stars. Daichi feels his body heat up at the sight.
“Your homework,” he says, thrusting the packet forward, and Suga’s eyes widen in surprise.
“Oh—thanks.”
“But that’s not why I’m here.”
Suga’s hands freeze on the packet.
“Why weren’t you at school today?”
Suga pulls at the papers, but Daichi holds on, and then suddenly he’s standing alone in the doorway because Suga has retreated back into his darkened bedroom, throwing himself onto the bed and lying on his stomach, his arms up around his head. He groans into his pillow.
“You weren’t meant to come over,” he says, the pillow muffling his words. For a short moment Daichi stands in the doorway uncertainly, remembering his dreams last night, but then he tosses the homework packet onto the desk and sits down next to Suga, the bed dipping under his weight.
“Why not?”
Suga’s only response is to groan again.
“Okay, are you… angry with me?”
“No.”
“Then—embarrassed? You really shouldn’t be.”
Suga’s head turns away, which is a step up from him trying to asphyxiate himself with a pillow. “I just need some time to get over it.”
“Get over what?”
He sighs. “You, of course.”
“W-wait.”
But Suga isn’t listening to him. He moves onto his side and curls up, away from Daichi. “I like what we have. It doesn’t matter what else… I just want to be your friend, like before. I don’t want anything to change.”
Daichi blinks at him, running the words through his mind several times, coupled with the fact that Suga said he had to get over him. This means Suga’s into him, right? And Daichi… he isn’t sure he wants any of the complications that come with falling for a guy, and his best friend at that, but the fact remains that he wants Suga—wants to be close to him, and laugh with him, and if Suga’s going to be in love with anyone it had better be him.
He reaches, gently brushing Suga’s hair back from his face. “I think you’ve got me wrong,” he says quietly.
Suga looks at him finally, eyebrows coming together in a frown. He’s pretty like this, too, bed-rumpled and confused, and Daichi wonders how long he’s been aware of these feelings, deep down. He feels like he blinked and found himself halfway through running a marathon he doesn’t remember entering; all the groundwork for loving Suga is in place, and all that’s left to do is… run, he supposes.
He’d be intimidated if it was anyone but Suga.
“If you don’t want anything to change I won’t argue,” he says. “But I don’t think I’m as straight as either of us thought I was.”
“What? How?”
Daichi laughs ruefully, looking away so the fragile hope in Suga’s face doesn’t make him do something uncalled for, like kiss him. “I don’t know exactly, but I just felt weird after that conversation with Michimiya. It should have been funny, but it wasn’t, and I just kept thinking back to all these moments… and then I imagined how I’d feel if you were in love with someone else. And I hated it.”
“No way,” Suga breathes—and then he’s rolling again, away from Daichi, burying his face in the pillow. “No way.”
“Is this a bad thing?”
“I’ve liked you for so long. You can’t just pull that on me.” His voice is muffled again. “You like me? For real?”
“Yeah,” Daichi says, and admitting it frees up something inside his chest. Yes, Suga, I like you. He smiles down at his groaning friend. “Although if you’re just going to hide from me because of this maybe I should reconsider.”
“I’m not moving,” Suga says. “Ever.”
“Okay, then,” Daichi says, and he moves over, lying down next to Suga. Suga kicks his ankle reproachfully, still bitter about something, and Daichi laughs. “You can kick me all you want. Doesn’t change the fact that you like me.”
He uses his best schoolboy voice to extend the ‘i’ on like.
Suga grumbles. “Not for long I won’t.”
“Did you just say you’re hopelessly in love with me?” Daichi teases. He turns onto his side and shuffles closer until their bodies are touching, his chest pressed to Suga’s back as he leans to speak in Suga’s ear, voice low. “I really do like you, you know. It just took me a long time to realize it.”
Suga shivers, but Daichi feels him press back softly, and when Daichi reaches an arm around Suga he feels fingers twine with his, pulling him closer, a blanket over Suga’s body. Daichi lets his head drop into the space between Suga’s shoulder and neck, nuzzling gently.
“You’re sure?” Suga asks, this time in a whisper.
“That I like you?” Daichi says, trying not to notice how well Suga’s body fits against his. “Yes.”
“This is ridiculous. Yesterday—I was so sure you didn’t ask me about whether I liked you because the thought of it grossed you out, and you still wanted to be a good friend.”
“What? Wait, that was the follow-up question that you were expecting?”
“Yes, of course. Isn’t that the first thing straight guys worry about?”
“I thought we’d established I don’t quite fit that category,” Daichi says. “But—how could you think anything about you disgusts me? Even if I didn’t like you back, I wouldn’t hold that against you—”
“Okay, okay, I know now, but—I really thought so. And it made me really miserable, thinking you’d put distance between us. Not all at once—just slowly. I imagined the whole thing playing out in my head.”
“Hmm. Looks like we may have to have a new vote to figure out the team idiot. For the first time ever, you’re in the running.”
“Ha-ha. Not my fault you drool over girls in class and never look at guys twice. Very misleading.”
Daichi smiles. It’s not guys, for him. It’s Suga. He’s the exception to the rule: the one guy Daichi can see himself being with. Maybe there are others out there, but he doesn’t want to know about them.
He presses a kiss to the side of Suga’s neck, feels Suga’s fingers tighten around his.
“So… what are you doing this weekend?” Daichi asks, in the universal tone of flirtation. Suga kicks him—and then he starts to laugh, his shoulders shaking.
Daichi can’t stop smiling.