Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Daichi had been nervous at first, but it soon occurred to him that adjusting to this huge new city wasn’t as difficult as he feared it might be. He’d always been quite resourceful and pleasant-mannered, which helped a lot with finding his way around and meeting new people.

Barely three months had passed since he had moved to Tokyo for college. Daichi had no I-would-cuddle-you-to-sleep-we’re-that-close friends to speak of just yet, although he appreciated the company of a group of guys in his year – almost all of whom were in medicine, engineering, social sciences – normal stuff.

However, there was this one glasses kid studying aeronautical engineering (rocket science), who unfailingly acted as though hanging out with them was a mistake even amid the unrelenting displays of questionably platonic affection and dick jokes aimed at himself. With his air of haughty intelligence, he seemed out of place among Daichi’s other friends.

Daichi couldn’t understand why he would choose to hang out with them, until one day he noticed the kid gazing at one of the other guys in their group who had freckles, a gentle demeanor, and a quiet, sincere laugh. He looked a little starstruck, his eyes misty through the thick frames.

Daichi wondered how he hadn’t seen it before.

Once he primed himself to see, everything became glaringly obvious. The glasses kid and Freckles; the owl-haired simpleton and the lowkey accidental model with near-perpetual exasperation plastered on his face. Even the singles in their group had someone on their mind – most notably Kuroo with the sex hair, who seemed to spend all of his waking hours unsubtly pursuing a quiet pudding-head named Kenma.

They were at that age, after all – the age where people like themselves, who might as well still be children, tiptoed uncertainly through a new landscape forged by looming adulthood, learning the precarious balance between love and lust.

Daichi’s problem was that he couldn’t seem to draw the line, to understand the difference. He’d never loved anyone in the way that he had been taught couples do, and after a while it made him feel as though he were damaged, somehow, and alone.

*

College was stressful, but Daichi was Japanese and tried to handle it appropriately. He tried to stay away as much as possible from the wild parties Kuroo and company threw from time to time, and for the most part his friends were complaining but compliant. Out of admirable consideration, they allowed Daichi his space.

When Daichi needed a break, the outings they went on together were calm, cozy affairs taking place in teashops and book cafés. Daichi remembered such occasions as hazy warmth and oft-turned, yellowed pages; the gentle scent of tea and spices cut through by afternoon raindrops pattering unforgiving and wintery on the window. He recalled the impression of the piercing green of Akaashi’s eyes, Tsukishima’s sporadic yet sharp conversation, Yamaguchi’s achingly open smile.

It wasn’t surprising, given Akaashi’s devastating looks, that Daichi’s first sexual encounter turned out to be a threesome with Akaashi and his boyfriend Bokuto.

Daichi wasn’t going to lie, it was amazing – the two of them were extremely considerate and experienced enough to make his first time a good one. He was embarrassed when he ended up coming conspicuously earlier than his partners, but both Akaashi and Bokuto smothered his insecurities with reassuring kisses and hugs, the latter seeming extremely surprised that he’d even lasted as long as he had.

Amazing it may have been, but then they had cleaned up and were waving their cheery goodbyes to Daichi at the door of his flat in the morning. Daichi had then realized, with a cold clenching in his chest, that what he had experienced with the both of them last night was not something that could last, that should continue.

They had taken great care not to say “I love you.” Daichi understood why, because he felt the same way.

He felt all alone again – and for some reason, this time it bore even deeper. He knew he was just being selfish, but couldn’t stop the feeling.

After that, Akaashi and Bokuto didn’t act weird at all, treating him just as what they were to him – a good friend. Bokuto brought it up once as he praised Daichi, but Akaashi watched the latter’s face closely and stopped his boyfriend mid-conversation, finding an excuse to pull him off to the side.

And they never spoke of it again.

Still, Daichi found it hard to forget how Akaashi had felt that night – strong arms wound around his back and tight heat clenching down around his cock; soft, honest gasps falling into his ear; each collision a glimmering ripple that diffused into the thrumming air. A flush went through him every time he met those slanted green eyes.

But remembering just made Daichi feel even lonelier, because he knew that that was all he felt for Akaashi besides friendship – simple desire. And Akaashi probably felt the same way, if he even felt anything for Daichi at all. It wasn’t love.

*

Daichi’s grandmother died.

He’d always been very close to her, and he was grateful to have been able to say a proper goodbye to her before leaving. Coming home, he felt the sinking weight of the air, the grey-tinged wind whining through boughs turned skeletal by the oncoming cold.

All he felt at the loss was a strange numbness that seemed to blanket his memories of her and shove it deep into some corner of himself, out of sight and mind. What vaguely upset him, however, was the fact that he didn’t really mind it; the fact that, in the end, he was too much of a coward for acceptance anyway.

The funeral service took place against an incongruous backdrop of unusually blue, sunny sky. Daichi felt as if they were being mocked – him standing there in a daze, his mother next to him trying to stifle the tears that welled up in her eyes every time she wiped them away.

His days went on just as they had before, the strange fog that smothered them growing ever thicker. For someone whose life seemed now as rote and mechanical as the movements of a machine, Daichi didn’t pay enough attention in his engineering classes anymore.

His friends noticed and worried, and for them he tried his very best to enjoy himself. He still loved going out with them for tea in the evenings, wandering the streets together as the winter sky darkened and the city seemed to slowly ignite. He liked Kuroo and Bokuto’s incessant, lively chatter, the way it contrasted nicely with Kenma and Akaashi’s more subdued, but unexpectedly colorful personalities. The fog lightened when they were around.

He couldn’t blame them when the fog returned, once they were gone. If there was anything he felt strongly now, it was to never let them follow him into it – to keep them safe. This all would pass in time, anyway.

*

Exams rolled around, and unsurprisingly, Daichi didn’t do very well.

“Hey, man, you look like a zombie,” Bokuto said in concern once, ever tactless. “Are you okay? Cheer up, it’s not the end.”

Daichi looked up from his book, flashing Bokuto a quick smile to prove he was fine. “Sure.”

Kuroo leaned over. “You do look a little thin, Sawamura.” He sounded jokingly chagrined. “We absolutely cannot have that. Gotta love those thighs, am I right?”

“Absolutely,” Bokuto echoed, wiggling his eyebrows comically at Daichi’s thighs in question. He then began to apologize frantically as Akaashi, who was observing the exchange, approached.

“Keiji, don’t be mad. Your thighs are ultimately the best. Like, Sawamura’s are like, Gorefiend level. Which isn’t bad but yours are definitely the final boss. The Archimonde of thighs. The greatest thigh level. The – “

“– thighest level,” Akaashi said with amusement. “I can live with that. Although as far as thighs go, Archimonde doesn’t sound very sexy at all.”

Bokuto groaned in embarrassment. “You’re right, Archimonde looks like a glorified rock. But that isn’t the point. I mean, your thighs are just so… powerful. That is. In what they do to me.”

“Shut up, you fucking nerd,” Akaashi said, a faint hint of pink dusting his cheeks. Then to Daichi: “Anyway, your thighs are quite nice. Eat properly. Want to come with us to dinner?” Bokuto looked scandalized.

“WHAT,” Kuroo roared, even more affected than Bokuto. “YOU DIDN’T INVITE ME!”

“I invited Kenma,” Akaashi countered stonily. “It’s not my problem if he likes the thought of the occasional quiet dinner without you.”

“Then what’s up with you bringing Bokuto?” Kuroo demanded, gesturing flamboyantly at the man concerned. “He probably doesn’t even know what an indoor voice is!”

Bokuto looked hurt. “I do so! It’s like, moaning and stuff, right?”

“Oh my god, how much sex must you have to get that definition?”

“Koutarou,” Akaashi hissed.

“See, like that!” Bokuto chirped, oblivious.

“I DID NOT NEED TO KNOW,” Kuroo said, but the backs of his ears began to bloom red in betrayal.

Bokuto’s expression was smug. “You know, if you want a threesome, all you need to do is ask,” he teased. “We’re best friends after all, aren’t we Tetsu?”

“Anytime, Kuroo-san,” Akaashi supplemented, and winked.

At that, both Bokuto and Kuroo began making various wounded animal noises, crumpling bodily towards the floor in consternation. “That’s the most underhanded fucking shit he’s ever pulled, help meeeeeee,” Kuroo moaned, voice muffled by the carpet.

In no better shape, Bokuto emitted several high-pitched hoots in agreement. Akaashi looked taken aback, face flushed with embarrassment.

“Okay, okay,” Kuroo declared doggedly. “Akaashi may be hot, but all of you must understand that Kenma is the one I love.” He seemed to be seeking confirmation, but received none.

“At this point, I think Kenma-san loves me more,” Akaashi said, immediately deadpan, and Kuroo let out what sounded like a sob.

Daichi found himself smiling gently, on the precipice of happiness, the fog lifting just the tiniest bit. “I’ll go,” he said, accepting, despite the curious weight in his bones that seemed to protest against his own happiness.

“Thank you, Sawamura-san,” Akaashi finally said over the animal sounds coming from the gay heap on the floor.

*

It was true that spending time with his friends made Daichi happy – or as happy as he could feel, anyway.

Having dinner with them was no different. Tsukishima, Yamaguchi, Yaku, Konoha and some of the others couldn’t come, but Bokuto when slightly inebriated more than made up for the lack of their presence. Daichi looked on, faintly entertained, as Kuroo tried to pick up some guy in a bid to make Kenma jealous, then to everyone’s disbelief succeeded and looked absolutely distraught as Kenma actually spoke just to give them his blessing.

Walking home alone, however, gave Daichi’s troubles plenty of space to return to his mind, now that his only preoccupation was the sound of his footsteps, beating down on the pavement in quick succession. The peculiar numbness returned, enveloping him in a grey sheath. It was getting late now, his surroundings growing colder and darker with each passing minute.

Daichi imagined the darkness as a living, breathing thing.

He pictured it crawling out of the cracks in pavements and tree trunks and broken walls, creeping up behind his heels then reaching out all around him and towards the sky, saturating his world in overwhelmingly vast, hollow indigo. It fell upon his skin and ate at his vision, seeming to pull down the people moving about him and replace them with mere silhouettes, nebulous and barely tangible, crushing him in their faceless midst.

He felt dizzy, unreal, painfully aware of the thinness of his own skin; yet he also was strangely calm, as if in a dream. Trying to identify the feeling, the word “euphoria” swam behind his eyes, but… That isn’t quite it, Daichi thought, floating. He thought of Akaashi, who neither was nor wanted to be his, with his green eyes and hot skin.

He walked on, with his remote-controlled limbs and hollow bones, past junctions, packed streets, back alleys, cabaret clubs and traffic lights. His mind was empty but the memory of the way had ingrained itself into his weightless feet.

Daichi paid little attention to his surroundings. He just wanted to get home and sleep, hoping that the emptiness would pass in the morning.

Light blinded him suddenly, car horns and screams crashing onto his eardrums. And for one amazing moment, he woke, woke from the frightening trance that was all he knew these days.

In true wonder, he realized what it was – fear. Enormous, obliterating sensation that assaulted his senses and resuscitated him, making him drown in the onslaught of energy and color and the ear-splitting sound of his own voice as the certainty bore down upon him – of the impact, of death.

“Look out!” someone was shouting in desperation.

Daichi closed his eyes briefly, then staunchly opened them, determined not to be a coward here at the very end. He thought he saw a flash of ashen hair, pale skin, terrified but lovely soft brown eyes - but it was hard to tell. Then the lights were upon him - a scream hanging in the brisk air, his bones giving way, his body porcelain-fragile after all.

Chapter Text

The truck was passing harmlessly by him, headlights briefly illuminating his face.

It flashed by, an innocuous droplet in the gush of evening traffic.

Puzzled, Daichi looked about him quickly, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary – roving streams of pedestrians with nameless faces, each with different destinations and preoccupations and objectives.

Somewhat belatedly, he realized that strong arms were wrapped tight around his middle, as if to stop him. Why? Daichi wondered, shaking his head minutely.

He’d only been… walking. Or had he been about to cross the road? …No, he decided. He felt faintly as though he’d forgotten something, but even that small discomfort was gradually fading, disappearing into hazy obscurity the more he tried to think about it.

Abruptly, as though their owner had suddenly realized his impropriety, the arms around him let go. Daichi twisted quickly to look at the person before they could leave.

His heart jumped into his throat.

“Um, hello,” the – beautiful – grey-haired boy before him ventured tentatively. A heartbeat passed, then the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry if I bothered you. I was just – er – giving out free hugs, and, well, you looked like you needed one.”

Daichi was still staring at him, and he began to look a little anxious. “Um, I didn’t mean any offense by that! I’m sorry. Did you mind – the hug, what I said? I’m sor –“

“It’s completely fine,” Daichi reassured him quickly, recovering his senses but still somewhat dazed. “I’m – I’m Daichi. Sawamura Daichi.”

The boy chuckled in pleasant surprise, and Daichi’s cheeks grew hot. “Nice to meet you, then!” He held out his hand kindly, and Daichi shook it, his skin tingling. “My name’s Sugawara Koushi, but you can call me –“

“– anytime?” Daichi said with uncharacteristic impulse, and immediately flushed, pulling his hand away in embarrassment. “Oh my god.”

Sugawara’s laugh was light and warm, and Daichi was pretty sure his flush had reached his chest by now. “I suppose you could do that as well! In the other sense, it’s Koushi – but only if I can call you Daichi.”

Daichi nodded, and Koushi extended his hand again. Daichi looked at it in mildly panicked confusion.

The other raised an eyebrow good-naturedly, the corner of his mouth quirking upward in a smile once more. “Hey, don’t worry. I promise I won’t run away with your phone.” He winked, something which Daichi felt was extremely unnecessary, but apparently was actually very much required in his life, judging by the way his heart leapt.

*

Koushi melted so naturally into his life, like the last traces of frost into the ground when spring began.

Indeed, in a sense he was Daichi’s spring – a kind, intelligent spring that had blossomed from the monochromic solace of his previous days, taking root in his thoughts, slowly but surely transforming Daichi’s world into sharp blue skies (his conversation), crisp silver mornings (his eyes), the vivid crunch of leaves underfoot (his touch) – a motley of myriad colors and sensations that left Daichi breathless, stunned, floundering – but always wanting more.

Ordinarily interminable lectures were made bearable by the thought of going out for coffee with Koushi later. Daichi had disliked the rain before, but seeing it in Koushi’s eyelashes and the fluff of his hair as they ran hurriedly towards shelter in unexpected downpours during their outings made the cold and wet well worth it, not to mention that single time that Daichi would never forget – when Koushi’s hand, seeking warmth, had pressed seamlessly into his own.

*

Koushi was Daichi’s age and went to a college associated with his, so when he temporarily transferred over for a course in paediatrics, Daichi was exuberant for him to finally meet his other friends.

“Ohoho,” Bokuto said by way of inquiry. “Who’s this?”

“I’m sorry about him,” Akaashi said immediately, a variation of one of his stock phrases. “I’m Akaashi Keiji, this is Kenma, Kuroo, Boketo, Tsukiyama – “

“KEIJI,” Bokuto protested loudly, “I’m not that dumb.” He is supported by a grand total of none.

“We aren’t one person, don’t just combine our names like that,” Tsukishima said coolly.

“You two might as well be Siamese twins from the way you latch onto Yamaguchi all day,” Kuroo objected.

Tsukishima’s face colored a pale pink, his arm falling off Yamaguchi in question, and his fingers flew up instinctively to push his glasses further up his nose. “He’s the one who does the latching,” he mumbled.

“Tsukki, that’s mean, tell me why I’m dating you again?”

“Does it fucking matter, you’re boyfriends, although why?” On the last word, Kuroo turned imploringly to Yamaguchi, who shrugged. Tsukishima looked faintly panicked and pressed a quick kiss to his brow in apology. Despite trying to smother it, Yamaguchi dimpled, and Kuroo gave a strangled groan.

“Ugh, you two are gross.” Kuroo turned away from the scene, covering his eyes in a none-too-rare show of melodrama. “I swear, the only not-gross people here are Kenma and Sawamura. Oh, and New Guy!” The focus was back on Sugawara. “That’s right, you haven’t told us your name! Where are you from?”

“I’m Sugawara,” Suga said cheerfully, brown eyes sparkling. “I’m transferring here for a medical course.”

“Hello,” Kenma said, looking up from his DS briefly to smile at Suga. Kuroo fell to his knees and clutched at his heart.

“Are you and Daichi dating?” Bokuto asked, and Akaashi smacked him upside the head. However, he too turned to Suga expectantly.

Suga looked taken aback, glancing at Daichi’s expression, which was a combination of flustered and murderous. “Um, we’re not like that. I guess.”

Ill-concealed disappointed sighs are heard from around the table. Suga looked down at his hands, embarrassed; Daichi was mentally revising the assembly process and machination of the modern handgun, preferably to practice on Bokuto. Trying to change the subject, Akaashi enquired, “How did you guys meet?”

Suga lifted his head and snorted in amusement. “It was very shoujo. I felt like giving him a hug from behind, so I did.”

Appropriately, Kuroo and Bokuto’s jaws dropped. Finally, Bokuto spoke. “That’s really not shoujo, that’s just gay.”

“Well, I am pansexual after all,” Suga reasoned. There were approving nods all around.

“Guys, no heterophobia,” Yamaguchi reminded them.

“If it was shoujo, there had to be doki-dokis involved.” The jaws, whose owners had just picked them up off the floor, dropped again, because the speaker this time was none other than Tsukishima.

“What the fuck,” Kuroo said in disbelief. To Suga: “I’m sorry, give me a second, it is just really hard for me right now to believe that this guy knows shoujo tropes. Also the fact that he just said ‘doki-dokis’.”

Suga chuckled. “It’s alright, I totally understand.”

“You didn’t know?” Yamaguchi chirped. “Tsukki knows a lot –“

“Tadashi,” Tsukishima groaned, covering his face in embarrassment. “Why can’t you talk about what I know about rocket science instead?”

“I don’t know that stuff like you do, I’d sound dumb,” Yamaguchi said, gathering Tsukishima’s face into his neck benignly. “What am I supposed to say? ‘My boyfriend can make rockets fly to the moon’?”

“Yes,” Tsukishima moaned into the base of Yamaguchi’s neck, and a blush crept up the latter’s face. Realizing his mistake, he shoved Tsukishima away.

“Images, images,” Kuroo groaned. “I’m so sorry about that, Sugawara.”

“You’re the one who has to apologize the most!”

“Yeah, Tetsu,” Bokuto said in mock threatening. “You wanted to have sex with my boyfriend!”

“Everyone wants to have sex with Akaashi!” Kuroo defended. “And it was you who offered, wasn’t it, but as you may recall I did not accept. I love you, Kenma.” He turned to glance pleadingly at Kenma in question, who merely sighed and inched further away, earning an indignant “Fine, I’ll take Akaashi then!”

“Yeah, Boketo-san,” Akaashi agreed, conveniently forgetting their first-name basis. “You don’t wash my hair much now anymore, I think I should leave you.”

“Keiji, did you know I actually loved that pun you made last night?” Bokuto said desperately, trying to save the situation. “I pretended not to and didn’t laugh only because I was afraid of losing to you. It was actually a really good joke. Please love me.”

“It’s too late, I’m taking your boyfriend, Boketo-san,” Kuroo drawled, then squinted in confusion as he noticed that Akaashi had gotten up to sit not next to him, but Suga, who playfully leaned into Akaashi’s arm around his shoulders. “What?”

Akaashi looked up, green eyes glinting. “Who said I wanted to date you?”

“NO,” Kuroo pronounced despairingly.

Suga was laughing now, shoulders shaking, crow’s-feet in lovely definition. He turned to look at Daichi helplessly as if to say, They’re a weird bunch, but I like them.

*

A couple days later, Daichi invited Suga to stay over at his apartment.

“Is that really okay? I don’t want to be an inconvenience to you,” Koushi said hesitantly, his voice a tinny crackle over Daichi’s bad landline connection.

“You won’t be,” Daichi promised. “In fact, if I don’t get you to come stay here after all, I’ll be the one inconveniencing you.”

“It’s fine –“

“Can I just remind you,” Daichi interjected, “that your house is literally two hours away from college, and that when I look at your face I swear I’ve never seen such huge bags since the Great Migration.”

“You weren’t even there to see the Great Migration, you giant dork. Plus, they’re designer, okay,” Koushi joked. “Man, you’re a persistent one, aren’t you? Though,” – and here, Daichi could hear the smile in his voice – “I can’t say I dislike it.”

“Thanks,” Daichi said, satisfied. “Welcome to my man cave starting tomorrow.”

Over the line, Koushi broke down in incredulous mirth. “Daichi, that’s singlehandedly the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”

Daichi chuckled – the laughter was infectious. “I’m glad you’ll have something to remember me by, then.”

“Oh, trust me,” Koushi said earnestly, “I don’t need any of that… to remember you.”

*

Daichi still didn’t love love anyone in that sense, but in his own way he loved Koushi very much – Koushi, who had blown into his life, an invigorating breeze lifting Daichi’s fog, carrying with him the reminder of sunrises after storms, comfort in cold nights – what it meant to be happy. And what made him happiest was that he was sure at the very least, Koushi did love him back in that way.

*

Ever since Koushi had turned up at the station with his bags, hair askew, nose and ears flushed with cold, Daichi had had no complaints or regrets about living with him. He always made two coffees in the morning, and the plates and laundry were always done, so much so that Daichi had to insist on helping. He was a whirlwind of unimposing productivity who somehow still found time to do his assignments and curl up with Daichi on the couch to watch trash TV episodes on his laptop on weekends, eyes glowing and breathing soft.

To Daichi, Koushi was already perfect enough, like a celestial visitation sent to a man seeking grace – but it was his imperfections (a bad day, his attempts at cooking, the time his deodorant ran out and he actually smelled like a regular guy) that made him more real, made Daichi love him all the more.

Some of their cozier nights, after tiring days spent at the college, were a pleasing jumble of tea and warmth and each of them listening raptly to the other talking about their day.

Daichi didn’t really understand any medicine, but he adored the way Koushi noticeably lit up when he spoke animatedly about asshole professors and the things he’d learned and everything he wanted to do. And when there was nothing else to say, they simply descended into comfortable silence, enjoying the peaceful lull in their busy lives – the fond, affirmative warmth, the company they afforded each other.

“My parents passed away,” Koushi said on one of those nights, in response to Daichi asking after them, his tone far lighter than the words. “They were hit by a speeding truck… my aunt and uncle took me in. They’re very kind to me.”

The only form of illumination came from the laptop in front of them, playing a recorded episode of Kitchen Nightmares, and the two-watt LED dangling from a short, curled wire sprouting from the low ceiling. Outside the window, snow fell soft and silent like a half-remembered dream. Koushi was curled up on the couch, head in Daichi’s lap so that Daichi couldn’t see his face.

“I’m sorry,” Daichi managed in shock. “I never knew.”

“I didn’t want to tell you at first – I was afraid of you looking at me differently. But as you can see now –” Koushi snuggled closer, “– we’re past that.”

“Are you alright?” Daichi asked carefully, meaning I know you aren’t, but are you as alright as you can be?

Koushi shifted in his lap. “Mhmm.” He reached for the pillow at his feet, hugging it to his chest. “I ran a lot, the few weeks afterwards.”

“You ran?”

Daichi could tell his eyes were glassy by his distant tone. “Yeah. Every morning, for hours and hours until I was completely beat and gasping for air.” He snorted. “Dumb, right? I probably ran the equivalent of several marathons in total, but I didn’t really care about that at the time.”

“Did it help?” Daichi said gently.

“Yeah – some sort of weird coping mechanism, I guess. When I stopped, it hit me like a load of bricks, but by then I knew I was as ready to accept it as I would ever be. And I did. I have.” The couch creaked as Koushi turned to look at Daichi. “What about you?” His voice was soft. “Have you ever lost anyone?”

Daichi swallowed. “Yes,” he uttered. The word felt strangely hollow. “We were close. My grandmother, three months ago.”

They were silent, then Koushi found his hand and threaded their fingers together reassuringly, as if to say, I’m here.

Daichi squeezed back. So am I.

*

“This fucking curry is fucking amazing,” Kuroo praised in astonishment, and Suga grinned.

“I’m glad you like it!” he said. “You don’t want to know the story behind it, though.”

Daichi grimaced darkly – he knew the story behind it. To cut it short – as it would be very long otherwise – after they had been invited to Kuroo’s small Christmas party, Suga had promptly dragged him to the supermarket to buy liberal amounts of curry ingredients with a foreboding “Just in case I mess up the first time.”

He had then proceeded to not simply mess up, but royally fuck up the curry, no less than three times. Daichi reckoned that if it existed, he’d already be eligible for a degree in whatever scrubbing burnt curry off the bottoms of pots qualified you for.

(Daichi would never admit that all of it – especially the fact that he had been cooking with Koushi – although wearying, had been kind of fun.)

Thankfully, the fourth curry trial had turned out to be the fateful success, if the way Kuroo and several others were wolfing it down was anything to go by.

“If it tastes this good, any story doesn’t matter,” Konoha said appreciatively, shoveling curry into his mouth. “You’re a lucky guy, Sawamura.”

Daichi didn’t miss the way Koushi blushed next to him, stuttering over his next words, then looking up at Daichi, eyes wide, lips parted. Something swam in his gut at the sight, long-forgotten and heady, and he blinked rapidly, the memory of green eyes flashing through his head as he recognized the feeling.

Maybe it was an ill-advised mingling of that and the alcohol that had the both of them kissing hot and open-mouthed in one of the empty bedrooms, pressed against the wall, Koushi gasping as Daichi ran his hands roughly over lean muscle packed under soft skin, mouthing at his pale throat. When his shirt finally came off, Daichi felt like that time again, a teenager drowning in his own want.

It was that thought that made him stop.

“We can’t do this,” he whispered, realizing.

The fact that he wanted this with Koushi, yet still loved him as much as he did, still wanted to make him laugh and watch stupid TV shows with him and listen to him bitch about people who lacked common decency, made him finally understand what he felt.

Koushi was different.

It was an epiphany too strong, too golden to be weighed down by the alcohol. “You mean too much to me. I want to be better to you than this. I love you, Koushi.”

Already over the initial surprise, Koushi smiled up at him, breathless and radiant and perfect. “I know. I love you too. I think you have for a while.”

“No,” Daichi said, remembering how he had first felt around Koushi; loving him so, so much but not necessarily in a romantic way, in the way that he thought Koushi would want. “I didn’t, not the way I do now.”

“It’s all felt the same to me,” Koushi hummed. “You then, you now, you’re still very much the same fascinating person who always treated me with such care and kindness.” He gazed into Daichi’s eyes unabashedly. “Any kind of love you give is more than enough. Frankly, I really don’t care how you love me, Daichi –“ he wound his arms around Daichi’s neck and reached upwards, “– so long as you do.”

Daichi was about to say something, but Koushi stopped him with a slow, measured kiss somehow more intimate than their previous ones. It was a curious encompassing thing that seemed to engulf the world around them in its entirety, pulling Daichi apart at the seams till he felt transcendent, as if he were everything and nothing at once, existing in the center of galaxies that were soft breaths, constellations that were the veins under Koushi’s skin.

When they broke apart, both of them were a little starry-eyed, and Daichi decided to let all that cumbersome talk about love drop. After all, he loved Koushi and Koushi loved him, and if that wasn’t good enough, nothing would ever be.

*

Christmas Day came, snow gliding down wonderingly to rest on the thick white blanket already covering the city.

Their outing that evening had originally been planned as a quadruple date with Daichi’s friends, but after a very stimulating train ride (in which Bokuto and Akaashi had nearly gotten themselves arrested for displays of public indecency, Tsukishima had forgotten his glasses and professed his love to someone who was not Yamaguchi, and Kuroo had acted relatively normal and just stuck to picking up random strangers in front of Kenma, hoping to garner some reaction) they all ditched each other at the station in Shinjuku.

“Soooo,” Daichi said. “Where to? KFC is the done thing, but I know your hipster ass places no value in such concepts.”

“This coming from a guy with approximately seventy plaid shirts,” Koushi noted.

“I have only four, count properly,” Daichi sighed.

“Anyway, my hipster ass loves fried chicken, thank you very much,” Koushi digressed, “but not so much eating it in the restaurant itself.”

“Sounds good.” Their fingers interlocked, a small barrier against the cold. “Are you thinking of anywhere in particular?”

Koushi’s eyes twinkled. “I have a place in mind, yes.”

An hour later, buckets of KFC takeout in hand and chicken in mouth, Koushi led an appropriately mystified Daichi through the streets back to the station.

“Where are we going?” Daichi asked, finding it difficult to focus on anything much besides the feeling of Koushi’s hand in his own.

“Sumida,” Koushi replied as they wove nimbly through hordes of people, sounding breathless with excitement. “Sumida… River. I might have booked us tickets for a cruise.”

“Fuck,” Daichi said, overwhelmed. “How are you so amazing?”

It may have been his imagination, but he thought he saw the tips of Koushi’s ears turn pink. “It’s no big deal,” he said, glancing briefly at Daichi with a smile. “I mean, I love you, after all.”

*

 
Night fell as robust cobalt brushstrokes across the horizon, which gradually darkened into a boundless black canopy, bright beads embroidered in a haphazard pattern over its fabric. As the minutes ticked by, Daichi saw how the stars in question seemed to have fallen, noiseless and innocuous, to earth – setting the skyline afire, the ground mirroring the sky. The hustle and bustle of a city as big as Tokyo could be exhausting, but Daichi was always glad for the way all that just morphed into unadulterated scenic beauty once touched by evening.

There were still five minutes left till the 7pm timeslot Koushi had booked arrived.

Daichi stood with him as the smell of the sea tickled his nostrils, gazing out over the daunting expanse of wind-tossed black water with the city on its fringes, cheeks cold in the biting air but hand (and heart) warm while clasped with Koushi’s. They munched on their chicken, reaching into the takeaway bucket at intervals, until it was empty.

When the ferry came, they boarded hand in hand. Past the harbor, they could see the myriad twinkling lights of Odaiba, a misty gold stretching into the distance along the waterline. The engine started, a continuous deep hum easily disregarded, and before long Daichi saw the fast-moving trail of froth left behind as the sleek craft cut cleanly through the water in the shape of a V, the unearthly vista of the city slowly approaching.

He looked over and saw Koushi’s face flushed and lit up like the sky, like the city; his features painted a rosy gold, his hair wind-ruffled. Daichi leaned in and kissed him, the simple contact quick yet searing electricity in his veins.

Then, “Fuck.” He was getting very eloquent these days. “No, no, why are you crying, Koushi –” He hugged the minutely shaking boy tight, hoping that some tangible manifestation of how much he loved him would appear, an angel perhaps or something like that, and make Koushi stop, because why did he feel like he’d seen this scene before, why did he feel so helpless, why did his heart ache so, why was he – crying as well –

“It’s because you have,” Koushi gasped, and he sounded so sad Daichi thought his heart might break. “You’ve seen this before, it’s all happened before, so many times but I’m never going to be able to stay.” His voice broke, the wind carrying his words away – lost kites, rocks in the river, soon beyond recall.

He lifted his head, and his smile was mirthless, ghastly. “I’ll just be doomed to repeating everything over and over, won’t I – that way, I won’t have to let go.” Eyes hard, he made to kiss Daichi, but Daichi just leaned away in confusion and sadness and fear.

“Koushi,” he said lowly, and his voice seemed to spark a conduit in the other boy – his chocolate-brown eyes grew soft once more, tinged with a melancholy Daichi hadn’t noticed was there. “Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m so tired,” Koushi mumbled. “I love you so much, yet I can’t stay.”

He looked at Daichi, the merriment from before now an apparent façade that had cracked and broken, his eyes weary beyond belief. “I’m a time-traveller,” he said, and Daichi nodded slowly, accepting it.

“At least it wasn’t ‘my guardians are super homophobic and are going to assassinate you if we don’t break up’,” Daichi said.

Koushi chuckled forlornly. “My aunt and uncle live in the future, that’s kind of too far to be able to orchestrate anything.”

“I’m sure they could find ways,” Daichi reasoned. “I’d guess that even in the future, a lot of people would be willing to look out for my hot time-travelling boyfriend.”

Koushi stared at him in wonderment. “You actually believe me?”

Daichi shrugged. “Why would I not?”

Koushi laughed, a genuine, beautiful sound. “You’re really something, you know that?” He turned out over the water to focus on the bright spires and quadrangles that spanned their line of vision. “Do you remember the day we met?”

Daichi did remember, but the memory was ever-faint, and he would never actually know exactly how he wound up standing stock-still on the roadside with Koushi hugging him. But now he knew that the boy was a time-traveller, he could finally put a voice to his doubts.

“Did you do something, then, too?” he asked.

Koushi was silent, as if debating with himself what he should say. Finally he spoke. “You died that day. A truck ran you over.”

Daichi stood speechless, processing this new revelation. The words seemed to have resurrected something in him, and vague, ownerless recollections flooded his mind – screaming, a blinding light, the crack of breaking bones combined with white-hot agony. Then he reached over and interlaced his fingers with Koushi’s. “I see. Thanks for saving me – in more ways than one.”

“I can’t stay,” Koushi said gently. “I’ll have to go back very soon.”

“That’s alright,” Daichi said. “I spent the best times of my life with you. I love you, Koushi. I’ll never forget you.” His voice was gruff, but tears threatened to spill down his cheeks as he spoke.

“That’s what I’m saying.” Koushi’s tone was measured, collected. “Once I’m gone, I won’t exist in this time anymore. A few days, and all of you will forget me – even you, Daichi.” He, too, seemed to be struggling not to cry.

(Why did they do this, tiptoeing as if both of them were thin glass, trying to convince themselves that it was alright, that it would pass? Wasn’t grieving a right given to all of those who are born, only to face the cruelty of the world?)

Daichi said in desperation, “Then, it’s going to be your job to come see us again, isn’t it? You will, won’t you?”

“You wouldn’t remember me,” Koushi said, his voice ending in a sob swallowed by the sound of the water; and then the both of them crumple, allowing themselves to be wracked with the anguish of their imminent separation, holding onto each other for dear life, their happiness a wonderful yet so painfully ephemeral thing.