The documentation of a relationship that’s more than a brief encounter, longer than a week in summer, and closer than any distance that words can’t cross.

A collaboration with renaissance

Notes:

For Oisuga Week, we present a collaborative effort between co-authors who sort of got carried away! Goes without saying we're not sticking to the posting schedule, but all in all this will have seven chapters for seven days of prompts. We look forward to having you along for the ride :>

(See the end of the work for more notes)

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six

Chapter One

“It’s not a date,” Suga informs his mirror, for maybe the tenth time that morning. It’s not a date, because meeting a friend for ice cream isn’t a date, right? It’s not a date when they’ve hung out a bit before, when they text all the time, when they’re friends and that’s all. It’s not a date if they both pay for themselves, and it’s not a date even if Suga’s spent at least an hour alternating between his wardrobe and his mirror, picking out the clothes that best send the signal: it’s not a date.

Eventually, he settles on an outfit and pulls a sunhat low over his head to cast a shadow over his inevitable blush, leaving the house with a few minutes to spare before his bus arrives.

The trip there is short, and before long Suga is at his destination, which he’s been referring to as Closer To Oikawa Tooru’s House Than Any Sane Human Ought To Venture. Anyway, it’s not a date, so even if they were to somehow end up at Oikawa’s house, nothing would happen, because nothing happens on not-dates—just two friends, hanging out and getting ice cream.

It doesn’t take long to find the ice cream place that Oikawa suggested, and Oikawa’s already waiting outside, looking like summer has come and personally blessed him with all the season’s beauty. Suga is in way over his head.

“Hey, Suga-chan!” Oikawa calls. “You’re early!”

“That makes you even earlier,” Suga teases, regretting the way he flirts almost instantly. It’s stupid, to let a futile crush get in the way of what would otherwise be a perfectly normal day out—Suga resolves to try not to think about it, but that’ll be easier decided than done.

“Ah, you’re right,” Oikawa says, “I hadn’t noticed!”

Suga elbows him. “Come on, don’t joke with me.”

Oikawa sighs. His sighs are always so over-the-top. It’s one of the ridiculously many things Suga likes about him. “Alright, Suga-chan,” he says, “but it’s not my problem if you can read me too well.”

That’s one of the things Oikawa says a lot, that Suga can read him well. Suga would be lying if he refused to admit that he considers himself a good judge of people, but Oikawa is such a complex person, like a five-thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle where half the edges will never fit together. Suga can’t be sure whether Oikawa’s being genuine when he says it, if Suga really has solved the impossible puzzle, or whether he’s just the sort of person who says serious things like they’re nothing at all—or both.

Perhaps the worst part of all of this is that Suga brought it upon himself.

Their friendship works because there’s a lot they have in common: they’re third years, they’re setters, they both know what it’s like to be cast aside for someone younger and more brilliant. Suga had thought they could relate, on some level.

What he hadn’t expected was Oikawa’s good cheer and ebullience, and how his amiable smile was nothing like the glare he had on court. The moment they met, properly, Oikawa had charmed Suga. It was a week later, lying in bed with the fan blowing on his feet, alternating between texting Oikawa and staring at the ceiling, that Suga realised he’d started thinking of Oikawa as—well, as someone he’d want to date.

That’s what Suga has to remind himself as they order ice cream—vanilla for Oikawa and matcha for Suga—that it’s not a date, because somehow, no matter how many times he tells himself, it’s not getting through.

It slips through his fingers in the way their elbows brush when Oikawa reaches across the counter, and in the way he takes Suga’s order too, handing it to him with that smile, in the way he gestures to a nearby park, and says, “I’d race you there, but I don’t want either of us to drop our ice cream!”

They find a corner of the park that’s relatively empty and sit cross-legged on the grass, side-by-side with their backs to the sun and their knees almost touching. Suga’s distracted by how easy it would be just to shift a bit closer, to make it look like an accident.

“You don’t really seem like a summer person, Suga-chan,” Oikawa says. “Is that right?”

Suga is momentarily distracted by the way Oikawa punctuates his sentence by running his tongue around the edge of his ice cream cone. “Uh,” he says, “well, I do burn easily, but I wouldn’t say I’m not a summer person. I like the warm weather as much as anyone else!”

Oikawa presses his lips together and hums. “I see, I see. Are you not not a winter person too?”

“I do like winter,” Suga admits. “I guess you could say I’m suited to the whole year!”

“So sweet,” Oikawa says.

It takes Suga a second to realise that he’s talking about his ice cream, and a second longer to notice that there’s a smudge of vanilla across his top lip.

“You, uh—” Suga begins.

Oikawa meets his eyes, and Suga’s grateful for his foresight to bring a hat, grateful for the shadows on his face, because he’s certain that he’s pinker than the strawberry ice cream he decided against. Oikawa blinks at him, and Suga opens his mouth to respond but no words come out. He’s worse than useless when he’s around Oikawa.

“I… ?” Oikawa prompts.

Sometimes, gestures do a better job of communicating than words. With his left hand still gripping his ice cream cone like his only lifeline, Suga brings his right hand around and leans over to wipe the ice cream off Oikawa’s lip.

“Sorry,” Suga says, giving Oikawa his best apologetic smile, pulling his arm back after letting his finger linger for too long. “You had some ice cream there. I’m never sure how to bring it up.”

“Oh,” Oikawa says, waving a hand around, “you don’t need to worry about that sort of thing with me! I won’t think it’s rude if you point it out.”

“Thanks,” Suga says, taking the “next time, don’t touch my lip,” as implicit. Next time, he just won’t mention it, because what if he’d left it and Oikawa had noticed, and licked it off with his tongue?

“Anyway,” Oikawa says, changing the subject with deftness that Suga can only aspire to, “how’s your practice been going lately?”

“Ah,” Suga says, “everyone was a bit downbeat after—well, you know—but we’ve picked up a lot!”

“Us too,” Oikawa says. “But it’s nothing I’ve never experienced before, and we’ve still got Spring High.”

“You’re more of an optimist than me, then,” Suga says.

Oikawa’s expression shifts, and Suga feels almost lucky that this is probably a side of Oikawa that most people don’t see. But then he feels bad for thinking that, because maybe Oikawa isn’t such an optimist after all. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought it up.

“I don’t think I’m an optimist,” Oikawa says. “I think I’m a realist. Telling myself that there’s always next time—that’s not a hollow platitude. That’s a promise.”

Suga can’t tear his eyes from Oikawa, whether out of awe or the same attraction as before. “That’s—” he manages, “that’s admirable.”

Oikawa switches gears so fast that Suga almost gets whiplash. “It’s nothing!” he says, waving his hands around. His eyes scrunch up and his mouth broadens into a grin, and it is almost certainly the most adorable thing Suga has ever seen.

“Don’t play it off as nothing!” he says. “Oikawa, you’re—you’re very talented, you know, and you shouldn’t discount that so easily.”

Frowning a bit, Oikawa shrugs and slumps his shoulders, going back to his ice cream. If Suga narrows his eyes and looks closer, pretends that he isn’t just seeing what he wants to, he’d almost say that Oikawa’s blushing. It’s a fanciful notion, but one that Suga files away as a thought to keep him company whenever he’s feeling down.

“You’re,” Oikawa says, sounding a bit pained, “too nice to me, sometimes.”

“Oh, you’re not used to having nice friends?” Suga jokes. “I noticed your ace seems to yell at you a lot.”

Oikawa sits up straighter at that. “That’s right!” he says. “Iwa-chan is so mean to me!”

“Maybe it’s because you add ‘chan’ to the end of his name,” Suga suggests. “Why do you do that, by the way?”

“Would you rather I just called you Sugawara-kun?” Oikawa asks, a bit huffy. It’s incredible how quickly he can change moods. “Most people like having cute nicknames, you know.”

Suga isn’t entirely sure that’s true, but he goes along with it anyway. “Well, I don’t mind it,” he says. “You can keep calling me Suga-chan.”

Oikawa claps his hands together, only he’s still holding the ice cream cone in one, and it threatens to tumble, so Suga reaches out and steadies it. First it was Oikawa’s lip, now it’s Oikawa’s hand—Suga wonders what else he’ll end up touching today, where it’ll end. Most likely it’ll just be a sequence of accidental brushes, close enough to make his heart leap but not so close that they could be called intentional.

“Thanks,” Oikawa says, and Suga’s not sure if he’s referring to the nickname or the ice cream. “Do you want to give me a cute nickname too?”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass,” Suga says. Anyway, only a certain type of person can get away with cute nicknames. Oikawa is lucky he’s just the right amount of cute to pull it off.

“Okay,” Oikawa says, “how about ‘Oikawa-san,’ then?”

Suga laughs inelegantly. “I don’t think so,” he says. “Is that what most people call you?”

“It’s what they should call me,” Oikawa says, winking.

That’s another difference between them, then—Oikawa can be more forward, more bold and confident in himself without being self-centred. Suga questions his self-confidence almost hourly and second-guesses everything he says. Some days, he wishes he could be more like Oikawa. Other days, he thinks he might already be, and he’s just not as good at accepting it. They’re both reasonably outgoing, but everything Oikawa does feels so deliberate, making Suga feel transient and indecisive in comparison.

“Oikawa-san,” Suga tries. “No, I don’t like it. Somehow it makes you seem too important.”

“Are you saying I’m not important?” Oikawa asks.

He sounds like he’s joking, but Suga can’t quite tell. Either way, Suga thinks carefully about his next response. One step too far and he could offend Oikawa, which is the last thing he wants to do.

“I think,” he says, keeping a slow pace in his speech, “you’re just a normal person, like me.”

Oikawa is quiet for a moment, as if he needs to think it over, to decide whether or not he really is normal. But Suga has reached a sort of balance—getting that off his chest, he’ll still have his daft crush on Oikawa, but maybe he doesn’t need to see it as something so unattainable, so out of his reach. When it comes down to it, they’re both just normal people, sitting in a park eating ice cream, and if that’s all that happens for now, then Suga’s at peace with that. He won’t push it, and he’ll stop fretting about whether or not he’s on a date.

“You know,” Oikawa says, softly breaking his silence, “that’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

All it takes is a second for Suga to look away, in the hope that Oikawa won’t see the look on his face. He feels the press of Oikawa’s head against the brim of his sunhat before he can think that it might be a bad idea to turn his head at the same time, to move his mouth down to his ice cream and to stick his tongue out at the very same time that Oikawa does. They collide messily and unceremoniously, and break apart almost immediately, although their faces remain close together—Suga is too surprised to move.

“Sorry,” Oikawa says sheepishly, “I wanted to see what it tasted like.”

After that, it’s the easiest thing in the world when Oikawa adjusts the brim of Suga’s hat so that it’s not squashed up against his forehead but resting on top of his head, and then keeps his hand in the area, his fingers twining around Suga’s neck and into his hairline. Suga ignores all his instincts, the ones that tell him this is too good to be true, and draws closer at the same time as Oikawa, matches his motions as they meet in the middle, this time more refined and purposeful. Oikawa tastes like vanilla, and Suga drops his half-finished ice cream, not even flinching as he sees it roll away in the corner of his vision.

Suga’s instincts are still screaming at him, clamouring for him to stop, but he lets that noise drown itself out as Oikawa runs his fingers through Suga’s hair, kisses him with the same confidence he has when he sets and serves, and Suga lets him take the lead because he’s nervous, terrified that this isn’t real, or if it is, then there’s a catch.

It’s so unreal that Suga loses himself, leaning forward a bit and bringing a hand to Oikawa’s waist. Just then, though, Oikawa pulls back, and Suga flinches at his own stupidity.

“Sorry,” he says, “oh god, I don’t know what came over me—”

Oikawa opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, so Suga cuts him off quickly by scrambling to his feet. He doesn’t want to hear it.

By whatever force of will he has left, Suga manages to get out a “I’ll see you later, Oikawa,” before bolting back towards the bus stop. He doesn’t run, just walks briskly, but he’s out of breath by the time he finally sits down on a bus and reorients himself.

Oikawa didn’t try to come after him or anything, for which Suga is unbelievably thankful, because he’s not sure he could handle a conversation right now. He spends the bus ride clenching and unclenching his hands in to fists, telling himself that he didn’t just run away from a date, trying not to think about the way it felt to kiss Oikawa.

What it felt like was all of his dreams coming true, unfortunately. It felt like the kind of thing that might happen between two people who were on a date, two people who’d kissed before and honed it to an artform. It felt like something that’d happened once and would never happen again.

It’s an hour later, when Suga’s finally home and just past the stage of burying his head in a pillow and pretending that it never happened, that he gets a text from Oikawa: I hope Suga-chan is feeling better! Next time, let’s finish our ice creams!

Suga grins at his phone, getting embarrassed like there might be some ghost in his room watching him make a fool of himself over a text message, of all things, but he’s so relieved he could cry. He doesn’t reply, not right away, so it’s not obvious that he leapt on the message—but it makes everything just a bit better, and for now, that’s enough.

Come Monday, everything is back to normal. Suga and Oikawa are texting at their normal rate—or a bit more often that normal, if Suga were to be honest—and neither of them have mentioned what happened, but they’re doing no worse for it. Suga’s texting so intently before practice that he doesn’t notice Daichi appearing beside him.

“Oikawa again?”

Suga jumps, flipping his phone closed faster than the speed of sound. “Why would you think that?” he asks—and, god, he’s a terrible liar, because Daichi’s face splits into a knowing grin.

“Suga, you don’t text anyone else,” Daichi says. “Don’t worry, I think it’s cute.”

“Cute” is not the sort of word Suga wants to be associating with his friendship with Oikawa, least of all coming from someone like Daichi, who isn’t cute at all.

“Who I text really shouldn’t be any of your business,” Suga says.

“No need to get defensive,” Daichi says. “Anyway, you know it doesn’t bother me, so—”

“Sure,” Suga says.

“I mean it,” Daichi says,

Suga supposes he should at least be thankful that neither Daichi nor Asahi find anything weird about him and Oikawa hanging out, texting, even occasionally sending each other selfies—but there’s a worry at the back of his mind, the same voice that told him not to think of it as a date when he spent time with Oikawa, which warns him not to let it get too out of hand.

He and Daichi meet Asahi in the clubroom and start changing into their uniforms, when Kageyama comes barrelling in, closely followed by Hinata and Yamaguchi.

“—won’t, I can’t,” Kageyama’s saying, his voice quiet but full of something like anger.

“I don’t like it either,” Yamaguchi says, “but don’t you think it’s a good opportunity?”

“No!” Kageyama says. “I think it’s a bad idea.”

“I sort of agree?” Hinata says, sounding like he’s trying very hard to stay neutral. “But—aren’t you even curious, Kageyama?

“Hold up,” Daichi says, “what’re you three arguing about?”

Hinata whips around, his shoulders braced like he’s about to receive. “You don’t know yet?”

“Of course he doesn’t,” Yamaguchi says, “um—”

Suga hears people talking outside the clubroom door, and slips outside to see what’s going on while Daichi deals with the first years. He finds Tsukishima talking to a very agitated Takeda-sensei, and they both stop when they see him.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“Ah,” Takeda-sensei says, “I just broke the news to our first years. I was going to wait until everyone was in the gym, but I was, um, convinced otherwise.”

It’s a polite way to say that a teacher was overpowered by four excitable fifteen-year-olds, and Suga gives him a supportive smile.

“Oh well,” Takeda-sensei says, “I might as well just tell you now. We’ve organised to have a week-long training camp with Seijou in the Summer break, and—”

As far as Suga’s concerned, Takeda-sensei might as well have stopped talking, time might as well have stopped. A training camp, with Seijou, for a week, a whole week in Oikawa’s presence—Suga can think of nothing worse.

Chapter Two

Tooru bites the inside of his mouth and smiles. “We’re doing what?”

Iwaizumi swivels around and narrows his eyes at him. “I know you heard him,” he bites out. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Tooru keeps the smile on his face. “Nothing’s wrong.” He lets out a dramatic sigh. “It’s just, you know, it’s Karasuno. Our great rivals.”

“By hardly much,” says Irihata-sensei. Tooru clamps his mouth shut to prevent a second retort. “This could be great for you all. We didn’t expect them to come as close as they did with the last game, so this will be beneficial for all of us.”

Tooru continues to keep his mouth shut. He doesn’t need to say anything, really, when it’s Kindaichi who protests, “But there’s—and we—”

Iwaizumi turns to him too. Kindaichi steps back and stops talking.

“To put it in perspective,” Irihata continues, “I’ve already conferred with the Karasuno advisor, and we’ve agreed on it, and that’s what we’re doing during summer break.”

Hanamaki audibly whispers to Matsukawa, “That’s not putting it into perspective.”

“Anyway,” Irihata starts, but Tooru steps forward.

“I think,” he says, his voice ringing around the gym, “it’s an excellent idea. Keep our friends close and our enemies closer.”

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi hisses.

“What, Iwa-chan? I’m just trying to lighten the mood.”

Tooru flashes his smile at all of them, and tries to push away the vague feeling of his head spinning. Maybe a couple of months ago he would be more worried about this training camp being an easy path for Tobio-chan to catch up to him quickly—but right now other things are on his mind. Other things like summer kisses and sweet ice cream. Or sweet kisses and summer ice cream. The shade of a wide-brimmed hat, the burn in his chest that’s only barely been dampened, the lingering taste of vanilla and matcha on his tongue.

“I think you’ve done enough,” says Iwaizumi, as the others are perking up, now throwing in ideas.

“We can break down all their strategies,” Yahaba’s suggesting.

“And see how Kageyama and that other one do their freak quick,” grumbles Kindaichi.

But all in all they’re talking amongst each other and the scowl on Iwaizumi’s face seems more out of habit than out of disapproval. Tooru smiles and blinks, pleased at all of them.

If only he could talk the same sense into himself.

He doesn’t text Suga about it, not right away—if he didn’t know, it would be funny to surprise him. That’s the least of Tooru’s worries, seeing Suga surprised.

But that would be unfair and Tooru highly doubts that he’s the only one who’s been running his tongue over his teeth too, wondering if they’d made a mistake, if there was some meaning—no. There isn’t. It happened and now it’s over and with the infrequency of how they see each other—right now, at least—it shouldn’t be on his radar. And, if anyone wanted to know the truth, he’s actually kind of sad that Suga had dropped his ice cream.

It won’t be a problem, anyway, with the way they’ve still been texting since then. When Tooru finally decides to send, So did you hear the news? (¬ ¬ ) Suga’s response is, About the training camp? Yeah, I did. He’d responded within five minutes and even quicker when Tooru continues the conversation.

It’s nothing.

So, it’s nothing when Tooru arrives at the site with Iwaizumi, his duffle bag over his shoulder and chattering about final exams, and sees three silhouettes. It’s nothing when he recognizes one of the silhouettes and he can barely taste the sweetened green tea at the tip of his tongue.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says warningly, just as the thought of going over to greet them crosses his mind.

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru says in the same tone. “Yes?”

“If you think I’m going to pretend I haven’t noticed you talking to a certain Karasuno third year recently—”

“Like I said,” Tooru says cheerfully, adjusting his bag over his shoulder. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer!”

But all he can think about as he walks over to them is how close he might get, how close he might be allowed.

“Hi, Suga-chan,” Tooru calls. And because he’s polite, “Sawamura, Azumane.”

“Uh,” says Azumane.

Sawamura says, “Hi Oikawa,” and steps away cautiously.

Suga smiles, says, “Fancy seeing you here.” He elbows his two friends before leading them in.

Tooru doesn’t jog to catch up with him. He doesn’t. Suga doesn’t have very long legs and it only takes a couple of strides.

Suga continues, “Our first years have already settled in.” He turns to Tooru. “How about you guys?”

“We’ve only just arrived,” Tooru answers. “The others are coming from the school, but Iwa-chan here drives!”

Iwaizumi, from lingering with Azumane and Sawamura, snorts. “This dumbass forgot his mirror at home,” he tells them.

Suga and Daichi actually have the nerve to laugh. (At least Suga looks cute.) Azumane sounds as if he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to.

Tooru pouts. “Don’t spread lies about me like that, Iwa-chan.”

“Then are you gonna tell me what was taking you so long?”

Iwaizumi has his arms folded. Even Suga looks curious, and that’s bothersome. Tooru huffs, because perhaps he’d been a little on edge, his brain working a little too fast, and the little thoughts like he could work from home, he could practice from home, he could spend the time while everyone else was in training camp to rewatch matches and overanalyze plays, started sneaking in.

But they are a team, and Tooru does—for the most part—place that above self-servitude when it comes to volleyball. So he just says, “I was looking for my favorite underwear,” and Iwaizumi punches him on the shoulder. Sawamura laughs, Azumane blushes, and Suga slaps his hand over his own mouth.

“What is your favorite underwear?” he asks after a moment.

Tooru winks at him. “Do you want to find out?”

“What in the world is that supposed to mean?” Suga’s one eye crinkles at the corner when he smiles, the eye that doesn’t have the mole underneath.

Tooru says, “Come to our room.” He ignores the glare he feels at his back.

Suga raises an eyebrow.

“So I can show you it when I unpack!” Tooru gestures to his bag. “I’m not sure if your friends and Iwa-chan here will want to see it if I just took it out here.”

“Not like I have a choice,” Iwaizumi says from behind them.

Tooru ignores him again.

Suga says, “I’m not sure if I want to see it either,” and the others laugh, Tooru shoves him, but he laughs too.

They split off and say goodbye and head to their separate sleeping rooms. Tooru thinks for a second that Iwaizumi will ask him about Suga again, but Iwaizumi just talks about their training regimen until the others come in. Tooru decides not to worry too much about it, and unpacks his things and sets up his bed with the others. In the back of his mind he thinks about Suga being just down the hall, in the same building, only so many meters away.

Before he goes to bed he grabs his phone from under his pillow. The room is already dark and Iwaizumi hits him to go to sleep, but Tooru ignores him. He pulls the covers over his head and opens his most recent conversation, at the top of his inbox.

Goodnight Suga-chan (^_<)〜☆

Suga responds, with a, Goodnight Oikawa! almost immediately. It doesn’t make Tooru dream of him, but he wakes up thinking about what will come rather than what’s happened before.

He’s the first the next morning, as expected. Iwaizumi lets out a deep snore as Tooru steps over him, and Tooru stifles a laugh.

Sunlight pours through the hallway windows. Tooru pauses during his walk and takes a deep breath, staring outside. Training camps are his favorite way to spend the summer. They’re easier than the days he spends going from school to home and the nights rewatching games and plays alone. Now he does them with his team, or on the other side of the net.

The restroom is just down the corridor, and Tooru continues on to wash up. As he’s brushing his teeth, he hears the footsteps before the door creaks open.

Suga walks in, coming to a halt when he sees him.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Tooru says around his toothbrush.

Suga dips his head, like he’s trying to hide the smile that sprawls across his face. “You too,” he says, grabbing for his own toothbrush. “I should’ve figured you were an early riser.”

Tooru makes a noise of affirmation. Suga watches him for a bit, before bringing out his own toothpaste and toothbrush. Tooru watches as he begins to brush his own teeth.

Tooru finishes first, spitting into the sink and then gargling his water when he’s done. After he dries his face, he slings his towel over his shoulder and turns around. He makes sure to take a few steps to give the illusion that he’s leaving.

Then he turns around and flicks towards Suga with his still-wet hands.

Suga laughs and his toothbrush jostles to the side of his mouth. “Hey!” he says, foam dribbling down his chin like a beard.

Tooru giggles. “You look—” he starts, but Suga’s dipped his fingers into his cup and is now flicking him with water.

Tooru squeals. Suga laughs a little more as he gets water into Tooru’s hair, barely managing with his toothbrush sticking out of the corner of his mouth. But he doesn’t seem to care, toothpaste trickling down to his shirt. When he goes back to spit in the sink, Tooru takes the opportunity to turn his faucet on, runs his hands under the water, and sprays Suga again.

The restroom door opens. Shorty walks in, rubbing his eyes, and stops at the sight of them.

“Suga-san?” he says, and then jumps back a little when he sees Tooru. “O-Oikawa-san?”

“Hi shorty-chan,” Tooru says the same time Suga says, “Hinata-kun!”

Tooru salutes Suga and heads off. Shorty’s looking between them weirdly, but Tooru ignores him.

“See you at breakfast,” he says to Suga.

Breakfast is several minutes later, and Tooru does, indeed, see him then. He stands up immediately when he spots Suga walking in with his friends, and tries to wave him over.

Iwaizumi says, “You knocked over Kindaichi’s food.”

Tooru glances down. Kindaichi is staring glumly at his spilt porridge.

Tooru sits back down. “Sorry, Kindaichi,” he says, and picks the bowl back up.

Matsukawa sighs. “I’ll get the towel.”

And Suga doesn’t notice him, anyway, still talking to his friends at the other side of the room. But Tooru peeks over at him, every once in a while.

They split off for practices the same way they had last night to their rooms. While walking to their gym together, Iwaizumi says, “Kyoutani, let’s work on your spikes.”

Tooru claps his hands. Kyoutani’s eyebrows crease at his own enthusiasm, but Tooru pretends he doesn’t see. “Excellent plan, Iwa-chan!”

Kyoutani’s making this kind of glowering expression that goes away when Iwaizumi pats him on the back. “C’mon,” Iwaizumi says. “You’ve barely practiced with us all year.”

Kyoutani grunts.

“Honestly, Mad dog-chan,” Tooru says. “You’re a talented spiker! I’ll set plenty of balls to you today.” Kyoutani isn’t as talented to deserve Tooru’s compliments right off the bat, but when taunting and observing and adjusting doesn’t make him any more cooperative, he has to resort to different strategies.

Still Kyoutani isn’t impressed until Iwaizumi says, “You’re important on the team.” Kyoutani grunts again.

They go to their gym and begin stretching, Tooru calling out encouragement and their weekly timetable as they do. He’d created it only hours after they’d been told about the training camp, to get his mind off of other things. He tries the same now, paying less attention to the sound of balls from the other gym, narrowing his focus onto his team and their practice this morning.

A practice match with Karasuno is scheduled for the afternoon, so they dedicate their time to blocking, receiving, and working on the timing of the other spikers. It’s a pity that they’re practicing with Kyoutani and Karasuno, so that they won’t have any new tricks up their sleeves when the match that counts comes. But it’s only fair. Tooru is glad for (more than) once for Iwaizumi—Kyoutani doesn’t pass to Matsukawa or Hanamaki, even when they call out his name.

Iwaizumi goes up to him and says, “You have other teammates, you know.”

Kyoutani grunts. Next time when he needs to, he passes to Watari. So that’s something.

By the time noon rolls around, Tooru’s a little more exasperated than he would like to be, but keeps up the image. “Good work, everyone,” he says, ignoring the way Matsukawa and Hanamaki are muttering to themselves and already heading off. “We’ll surely crush Karasuno this afternoon.”

“Not if Kageyama and that other guy’s freak quick can help it,” Kindaichi mutters.

Tooru shouts, “Kindaichi!”

Kindaichi almost falls over.

“That’s not the attitude we should have,” Tooru scolds. “Even if Tobio-chan and Shorty are, well, freaks, we’ll find a way to surpass it.”

Kindaichi mumbles something and starts heading off.

Tooru picks up his own water bottle from the bench. At the same time, a voice from behind him says, “You think you’ll crush us today?”

He turns around to see Suga walking over to him.

Tooru doesn’t analyze the tiny flip in his chest. “Suga-chan,” he says, gaze flickering from Suga’s face, to the small spots of sweat on his arms, to his pace wavering when Tooru greets him.

“Shouldn’t you be practicing?” he asks.

Suga chuckles. “Well we’ve decided to focus our energies on things we need to improve on as individuals,” he says, and Tooru can see something in his eyes falter. “So I decided to see how you guys were doing.”

“Spying on us, are you?” Tooru says, but he’s smiling around his water bottle. He takes a swig and sighs.

Suga says, “Precisely,” and grins. “But, seeing as your practice is done, I decided to come down to say hi. So here I am.”

“So here you are,” Tooru echoes.

Then he remembers—“Ah, oh right, breakfast.”

Suga raises his eyebrows. “Breakfast?”

“Well, at breakfast,” says Tooru. “I was trying to get your attention to sit with us—anyway. Do you want to sit with me at lunch?”

It’s weird, the way this feels more intimate than when he’d asked Suga’s favorite color, or when he’d asked if he had any brothers or sisters. Suga lights up in a way Tooru’s only seen a handful of times (when they’re walking downtown and see dogs on the sidewalk, when Tooru waits outside of his school for them to walk home) and Tooru tries, once again, to not think too much about it.

“Of course,” Suga says, with a graceful smile. “Did you expect me to say no?”

“Of course not.” Tooru bumps their shoulders together. “But it would only be polite to ask.”

Suga watches him. Tooru thinks nothing of it and drinks from his water bottle again. They go to the dining room, where other members of their own teams have started to sit around and congregate.

Iwaizumi’s sitting with a mix of people, but there’s only one space left at his table. He doesn’t beckon Tooru over but Tooru grabs a green bean and throws it at him as they pass by. Iwaizumi starts, and Tooru cackles away. They run off to a table occupied with a few Karasuno second years and Yahaba.

“You’re a menace,” Suga comments as they sit down.

Tooru says his thanks for the food, and then shoves a green bean into his own mouth. “I am not,” he says. “I’m only making Iwa-chan’s life a little more interesting! Without me and it’d be boring.”

“You’re like a child,” Suga says. He picks up his own chopsticks. “But I suppose you do make everyone’s lives interesting.”

“So mission accomplished.” Tooru flashes a peace sign at him before starting on his food.

They talk about Suga’s penchance of putting chili powder on everything, even his meat bun which Tooru yelps at until Suga laughs and says that’s the first time he’d done it, to mess with him. That guides their conversation into Suga asking about Tooru’s birthday, right before their training camp, and Tooru tells him about how he’d gone out for Korean barbecue with his family and Iwaizumi and Matsukawa and Hanamaki. When Suga says it sounded fun Tooru says, “You should’ve come along!”

Maybe he’s half-joking, maybe he isn’t at all. Tooru had texted him, letting him know at the time, and Suga wished him a happy birthday. They haven’t known each other long enough for it to not be weird, but Tooru kind of likes the idea, Suga there to celebrate.

But other things had happened before that, and—Tooru shakes the thought away.

They finish their food as the others begin to trickle out. While he’s throwing his trash out he spies Kyoutani following Iwaizumi through the doorway. So he’ll be at the practice match. Tooru only hopes, anyway.

A thought occurs to him then. Suga comes back from the bins, and Tooru says to him, “Hey Suga-chan, are you free after our game?”

“Yeah?” Suga says, putting his dish on the counter. “Why?”

“Well, from setter to setter,” says Tooru. “I think we have a few things we can learn from each other.”

He’s already trying to work with the impracticality of the situation—it’s a little hard to practice setting without a regular spiker. But Tooru’s not useless at it, and he imagines Suga isn’t either.

He adds, “And you said your team is working on individual growth, correct?”

“More or less.”

But Suga’s tone is wary.

Tooru says, “Cheer up, Suga-chan! Unless you don’t want to.”

“Oh, I,” says Suga, and then pauses. “Hm.”

“Hm?”

Suga starts, “Oikawa,” and Tooru turns to him.

But Suga must’ve decided against whatever he wanted to say, because a second later he just smiles.

“Okay,” he says.

Their game goes as expected, but Tooru doesn’t tell his team that. It would get to their heads. “Good work, everyone!” he calls as he sees most of them beam at the 25:22 on the scoreboard, Kunimi complaining about his back hurting. “You’re young and you played well, Kunimi-chan,” he calls, and Kunimi flinches but looks pleased.

The Karasuno members on the other side of the net are discussing amongst themselves. When they’re done, Sawamura comes up to Tooru and says, “Good game, Oikawa.”

“You too, Sawamura.” Tooru shakes his hand and winks. “Don’t put too much pressure on yourself.”

Sawamura’s thanks is emotionless. “We’ve decided that for the games we lose,” he says, “we should do flying falls.”

“Really? Your team is so willing?” Tooru peeks out from behind him, where Suga has his face in his hands. Azumane is patting his back consolingly. Tobio seems like he’s trying to teach Shorty what flying falls are, and Shorty seems to be failing.

“Some of them,” Sawamura replies, when Tooru spots the libero jogging in place like he’s getting ready.

“Well,” says Tooru. “We’re happy to return the favor. But I don’t think we’ll need to.”

“Right,” Sawamura says, and then walks back off.

Tooru’s team starts to file out for a shower, and Iwaizumi says, “Oikawa, coming?” But Tooru’s got his arms crossed, fixated on Suga, stretching like he’s stalling while the rest of them seem ready.

“No, no, I’ll be there in a bit,” Tooru says, waving him off.

He pretends he doesn’t notice Iwaizumi glare at him from the corner of his eyes. “Okay,” Iwaizumi says in contrast, and then he leaves.

They do flying falls around the gym. Tooru winces each time someone bumps their chin against the floor, but it’s never—well, Suga is hardly doing them, really. Suga’s bending down and standing back up every once in a while, can hardly be called flying falls even when Sawamura pokes him. Tooru laughs into his palm.

“Do better, Suga-chan!” he calls.

Suga whips around to see him. The red that sneaks up on his face is impossible to miss, and Tooru laughs again. Suga tries maybe a little harder, but apparently even Tooru isn’t enough to put him at his full game.

When they’re done, Tooru walks up to him. “Your captain told us you guys were going to do flying falls,” he teases.

Suga mutters, “We did.”

“That can hardly be said for you,” says Tooru. “Maybe when we practice together we’ll do them too.”

“Oh god.” Suga looks up to the ceiling. “Please, no.”

Karasuno starts filing out. Azumane calls, “Suga, do you have plans?” He glances at Tooru, and immediately away when he realizes Tooru’s noticed.

Suga nods and sighs. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, putting a hand to his forehead. “I’m going to do more… flying falls…”

Tooru laughs again. “I was just joking,” he says, as the gym gets emptier. “Unless you really want to do them.”

“I think you know my answer to that.” But Suga’s expression is relieved, and Tooru stares at him a second longer than he would like to.

They begin their practice with Tooru starting off with talking about the purposes of being a setter. Suga jumps in at all the right places, saying things about bringing out the best in the team and knowing the other players more than anyone. It’s easy then to just start passing back and forth with each other despite not being on the same team; Suga’s toss is naturally average paced with a medium size arc, but it slows well instead of being constant so it’s not boring, per se. It’s certainly skillful, and Tooru tells him so.

Suga shrugs. “Well experience will do that for you,” he says.

Tooru says, “I’m complimenting you, Suga-chan. Take it in stride!”

“You’re not allowed to compliment me,” Suga says. Before Tooru can open his mouth, he adds, “Until we beat you, anyway.”

“Oh?” Tooru passes the ball to him. “Is that the goal? Do you strive to defeat me, Suga-chan?”

“I don’t strive not to,” says Suga. “There’s no fun in the game if there’s not someone I want to defeat.”

Tooru hates that his mind goes to Shiratorizawa and Ushiwaka at this. It’s true, and he’s already defeated Suga a number of times, and he’s not even sure if he wants Suga as a rival, anyway. He wants Suga around, in this easygoing rhythm like their passing the ball back and forth. He likes both his mind and Suga here.

Suga says, hitting the ball back to him, “This isn’t our first time alone here, is it.”

“I commend you for your observational skills,” Tooru says with a grin. “There was, in fact, this morning.”

“Yeah,” says Suga, but sounds kind of distant. Perhaps he wants to talk about the last time they were alone before training camp. Perhaps he doesn’t.

Tooru catches the ball after a bit and tucks it under his arm. “Let’s spike for each other,” he says, and Suga brightens up with an, “Okay!”

It’s kind of stiff at first, because recently Tooru’s only attacked with Yahaba’s sets, and the last time that happened was over a semester ago. Suga’s a little easier, and they volley back and forth, alternating and giving each other tips. Suga goes in for a high five the first time his toss and Tooru’s spike are perfectly in sync. Then they continue that, reddening their hands more.

(One time Tooru’s hand is so sore that he slaps Suga’s ass instead. Suga squeaks.

“What was that for?” he asks.

Tooru grins. “Good toss, Suga-chan,” he says.

Suga rolls his eyes. When Tooru turns around, something hard hits his own butt. He turns around to see Suga grinning mischievously.)

Their conversations eventually fall away to smaller things like how they’d gotten into volleyball, how their early practices went—nothing like their time off the court, though that’s not something Tooru forgets either. It should’ve been evident enough, when he and Suga hadn’t even asked if they were going to retire for the Spring High, and just assumed they wouldn’t. But in this space, chatting about something they both love and are good at—the world is so vast, here, right at Tooru’s fingertips.

They’re both so lost in the motions that, when the gym door opens, Suga’s toss is off and Tooru hardly jumps. They both turn their heads.

In the doorway is the tall blond glasses kid from Suga’s team.

“Ah, Suga-san,” he says. He looks at Tooru once, and then away again. “We’re going to have a team meeting, and then practice a few rotations.”

“Oh.” Maybe Suga’s face falls, but that could be Tooru’s imagination going again. “Alright.”

“You’re…” Glasses looks at Tooru again. “Practicing with Oikawa-san?”

“I am,” Suga says, the same time Tooru finger guns at Glasses.

“Setting practice,” he says to him. “But don’t tell Tobio-chan!”

Glasses stares at him. “I won’t,” he says, after a moment.

Suga says, “You could find an Aoba Jousai member to practice blocking with, if you want, Tsukishima.”

“Ooh,” says Tooru, jumping in. “You could practice with Mattsun! He loves being bothered with things like that.” He doesn’t, but Matsukawa’s been looking pretty bored at practices lately anyway.

Glasses stares at him again.

“… I’ll look into it,” he says, before turning away.

Suga smiles at Tooru. “Thanks,” he says. “I’ll see you at dinner?”

“Yes,” Tooru chirps. “And eat together again.”

“Of course,” Suga agrees.

He walks out, following Glasses. Tooru lets his gaze linger for a millisecond longer than he’s conscious of, before starting out as well. He heads towards the room where he and the rest of his team sleep, where Iwaizumi is bound to be.

As expected, Iwaizumi’s taking a nap. Under most circumstances Tooru would bother him, but instead he rests against his pillow, props his feet up on Iwaizumi’s back, and takes out his phone from his bag. He loads up the recent messages again. His fingers hover above the keyboard.

But the thought of Suga coming back to his text makes him smile, even more so when he sends it.

Have fun at practice~ Come find me when you’re done so we can walk to dinner together ☆ ～(‘▽^人)

Tooru runs into Suga outside of the restroom the next morning, nearly colliding with him. He hears Suga’s laugh before he actually sees his face, and Tooru jostles his shoulder more intentionally then.

“Ready for another day of practice?” he asks, and Suga rolls his eyes.

“You know,” he says, making his way into the bathroom. “It’s really not that efficient for us to be practicing setting together when we should be doing it with our spikers.”

He’s gotten his toothbrush, and Tooru remembers yesterday, the giggles, the water at the tip of his hair like dewdrops, fighting back. Tooru blinks—but only a second has passed, not long enough to be considered staring.

“Is that a complaint, Suga-chan?” he asks. He looks into the mirror and fixes his hair.

Suga shoots him a look. “Well I wasn’t quite sure if you prioritized spending time with me over the efficiency of our practices.”

Tooru watches his reflection in the mirror. A slow pink starts to creep up Suga’s neck, but Tooru can’t think much about it. It would be –

“We’re both efficient people,” says Tooru. “I think we should have more faith in each other.”

The conversation ends there, but only because Tooru bids him goodbye for a shower. He starts taking his shirt off, and from the corner of his eye watches Suga. The showers are in the next room over and Suga hasn’t turned around, but Tooru can’t see his face in the mirror. Tooru smirks and imagines Suga staring at him from the mirror, but lets himself end it there.

When he comes back out, Suga’s gone. But Tooru runs into him in the dining hall after he gets changed. Tooru sits backwards on the chair next to him, and watches him eat.

After a couple seconds of silence, Suga says, “That’s all you’re going to have?”

“What?” Tooru takes a bite from his pastry. “It’s breakfast.”

“I’ve always been told,” Suga says, putting his fork down, “that you drink a glass of water once you wake up.”

“Once you wake up?” Tooru chuckles. “What, so you put a glass of water before bed and put it beside you for the next morning.”

“No,” Suga says; but when he turns to Tooru again, Tooru’s grinning.

“You think you’re cute,” Tooru hears him mutter.

Tooru leans in. “Hmm? What was that?”

“That was—” Suga shoots his head up, and clears his throat. His gaze meets Tooru’s. Tooru realizes how close they’re sitting, how close he’s leaning in, how Suga’s holds eye contact like he’s trying not to look anywhere else.

Tooru lets his gaze drop a millimeter, and Suga does too—a little more than that, like he’s staring at the space above Tooru’s mouth. Tooru leans in for a second.

He can feel Suga’s breath on his face when he laughs. “You’ve got a little,” Suga says, pointing to the corner of his lips.

Tooru pulls away and wipes it off. “I do,” he says, and goes back to his pastry.

“You’re hopeless when it comes to eating, aren’t you?”

Tooru has no idea, actually—maybe he is and Suga has been the only person who’s been helpful enough to point it out. Maybe it only happens when he’s around him.

Tooru says, “We should go for a run after this.”

Suga picks up his spoon and starts on his porridge. “Yeah?”

“Good exercise.” Tooru shoves the last of his pastry in his mouth, chews, and swallows. “Fresh air.”

“You propose a convincing argument.” Suga smiles at him from his soup. He’s got a little bit on his cheek, but it’s cute like his mole so Tooru doesn’t say anything. “I’m in.”

He finishes his breakfast and then goes to throw it away. Tooru follows, and says, “We setters have to stay in shape!” He puffs up his chest proudly, and yelps when Suga elbows his side.

“Alright then,” Suga says. “Do you think we should invite Kageyama and your—what’s his name—”

Tooru scoffs. “Tobio has other things to work on before he can reach our level,” he says. “And Yahaba seems like he’s having fun with your other second year.”

“I’m teasing,” Suga says, and puts his plate away. He nudges Tooru again. “C’mon, let’s go run.”

Today is supposed to be warmer than yesterday, but the morning air is cool and the sun is fifteen degrees in the distance and settled like a patient fawn. They start off at the front of the site, only a little faster than walking, even though they don’t talk about it. Suga has good game sense, good strategy. He evens out his pace and doesn’t goad Tooru into running a little faster or slower. It takes a bit before Tooru realizes that he’s a few paces ahead, so he slows and lingers.

Suga huffs out a laugh between his teeth. “This is what I get for having shorter legs,” he manages, between pants.

“Oh, Suga-chan, you can’t help it.” Tooru’s panting too, and the sweat on his forehead is bound to ruin his hair. For Suga it just slicks a few strands back, making him look ridiculous and kind of cute as the sun perks up a bit more.

Suga ducks his head down and swings his arms, pumps his legs. “You can go on ahead of me,” he says. “If you want.”

“But then the road will be so lonely.” Tooru pouts.

Suga chuckles. “You really do like spending time with me, don’t you?” and he says it in such a tone that it’s hard for Tooru to read. Probably because they’re both still jogging.

“Well of course I do,” Tooru says. He can read between the lines, but it’s more fun to play along. “All this time we’ve been friends and I wouldn’t expect you to think otherwise.”

The word friends comes out a little more forceful than he expects. Tooru’s eyebrows knit together, but he waits for Suga’s response anyway.

Suga shrugs, and then starts on ahead. “Race you,” he calls, and doesn’t look back as they start.

Tooru wins but not by much, at an awning that they’ve both apparently silently agreed on. They’re a little ways off and kind of far from the campsite, but Tooru has a good sense of direction. And so does Suga, apparently, when he says, “We should head there,” and points towards where Tooru had been thinking. Tooru nods.

They both duck down to catch their breath. The shade is cool, even though clouds have started to cover the sunlight. Tooru sighs and flaps the front of his collar, one hand on his waist. Suga has both hands on his knees, gasping.

“Good race,” he says, sticking a hand out to Tooru.

Tooru takes it and helps him up. Suga looks at him funnily. It occurs to Tooru a second later that maybe he’d wanted to shake his hand, and rearranges their fingers.

Suga snorts. “What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” says Tooru. He tangles their hands together so a couple of their fingers are threaded together. It feels kind of strange though. He lets go, their hands dropping.

Tooru turns away, cheeks heating up despite the rest of his body cooling down. There’s a chance that Suga hasn’t noticed.

Suga lets out a little cough the same time they hear a roll of thunder. Tooru doesn’t know which one to pay more attention to.

“Oikawa,” Suga starts, and Tooru makes a decision.

“I like you.”

Tooru changes his mind.

Art by junebirds

Chapter Three

“Oikawa,” Suga says, before he can stop himself, before he can bring himself to regret it, “I like you.”

The thunder in the sky is nowhere near as loud as the thundering of Suga’s heartbeat, pounding against his chest and making a bid for freedom. Well, now he’s said it, so there’s no turning back, but he wishes he hadn’t—there’s this oppressive awkwardness settling on the air, and it’s got nothing to do with the humidity and the few drops of rain that start to hit the ground.

“We should head back before the rain gets too heavy,” Oikawa says.

It’s like he didn’t hear Suga at all, and Suga takes a deep breath, telling himself it’s fine, reminding himself of the way Oikawa linked their hands just a few moments ago, and how Oikawa’s been resolutely flirting with him since training camp started. He thinks that maybe he can take another chance.

“Let’s wait it out,” Suga says, taking Oikawa’s hand in his, winding their fingers together. He debates whether to say the next words on the tip of his tongue, but can’t stop himself for long, adding, “We can take advantage of this, you know.”

Oikawa has a weird look on his face, unreadable, but he doesn’t pull his hand away. Suga smiles at him, and, slowly, almost hesitantly, Oikawa smiles back.

There’s a clap of thunder as Suga launches himself onto Oikawa, flings his arms around Oikawa’s neck and kisses him full on the mouth. It takes a second for Oikawa to respond, resting his hands on Suga’s hips and leaning down a bit. This is better than their last kiss, more certain with experience and less hesitant as they invade each other’s personal space, tongues and lips becoming almost indistinguishable.

It’s a relief, almost, to know that this sort of thing is okay with Oikawa, that he doesn’t mind kissing, and that his reaction to Suga confessing isn’t to run away, or worse, turn him down. The fact that Oikawa hasn’t responded—well, that’s something Suga doesn’t need to think about right now, when their lips are locked and their tongues tied.

The rain gets heavier, and some of it sprays under the awning, tickling Suga’s ankles—the sound still isn’t enough to drown out the fireworks Suga’s hearing when Oikawa sweeps him off his feet, lifting him from the waist and swinging him so that they’re further out of the rain. Suga laughs in a way he didn’t know he could, loud and bright, overflowing with the excitement of something new, something unbelievably euphoric.

“Do you think anyone will notice we’re missing?” Suga asks as he lands back on his feet.

“Are we missing?” Oikawa asks, raising his eyebrows. “We’ve just gone for a morning jog, after all. It’s only natural that, if we were caught in the rain, we’d wait it out.”

“I guess,” Suga says. “Still—don’t you think it’s a bit suspicious?”

Oikawa grins. “Are you worried that people will talk?”

For this, Suga decides to play dumb. “Well, what could they possibly have to talk about?” he asks, his voice more sarcastic than he usually lets it get. “After all, there’s nothing strange in two friends going out for a run together, with no-one else around, in the morning, when it’s quiet, and they could get up to all sorts—”

“You’re right,” Oikawa says, suddenly serious. “We should get back.”

Suga doesn’t have any better reaction for that than furrowing his brows at Oikawa, and letting his arms slacken around Oikawa’s neck. “In this rain?”

Oikawa grins, his eyes sparkling. “I’ll race you.”

As Oikawa releases Suga, Suga gets a head start, laughing as he runs out into the pouring rain. Within a second he’s drenched, but he’s high on happiness, giddy with the sensation that’s still on his lips, no matter how much water runs down his face. Oikawa’s still got those longer legs on him, though, so he catches up, outpacing Suga a few hundred metres before they make it back to the campsite.

“Ha!” Oikawa yelps, shaking his hair out like a wet dog. “You lose, Suga-chan!”

“That’s a funny way to phrase it,” Suga says, leaning against the nearest wall and wiping a hand across his eyes.

“Your hair is darker when it’s wet,” Oikawa observes.

“Don’t change the subject,” Suga says.

Oikawa takes a few steps forward, until the only thing between him and the wall is Suga. “We should get back,” he says.

“We should,” Suga agrees.

They don’t.

Now, it’s second nature, the way their mouths fit together. They’re both breathless from running, but somehow that makes it better. Suga stops caring that, technically, anyone could walk past and see them like this, and slides his hands beneath the wet fabric of Oikawa’s shirt. Oikawa shivers, and Suga’s never felt more powerful.

“You’re dangerous, Suga-chan,” Oikawa says quietly.

“Thanks,” Suga says, laughing.

With great power comes great responsibility, and knowing that someone as strong and intimidating as Oikawa can come to pieces under Suga’s fingers is the best sort of responsibility. Suga takes matters into his hands and runs his fingers around Oikawa’s waist, pressing firmer as they kiss again. It’s hard to think that a few weeks ago, Suga had never kissed anyone. Now, he lets himself become captivating and captivated, surrendering himself entirely to the moment, shutting out every other thought as extraneous to the kissing. What’s important is the drops of water running down his face, the feel of Oikawa’s arm against his from where it’s rested against the wall, the way Oikawa tastes against Suga’s mouth.

Too soon, though, it’s over, with Oikawa pulling back a few paces, his eyes wide.

“Did you hear that?” he asks.

Suga holds back a sigh. “Hear what?”

“I think I heard footsteps,” Oikawa says, his voice dropping to a whisper.

For those few moments, they stand perfectly still, and Suga readjusts his ears to his surrounds—there’s nothing, though, but the heavy rain and the sound of their breathing.

“Oh well,” Oikawa says, loud as usual, “I suppose it was nothing. We should probably head back and dry off.”

“I guess so,” Suga says reluctantly. He doesn’t have any concept of what time it is, so Oikawa’s probably right, but he resents the situation nonetheless.

Before Suga can say anything else, Oikawa’s gone, and Suga lets out a sigh. Maybe they’re not destined to kiss for any longer than a few minutes at a time. This time, though, it’s not Suga running away but Oikawa—and is he even running away, or is he genuinely scared someone will find them? Suga supposes it’s a reasonable concern, but that doesn’t stop him from moping all the way back to the room that Karasuno’s been given to sleep in.

He’s greeted by Daichi and Asahi, already dressed and ready to go to practice. They’re sitting at the end of Daichi’s futon, and Suga makes sure to position himself ideally to drip water all over it.

“Yikes,” Daichi says, a different take on hello, “what happened to you?”

Suga gives him his best frown. “I went for a run with Oikawa,” he says, “before it started raining.”

“You’d better dry off quickly,” Asahi says. “You don’t want to catch a cold or anything.”

“Thanks dad,” Suga teases, “but I’ll pass. Don’t you have bills to pay and children to feed?”

Asahi laughs nervously. “Daichi’s captain. If anything, he should be looking after the children.”

Daichi’s expression goes serious in an instant, and he leans forward to place a hand on Suga’s shoulder. “Son,” he says, “you need to dry off before practice, otherwise you’ll slip and fall.”

As he laughs, Suga’s shoulders tremble and he shakes off Daichi’s hand. “Well, now that the captain is telling me—”

“Ew,” Daichi says, “now my hand’s all wet.”

“That’s your own fault,” Suga says, getting to his feet.

“Just don’t be late,” Daichi says.

He tries to keep a straight face, but he’s too silly and too easily amused when he’s not around the underclassmen. That’s responsibility, Suga thinks, and it’s real responsibility, not just Suga worrying about how he makes Oikawa feel and how Oikawa makes him feel and whether or not it’s something truly mutual.

“Don’t worry about it,” Suga says under his breath as he grabs his towel and a change of clothes and heads for the bathroom.

The bathroom is empty, and the clock in the corridors on the way there tells Suga it’s later than he thought. Everyone’s probably already warming up, so Suga rushes a bit, giving his hair only the most cursory once-over with his towel. He nearly slips on the wet floor as he runs to the gym, but at least Coach Ukai doesn’t yell at him when he stumbles in late, hair hanging in his eyes and shirt on inside-out—that, Suga doesn’t notice until Tanaka points it out, and he’s not too shy to fix it in front of everyone.

Still, time passes quickly as they do laps and then split into teams of six for a practice match. It’s odds-and-ends, and Noya’s on the other team, but Suga finds himself comfortably grouped with Asahi, Ennoshita, Tsukishima, Kinoshita, and Tanaka. They’ve only got one middle blocker, but Asahi’s tall enough to count, so he offers to go in a blocking position. It’s good for Suga—he knows he has a tendency to rely too much on the ace, so to shake that off he focuses on tossing to the others.

It’s not an easy fight, with Kageyama and Hinata on the other team, kept together at Coach Ukai’s insistence, but Tsukishima’s blocking is getting better. When they’re paused after the first set, Suga pulls him aside.

“Tsukishima,” he begins, “you’re improving, you know?”

Tsukishima looks away and adjusts his glasses. “Not really,” he says.

Suga smiles to himself. “Did you end up practicing with anyone from Seijou last night?”

“I worked with Matsukawa-san for an hour,” Tsukishima admits sullenly. Suga thinks it’s quite sweet how reluctant he is to admit to himself that he wants to improve.

“They’re a much stronger team than us,” Suga says. “Well, you know that, but what I mean is—you should keep going with Matsukawa. The work you’re doing shows.”

Tsukishima nods, making his way back to the court as Coach Ukai calls them on for the second set. “We’ll win back this set,” he says.

It starts out much the same, with Kageyama’s setting dominating the points, but Suga manages to get a few points from Tanaka—and then, everything goes wrong.

Suga’s in the back row, so he’s barely paying attention when Hinata misses a toss, but everyone hears what happens next, how Hinata yells at Kageyama that his toss wasn’t good enough, and how Kageyama reacts in confusion. The worst part is that it was obviously not one of Kageyama’s best tosses, but now the two of them are bickering, and before Suga can act, Yamaguchi runs up from the back row.

“You two,” Yamaguchi says, “w-why don’t you sort this out after the match, if you want to do some extra—”

“Not until he apologises!” Hinata interrupts. “Not until he acknowledges that it was his fault!”

“You could have hit that!” Kageyama says stubbornly.

“Maybe we could talk about this later,” Yamaguchi suggests. He really is a treasure, a once in a lifetime, Suga thinks. And it’s fitting that a first year it intervening—Suga would help out, but he knows it’s not his place to get involved in this particular conflict.

Coach Ukai storms onto the court. “Kageyama, Sugawara, swap.”

“But—” Kageyama begins.

“Swap.”

Suga doesn’t need to be told twice—he switches to the other side of the court, and Yamaguchi and Hinata both give him relieved smiles. Tsukishima, on the other side, immediately welcomes Kageyama with a taunt—but Tsukishima’s taunting is something Kageyama is used to, and he responds as he always does. It must be that it’s something he understands more than Hinata being angry with him.

Suga’s new team wins the set, and after that, they go back to individual practice.

At lunch, it’s still raining, although not as heavily as before. Suga finds himself sitting at a table for four with Ennoshita, who confesses he wished Suga had stayed on his team.

“I suppose it’s because I’m more used to you setting,” he says. “Working with Kageyama is still… interesting.”

“I wonder what it would be like,” Suga muses, “to hit one of his tosses?”

Ennoshita hums. “Are you going to start spiking now?”

“I don’t think so,” Suga says, laughing, remembering how sore his hand had been after spiking Oikawa’s tosses. “I wouldn’t trust myself.”

He looks up, watching as the doors to the dining room open and Seijou trickles in, split off in groups and coming back together in the line for food.

“Made any friends?” Suga asks Ennoshita.

“A couple,” Ennoshita says. “They’re not all that scary, are they?”

“No,” Suga agrees, “they aren’t.”

Ennoshita waves down two of his new friends, Seijou’s libero and reserve setter. But the libero—Watari, Suga thinks—is unceremoniously elbowed out of the way by Oikawa, who slides in next to Suga.

“Today,” Oikawa announces, “I am going to take your permission as implicit, Suga-chan.”

“You’re welcome to,” Suga says with a grin—and he doesn’t miss the looks Ennoshita and Yahaba give each other as Yahaba sits down. Well, he knows his friendship with Oikawa isn’t exactly a secret, but they could do to be less surprised about it.

The closeness is new, though. Or maybe it’s not new, and Oikawa has always been this tactile, but now Suga notices it differently, or more acutely. Or maybe it’s coincidental, and Oikawa doesn’t really mean to press their knees together under the table and knock their elbows as he starts eating.

“Okay!” Oikawa says. “We’ve got another match this afternoon, but the coaches are talking about splitting each of our teams in two.”

“Regulars against reserves?” Yahaba suggests. “That could be interesting.”

“You just want to play against our regulars,” Ennoshita says. “But your regulars would destroy our reserves.”

“That’s not it, anyway!” Oikawa says, waving his hands about and propelling a bit of cabbage sideways off his chopsticks. He doesn’t seem to notice. “It’s probably going to be split by seniors and juniors.”

“How do you know all this?” Suga asks.

“Captain’s rights,” Oikawa says, winking. “Sawamura-kun probably knows too, and he’s just not telling you.”

Suga glances over to the table Daichi’s at. There’s not much mingling between the teams apart from at Suga’s table, and he zones out thinking about it while Ennoshita and Yahaba discuss how the second years are going to be split in between senior and junior.

Oikawa nudges Suga. “Hey,” he says, “you know what this means, right?”

“Right,” Suga says, “we’ll be playing each other.”

“I’ve always wanted to,” Oikawa says.

At that, Suga raises an eyebrow. “You know I’m not on the same level as you and Kageyama.”

“I know,” Oikawa says, and he doesn’t elaborate.

It’s cryptic, and it’s frustrating, and it only leaves Suga more on-edge until everyone starts filtering out of the dining room. Ennoshita’s chatting with a whole group of Seijou second years now—and who knew he could be such a social butterfly?—but Oikawa is still sat resolutely beside Suga, finishing his lunch.

“Suga-chan,” he says, quietly, deliberately, “let’s be a little late to practice.”

Suga desperately wishes he could agree, but the responsible vice captain in him speaks up. “I was late this morning,” he says, “which was your fault—”

“You were the one,” Oikawa points out, “who wanted to go on—”

“Kissing,” Suga completes, when Oikawa stalls. “You can say it aloud, you know. No-one’s going to hear.”

Oikawa looks over his shoulder. “Kissing,” he tries.

“There,” Suga says. “Was that so hard?”

“Harder to say it than actually do it,” Oikawa grumbles.

“After practice,” Suga promises, even though he’s not entirely sure it’s what Oikawa was angling for. “We can, uh, set for each other.” He adds air quotes for effect.

“Well, that’s just—” Oikawa begins, looking away. “We can—”

Instead of finishing either of his sentences, he stands up. “I’ll see you at practice!”

As Oikawa dashes to catch up with Matsukawa and Hanamaki, who’re just leaving the dining room, Suga leans forward and rests his chin in his hands. He can’t help the smile that makes its way onto his face, but it’s a confused smile, more than anything else. Whatever’s going on between him and Oikawa—it’s still baffling.

“What are we doing?” Suga whispers to himself, watching the door close behind Oikawa’s back.

“What are we doing when?” Daichi asks, taking Oikawa’s vacated seat. “Now? We’ve got a practice match or two against Seijou. After that? Individual practice.”

“Thanks,” Suga says absently, getting to his feet. And then, dragging himself back to reality again, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Daichi says. “There’s no rush.”

No rush—so Suga takes it slowly, and doesn’t let himself burn out for Oikawa’s sake.

It’s decided that the liberos will go with the junior halves of the teams, and for the second time that day Suga has only one blocker, Narita, on his team. Seijou’s senior team has all of their third years, and two second years, one of whom is a blocker—still, the match is relentlessly long, pushing three sets. Seijou wins the third 25-23.

The junior team match is more charged, full of energy and played with less deliberation than the seniors, but Seijou take it in straight sets. Suga knows it’s because Kageyama’s not at his peak after his fight with Hinata, but when Iwaizumi asks what’s gotten into Kageyama’s tosses, Suga doesn’t say anything.

“That’s it, then,” Daichi calls. “Flying falls, everyone!”

Suga groans. “I think I hurt my shoulder.”

“Nice try,” Daichi says. “Really. I appreciate the effort you put into that painfully unconvincing lie.”

Well, Suga’s shoulder does hurt a bit, but it’s not bad enough to stop him from pretending to do flying falls. It’s not that he couldn’t, but that his body balks at the idea of throwing itself face first onto the hard floor, and Suga’s preservation instinct wins out over his teamwork obligations.

When the cruel and unusual punishment is finally over, Asahi and Daichi head straight to the showers, but Suga dawdles—thankfully, he’s read the air right, and Oikawa does too.

“Time for personal practice, Suga-chan?” Oikawa suggests.

Suga hums. “Don’t you want to relax a bit first?”

“If you want to!” Oikawa says. “I heard you telling Sawamura-kun your shoulder’s sore. Maybe I could…”

Oikawa trails off, and Suga turns to see what distracted him. He’s more than a little surprised to see Kageyama standing there, hands clenched in fists at his sides.

“Um,” he begins.

“Kageyama?” Suga asks. “Are you alright?”

“Sugawara-san,” he says, “I—I heard you had been practicing setting with Oikawa-san.”

He must be going through a lot, and Suga thinks it’s awfully brave of him to come up to them like this. “Did you hear from Tsukishima?” he asks.

“That’s right,” Kageyama says, nodding. “I wanted to know—I wanted to know if I could practice with you? With you both?”

Suga gives him an encouraging smile. “Of course you c—”

“Can’t!” Oikawa cuts in. “Of course you can’t!”

“Oikawa,” Suga begins, his tone warning, but he doesn’t finish his thought. Because, of course, there is one very good reason why they wouldn’t want Kageyama to practice with them—the kissing.

But Kageyama’s face falls, and Suga can’t say no to him. “Kageyama, it doesn’t bother me if—”

“It’s alright,” Kageyama says quickly, eyes darting away, “I’ll practice with someone else.”

He dashes out of the gym, and Suga gives Oikawa a look. “That was mean.”

Oikawa’s expression takes on a dark edge as his eyes follow Kageyama’s retreat. “I can’t have Tobio-chan getting ahead of me,” he says cheerfully, his tone completely incongruous with the way his whole body goes tense.

“Besides,” Oikawa adds, “don’t you want us to have this time to ourselves, Suga-chan?”

“I do,” Suga admits, “but I also feel bad about it.”

Oikawa looks like he’s about to say something, but then thinks the better of it. Suga understands—he doesn’t know anything about Kageyama’s time at middle school, and maybe Oikawa’s not ready to share his side of the story either. Suga trusts that it’ll happen in his own time—if ever, if whatever’s between them becomes something more.

“Well!” Suga says, attempting to break the mood, “Let’s get going.”

“Not just yet,” Oikawa says, the familiar sparkle back in his eyes. “Didn’t you say you hurt your shoulder?”

“I mostly said that to get out of flying falls, ” Suga says.

Oikawa takes Suga by the wrist and leads him towards the outdoor entrance to the gym. “What’s that? I didn’t catch what you said.”

The way he’s always so dramatic is one of the many things on Suga’s list of things he likes about Oikawa. He lets Oikawa lead him to the door, but when Oikawa flings it open, it’s still raining outside.

“We’re not going for another run in the rain, are we?” Suga asks.

“Sit on the bottom step,” Oikawa instructs, ignoring the question as he closes the door behind him.

The step is, on the whole, dry thanks to an awning over the edge of the gym, so Suga decides just to go with it and sits down, even though the light rain splashes them both a bit. He can hear Oikawa sitting down behind him, on one of the upper steps, and jumps with surprise when Oikawa’s legs settle on either side of his, followed by Oikawa’s hands on his shoulders.

“What’s this about?” Suga asks.

“A massage,” Oikawa says, “for your sore shoulder. I want you to be in top form when we practice together, Suga-chan!”

Suga lets out an involuntary breath as Oikawa’s fingers begin to work at his shoulders. He allows his body to slacken, and gradually begins to relax in a way he hasn’t since training camp started. The humid air makes him almost sleepy, and the clouds obscuring the daylight do nothing to help.

“I could get used to this,” he mumbles.

There are, in fact, a lot of things Suga could get used to. He could get used to being this intimate with Oikawa—with someone he likes, someone who knows he likes him. Suga had spoken on an impulse that morning, confessing to Oikawa, but it’s an impulse he wants to protect, an instinct he wants to nurture until it’s more than just the subtle flutter of his heart whenever they’re together.

“Don’t get too comfy,” Oikawa says. “We’re going back to practice after this.”

“I know,” Suga says, even though he doesn’t want to. “Tomorrow, will you consider working with Kageyama?”

Oikawa doesn’t respond, and, releasing Suga’s shoulders, drops himself forward so that his chin is resting on top of Suga’s head. He dangles a hand forward, and Suga wastes no time in linking their fingers.

I like you, Suga wants to say again, I want to get comfortable with you, want to make this routine. He doesn’t, though. He leans back and rests his head against Oikawa’s chest. For a moment, there’s the horrifying thought that this will only last for this one week, and that after training camp is over they’ll go back to how they were before, meeting up every now and then and texting in between. The feeling passes, though, as Oikawa’s other arm comes to rest around Suga’s waist.

“We really should practice,” Oikawa says.

“We should,” Suga agrees, sinking even further backwards.

They don’t, yet. Not for a while. Suga wonders if, like him, Oikawa is also scared that there’s a time limit on their—whatever it is.

Chapter Four

Dinner is only shy of being a torturous affair, with the way Suga keeps stealing glances at Tooru even though they’re talking with the second years, like Suga thinks that this is cute, that he is cute, or something. He is, really, and Tooru has to alternate between exchanging the look back or pretending he doesn’t notice, because the look in Suga’s eyes reminds him of the look this morning, underneath the awning and predating the rain, something curious and hopeful and excited all balled up into one.

Tooru clears his throat at the end of dinner. As Yahaba and that sleepy looking kid get up to throw their leftovers out, he straightens his jersey and very astutely does not think about the warmth of Suga’s shoulders beneath his palm, of course. “I’m beat,” he says, though it’s mostly a flicker of exhaustion that runs through his body.

“You better sleep well then,” Suga says, smiling at him. “You want to have all your energy for tomorrow, won’t you?”

“Oh, Suga-chan, thinking about my health?” Tooru winks at him. “Yes, I’ll be sure to sleep well, if only for your sake.”

Suga rolls his eyes, but the smile’s still sunny on his face. Yahaba grumbles something about embarrassing upperclassmen that his second year friends agree with, and Tooru says, “You better respect your upperclassmen, then.”

“Yes, of course Oikawa-san,” Yahaba says in a mocking tone. But it’s hard to take him seriously, or really care, when Suga snickers into his palm like that.

They get up when everyone else starts filing out. Suga says, “You are sleeping alright, though?” like he’s worried Tooru will injure himself and not be well enough to practice tomorrow. Or, the—kissing. Worried about the kissing, maybe.

“Of course I am, Suga-chan,” Tooru says brightly, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You know me—always a morning guy!”

“Yeah,” Suga says, and gives a trying little laugh. “I just want everyone at their peak condition, since…”

He trails off. Tooru pauses in the hallway and gives him a frown, but Suga shakes his head.

“It’s nothing,” he murmurs, and when Tooru continues training his gaze on him, Suga lifts his head up and gives him another small smile.

“It’s nothing,” he repeats, his eyes somewhere else entirely from his mouth.

Tooru clicks his tongue. “You’re not very good at being convincing right now, Suga-chan,” he scolds. “And here I thought you were a master of deception, tricking me into a handful of things.”

“What? No,” Suga says, and then his eyes have that faraway look again. “It’s just—in-team stuff,” he mutters.

Tooru thinks about how shabby Tobio’s tosses had been earlier today, and his asking himself and Suga to join their setting practice. If Tooru thinks enough about it, that would make probably the most sense; but he doesn’t particularly want to think too much about Tobio and his internal crises and whatever other magical character development he’s going to bother himself into undergoing. It’s none of Tooru’s business.

And, anyway, the more important thing is, “You better not trick anyone else into wanting to kiss you so much,” and the heat that creeps up his neck is halted when Suga’s face immediately goes pink and that look in his eyes disappears.

“Hey!”

Tooru snorts. They’ve reached the fork in the hallway that splits them off, and he pauses against the corner while the rest of them walk past.

“You can say it aloud, you know,” Tooru mimics, from lunch. Sugars expression flickers into confusion before, half a second later, into one of clarity. “No-one’s going to hear.”

Suga laughs and hits him on the shoulder. “People totally could’ve heard,” he says in a low voice, though it doesn’t waver the smirk on Tooru’s face. “Don’t mock me.”

Tooru hums. “You said it.”

Suga leans in. The hallway’s mostly cleared out, so even if this is much riskier than just talking about kissing—well, Tooru doesn’t have a problem with it. Suga’s lips are even softer than he’s ever cared to imagine, because when he thinks about it when it isn’t happening, it’s impossible to replicate. To replicate the way Suga makes a happy little sound against Tooru’s mouth, leaning forward and tilting when Tooru has to debate whether he wants to give it all or tease it out of Suga, one by one. Suga’s hands run down Tooru’s arms like they belong there, slender and smooth and Tooru wraps his hand around the dip of Suga’s waist.

Suga’s the one who pulls away all too soon, and Tooru’s head feels stupidly light. He blinks and smiles at Suga, who’s already mirroring the expression.

“What was that?” Tooru says, even though he’s pretty sure he already knows the answer, and just wants to hear Suga say it.

He’s right. Suga says, “A goodnight kiss.”

Even so, Tooru’s chest tightens at these words, something burning and unspoken that he drives his mind opposite from. Kissing. He just needs to think about kissing.

“Goodnight then, Suga-chan,” he says, and starts away, leaving Suga around the corner.

But he glances back once and sees Suga watching him go.

When he gets to the Seijou room, the others have started shuffling in and out to wash up. As he comes in, Iwaizumi’s staring at him with narrowed eyes, but doesn’t say anything. Tooru goes over to him and jostles their shoulders together, and Iwaizumi lets out a single grunt.

Tooru chuckles. “Chin up, Iwa-chan! If you keep making that expression, you’ll get wrinkles at a young age.”

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says, his voice strangely serious rather than some sort of physical retaliation Tooru had expected. “Don’t get yourself hurt. Or other people hurt.”

Tooru continues smiling at him, though his eyes are really trying to. “Excuse me?”

Iwaizumi sighs. “Just, earlier in the school year, when you got dump—”

But he’s cut off when Kindaichi and Kunimi come in, talking loudly about a subject that is much more interesting than whatever Iwaizumi’s blathering on about. “It was so weird,” Kindaichi’s saying to Kunimi, who to most people would look uninterested, unless you knew him as well as Tooru or Kindaichi or a good portion of their team does. “Do you think he’s back to being a king?”

Ordinarily Tooru would tell them not to gossip, and then scold them all to going to sleep, and then Yahaba would throw his toothpaste at the side of Tooru’s head or something and say that not all of them are done washing up. But that would leave another open space for Iwaizumi to lecture him about nonsense, so Tooru listens with rapt attention instead.

“I don’t know,” Kunimi says. Strangely, there’s a small knit between his eyebrows, like he’s actually worried about his old classmate. Tooru wants to laugh.

Kindaichi frowns, too. “And he didn’t talk to that short guy during our game!” he continues, because apparently Kunimi saying he doesn’t know his further encouragement. “Oh, what if—what if they’re fighting? What if he finally realized what a king Kageyama is?”

“That nickname isn’t cute,” Tooru finally cuts in. Kindaichi jerks his head around, looking almost guilty at being caught talking about Tobio, even though while the others are tied up in their conversations about sleeping rearrangements, Tooru knows that Iwaizumi’s paying just as much attention to their discussion as he is.

“And,” Tooru adds, even though he told himself not to think about Tobio earlier, “that’s impossible. Well, it’s certainly possible, but Tobio-chan doesn’t take three steps back for every two steps forward. Maybe just one step back.”

He also doesn’t mention that if Tobio’s behavior has worsened, Suga would undoubtedly mention it to him.

“Oh,” says Kindaichi.

Tooru asks, “Why are you so interested, Kindaichi-kun?”

Kindaichi’s cheeks flush and Kunimi seems to start away to escape. But Tooru adds, “And you, Kunimi-chan.”

“We’re.” Kindaichi glances to Kunimi, probably for help.

Kunimi lets out a low breath. “We’re not interested,” he says.

Tooru smiles, and they continue to their sleeping mats in silence.

Iwaizumi mutters something to him about scaring the first years, but Matsukawa stands up and stretches and says, “Yeah, those Karasuno first years sure are an interesting bunch.” He folds his arms behind his head and twists from side to side. “Their tall middle blocker is good, even if he needs some work.”

“I didn’t know you had room for apprenticeship,” Hanamaki snorts. He rolls himself up in his duvet to look at Matsukawa, who just throws his pillow in Hanamaki’s face.

Tooru claps Matsukawa on the back with bravado. “You’re all grown up now, teaching the little ones,” he says.

Matsukawa rolls his eyes, and Iwaizumi says, from fluffing up his pillow, “You sound like some sort of proud father.”

“Yeah, thanks, Oikawa-dad,” Matsukawa cuts in, smirking.

“I’m like your proud big brother,” protests Tooru, and the room erupts into snickers.

“Please,” says Hanamaki, who’s leaning on his side with his head perched in his arm. Matsukawa tries to tip him over by the elbow. “No.”

It becomes easy to fall into a routine with Suga, who sits across from him at breakfast the next morning, smiles with something in his eyes that has a promise for later, and their knees bump into each other.

Tooru doesn’t wait for later, though. As they start off from the dining room, elbows nudging up every once in a while close enough for comfort, he leans over next to Suga’s ear.

“Going to give me a good morning kiss, today?”

Suga squawks and Tooru pulls back, grinning. Suga rolls his eyes but he’s smiling, too. For a second Tooru thinks Suga might actually do it, right there.

But Suga says, “Maybe in a bit,” and shifts to move away like someone managing a getaway escape.

Tooru tugs after him, laughing a little. “But by then it won’t be morning anymore,” he points out, sidling along Suga’s side. “It’ll be more of a good midday. Good noon.”

Suga giggles. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, delighted, and it does something inside Tooru’s chest. He decides not to look too much into it, or the way Suga is beaming up at him, eyes bright. Tooru bumps shoulders with him and says, “Don’t tease me,” and before Suga can even open up his mouth for a witty retort, he steals a kiss at Suga’s chin, mouth obstructed by the side of his face so it looks like he’s merely whispering, before dancing away to join the rest of his team.

He resists the urge to glance back, because he’s sure that the expression on Suga’s face is even better than the one he’s conjured up in his mind.

It follows after him like a ghost when he goes to his team’s practice, watching the ball with his eyes, keeping his mind in the familiar place of knowing every member of his team and adjusting his body to fit to each of their spiking needs. But sneaking in the back is Suga, too happy to see him, loud declarations of I like you and—too good to be true? Tooru’s noticed the details in the past, his own smile caught in his throat at a new text, the backs of their hands too far away to touch—before—the small pink of Suga’s tongue wondering around his ice cream that Tooru wants to get a taste.

And then there’s now, and Tooru’s quite excellent at multitasking and keeping his head in multiple clouds, but then Yahaba’s calling, “Oikawa, there’s a Karasuno here for you.”

Tooru turns around—of course, Suga had shown up at the previous practice, Tooru should’ve looked for him today, too. What humiliation it is to be around the person you’re thinking too much about. Tooru gnaws on his lip.

But when he turns to the bleachers, no one’s there. And then standing at the entrance of the gym is Tobio, looking ridiculous on his own.

Tooru raises his eyebrows and tosses the ball to Iwaizumi, who catches it with a huff. “Be right back,” Tooru says cheerfully to the rest of them, before jogging to the doorway.

Tobio is fidgeting. Tooru doesn’t know how he even survives on the court; Tobio’s too easy to read.

“No,” he says as soon as he’s within earshot, and turns on his heel to head back.

But Tobio positively springs from where he’s standing to block Tooru’s path, and Tooru almost falls over with a “Gweh!” He picks himself up and brushes off invisible dust, glaring. “You have a speed to rival Shorty’s,” he mocks.

Apparently that’s the right thing to say—or, Tooru supposes, the wrong thing, from Tobio’s end, because he flinches. “Suga-san said that you’d practice with me today,” he says, like he can’t believe it either.

Tooru scoffs, because Suga is not worth his pride. Probably. “Well then go tell your Suga–san,” he says, “that Oikawa-san will not practice with you today. And really, that he shouldn’t underestimate me so much.”

He begins to stalk off again, but Tobio says, “Please.” And when Tooru swivels around again, Tobio is gnawing at his bottom lip, looking entirely out of place.

“Are you and Suga-san dating?” he blurts.

Shock flits over his face like he can’t believe what he said. Tooru would laugh if he wasn’t in the same state, trying to simultaneously wrap his mind around Tobio’s words while also coming up with a response soon enough so he doesn’t look suspicious. Dating is such a—such a word, and Tooru thinks to his kiss from this morning, all their kisses yesterday, and finds that even when he does think about it, even for the briefest of seconds, he doesn’t know how to explain it.

“I didn’t know you knew what that was,” Tooru says, too late, and it falls flat, anyway. Tobio blinks at him expectantly and Tooru says, “Why do you need to practice with him or me, anyway? Don’t you have a full team of spikers at your disposal?”

“Because I.” Tobio glances to the ground.

Tooru taps his foot.

“Hinata said that he wants to hit the ball on his own,” Tobio says to him. “Before, when we’d do the quicks, he was hitting without looking.”

Tooru whistles lowly. “It’d be impressive if he could,” he says, because credit goes to where credit is due, and Shorty is like, a freak. “Try it out.”

Tobio sputters. “He’s not—I don’t—!” He exhales loudly. “He can’t just move on his own, he’s not that good!”

“So you told him where and when to move, didn’t you?” Tooru smirks and thinks to the first years’ conversation last night. “Like a king, huh?”

He’s been right, it’s not cute at all. Tobio blinks again, and Tooru sighs, resigned. If Suga had told Tobio that he would help in some way… Tooru supposes this is the least he could do.

“Listen,” he says, because this is the one time Suga sort of almost comes before his pride. Almost. “Once—and after—Shorty hits the ball with everything he’s got, he’s going to want to keep doing it. So your thinking that the first thing you say is what should go is pretty stupid, not to mention cowardly. You’re a setter, but even your precious Suga-san understands this,” and he lifts up a finger, pretending he’s not delighted by the way Suga’s name rolls off his tongue. “The little guy is the one who takes initiative in his attacks,” he says to Tobio, who is staring at him wide-eyed. “Not you.”

He walks away, not turning back to see if Tobio is waiting for more, or has left, too. At least Tobio doesn’t call after him.

His teammates descend upon him as he returns. “What the hell was that?” demands Kindaichi, because he has no ounce of subtlety.

Tooru rolls his eyes and stretches. “Tobio’s more useless than I thought,” he tells them cheerfully, and then, “Ow!” when Iwaizumi thumps him on the back.

But as they return to practice, Tooru thinks about scolding Suga about this, and the idea of talking to Suga makes everything even better than Tobio’s uselessness. Tooru is looking a little too forward to it.

Of course it’s not that easy, because now with Tooru’s advice Tobio thinks that he can sit with him and Suga and the second years at lunch, so he does. Suga looks all too pleased with himself and Tooru sends him a look over the table that says, we will talk about this later, and Suga smirks into his soup. And then their individual practices today aren’t individual practices anymore, but multiple full game sets. Tooru seriously considers sending a text to Suga telling him to meet him in the men’s restrooms—and he does—but that only leads to Suga uncharacteristically giving him a bold kiss against the cool metal of the stall, and Tooru half-forgets what he wanted to talk to Suga about, and half doesn’t and decides he can wait until later, because Suga’s tongue is in his mouth and he’s careening against Tooru’s body, while Tooru runs his hand down Suga’s back and around his waist.

So. Tooru thinks simplicity is vastly overrated and that night just sends a text to Suga of, (¬ ¬ ) We are talking tomorrow, curled up in his blankets.

Suga’s reply comes less than a minute later. I’m looking forward to it.

But the next morning just has to be complicated, because Suga comes into breakfast looking bleary-eyed and keeps nodding into his porridge so Tooru kind of doubts that they can have a proper conversation like that. Then there’s morning practice and lunch, surrounded by too many people and hardly rejuvenating Suga by the slightest, that Tooru is honestly considering skipping whatever else they have scheduled for the afternoon to pour water on Suga’s face so they can talk.

This leads his mind into a place of Wet Suga and Wet Suga alone, and he realizes a little belatedly that they do, at least, have individual practices today.

So Suga begins to join him into the gym, but Tooru has a change of heart. “Let’s go out for a run,” he says, because that for sure is bound to wake Suga up.

Suga stops for a second to blink, but he says, “Sure.” He changes directions and starts toward the exit. Tooru affectionately cuffs Suga’s shoulder.

“Not enough sleep last night?” he asks, as they head out.

Suga lets out a little chuckle. “No, not really,” he admits.

They stretch on the pavement, and Tooru watches the way Suga’s pale thighs flex under the afternoon sun. It’s clear and blue out today, not at all like the first day, a bright landscape of greens and blues and yellows.

Suga must be thinking the same thing, because he says, “It doesn’t look like it’ll rain today,” and Tooru chuckles.

They jog at an easy pace, the only thing in Tooru’s ears the sounds of their breathing. In the distance he’s pretty sure he sees some of his and Suga’s teammates running as well, but he doesn’t suggest that they join them and Suga doesn’t either. Suga has his head bowed, sweat beading off his forehead; but at least he’s looking a little more awake than before. Tooru nudges him to get him to look up, and gets a blinding smile in return.

Falling half a step behind is worth it.

Eventually they make their way to a grassy hill they hadn’t gotten to before. There are wildflowers everywhere, and as they stop to rest, panting, Suga says, “Let’s go up.”

“Really?” Tooru wheezes, hands on his thighs. “We just—ran—two kilometers.”

“One and a half,” Suga says with a smile, and starts up the hill.

Tooru follows him, half-crawling, half-walking. Suga perches himself up and starts picking at the flowers. Tooru watches with interest as he settles next to him.

“You look shaken awake now,” he says, a little too close in Suga’s space.

Suga doesn’t seem to mind. He’s threading the flowers together, white and golden and pink, into a sloppy string. “I was just thinking too much last night,” he says casually.

Tooru nods, because he understands that. “Thinking about what?” he asks, perching a chin up in his hand.

Suga glances at him, then finishes crowning the flowers together. “What did you want to talk about?” he asks, instead.

Tooru has a feeling that the lack of eye contact is deliberate. “Why did you tell Tobio that I’d practice with him yesterday?” he asks.

Suga stops, and then he’s laughing. He’s laughing so much that the flowers nearly tumble out of his lap, and Tooru goes to catches them before Suga’s hard work is ruined. And, because he can, Tooru places the flowers on his head.

Suga glances at it appreciatively, before going, “Oh god, I thought—okay, yeah.” He’s still giggling. Tooru is definitely missing something.

“What?” he says, beginning to pick flowers of his own.

“Nothing,” Suga says airily. Tooru would press, but Suga’s looking the most awake he’s been all day, so Tooru decides to let it slide this once. “I just thought that if I told him that you would and he went up to you with it, you’d just go with it.”

“I don’t give in that easily,” Tooru says, tying his flowers together. Suga just grins and adjusts the flowers in Tooru’s hair, straightening them out a little.

And before he’s thinking, Tooru adds, “Tobio said something interesting to me yesterday.”

“Oh?” Suga asks. His eyes are bright, defenceless. Tooru suddenly wants to kiss him, wants to forget about are you and Suga-san dating, wants to finish this stupid ring of flowers and put it on Suga’s head and take as many mental pictures as he can.

So he says, “Tobio said that he doesn’t think your Shorty is talented,” and Suga is rolling his eyes and saying, “Classic Tobio,” in what Tooru is pretty sure is a poor imitation of his own voice. He finishes the flowers and plops them on Suga’s head and then, laughing, slings an arm across Suga’s waist to draw him into a deep kiss.

Suga kisses back, eagerly, tasting a little bit of sleep and today’s lunch. Tooru’s crouched over his body, hands on either side of Suga’s waist, and Suga falls back on the grass, tugging Tooru up to him. His arms are around Tooru’s neck and Tooru licks into him, wet heat far beyond their mouths and pooling somewhere low near Tooru’s stomach, possibly lower. Tooru nips at him eagerly, and Suga returns the favor, and their hips bump and Tooru lets out a deep noise into Suga’s mouth. Suga is smiling, and when Tooru finally pulls away, hovering and breathless, Suga’s arms dangle loosely from his neck, and he is beaming up at him, half his face shrouded, the other in the sun.

“Your flower crown fell off,” Suga notes. He uses one hand to pick it back up from the side, and places it back on Tooru’s head.

Tooru laughs and kisses and kisses, until both their flower crowns are forgotten and underneath them, crushed and colorful.

Chapter Five

Suga tries to count to get himself to sleep. He tries staring at the ceiling, imagining each number painted above him as he counts it, but it doesn’t work. He tries thinking about the stories his mum would tell him, half-remembered relics of his childhood that helped him drift out of consciousness every night. It doesn’t work.

There’s something to be said for being kept up late with excitement, but theoretically Suga shouldn’t still be riding high on that excitement. It was just the afternoon, but it might as well have been a few minutes ago for how real it still feels. Suga shuts his eyes and sees Oikawa’s face just centimetres away from his, and then closer. The sheets beneath his back become the blades of grass on the hill, his pillow a discarded flower crown.

He’s beyond caring, now, about what and why—what to call their relationship, why it’s even happening in the first place—and instead focusing on when and how and that, soon, he’ll be asleep and awake again and facing another day of being around Oikawa. It’s still new and exciting, but now there’s a familiar feeling, too, like Suga’s getting used to having Oikawa around. That could be worrying, so Suga’s trying not to let it worry him.

But he still can’t sleep.

He feels a little queasy, actually, like if he tries to move too much his head will start to spin—so, he keeps his eyes trained on the ceiling, hoping the dizziness will pass.

It’s a long time before he falls asleep properly. Usually, he’s not a light sleeper, but as the hours wear on, marked by the gentle ticking of a clock on the far wall of their sleeping quarters, he remains aware and alert, convinced that he’s awake even though he probably isn’t. When he’s awoken the next morning, he’s not sure if he even slept at all.

Typically, it’s Noya who wakes him, not with his usual shout but with a gentle shake of the shoulder.

“Suga-san? Hey, Suga-san, are you awake?”

Suga groans, turning onto his side and trying in vain to bury his head entirely in his pillow. “Maybe,” he says.

“You don’t look so good,” Noya says. “We let you sleep in for a bit, but everyone’s already had breakfast, so—”

With a start, Suga sits upright. It’s a bad choice—his head spins, and he shuts his eyes tight as he presses his palms down onto his futon for purchase. “I’m late,” he says. The consequences only register in his periphery, but he knows it’s not a good thing.

“It’s okay to be late if you’re sick,” comes another voice—Tanaka, probably, but Suga’s not going to risk opening his eyes to find out. “We’ll tell the coaches.”

That won’t do at all, though. “I’m fine,” Suga mumbles, rubbing his eyes. He opens them laboriously, like each eyelid is weighed down with sleep. “I’m always like this in the mornings. Sorry. I just couldn’t get to sleep last night.”

“Happens to the best of us,” someone else says. It worries Suga, just a bit, that he can’t pick the voice. For the first time, he hears a ringing in his ears, like someone’s stuffed them with cotton and the sound is just bouncing around behind it.

“Just tell the coaches I’ll be late to practice,” he says, shaking off his sheets and gradually attempting to stand up. When he’s on his feet, though, the throbbing in his head returns—had it even gone away?—and he stumbles backwards, collapsing into someone’s arms. They lower him onto the futon; it feels like there are a few pairs of hands settling him and someone feeling his forehead for a temperature, but he can’t be sure, because his vision is starting to go blurry and he feels his grip on reality distorting, like he’s looking out from the inside of a fishbowl.

After that, he can’t focus on what’s going on around him. Maybe Coach Ukai comes into the room and gives him a few stern but encouraging words, and Suga replies with half-sentences, and maybe Daichi claps him on the shoulder, in typical Daichi fashion, and tells him he’ll be back on his feet in no time. But the worst part about this fever isn’t the the way it stops Suga from functioning as a normal human being. All the things he’d usually be doing, the conversations he’d be having, are impossible. His brain feels like a fogged-up windscreen—and the wipers aren’t working.

At some point he must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he remembers is another hand on his shoulder, and a whisper in his ear.

“Hey, Suga-chan… ?”

Suga barely has the presence of mind to realise that it’s Oikawa, but somehow he knows it instinctively. “What’re you doing here?” he mumbles. His voice sounds slurred, foreign to his own ears.

“Good question,” Oikawa says. He’s almost grumpy. “I’m skipping practice to be with you, you know.”

“Oikawa,” Suga chides, scrabbling to sit up but losing his energy before his shoulders can make it off his futon. “You shouldn’t.”

“I know that,” Oikawa says lightly. He clears his throat.

“So why are you here?” Suga presses.

Oikawa doesn’t answer. Somewhere at the back of his muddled mind, Suga realises that Oikawa is probably not sure himself why he’s here. He is not a skipping practice sort of person. If Oikawa is anything, he’s hard-working, dedicated to what he does, and knows he needs to be that way to get anywhere. It was one of the things that first set him apart in Suga’s eyes.

But here he is, putting that all aside. For Suga.

“Well,” Oikawa says, brushing his hands together like that’s that, “someone needs to look after you! Have you eaten anything today?”

“No,” Suga admits. “What time is it?”

“Almost twelve,” Oikawa says. He purses his lips into a hum, and adds, “You should have a shower, too.”

“I can barely stand,” Suga says. “I’ve been sleeping all morning.”

“I see, I see,” Oikawa says, leaning forward to press the back of his hand to Suga’s forehead “I think you might have the flu.”

“No kidding,” Suga mumbles. He shakes off Oikawa’s hand and rolls over so that he’s facing away from him.

“I can bring you breakfast.” Oikawa’s voice is softer now, more gentle. “It’s no good to go without eating. I’m surprised none of your teammates thought to—”

Suga cut him off, saying, “Can you blame them? We’re all excited about this; to get the opportunity to train with your team is a once-in-a-lifetime. We… you shouldn’t blame them for putting volleyball first. Like you should be doing.”

He’s exhausted after speaking so much, and rolls around onto his back again.

“Sorry,” Oikawa says, very quietly. He brightens up quickly, though. “I’ll be back in a second. I’ll bring water too; you sound hoarse!”

His sing-song voice fades as he leaves the room, and Suga’s left lying there on his own. The midday sun filters through the blinds which are blown a bit by the open window, leaving shadowy patterns scattered and dancing across the floor. It’s strangely beautiful to Suga’s sleep-heavy eyes. He wonders if it won’t be beautiful when he gets better.

Oikawa comes back and sets down a glass of water next to Suga. He also has a tray of food, which he puts aside. “For when you’re ready,” he says.

Suga appreciates the pace. “Thanks.”

“No need to thank me,” Oikawa says, back to his old flippant self. “Anyway, I thought I’d better keep you company, distract you a little—Mattsun says your first year with the glasses has really been improving his blocking. Your whole team, really. Has. Worked hard.”

He sounds pained just saying it, and Suga coughs into a laugh. “And here I am.”

“You’re doing the best you can,” Oikawa says, “given that you have the flu.”

“I do,” Suga says, “feel like I’ve improved too, by the way.”

“I think so too,” Oikawa says. “You—you said I was admirable, you remember?”

“Of course I remember,” Suga says. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget that mortifying not-a-date so long as he’s living and breathing. It’s strange that now he wouldn’t even blink at the thought of kissing Oikawa. How normal that is. And wasn’t that what he’d yearned for all along? For this to become normal?

Oikawa is very quiet when he says, “You are too. Admirable, that is.”

It takes a moment for the words to sink in properly. Suga really doesn’t feel admirable, lying on a scratchy old futon with the heavy summer hair hanging above him and his own head so fuzzy with fever that he—

“Oikawa! You shouldn’t be here!”

“Are you breaking up with me already?” Oikawa says, laughing nervously. “I mean—”

Suga is not, not, not, going to think about the implications of “breaking up,” the fact that there needs to be something established, something set in place before you can unsettle it. “No, it’s just, I’m probably contagious,” Suga says, forcing himself to sit up and meet Oikawa’s eyes. “I don’t want you to get sick too.”

Oikawa’s expression softens. “I would get the flu for you,” he says.

“That’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” Suga says.

He lets his head droop so that Oikawa can’t see his smile, just in case that’s contagious too. Now that he’s sitting, Oikawa scoots a little closer and brushes their shoulders together, fits his hand on top of Suga’s. Suga doesn’t have the energy to move his fingers between Oikawa’s—as though he knows, Oikawa does all the work for him. And without Suga’s notice, Oikawa leans his head down too and touches his forehead to Suga’s.

“I—”

The door swings open benignly but Oikawa jerks back like he’s been slapped.

“Sawamura!”

Suga turns his head as much as he can bear to see Daichi standing still like a statue, his eyes blown wide open.

“Ah, hey, Daichi,” Suga says.

“Actually I was just leaving,” Daichi says impossibly quickly.

“What a coincidence,” Oikawa says, “so was I.”

“Oikawa, you don’t have to—”

Unlinking their hands, Oikawa gets to his feet. Suga would be hurt, but he knows Oikawa well enough now, knows that the flush on his face means he’s embarrassed, not in one of his weird Oikawa moods. It’s not cruel. It’s adorable.

“Sick people need to be left alone to rest,” Oikawa says through clenched teeth.

Daichi nods. “I need to grab something from my bag, then I’ll leave you in peace, Suga.”

“See you at the practice match, Sawamura!” Oikawa sings on his way out. He sounds much recovered, but Suga can’t see his face anymore, so he can’t tell.

“Hey.” Daichi is a big liar. He doesn’t need to get anything from his bag. He sits down next to Suga, legs crossed purposefully. “I came to check up on you. How’re you feeling?”

“Less dizzy,” Suga says, “but not fantastic.”

“Yeah,” Daichi says. He frowns. “Um, you and Oikawa—”

Suga could laugh, but he’s exhausted his one laugh for the day and now his throat feels like sandpaper. “Yeah,” he says.

“I’ll leave you to rest,” Daichi says. “I hope you know what you’re doing with someone like him.”

“Correction,” Suga says, “I hope he knows what he’s doing with someone like me.”

Oikawa had called Suga “dangerous,” after all. And that’s a lot of power to have, but Suga sees now that it was also an acknowledgement—for so long, Oikawa was someone Suga had looked up to from a distance. He was the Oikawa Tooru, the best setter in the prefecture, one of the best all-rounders too, and Suga was just a pinprick of light trying to make it past his shadow. Now, there’s nothing like that between them. They’re friends. They’re maybe something more. And Oikawa knows that Suga can command just as much respect as he can. Together, they’re volatile, but so much more than they’d be if they were apart.

“Yeah, I take that back,” Daichi says, “you’ll be fine. Don’t be too mean to him.”

“I won’t,” Suga says. “Much.”

Daichi leaves him with a grin. “I’ll check in on you again around dinner time. You’d better eat that food Oikawa brought for you.”

But once Daichi’s gone, the tiredness hits Suga again. It’s all too much excitement for one morning. The food can wait. He lies back down on the futon, and falls asleep.

The day passes fitfully, but by the evening Suga is feeling a little better. He gets up and brushes his teeth, then sits up on his futon with a book while the others are out doing a post-dinner run in the dreadful heat. When they come back, Suga is set upon by a solicitous pack of crows, dropping their good wishes like a bird’s offerings. Kageyama even sits with him for a while, and tells him about how he’s been working on putting Oikawa’s advice into action. Yamaguchi joins them too—Suga notices he’s avoiding Tsukishima, and wonders what that’s about.

It seems like this camp has been a time of change for all of them.

“You look better,” Daichi says, once the first years have peeled off. “Less like a corpse. Asahi was scared out of his mind when he saw you this morning.”

“I was not!” Asahi protests. “I was just worried… you did look unwell.”

“I am unwell,” Suga says. “But thank you. I wouldn’t expect any less of my sick self than being a little bit terrifying to a wuss like you.”

Asahi has the good grace to laugh at himself, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess I overreacted a little.”

“Not as much as Oikawa,” Daichi says. He and Asahi share an amused look.

“Why?” Suga asks. “What happened?”

“He nearly served a ball into Noya’s face in our match this afternoon,” Daichi says. “Noya’s fine, don’t worry—but he was freaking out, Suga. His play was all over the place. His teammates kept joking that he was coming down with a fever. I heard them going at it from across the net. Seems like he can be as easy to rile as our first years.”

“But,” Asahi says, “it shows a good side of him too. That he really cares about you.”

“That’s true,” Daichi says. “I hadn’t thought about it like that.”

Suga can’t hold back his laughter. “So long as Noya’s face is okay,” he says.

From the other side of the room Noya shouts, “Thanks Suga-san! My face is better than ever!”

“Yeah it is!” Tanaka says, and they high-five.

“Pipe down, you two!” Daichi calls back to them. “We all need to get some rest before our final match tomorrow.”

The rest of the conversation around the room dies down too. Suga yawns, stretching his arms out above his head. “Good thing I’m not a starter,” he says.

“You’re not exempt,” Daichi says. “If you’re feeling alright tomorrow morning, you’d better be there cheering us on.”

“I will be,” Suga says.

After all, it’ll be the last day of training camp. The last day of him and Oikawa staying so close together. And this day was a colossal waste of time, with Suga stuck in bed. If tomorrow’s his last chance to see Oikawa for a while—well, he won’t think of it like that, or he’ll try not to, and end up thinking of it like that anyway. He’s going to make the most of it, either way.

He sleeps soundly, and wakes as he normally does the next morning—that is to say, heavy-headed and messy-haired, but with some more clarity than yesterday. He even manages to drag himself to breakfast, and sits down with Oikawa.

“You,” Oikawa says, but he doesn’t finish.

“Me,” Suga says. He coughs. “What have I missed?”

“Oh, nothing too exciting,” Oikawa says mildly. “I suppose you’ve missed me, though.”

“I suppose I have,” Suga says.

They share a smile that really is just for the two of them. Suga feels like everyone in the dining room could look at them in that moment and, like Daichi yesterday, see exactly what’s going on between them. He also feels spectacularly unbothered by that.

He brings a box of tissues with him to the match and sits on the gym’s bleachers blowing his nose and watching the ball fly back and forth. If Oikawa was out of form yesterday as Daichi and Asahi had alleged, he’s not showing it today, playing at his best.

Karasuno—they’re reforming, like a caterpillar in the chrysalis before it can spread its wings as a butterfly. Kageyama fumbles his tosses to Hinata. Hinata and Asahi jump for the same spike and collide. Noya misses a receive on Oikawa’s killer serve, and Tanaka and Daichi crash into each other trying to cover it. When Yamaguchi is brought on as a pinch server, Tsukishima is there to block the returning spike. He miss-times his block, but he smiles, actually smiles at Yamaguchi afterwards, and Suga thinks he understands. Everyone’s been clashing, not just Kageyama and Hinata. Everyone’s been breaking apart a little, but they’re stronger for it.

They will be.

It’s Seijou’s game, of course, but it’s also their game to win. The three sets, the tiebreakers each time, make it clear that the win didn’t come easy. For the first time, Suga is glad that he caught the flu. At least he doesn’t have to do flying falls. Nor do Seijou, and nor do they have a manager, so it falls to Oikawa to debrief the first years, or he takes it on himself. Either way, Suga is so busy staring at the set of Oikawa’s shoulders as he talks with his hands on his hips that he doesn’t notice the other three Seijou third years come up and join him.

They haven’t really talked before, but the spiker called Hanamaki launches straight into conversation. “So you’re the infamous Suga-chan.”

“Hardly infamous,” Suga says.

“Ah, but you nearly brought on the apocalypse yesterday,” Matsukawa says.

“That’s right!” Hanamaki says. “We thought the world was legitimately ending. Oikawa skipped practice. Do you know the last time that happened?”

“Um, first year?” Suga guesses.

“Wrong,” Matsukawa says. “It’s never.”

“It’s never happened,” Hanamaki says. “I have seen Oikawa set a perfect ball in the middle of a sneeze. His eyes were full of tears, so I have no idea how he did it. And there was snot running down his face.”

“It was pretty disgusting, actually,” Matsukawa says.

“Yeah,” Hanamaki says. “Maybe he should skip practice more often.”

“That aside,” Iwaizumi chimes in, “how are you feeling?”

“Better,” Suga says. “Thank you.”

“Did he really bring you food?” Matsukawa asks.

“And water?” Hanamaki asks.

Suga can’t help but feel a little proud of himself. He’s infamous, now. Karasuno’s first years might be the ones who’re bringing the team its new reputation, but Suga is the only reason Oikawa Tooru—the Oikawa Tooru—has ever skipped practice. “Yeah,” he says. “Everything you’ve heard? It’s all true.”

“So Sawamura really walked in on—” Iwaizumi cuts himself off. “Never mind. I’ve decided I don’t want to know.”

Hanamaki pounces on Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “What! I didn’t hear about this!”

“Neither,” Matsukawa says, raising an eyebrow. “Why don’t you fill us in, Sugawara?”

“That’s fine,” Suga says, “I think I’ll pass.”

He’s saved from further questions by Oikawa joining them. “What’s all this?” he asks. “Are you bothering Suga-chan while he’s sick? How uncouth of you all.”

“Us barbarians will leave you two alone, if you want,” Hanamaki says, waggling his eyebrows so outrageously that Suga gets second-hand embarrassment.

“Well,” Oikawa says sweetly, “someone has to put the net away while Karasuno are throwing themselves to the floor, and I think the captain deserves a break, don’t you?”

Iwaizumi claps him on the shoulder. “I agree. You can treat us to ramen tonight to make up for it.”

“Better start saving!” Matsukawa says, as he jumps off the bleachers and the others follow.

Oikawa sighs, waits until they’re gone, then sits down beside Suga.

“You played well today,” Suga says, because it looks like Oikawa is happy just to sit there stewing. “I mean it.”

“So many people tell me I’m at the top of my game,” Oikawa says, looking straight ahead of him. “It’s reassuring to hear that you can see me improving. I’m not—I’m not as good as everyone says I am.”

Suga elbows him. “Hey. Don’t get down now. It’s the last day of training camp.”

Oikawa perks up, straightening his back out. “That’s true! The coaches are putting together a barbeque as we speak. Are you well enough to eat with us?”

“I think so,” Suga says. “Um, thanks, by the way. For yesterday.”

“Don’t mention it,” Oikawa says. “I’m serious, Suga-chan, don’t mention it ever again. I am never going to live this down. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Is it really so bad that you did one kind thing for another person?” Suga asks.

“I have an image to maintain,” Oikawa says, huffing.

“I’m sorry,” Suga says, “I just can’t take you seriously. I mean it, though—it’s not the end of the world. This. Us.”

If anything, it’s a beginning, but Suga keeps that to himself. They have a long way to go, and Suga can’t predict the future, doesn’t know where it’ll take them. But it’s there.

Oikawa bumps his shoulder against Suga’s. “Will you still practice with me, once this camp is over?”

Suga recognises the question for what it really is. “I’d love to,” he says.

“Good,” Oikawa says. “There’s more we can learn. We can make each other better.”

In, perhaps, more ways than one.

The quiet moment passes as quickly as it takes Suga to realise it’s even started. Oikawa springs to his feet and back to life. “Now, Suga-chan. I believe we have a barbeque to attend!”

Suga gets his own seat on the bus, because he’s contagious, and it wouldn’t do for any of the others to catch the flu from him when they’ve all worked so hard this last week. But being alone has its benefits—he takes out his phone, and there’s already a text from Oikawa.

Thank you for the fun week, Suga-chan! Will I be seeing you again soon? ( >3< )/

Underneath the noise of an accomplished team, Suga’s heartbeat speeds up silently against his chest. He types out a reply—I hope so!—and before he has time to regret it, he taps the heart emoji, and hits send.

Art by Paltita

Chapter Six

By the time Tooru gets back home, he feels lonely already, with not having his team around him—with not having Karasuno around him. With not having Suga anywhere near him, several rooms away, as easy as padding down a hallway and sliding a door open and sitting down on the bed as Suga rests from his inane cold. Tooru wonders how he got it, although it’s likely—well, some combination of the rain a few days ago and then the giggly, fumbly moment on the hill the day after. Tooru smiles at the memory, even though it’s what had probably put Suga out of commission for two days.

It’s easy enough unpacking the few things he’d brought to training camp, falling back into the pattern of homework and school attendance on top of volleyball. It could be that easy to trick himself that the entirety of summer break—training camp—Suga—hadn’t happened, except Kunimi is actively trying to be a better decoy, Kyoutani is there , and far too frequently between classes Tooru smiles down at his phone because Suga’s sent him something like You almost made me spit out my lunch or That is a very admirable grade (⌒_⌒;) ❤ or Skill only trumps practicality with experienced physical intuition . And Tooru doesn’t want to pretend, anyway, because he looks forward to getting a perfect score on his exams and practices in the morning and the evening and little chimes of his phone during class, making him smile half-heartedly at his teacher and say, “Sorry.”

He doesn’t even think of it as a long-distance relationship because he and Suga play against each other in preliminaries; and, really, they could’ve known each other since middle school age or even before. It’s strange to think of his world around Suga only having begun recently when they’ve been near-orbiting each other for years, finally falling into this that feels far too natural than it should be. A part of Tooru resents it, that amidst the small crowd of this small town there’s been a creature such as Suga waiting for him. But his heart (the other part of him) has been gradually thumping quicker at the mere thought of Suga, becoming this constant bloom of warmth that spreads to Tooru’s fingers and toes.

And maybe that’s extreme, because then when a week passes since summer break has ended and Tooru is comfortably back in school, his chest still contains so much for Suga, like Suga owns that part of Tooru. What he has with Suga is extreme, in all honesty, because Tooru has never missed any practice of volleyball—middle school, high school, training camp, extra post-graduation meets, vacations and holidays, in sickness or in health, till death and whatnot—until Suga. Tooru half-hates how absolutely pathetic he’d been, but then he remembers how Suga had looked. Which had also been pathetic and slightly admonishing, but gentle and lovable. Very lovable.

Tooru does his best to lose himself in his schoolwork to distract himself from being so overwhelmed. Yet the beginnings and endings of his day revolve around sending goodnight texts in the evenings, and remembering the ghost of Suga’s lips on his in the mornings.

The more complicated thing is that it’s not like they’ve really… talked about it. The kissing thing that had started and persisted (into slightly more-than-kissing things) during training camp. The togetherness that feels entirely too exclusive for them to have not talked about it. The looks Sawamura had given them and—Hanamaki and Matsukawa talking to Suga—and what Tobio-chan had said—and, really, everyone’s judgment, which Tooru doesn’t care that much about. If Iwaizumi hadn’t given him that fake-talk during training camp Tooru might actually ask him what he thinks, except now thinking about asking Iwaizumi for advice sounds like the most embarrassing thing ever.

But Tooru is certain that they’re. Something. Together? He wonders absently if Suga’s been kissing other people behind his back, though he kind of doubts it. Suga doesn’t have that kind of forwardness. But who knows? No, he wouldn’t. And Tooru’s not kissing anyone else. Or doing other things that aren’t kissing, like handholding and making flower crowns, for someone else. He wants to say that it’s complicated, but it’s not that complicated: sometimes he sends Suga texts with heart emojis in them and sometimes Suga sends them back.

It’s not that complicated.

So a week passes and Tooru feels entirely too occupied with thinking and feeling about Suga, it’s a miracle his grades haven’t dropped. In fact, he’s pretty sure they’ve gotten better with how much Tooru’s been trying to actively pretend he isn’t thinking about Suga, even though studying hasn’t helped at all.

Volleyball can’t even help; while Tooru isn’t any slower, volleyball (obviously) makes him think of Suga even more. He would wonder what Suga’s doing at every moment of the day, but they text each other enough and Suga has a pretty normal schedule so Tooru can guess what he’s doing if Suga isn’t already telling him.

Tooru thinks about going over to Karasuno to visit; he thinks about Suga coming over to visit him . One day after school, after everyone has left and Iwaizumi has given him one of his scowls, Tooru stays even later, spiking and serving the ball against the wall of the gym. He feels so full with how much Suga has ahold of him, ahold of his heart , and Tooru hits the ball even harder. He wants to see Suga but he’s too cowardly, admittedly; he wants to tell Suga what he thinks of him. He wants to go over to Karasuno and kiss Suga in front of everyone, finally take a leap across that safe distance of texting and heart emojis to something more —

“Oikawa?”

Tooru doesn’t fumble with the ball; he never fumbles. He catches the ball and swivels around. Suga is standing at the entrance of the Aoba Jousai gym.

Tooru is so surprised that he’s pretty sure his vision goes fuzzy around the edges, but he’s been eating and sleeping well so it’s probably just because of his stupid, stupid feelings for Suga. “Hi,” he says, running a little too fast to meet Suga in the middle. He’s sweaty and breathless and his heart is beating loud. “Suga-chan,” Tooru says.

Suga smiles at him. “Oikawa,” he says, tilting his head up because Tooru is getting closer and closer. “Would you be my boyfriend?”

“I—” Tooru tries not to stumble over his words. When was he ever this awkward? When has Suga ever been this smooth? “I thought I already was,” he says to Suga.

Suga takes both of his hands and, brightly, says, “Of course.” He closes his eyes and draws Tooru in, kissing him and kissing him, the texture familiar but the taste sort of distant—

—Tooru’s eyes shoot open to the darkness in his bedroom. The sheets are twisted around his body and through the window, the bright light of the moon shines through. “What,” he murmurs to himself, rubbing at his eyes. He touches his lips.

He does remember what Suga felt like. Vaguely, what he tasted like. Tooru turns on his side and thinks about the word boyfriend .

It’s obvious, right? Maybe they should say something. Maybe he should say something.

But it’s obvious.

He takes his phone off the nightstand and goes to his chat logs with Suga, where the last text had been Suga’s Yes, yes, I do miss your goodnight kisses . They’ve been admittedly been texting more of these— very obvious things, but without anything like “love” or “my bed is big” (Tooru had been tempted to say such a thing, more than once) or, well, “boyfriend.” It’s been a week, both too soon and too late to say “I miss you,” so their conversations have settled on a casual nicety that has been slightly more than casual and slightly more than a nicety.

That should be evidential enough. Tooru closes his phone shut and tells himself not to think too much about it. They are—whatever they were during training camp, which had sufficed, so it’ll do now, too.

Except then the next day is Saturday and Tooru is coming back from his morning jog when his phone chimes with a text.

I think we should talk?

Tooru gets simultaneously anxious, and, frankly, frightened, that Suga might have weird clairvoyant abilities he might’ve not told Tooru about. Tooru is tempted to put off the text until after he showers.

He answers right away.

Sure! o( ❛ᴗ❛ )o What about?

Maybe not over text? Are you free today?
And nothing major, just something that’s been on my mind.
Nothing to worry about.
(シ. .)シ

Tooru can see through the texts right away: Suga’s lying. Well, it’s not so much as seeing through him as it is that Suga’s sent four texts in a row and he usually doesn’t do that.

I am free! And you are not doing a very good job of not making me worry, Suga-chan.

Really, don’t worry about it!!!! I would just rather talk in person.
Also, I miss you.

But, unfortunately (depending on the angle one chooses to see it), Suga is incredibly good at diverting Tooru’s attention to something that make his heart thump thicker than usual, so Tooru leaves the pestering alone.

( ˘⌣˘)♡ I miss you too!! Where/when would you like to meet?

They decide at sometime in the afternoon after lunch, at the same ice cream place as the one they’d gone to before training camp. Tooru hums to himself and tries not to get too anxious. He tries not to get too excited.

And then it’s the afternoon all too soon and he’s leaving his house, saying goodbye to his parents and walking into town. And then he’s at the ice cream store and Suga is already there, in shorts and a thin sweater rolled up to his sleeves, with a small smile at the corner of his lips. There’s no hat this time, probably because it’s relatively cloudy enough not to burn Suga’s fair skin, and Tooru simultaneously loves and misses it.

He sidles up to Suga. “Fancy seeing you here,” he says, and Suga throws his head back and laughs. Tooru is entirely too pleased with himself, and they make their way into the ice cream shop.

“It’s been a while, huh?” says Suga.

Tooru smirks. “It’s been a week.”

“Well,” says Suga, and gestures around them. “It’s been two weeks since we were here .”

“Ah yes, of course,” says Tooru. “I do admire your talent of keeping track of the time.”

“Oh, shut up,” says Suga, nudging his hip against Tooru’s.

They queue up for their ice creams, and Tooru can’t seem to stop himself from smiling. It really, really hasn’t been that long since he’s last seen Suga, but it’s Suga , so it has been. He’s catalogued so many of his tiny details—Suga gets matcha ice cream, bites his bottom lip when he’s indecisive, steals quick glances at him when he thinks Tooru isn’t looking—but Tooru could never fully memorize how it feels to have Suga this bodily close, the pale glow of the ice cream shop lighting up his face, an eyelash on his cheek that he doesn’t notice. Tooru reaches over and brushes it off absently before he realizes what he’s doing, but when Suga glances over and gives him a funny look, all he says is, “Thanks.”

“Do you always get matcha?” Tooru asks, when they’re done ordering. “Or will you ever spice it up?” He’s gotten lemon today, and Suga rolls his eyes at him.

“I know what I like,” he says as if that justifies his choice.

“And you only like one flavor?”

“ No ,” Suga says defensively. “I do like other flavors. Matcha’s just my favorite.”

“So you pick your favorite every time,” Tooru teases.

“When I can. There’s nothing wrong with having one favorite, you know.” Suga accepts his ice cream from the employee, who’s scooped it into a cone. “I like enjoying myself even if it’s boring.”

“I didn’t say it was boring, I just said you weren’t spicing things up,” says Tooru, getting his own ice cream. He thanks the worker and licks a bit that’s dripping down.

Suga huffs. “I spice things up all the time ,” he says, but Tooru’s just grinning at him. “Watch this.” He leans in and licks Tooru’s ice cream, though he quickly pulls back and scrunches his nose. “Oh yeah, lemon.”

“Yes, lemon,” Tooru says. “How spicy of you.”

Suga rolls his eyes but brandishes his ice cream in Tooru’s face. “I suppose this time you’ll want a bit of my ice cream. Again.” He sort of falters on the last word and Tooru is sure he is—like Tooru is—remembering the last time Tooru had tried Suga’s ice cream, but Tooru does his best to wave off the faint embarrassment and says, “Thank you for the offer, but I had enough last time.”

They make their way out of the ice cream shop and back to the park that they’d been to before and Tooru tries, hopes that this doesn’t turn into a repeat of last time. With a weird, awkward but sweet kiss and an absence that had been welcome but all too soon. Well, he wouldn’t be against a kiss of any particular kind, but—

This time they find a bench, and Tooru plops down, bending his legs and barely managing to swing them like a little kid. Suga raises his eyebrows at him but then joins him, swinging his legs too.

He sits close enough that their elbows brush and their pinkies and fourth fingers are overlapping each other.

“So,” Tooru says, after a moment. “What did you want to talk about?”

Suga hums, licking his ice cream and pointedly not looking at Tooru.

Then he says, “We’ve been texting a lot lately.”

“Yes,” Tooru says. Maybe a bit too quickly. His brain immediately goes into overdrive and he tries to remember if he’s the one been texting Suga too much. “Is that a problem?”

“No! No, it’s not—” Suga hurriedly waves the hand that had been touching Tooru’s (because the other one is holding his matcha ice cream) and then puts it back down, this time a few centimeters away. Tooru tries not to mourn the loss.

“It’s not a problem at all, Oikawa, I like texting you,” says Suga, his words coming out very fast. “A lot. But um. We’ve also kissed. A lot.”

Tooru raises an eyebrow. “We’ve done more than kiss,” he reminds him.

Suga blushes, his gaze fixing fast back to his knees. “We’ve done more than kiss,” he agrees. “And you said you would get the flu for me—”

At this memory Tooru is quite certain he turns the same shade of Tokyo red. “Is this helping you drive your point home?”

“Well, yes,” says Suga, though his tone is light as he watches Tooru’s blush. “I just—we need to talk about this—are we dating?”

Tooru’s heart beats rapidly against his chest, but he tries to come off as cool and collected as possible. “I sure hope so,” he hears himself say, somewhere distant.

Suga’s face passes into relief and brings Tooru back with him, on this park bench, with his lemon ice cream, here . “Oh, good,” says Suga. “I mean, I hoped so too. I just figured that I should ask.”

“I’m glad you asked,” Tooru says. His voice still sounds distant, but it’s all he can do to not fling his ice cream cone away and kiss Suga right into the park bench, lay him horizontal and do naughty things to him right in the middle of a public park. “Otherwise I’m afraid I’d be stringing you along and you wouldn’t have even noticed.”

Suga snorts. “You couldn’t do that to me.” He licks at his ice cream, getting a little bit of matcha on his upper lip. “I like to think I know you pretty well,” he says to Tooru.

Tooru tries not to stare at Suga’s mouth. “Or maybe you don’t know me very well at all,” he says.

Suga chuckles. “I like to think I know the person I’m dating,” he says, and Tooru is this close to kissing him senseless, or—Tooru doesn’t know what the other option is but he’s sure it’s publicly indecent.

And Suga twists his mouth in thought at his own words. “Dating,” he says, trying it out on his tongue. He smiles to himself. “That’s us, isn’t it.”

When he turns to Tooru, Tooru tries to pretend he hadn’t been staring. He swallows thickly. “Yes, that’s us,” he says. “Dating. Boyfriends. Boyfriends who are dating.”

Suga bumps against him. “Boyfriends who are dating,” he repeats.

“Boyfriends who are dating,” Tooru says again, his insides a mess of something twisting, and something settling, like his shoulder against Suga’s, his right hand passing the ice cream cone to his left so he can grasp at Suga’s.

“You know,” Suga says. “Some of my teammates have been asking ‘how we are.’” He uses air quotes with his ice cream-holding hand.

“Really,” Tooru says dryly. “And what have you told your little crows?”

“That we’re talking regularly and happy. Thank you very much,” Suga adds. “I guess we weren’t that discreet during training camp.”

“We really weren’t,” says Tooru, but he grins about it. “How are they, anyway? Especially Tobio-chan and Shorty.”

Suga pulls his hand back, but only to point at Tooru. “Oh! You do care!” he accuses.

Tooru rolls his eyes and fastens his fingers between Suga’s once more. “Well, are you going to answer?”

Suga squeezes Tooru’s fingers with his, in a nice way like he’s trying it out for the first time, seeing if he likes it. “They’re fine. Everyone’s fine,” he says. He sounds like he can’t believe it. “It’s so—it’s incredible to watch the exact process of everyone changing to be better as a team.”

“Yeah?” says Tooru.

“Yeah.” Suga beams up at him. “We’re really looking forward to playing you in the Spring Highs.”

“Oh, of course,” Tooru says airily.

Suga’s expression turns mischievous. “And winning,” he adds.

Tooru flicks a piece of hair out of his eyes. “We’ll see about that,” he says, though he does anticipate it—not just the team, but the competition, the other side of the net. He’s seen how they were in training, and he knows that the dial will only be higher when it comes to a real game.

He says, while he and Suga are holding hands and eating their slightly melted ice cream and not looking at each other because this is not new but it’s still new — “I thought about visiting Karasuno over the past week just to see you.”

Suga blinks at him. “And you didn’t?”

“Hey,” Tooru says, but Suga’s expression has turned shy now, entirely adorable enough to veer Tooru off from pointing out that it wasn’t like Suga had gone out of his way to meet with Tooru in person either. Until now. “Some of my teammates commented on us too,” he says instead.

“Oh?” says Suga, with interest. “What did they say?”

“Something about how we spent so much time together during training camp that seeing me alone was like seeing me without a volleyball.”

Suga laughs so loudly that he actually pulls Tooru forward a bit with the weight of it. “That’s genuinely flattering,” he says, wiping a tear from his eye. “Well. Does that mean that they approve of me?”

“As if I need their approval.” Tooru huffs. “Iwa-chan told me he was ready to pack me up in a box and ship me off to Karasuno yesterday.”

“He really should’ve,” Suga says seriously. “I’d love to open up a box and find you inside.”

“How sadistic of you,” Tooru says.

Suga laughs again, more to himself. It might be Tooru’s imagination but Suga looks like he can’t stop smiling either.

“I think we should set up a system,” Tooru says after a beat. “Where we can see each other in person, since as much as I enjoy texting you, I enjoy this more.” The moment the words leave his mouth he can’t quite believe he just said them, but then Suga smiles so hard at him it might actually hurt.

“That’s an excellent idea,” Suga says. “Although we have volleyball practice every day.”

“True,” says Tooru.

“And volleyball comes first.”

“Well ,” says Tooru, and Suga stares at him disbelievingly. “Seriously, Suga-chan, do you really think my life revolves around volleyball?”

“Hanamaki told me that you once set a perfect ball in the middle of a sneeze,” Suga says pointedly.

“He exaggerates.”

“I highly doubt it.”

“But,” Tooru says, “at this point, you should know that you come before my sneezes.”

“Okay,” Suga concedes, “at this point, I have to tell you that I’m really just fishing for compliments.” He’s grinning though and Tooru doesn’t regret it at all. “But. Yes. Weekends then?”

“Weekends then,” Tooru agrees, waving his half-finished ice cream cone around. “We can go out on nice days like these.”

Suga’s smile turns sly. “Or stay in on nice days like these.”

“Another excellent option,” Tooru says, feeling warm and hoping that he’s not being obvious about it through his palm pressing against Suga’s. By the looks of it, he is. “But we haven’t seen a movie yet together, though.”

Suga hums, munching on his cone.

“Or gotten dinner,” Tooru adds. “There are a lot of weekends left.”

“This year?” says Suga, licking his lips. Most of the matcha is gone, both around his mouth and in his cone, but Tooru still wants an excuse to kiss him again anyway. “Or in general?”

Tooru smiles. “Let’s just say this season,” he says, after finishing his ice cream, “and see about the next.”

Suga looks satisfied with this. “Alright.”

And then he’s done too and they’re wiping their hands on their napkins and then Tooru says, “I’m going to kiss you now.” The clouds are busy enough to block the sun today, but Suga is positively radiant when he turns to Tooru, waiting for a response, and leans in first.

There is no single moment that Tooru loves more than the next, between fake training camp practices and real training camp practices and jogs in the rain and moments forgotten by sneezes. But there is cold sugar on Suga’s lips that goes to Tooru’s tongue and Tooru’s smile that gets swallowed up by Suga’s own, that it’s enough for them to know that last week and the next season—and the seasons after that—will be no less splendid than today.

Notes:

As usual, thank you to everyone for the support and kind comments! We have truly enjoyed working on this together and also (very belatedly) participating in June 2015's oisuga week. We imagine that after this fic, Oikawa and Suga experience many more kiss-filled summers.

ヾ(●･ｖ･人･ｖ･○)ﾉ!!!!

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Due Season

by aroceu

Summary:

Notes:

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Notes:

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