Chapter Text
It starts with the music. Daichi is so focused on his homework that he doesn't notice it at first, until he realizes he's tapping his foot to the steady, rapid beat. He looks around, as if he'll be able to determine its source right here in his bedroom, when he has never once turned on something this gratingly loud and screamy.
He blames it on his roommate at first, and knocks his fist against the wall from his seat at his desk, hoping that will be enough to get him to turn it down.
“Kuroo!” he shouts, when the deafening bass and unintelligible vocals continue. “Yo!”
Nothing. Daichi picks up his phone and sends a message, because it was a long day and he doesn't feel like walking all the way to Kuroo's room (the whole two steps it would take from one bedroom door to the other).
Daichi: im trying to talk to you
Kuroo: sorry bro...cant hear you over your shitty music
Daichi: my shitty music? i thought it was yours
Kuroo: really sawamura? does this sound like my kind of jam?
Daichi: who the fuck knows?
Kuroo: give me some credit...I have very refines tastes
Kuroo: refined
Kuroo: maybe it's Azumane?
Azumane Asahi lives in the corner unit next door, and the first time Daichi met him he jumped about three feet in the air because Daichi came up behind him at the mailboxes and said hello. The prospect of this angry noise pollution being his doing seems very unlikely.
Daichi: asahi? really?
Kuroo: okay...probably not. but i do think it's coming from his place
Kuroo: maybe we should go make sure no one broke in?
Daichi: just to listen to screamo??
Kuroo: i don't know??
Daichi: i don't want to bug him...maybe he had a bad day and this...helps?
Kuroo: how could this possibly help? it's making me want to maim myself so I don't have to hear it anymore
Daichi: i know...but we’ve really only known him a few months. maybe this is his thing
Kuroo: maybe
Kuroo: maybe he comes home from a long terrible day and theres nothing that will make him feel better but shredding away on his air guitar
Daichi: maybe he stands on his table and imagines he's a metal god
Kuroo: maybe he wears black leather pants
Daichi: god i hope so he'd look good in those hey?
Kuroo: fuck yeah
Daichi: really someone being in his apartment is more likely than that though
Kuroo: yeah okay. go check then huh?
Daichi: why me?
Kuroo: you're more intimidating
Kuroo: even though you're pocket sized
Daichi: asshole
Daichi: fine, if I get murdered just know that you can have nothing of mine
Kuroo: you HAVE nothing. except tiny clothes that wouldn't fit me
Daichi has suddenly found the motivation to get up and go to Kuroo's room, so he can intimidate him in person. It doesn't go all that well, because Kuroo screams like a girl when Daichi storms in, as if Daichi would actually hurt him, and Daichi laughs so hard he forgets to be threatening.
“Okay, you're right,” he says, when he has more or less composed himself. “You stay here and continue to be useless, I’ll make sure Asahi's alive.”
“Good man,” Kuroo says, with absolutely zero shame. Lazy son of a bitch. He leans over from his perch on his bed to slap Daichi’s shoulder, and Daichi shoves him onto his back before taking his leave.
“If I get shot…” he says over his shoulder.
“I’ll write you a real nice eulogy, buddy,” Kuroo calls after him.
Daichi snorts, considers grabbing something he could potentially use as a weapon, then just leaves the apartment, because honestly the most likely scenario here is just that Asahi’s radio fritzed out and he’s not even there.
“Azumane,” he calls, rapping at the door a few times. “Oi, Asahi!”
This is so pointless. There’s no way Asahi would even be able to hear him with how loud this shit is, and he’s going to get in trouble if someone other than Daichi and Kuroo decides to complain about it.
“Asahi!” he tries one more time, and then he just turns the handle. It’s unlocked, so he lets the door fall open, taking a step inside and looking around. No Asahi, no Asahi’s giant shoes in the entryway. Nothing out of the ordinary at all except that music, and that blanket there on the couch, and…and him.
There’s a guy lying right in the middle of the living room floor. Daichi will never admit this to Kuroo, but for just a second he feels like throwing up could be a real possibility, because oh God what if he’s dead? What if Azumane is actually a psychopath and he’s murdered this poor, beautiful boy who is…wow, he’s…he’s really beautiful. And he’s not dead, Daichi is almost positive. He’s on his back, with his arms folded behind his head. A hint of a small, peaceful smile on his face, completely at odds with the jarring, angry music. His shirt has ridden up just slightly, and Daichi can see a band of pale skin, rising and falling gently.
He’s not dead. Daichi breathes in slow and deep. Okay. It’s okay. Except, who the hell is he?
“H-hello?” he tries, but it’s not loud enough, and the guy doesn’t show any sign of having heard him. “Are…hey, are you okay?”
The guy doesn’t move at all, doesn’t even seem the slightest bit startled. He just opens his eyes and looks right at Daichi, and he smiles.
“What?” he says, because the music is so damn loud that even though he heard Daichi’s voice, he doesn’t know what he said.
Daichi looks around, spotting the stereo that's crammed on the shelf of one of Asahi's bookcases, and going over to turn it off. It's dead silent when Daichi turns back to the stranger, who is now partially sitting up, propping himself on his elbows.
Obviously he’s okay, so Daichi doesn't bother repeating that question. “Who are you?” he asks instead.
“Sugawara Koushi,” the guy says. “I'm a friend of Asahi's. From junior high.”
“Ah,” Daichi says. Sugawara Koushi’s shirt is still rucked up on his flat stomach, and Daichi can see a soft line of hair trailing down from the dip of his belly button.
“And you must be either Kuroo-san or Daichi-san,” Sugawara continues. Daichi’s eyes snap back up to his face and he nods his head, resolutely ignoring how obvious he was just being, and hoping Sugawara will do the same. “But you definitely look more like a Daichi.”
“What…” Daichi begins, feeling himself smile even as his cheeks burn a little, self consciously. “What does a Daichi look like?”
Sugawara doesn't answer him. He just looks him over slowly, from head to toe and back again. It's more friendly than flirtatious, but Daichi feels the heat building more heavily in his face.
“Like you,” Sugawara says. “Am I right?”
“Yes,” Daichi says.
Sugawara smiles again, and then the silence falls back over them and Daichi’s mind catches up to how weird this is. This conversation, this guy lying on his neighbor's floor, the complete lack of explanation as to why he's here.
“Did you…need something?” Sugawara asks.
“I—sorry, I tried knocking, but the music was really loud, and we…Kuroo and I, we were a little worried about Asahi because…well he's not the death metal type.”
“No, he's not, is he?” Sugawara laughs. “Is your mind at ease now that you see it’s me and not him?”
“Now…I think I'm more confused,” Daichi says honestly, because Sugawara, with his pale pink lips, and soft silvery hair framing his face, does not exactly strike him as the death metal type either. “Does Asahi know you’re here?”
“No,” Sugawara says. “I break in occasionally to use his subpar stereo system, and then slip away into the night with dear Asahi-san none the wiser.”
Sugawara doesn’t smile, and his voice doesn’t betray him at all. There’s just a catch of light in his eyes, a slight narrowing that makes them smile even if his lips do not.
“Right. Well carry on, then,” Daichi says, and the smile spreads to Sugawara’s lips so quick it’s like a little firecracker has just gone off, sending echoing warm sparks up and down the back of Daichi’s neck.
“I’m going to be staying with him for a bit,” Sugawara says. “I’m sorry about the music, though. It was a hell of a weekend and I just needed to…” He waves long, slender fingers in the air, flicking them as if he’s banishing whatever happened over the past couple days. “You know.”
“Sure,” Daichi says. “Do you, um…if you want company until Asahi gets home, you can come to our place.”
“Thank you,” Sugawara says warmly. “But I think I’ll clean up a little and get some dinner made, so I can surprise Asahi like a good little houseguest.”
“Okay,” Daichi says, both disappointed and relieved. Being in the same room as Sugawara is doing weird things to him. He thinks he might still be blushing, and his voice sounds too loud and deep, and Sugawara has gotten to his feet now and fuck…Daichi needs to leave immediately before he stares so hard Sugawara is forced to tell Asahi what a creep his neighbor is. “It was nice to meet you, Sugawara-san,” he says quickly. “I hope you’ll enjoy your visit.”
Sugawara’s eyes crinkle up when he smiles this time. It’s obscenely cute. “Just Suga,” he says. “And thank you. I’m sure I’ll see you again.”
“That…that would be…” Holy hell, this is getting bad. Daichi is not this lame. He mocks Kuroo for being this lame. His mouth is dry and his tongue feels tied, and Sugawara…Suga, his feet are bare and Daichi has just now noticed this, and it seems intensely personal somehow. And so cute, the way his toes curl in the soft rug beneath them. “Great,” he finally barks out, disjointed and awkward and far too loud. He nods his head and turns around before this can get any worse, pulling the door shut tight behind him, and then hurling himself into his own apartment.
“Kuroo,” he hisses.
“What?” Kuroo asks, ambling out of his room, sleepy eyes widening when they fall on Daichi and take in his barely restrained state of panic. “What happened? Was Asahi naked or something? Did you see his dick? Is it huge?”
Daichi blinks. His panic settles slightly. “What is the matter with you?”
“What? Nothing. I've never thought about it before I was just…just wondering,” Kuroo says, then he reaches out to smack Daichi’s chest and adds, “Like you never have.”
“There’s no way it’s not huge,” Daichi says. “But stop it, listen. Asahi wasn’t there, it was his friend Sugawara, from junior high.”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“Me neither,” Daichi says, waving a hand and then continuing in a whisper. “But he knew our names so obviously Asahi has mentioned us, and Kuroo he’s…he’s—”
“Was he naked?”
“No, you piece of shit. Can’t you focus for two seconds?”
“If you’re going to have that attitude…” Kuroo says loftily, taking two long steps backwards towards his bedroom.
Daichi reaches out to grab a fistful of his shirt and pull him back again. “His friend is gorgeous, and I made a total idiot of myself in front of him,” he growls.
“Oh!” Kuroo’s smile tugs up on the right, and then it overcomes his face and he drops down to the floor, right there in the middle of their living room. “Spill,” he says, eyes bright and expectant as he looks up at Daichi.
Daichi could grumble and pretend that this isn’t something they do, but it’s just him and Kuroo here, and the fact is…it is. For all the animosity between them when they played on rival volleyball teams in high school, Kuroo has become his best friend since they started university together almost two years ago. And this, for better or worse, is a thing that they do.
He sinks down in front of Kuroo and rehashes his entire conversation with Suga. The way he couldn’t stop looking at that tiny bare strip of skin above his jeans, and the way he acted just as embarrassingly useless as Kuroo does three times a week, when that little blond guy he’s so enamored with sits in front of them in Biology.
“I was…fairly suave with him last week,” Kuroo points out. “I think he definitely considered laughing at my mitochondria joke.”
“He did not,” Daichi says.
“You know what, Sawamura? No one asked you. And we’re talking about your romantic ineptitude right now, so let's not get off track.”
Daichi groans and presses his palms to his eyes, scrubbing over them roughly. “It doesn't even matter. There's no way he's single. God…do you think he’s dating Asahi?”
“No, he is not dating Asahi. Have you not seen the way Asahi loses his shit over the pizza delivery kid? At least twice a week? Does he really strike you as the type to flirt behind the back of his long distance boyfriend?”
“That's…not flirting,” Daichi points out, thinking of the way Asahi always seems to forget how to talk when the spiky-haired delivery boy shows up. “He does order a lot of pizza though…oh my God he's subjecting himself to that awkwardness on purpose?”
“Yes. Dude, what is wrong with us? How can three attractive men all be so hopeless?”
“Maybe we should stop hanging out with each other,” Daichi says. “I think I had way better game before we started living together.”
“You didn’t,” Kuroo says, patting Daichi’s shoulder consolingly. “You were less of a spaz though, I actually used to think you were pretty smooth.”
“Yeah well, I thought you were smooth too, and now I know the truth.”
“Right,” Kuroo says, not bothering to argue.
“I was just…surprised,” Daichi says. “And that music threw me off.”
“You keep telling yourself that, buddy,” Kuroo says, rubbing his shoulder again and then getting to his feet. “I gotta finish my homework.”
Daichi groans, because he does too, but mostly because he knows it wasn’t the music, or even the fact that he was startled to find someone other than Asahi in his apartment. It was just Daichi, reacting to Suga. The appearance of something so lovely, so unexpectedly, yes. But also the serenity on his face in the midst of all that noise, and the way he seemed to know right where to look to meet Daichi’s eyes, before he’d even opened his own.
Daichi is not a spaz, and he prides himself on generally carrying himself with composure, not losing control of himself the way Kuroo does. But maybe he doesn’t have it quite as together as he thought, because just thinking about the brown-eyed boy in the next apartment makes his mouth feel dry all over again.
His notes are right where he left them on his desk, after he’s gotten a glass of water and gone back to his room. He shifts them around, flips through them and doesn’t read them, finally picking up his phone instead.
Daichi: just met your friend Suga
Asahi: oh, good. I meant to tell you he’d be coming, but i just found out last night and i was running late this morning
Asahi: you were nice to him right?
Daichi: ??
Daichi: of course i was?
Asahi: you scared the hell out of me the first time we met
Daichi: aljsdflk
Daichi: i literally did nothing but smile and say hey!
Asahi: you had your arms crossed though...you looked really menacing
Daichi: oh my god...i was nice to him
Daichi: you guys are old friends then?
Asahi: yeah..we both grew up in miyagi, but he’s lived a few places since then
Asahi: i think he’s just in tokyo for a week or so
Daichi: cool
Daichi: he seems nice. his musical leanings leave something to be desired though
Asahi: you don’t like pop music?
Daichi: pop?
Asahi: I need to get back to work daichi...see you tomorrow?
Daichi: yeah sure...kuroo found a bag of pancake mix that doesn’t seem overly expired if you wanna join us for breakfast
Asahi: sounds good!
Daichi sets his phone down and slowly lowers his head to his desk, staring at the blurred lines of his notes.
The music starts up again, very much not pop of any kind. It’s quieter this time, but there's still no missing it.
Kuroo: he better be real cute Sawamura
Daichi: i invited them for breakfast tomorrow?
Daichi: you’re making pancakes
Kuroo: ...
Kuroo: alright then
Alright then. Daichi hopes that by the next morning he’ll have gotten a grip and can at least talk to Suga in a normal decibel range. He thinks about how long Kuroo has been unsuccessfully trying to woo his crush with bad science puns, and lets his head fall back to the desk.
* * *
Suga is no chef, but he knows Asahi doesn't have extravagant tastes. He used to eat over at the Azumane house a few nights a week when they were younger, and Asahi would always thank his mother genuinely and politely for whatever basic meal she set before them. Everything always tasted amazing to Suga, because it was home-cooked, and it went along with a mother and father and siblings sitting around a table together.
It’s been a long time since Suga lived at home. The moment he was given the opportunity to leave, at fifteen years old, he had taken it, and not once in the past five years has he been homesick. It was never really a home to begin with. Just Suga, and the cousins that teased and taunted him, the aunt that looked at him like a mouth she shouldn’t have to feed.
It’s not something Suga dwells on, certainly not anymore. His is not a sad story. A slightly complicated one still, perhaps, but not sad.
Suga is healthy, he has good friends, money in the bank, and a warm meal coming together in front of him. Simple steamed vegetables and sticky noodles, and mochi in the freezer that he picked up on his way to Asahi’s apartment.
He pokes at the vegetables, humming to himself, and his mind drifts back to Asahi’s neighbor bursting in earlier that evening and stumbling upon him, his lovely, broad cheeks flushing. He was awfully cute, nervous and noble, and so solid, but Suga won’t dwell on him either. A college boy with a deep voice and bold, dark eyes is not what he needs, and he knows that he is not what a boy like that needs either. Even though it was so nice, the way he was flustered by the situation, but clearly not because he had any idea who Suga is.
The steam is warm and damp on his face and Suga rubs it away, tugs his fingers through half-dry hair and gathers it up in a tiny bundle at the back of his head, securing it with an elastic pulled from around his wrist. He has just dished up the noodles and veggies onto two large plates—chipped yellow ones that must have been handed down to Asahi, because Suga remembers eating off of them when he was thirteen—when the door opens, and this time it’s a familiar face that greets him.
“Asahi!”
“Suga,” Asahi says, opening his arms when Suga hurtles towards him, and squeezing him tightly.
It’s been almost half a year since they last saw each other, which isn’t all that uncommon, but it feels crushing all of a sudden, with everything Suga has held back in that time. Suga presses his face far too hard against Asahi’s chest, and Asahi grunts a little, but he doesn’t push Suga away. He’s steady and warm, like he’s always been, and that is why Suga is here now. Because this is what he needs.
“That smells good,” Asahi says, still holding him, but taking a few shuffling steps towards the counter bar where Suga has set their food. “You didn’t have to cook.”
“It’s the least I could do,” Suga says, finally stepping back and smiling up at his friend. “After inviting myself over with no notice like I did.”
“I’m always happy to see you, you know that,” Asahi says, and Suga nods, but his smile begins to feel strained. Asahi doesn’t know this isn’t like the rest of Suga’s visits, when he was just passing through.
“I know,” Suga says. “Still though, I…I wanted to thank you.”
Asahi smiles, a little hesitantly, because he can read Suga like a book. “No need,” he says. “I’m starving though, so I really appreciate this. Just let me change quickly and we can eat?”
“Sure,” Suga says. “What do you want to drink?”
“Just water’s good,” Asahi says, stepping past Suga and pulling his shirt over his head as he goes.
Suga gets two bottles out of the fridge and perches on one of Asahi’s high wooden stools. “I met your friend!” he calls out.
“He told me,” Asahi says from his bedroom. His voice is muffled, and Suga imagines he’s tugging a sweatshirt down over his face. “He invited us for breakfast at their place tomorrow, if you want to go.”
“Oh,” Suga says, picking up his chopsticks and prodding at his food with them without lifting any. “I’m good with whatever you want to do. Do you hang out there a lot?”
“Quite a bit,” Asahi says, coming back to the counter and sitting down next to Suga, dressed in cozy sweats and a hoodie. “They’re good guys, and I don’t really like being alone that much.”
“Then why do you live alone, silly?” Suga asks, reaching over to lightly pinch the tip of Asahi’s nose.
“Because my favorite person is a national pop sensation, and I can’t live with him,” Asahi shoots back.
Suga laughs, but while it bubbles up naturally, it sounds forced once it leaves him. “Asahi…”
“What is it?” Asahi asks, bumping Suga’s knee with his own.
“There’s some stuff I haven’t told you,” Suga says. This is a massive understatement. He should have told Asahi everything before he came here at all.
“Do you want to tell me now?” Asahi asks.
Suga nods, even though he’s not sure that he does, and he shovels a big bite of noodles into his mouth to give himself a little more time.
“You don’t have to,” Asahi says.
“No…I do,” Suga tells him after he’s swallowed. “Listen…Asahi. Do you remember last time I was here, how I was such a shit, and you knew something was wrong but I wouldn’t tell you?”
“You weren’t a shit,” Asahi says. “You were just…agitated? I felt badly that I couldn’t help you.”
“I was a shit, and I’m sorry. But the thing is…okay wait, I should have gone back further than that. The time I was here before that? In June? I know I didn’t see you much then, but I…I did something really stupid.”
Asahi is quiet, his chopsticks resting on his plate. He keeps his knee pressed next to Suga’s, waiting for him to go on.
“I, um…the show that night was so good, and then we all went out to this club after and I was...I was hyped up and drinking too much, and…Maru-chan was there, you remember her? From school?”
Asahi starts to shake his head, then nods instead with a little hum of understanding when the name connects with a face for him. Pale eyes and shiny, dark hair, a friendly smile tossed across the classroom during lunch. They were never really close with her, but they had mutual friends, and they’d bumped into her a couple times, after both she and Asahi started college in Tokyo.
“It was just really nice," Suga continues, “seeing someone I knew, who liked me before Hikaru. And we were just hanging out, but…” He shakes his head, because even now it feels strange that this story was actually a real event in his life. The memory itself is still so hazy—just tipsy laughter, and soft lips, and bad decisions. “I’d had so much to drink, and I got flirty, and stupid, and we ended up…I went back to her dorm with her?”
Suga wants everything that came after that to just reveal itself to Asahi without Suga having to say it, but he knows Asahi will never follow the trail as far as it really goes, even though he’s sure he knows at least the next part.
“She asked me to meet her, when I came back in September, the time I was awful to you. She told me she was pregnant.” There’s a little catch of breath from Asahi, and Suga plunges on so he can just get the rest of this out. “She was three months along then, you could just barely tell, but she…I got her pregnant, Asahi.”
“H-how?” Asahi asks. “I mean, are you sure? Didn’t you—weren’t you...safe?”
Suga shakes his head. He still can’t quite believe he did something so foolish, even while drunk, and he hates admitting it to Asahi. “I’m sure. It’s definitely mine, and I…Asahi, I want to keep it.”
It’s quiet for a little while, there’s just the tap-tap of Suga’s fingers nervously drumming on the counter.
“Does…does she?” Asahi asks.
“No,” Suga says. “She isn’t ready for that. She was going to put it up for adoption, but it’s…it’s my baby, and I…Asahi please don’t think I’m crazy. It’s my family though, and—”
“I don’t…I don’t think you’re crazy,” Asahi says. “So has she—she must be due really soon, right?”
“Any day,” Suga says. “So what I was…I was hoping that maybe I could stay with you? Just for a bit?”
“With…the baby?” Asahi asks.
Suga buries his face in his hands. He is crazy. There’s nothing in the world that could convince him not to do this, but this is his decision, his life, and not Asahi’s. He never should have thought it was okay to come here and drop this on him.
“I don’t have to,” Suga says. “I can get a place and—and I’ll be okay, I have money, I just…” His voice has become so shaky he thinks it might be better to just stop talking, but a moment later Asahi has pulled Suga off the stool and onto his lap, crushing him in a hug that breaks his resolve to be strong and sends tears streaming down his cheeks.
“Of course you’ll stay here,” Asahi says, his voice even and reassuring next to Suga’s ear. “You’re not doing this alone, Suga. You’ll stay here as long as you want to.”
“I left the band,” Suga forces out, because Asahi needs to know this, too. That Suga won’t be a national pop sensation anymore, flying in and out of Tokyo when their tours pass this way. He can’t do that now. He can’t be Hikaru’s sweetheart when he’s the only thing this baby is going to have.
Asahi strokes his hair, then pulls his head more firmly against his shoulder. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
“It—it is,” Suga says, and the tears and the hiccuping voice are not because this isn’t true. It’s hard, and the past two days were pretty awful, finally telling the other members, who have become more of a family than he’s ever had, that he’s stepping down. Some of them were angry, some of them argued and tried to convince him that he shouldn’t do this, or should do it differently. Find a way to stay with them and be a new father.
But Suga knows what’s important, and it isn't topping the charts or mastering mind-spinning choreography for a music video. He loves these things, the triumphs they've shared, and all of the noisy, wonderful chaos and closeness that comes from sharing almost every waking hour with seven other boys. He’ll never be anything but grateful for the group and everything it's given him, but all he’s ever wanted is a real home. The absence of one is what led him to say yes with no questions asked when a talent scout found him in his last year of junior high. And it’s the same thing that made him clasp Maru-chan’s hands when she told him she couldn't do this, couldn't be a parent at twenty years old, and tell her that he could.
His manager was the hardest part, with his anger over how long Suga waited to tell him, over his refusal to find a compromise, but he came around in the end. He agreed to give Suga leave, even though his contract shouldn't have been up for three more months, and until now there was never any doubt that he would go right back under contract when this one ended.
“Think about it. We’ll draft your new contract, and when the time comes you can come back,” he’d said, gripping Suga’s shoulder roughly. “There’s never going to be another Sugawaii.”
Suga had laughed ruefully at the nickname, the play on his name and his image in the band—cute, and sweet, and not an unwed father. He’d shaken his head and asked Otake-san to please not wait for something that wouldn’t happen, to not delay bringing in a replacement for him in hopes that they wouldn’t need one.
He’d gone to sleep that night (just last night, even though it seems like it was longer ago) in a hotel room with three other boys, and thought about all the names they have for him, all the silly things their fans call him. He’d closed his eyes to the familiar soundtrack of Hajime’s soft snores and Tooru typing on his laptop, and thought about the name he’ll go by for just one person soon.
“I can't believe you're going to be a dad,” Asahi says, and Suga blinks, wondering how long he's been silent, with Asahi holding him.
He rubs his face into his friend's shoulder and then leans back, climbing onto his own stool again.
“You don't think it's a huge mistake?” he asks.
Asahi bites his lip thoughtfully, then shakes his head. “I don't think so,” he says. “I don't know anything about babies, though. I am the baby.”
Suga laughs and takes a deep shuddering breath, before finally turning to the cooling food in front of him. “I know. I don't expect you to do anything, I just…need to be around you.”
“I will help,” Asahi says.
“I know you will.”
Asahi pats Suga's back and turns to his own food. They eat in a comfortable state of quiet that Suga is so thankful for, even though he knew Asahi would offer it to him from the start. No arguing or belittling or significant, disappointed looks. Just a solid knee still pressed to his own, and a promise of support.
“We don't have to go in the morning, to Daichi’s,” Asahi says when their plates have been cleared and they’re washing them in the sink, along with the pans Suga used.
“He's cute, hm?” Suga says.
“Cute?” Asahi repeats. “He's good looking, I guess. Too scary to be cute, though.”
Suga chuckles and bumps Asahi's hip with his own. “Didn't seem very scary to me.”
“Well, you're not afraid of anything,” Asahi says, and Suga doesn't argue with him even though he’s far from fearless, because he wants to feel brave right now.
“We can go,” he says. “Don’t say anything about the baby though, okay? I don't want to be that guy quite yet.”
“You're going to be you no matter what, Suga.”
“Maybe,” Suga says, but he doesn't believe it. He can't be the same Suga he used to be. Daichi had looked at him like he was a possibility, and if this were a year ago maybe he would have been, but he isn't now. Boys on the cusp of being college juniors don't date boys with babies. Boys with babies they don’t know how to take care of probably don’t have time to be dating anyone at all.
Once Daichi knows, once both of Asahi’s neighbors do, it will shape the way they see him. It won't be the way he wants to be seen.
“I just…I don’t want them to think I’m just some dumb popstar who couldn’t keep it in his pants.”
“They won’t even know you’re a popstar if you don’t tell them,” Asahi says. “All Daichi listens to is weird old American stuff, and you look so different in real life, without the dyed hair and everything.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“And you’re not dumb,” Asahi adds firmly. “They’re not going to think that when they know.”
Suga smiles at Asahi’s certainty, but he’s not so sure that’s true either. “Thanks,” he says, because he knows Asahi believes it. “But let me just be Suga from junior high for tomorrow, 'kay?”
“Sure,” Asahi says. “Of course.”
They finish drying the dishes together, and Asahi straightens the blanket on the couch that Suga napped under when he arrived that morning. He offers Suga his bed and Suga refuses, but they sit together on the couch and make plans for the second bedroom that currently houses Asahi's weight bench, and rows of boxes that his parents couldn't store for him anymore, when they moved out of their old house and into a small condo.
They can just hear the rumble of conversation from the other side of the living room wall. Daichi and Kuroo-san.
“Sound sure carries here,” Suga says. He doesn't add how awful that’s going to be when there's a baby crying at all hours of the night.
“Were you singing earlier?” Asahi asks. “Daichi doesn't seem to like your music.”
Suga laughs softly, thinking of Daichi’s bewildered expression when he walked in on him. “I wasn’t singing,” he says. “It was music therapy.”
“Oh no,” Asahi says. “Suga, couldn’t you have worn headphones? That music is like reverse-therapy. Or…the opposite of therapy, whatever you’d call it. Even when it’s quiet, it’s so loud.”
“It’s better when I can feel it with my whole body,” Suga says, and he feels a little more relaxed again just thinking about the way the drums had rattled through him with his limbs pressed to the floor. The way the vocals rode right up his spine, screaming away all of his doubts and worries, and making him feel like he’s more than just a boy who dances and sings in perfect harmony. Making him feel like he’s someone who could roar.
“Just…don’t get us evicted, please,” Asahi says, getting off the couch and stooping to kiss the top of Suga’s head.
“Us?”
“We’re roommates now, right?” Asahi says, somehow smiling fondly like this is an ideal situation, and his old friend hasn’t just crashed back into his life with two armloads of baggage.
“Right,” Suga says, tugging the blanket up over his legs and feeling warmer than he should from just the thin woolen cover. He knew Asahi wouldn’t turn him away, but he expected to be a guest here, a temporary occupant.
“Welcome home,” Asahi says.
Suga’s throat is too thick to respond, but he smiles at Asahi and hopes his gratitude comes through on his face. Asahi ruffles his hair and says goodnight, and Suga curls up on the lumpy couch and listens to the muted voices and little bursts of hearty laughter from next door.
The scent of a home-cooked meal is still in the air, his bags are sitting in a bedroom that he won’t have to leave in a few days, that he can settle into and make his own, and Suga thinks this might be the best beginning he could hope for.