Archive of Our Own

Daichi is pissed.

Understandably so, of course. He’s a creature of habit, and it annoys him like hell whenever he’s forced to deviate from his usual routines. Add that to the fact that he got approximately four hours of sleep the previous night trying to finish an essay and, well, nobody can blame him for his grouchy demeanor and general irritability today.

His morning routine is simple: wake up, take a shower, get dressed, then head down to the coffee shop just a couple of blocks off campus for breakfast and a cup of coffee to tide him over his early morning classes.

It hasn’t changed ever since he was a freshman, and now he’s in his final year and so close to graduating and he’s done this for four whole years, and now, out of nowhere, he finds himself riding his bike to the coffee shop as always, already prepared to chain it to the fence and duck indoors for his usual order, when suddenly he’s faced with a long queue of people, spilling out of the shop and onto the streets, and what the hell is going on here?

He hovers near the entrance for a few minutes, trying to figure out what’s happening, and that’s when he overhears a gaggle of girls near the front of the queue whispering about the hot new barista that just started work yesterday, and so-and-so said that the drinks here are totally out of this world, and what the hell, Daichi just doesn’t have time for this shit. Don’t these people have a class to get to or something?

Well, evidently not, because the queue is still there and not moving and fuck it, he’s a creature of habit, and it annoys him like hell whenever he’s forced to deviate from his usual routines, but it seems that he doesn’t have a choice today.

So he gets back on his bike and rides off, heading back towards the direction he came from.

There’s another coffee shop that he passes by on the way to this one—he’s never been there, not out of any deliberate avoidance, but just because why would he when there’s a better, more familiar alternative just a few blocks down the street?

Well—that’s not entirely true. There is a hint of avoidance in there, too. Just a bit. He’s been there once, a year ago when he’d decided to “change things up a little bit”, and had ended up with his drink almost spilled all over his shirt courtesy of a red-headed kid who ended up getting hauled away by an angry-looking co-worker.

Needless to say, that was the day he’d decided that “changing things up” wasn't exactly the brightest thing to do.

So it’s a combination of his irritability from having to break a familiar routine and his previous… experience at this particular joint that causes a certain apprehension to pool in his gut as he pulls up in front of the café. He pauses to look up at the sign (slightly crooked, in serious need of cleaning).

The Crow Café, it reads, written in big, bold letters, the accent above the ‘e’ taking the shape of a crow in flight.

Huh, Daichi thinks to himself, as he pushes the door open.

The café hasn't changed much since his last visit a year ago—the same green-painted walls with wooden flooring, the counter tucked away to the side, calming music playing softly from the speakers. The whole place smells faintly of vanilla and coffee and… well, it’s actually kinda nice, really. Daichi’s memory of the place must’ve been really colored by that bad experience to have had such an (unrightfully) bad impression of the place.

It’s also, of course, completely empty—business obviously having been cleaned out by the suddenly-all-the-rage café just down the street.

Daichi suddenly feels strangely self-conscious for being the only patron at the store, but he shrugs it off, tells himself he’s just here for coffee, and it’s with that thought in mind that he steps forward to the counter.

There’s nobody there, and Daichi can’t really blame them—they’re obviously not expecting anyone, not with business like this—so he presses the little bell that’s been thoughtfully placed next to the cashier and waits for someone to take his order. In the meanwhile he occupies himself with looking at the menu (even though he already knows what he’s going to have: a medium cappuccino, to go, because Daichi is a creature of habit, and just because he’s in a new shop doesn’t mean he’s going to get a new order too).

It takes less than a minute for him to hear rapid footsteps coming towards him and he straightens up, half-expecting to see either that hyperactive red-head or his taller, dark-haired co-worker with a murderous expression.

It’s neither of them.

“Sorry for the wait,” the barista says, and Daichi’s order dies right on the tip of his tongue.

The barista isn’t particularly tall, about the same height as Daichi himself, maybe just a little shorter. He’s slim in a way Daichi has never been, lean and almost willowy, what with the ash blonde hair that looks almost silver under the dim lighting of the café, and his eyes, a startling hazel that practically shines, or maybe it’s just Daichi’s imagination, but he’s pretty sure it’s not.

“Excuse me,” the barista says, smiling at Daichi apologetically. “Can I take your order?”

It’s only then that Daichi realizes he’s been staring, and it takes all his willpower not to turn and run right out of the store there and then.

“Um,” Daichi says intelligently. “I’ll have a medium capp—cappu—” Shit. “I mean, a medium cappuccino to go, thanks.”

“Okay,” the barista says, smiling gently, and it’s then that Daichi realizes there’s a beauty mark on his face, balanced right next to his left eye, and oh shit, he is so fucked— “One medium cappuccino to go, coming right up.”

The barista disappears to prepare his order then, and Daichi’s whole body practically sags, elbows pressed against the counter as he stares down at the floor and contemplates every single one of his life choices up until this very moment.

He’s dead. He’s so dead. He’s not going to make it for his morning class, because he’s going to dig himself a hole in the ground and just stay there for the rest of his pathetic, miserable experience.

It’s then that the barista chooses to reappear, breezing in effortlessly, almost soundlessly, and Daichi jumps up, straightening up almost immediately and realizing simultaneously that he probably looks like a completely tool right now.

“Here you go,” the barista says, still smiling, and Daichi looks down at the nametag pinned to his chest.

Hi, my name is Suga, it reads.

Suga, Daichi thinks. The name fits him, somehow. He can’t quite explain how, but he’s sure of it.

“Thanks,” Daichi says, and manages to pay for his drink with minimal casualties, and if his hand brushes against Suga’s almost infinitesimally as they exchange money, he definitely doesn’t shiver at the touch or anything like that, because that would just be embarrassing, and Daichi got over that phase along with the acne and inability to control his dick a long time ago, way back in middle school.

He definitely doesn’t leave the coffee shop in a daze, drink growing cold in his hand, his mind filled with nothing but that damned beauty mark and how Suga’s voice would sound like if he said Daichi’s name, and if he’d smell like vanilla and coffee even outside of his job.

Yeah. He definitely doesn’t. At all.

-

Daichi finds himself at the Crow Café again the next morning. Only because the stupid queue in front of his usual hangout hasn’t let up at all (if anything, it’s grown even longer.) It’s not because he’s hoping to see that barista again or anything like that at all whatsoever.

Or at least, that’s what he tells himself as he chains up his bike and walks into the store, feeling oddly nervous.

It only gets worse once he spots Suga standing there behind the counter again—the shop’s not empty today, a few customers sitting at the tables, and there’s someone at the counter buying a drink, a tall guy in glasses that Daichi would probably be checking out if he wasn’t so busy staring at the way Suga’s smile lights up his whole face.

He swallows, schools his shoulders, and makes his way to the counter just as the glasses guy takes his leave.

“Good morning,” Suga greets him, smiling in a way that looks so genuine that it almost floors Daichi for a moment. “Welcome back to the Crow Café.”

“Yeah,” Daichi says, because he is clearly the smartest guy in the room right now. “Um. Can I have a medium cappuccino to go, please?” And when he (fortunately) manages to get all the words out right this time, he allows himself some measure of satisfaction—small victories, he thinks to himself. Small victories.

“One medium cappuccino to go, coming right up,” Suga says, the exact same phrase that he used yesterday, and Daichi wonders if he says that after serving every single customer who comes by him.

It’s like a catchphrase, or trademark, or something along those lines.

It’s… kinda cute, actually.

Oh my god, what the hell is wrong with you Daichi.

When he gets his drink Suga smiles at him again, and Daichi smiles back, almost by reflex, his lips curling into a grin in an immediate response to the brightness of Suga’s smile, and maybe it’s the lighting of the place or maybe Daichi’s hallucinating, but he could swear that Suga almost glows, and it’s nothing like Daichi’s ever seen before, not in any other person.

“See you,” Suga calls as Daichi turns to go, and it takes all his self-control not to sprint right out of the shop.

-

The third day is a Thursday. He’s got it all planned out in his head already. He’ll smile and be confident, and he won’t stutter or blush. Maybe he’ll even introduce himself, properly, or ask for Suga’s name (as if he doesn’t already have it burned into the back of his brain) just as a conversation starter.

He rehearses it on the way to the coffee shop—what he’ll say, how he’ll say it. Of course, the inherent assumption of all these scenarios is that Daichi’s stupid heart isn’t going to get the better of his brain, but he’s confident that it’s a safe assumption to make.

So when Daichi walks into the shop, standing tall and exuding (what he hopes is) an air of confidence, and gets not the familiar mop of silvery-blond hair standing by the counter but a shaved head instead, all that sureness and certainty drains right out of him faster than he can say “fuck”.

He almost feels like just heading right back out of the coffee shop, but somehow he manages to remember what it’s like to be a regular human being, and instead makes his way to the counter (if slightly unwillingly).

He rattles off his order almost mechanically, and instead of Suga’s sweet voice and that catchphrase Daichi had spent far too long thinking about yesterday all he gets is a grunt in reply, and yeah, this really isn’t what he was expecting at all.

Even the coffee doesn’t taste as good as it did yesterday and the day before, Daichi thinks to himself bitterly as he pedals towards campus. Maybe this is a sign that I just shouldn’t come back.

-

Day four is a Friday, and as Daichi cycles to the café there’s a peculiar feeling in the pit of his stomach—equal parts anticipation and nervousness, and he starts to wonder at what point did his life begin to revolve around a barista whose full name Daichi doesn’t even know, a person that Daichi knows nothing about outside of a single word on a nametag and inferences drawn from two measly encounters.

He… seems nice. The gentle, soothing type, the kind of person you go to for advice or for a kind word when you’re feeling down, someone you’re not afraid to ask for help from. He seems like the sort of person who keeps his room meticulously organized, who reads good books in his spare time and listens attentively in every class.

But that’s nothing but a baseless inference built on the sound of his voice and the curve of his smile, and Daichi hates it. He hates that he knows nothing concrete about this mysterious barista, and he wants to remedy it as soon as possible.

That’s the thought that occupies his mind as he makes the trip down to the coffee shop, and when he steps inside he almost finds himself letting out a sigh of relief when standing there is Suga again, and he silently thanks his lucky stars for this.

“Hi,” Suga says cheerfully as Daichi walks up to the counter, hands in his pockets, and for some reason he’s not… panicking. His heart rate’s not going out of control and his palms aren’t sweating like he’s in the Sahara in summer.

Somehow he feels… calm. And Daichi has never been one to believe in things like fate and destiny, but he does believe in luck, and that’s what he’ll call it.

“Hey,” Daichi returns. “Didn’t see you yesterday.”

“I have morning classes on Mondays and Thursdays,” Suga responds, smiling, and he doesn’t look put off by the forwardness of Daichi’s comment at all, and it’s comforting, and Daichi only continues smiling as Suga continues, “so I take the evening shifts on those days. Also, can I get your order?”

“Medium cappuccino to go,” Daichi grins, and Suga nods.

“The usual, then?”

“The usual.”

“One medium cappuccino to go, coming right up.”

Suga disappears to prepare the order then, and Daichi can feel the blood thrumming in his veins. He’s still smiling, hasn’t stopped smiling since Suga had said hi to him, and he’s probably crazy, but he doesn’t care. He really, really doesn’t care at all.

When Suga returns he’s still smiling, and Suga smiles back, and Daichi’s heart is doing some funny little acrobatics in his chest, and he hasn’t felt this way since he was in middle school with a crush that was doomed right from the start.

But this… this is different. Daichi just knows.

“Here you go,” Suga calls, re-appearing with a paper cup in hand.

“Thanks,” Daichi says as he hands over the money, and as Suga punches some buttons on the cashier Daichi has an internal debate on whether or not he should go ahead and just screw it, or if he should hold back.

The cashier dings open and Suga extracts some coins of change and presses it into Daichi’s palm along with the receipt.

“What’s your name?” Daichi blurts out.

Suga pauses then, fingers still lingering just a breath away from Daichi’s palm. The feeling sends an electric shock straight through Daichi’s spine.

“I’m Sugawara Koushi,” he says, after a moment’s silence. “But everyone just calls me Suga.” He gestures to his nametag for emphasis.

“Suga,” Daichi repeats, and it occurs to him that this is the first time he’s actually said it out loud.

Just as he suspected, the name rolls off his tongue effortlessly, easy and familiar, and Daichi wants to say it over and over again.

“I’m Daichi,” he supplements, after a brief pause.

“Daichi,” Suga says, smiling, and maybe it’s the slightly crooked tilt to Suga’s lips or the way his name sounds being said in Suga’s voice, but Daichi’s heart constricts in his chest, then, both pleasant and painful at the same time. “I’ll see you on Tuesday, then?”

“Yeah,” Daichi says, his lips suddenly gone dry. “I’ll see you again.”

He says it like a promise, because that’s exactly what it is.

(It’s only much later that Daichi realizes he’d given Suga his first name, and the feeling of being totally fucked comes back and smacks him full force once more.)

-

Saturday, Sunday and Monday pass by in a blur. Everybody notices, especially his roommate Asahi.

“Wipe that goofy grin off your face already,” he tells Daichi on Monday night. “You look like a thirteen-year-old about to go on his first date.”

“Shut it, Asahi,” Daichi mumbles, but even that doesn’t manage to wipe the smile from his face completely.

-

“So, why’d you suddenly decide to start frequenting the Crow?” Suga asks on Wednesday as he hands Daichi his usual cup of coffee. The store is empty again (Suga assures Daichi that they’re not in danger of closing down any time soon—business in the afternoons is still fairly decent, apparently, which is a relief), which means they have time to chat at the counter without Daichi worrying about holding up the queue.

“Oh, I used to go to the other café down the street,” Daichi explains, taking a sip of his freshly brewed coffee—delicious as always, of course. “But suddenly out of nowhere it just started getting insanely popular, and I just didn’t have time to stand in line for an hour just to get my morning coffee, y’know?”

“But you have time to stay and chat with me?” Suga asks, teasingly, and Daichi knows it’s just a joke, but it doesn’t stop his cheeks from heating up in response.

“Well— I…”

Suga laughs, then, just a quiet little noise, but Daichi somehow manages to find it inexplicably charming, and by this point he’s given up trying to maintain any semblance of dignity around Suga anymore.

“Don’t give me that deer in the headlights look, it’s fine, I was just teasing—”

“I know,” Daichi grumbles, turning away, trying to will his cheeks back to its regular temperature. “Shut up.”

Suga giggles again, quietly. “Sorry. But really though, you should probably head to class now.”

At those words Daichi checks his watch, and true enough, it’s ten minutes till the start of class and, “Holy shit, I’m going to be so late, see you on Friday!”

“See you, Daichi,” Suga calls, and if it gives Daichi a bit of a thrill to have Suga calling him by his first name so familiarly, well, if he doesn’t tell anyone about it no one will ever know.

-

This is what Daichi finds out about Suga:

He goes to the same college as Daichi, in his final year as well, but the reason why he’s never seen Suga around is because he majors in Education, which is about as far away from Business Administration as you can possibly get.

He likes his coffee sweet, with plenty of sugar, which Daichi figures is fitting for his name (and personality too, maybe, possibly, kind of).

The Crow Café is run by high school teacher who just finished his graduate degree from the same college a couple of years ago, and he makes it a point to hire college kids in need of a job and a salary to pay their way through an education. Suga has been working at the café ever since it first opened, back when he was still a freshman, and over the years they’ve seen a motley crew come on board as well. (Daichi tells Suga the story about the red-headed kid and his angry dark-haired companion, and Suga laughs and laughs and says he’ll relay the story to Hinata and Kageyama when he sees them later.)

They both used to play volleyball in high school, but due to the fact that they lived in different prefectures (and the fact that neither of their teams were good enough to make it to nationals), they never actually saw each other in a match.

(Daichi thinks about the possibility of them having crossed paths sooner, years and years ago, and he wonders what it would have been like if they’d met then; would they have managed to strike up a conversation too, or would he have just let the chance pass him by?

Thinking about it like that, he’s actually kind of grateful, in a way, that they met right here, like this.)

Daichi learns that every single one of Suga’s smiles are genuine, even the ones he gives to the customers he doesn’t know. He studies at the Crow, once, on a Monday evening, a cup of coffee on his table and a textbook placed in front of him, but he’s not paying any attention to it—instead he’s looking ahead, to where the counter sits, and he watches as Suga gives an easygoing smile to a dark-haired girl in glasses, sliding her order across the counter and wishing her a good day.

He watches as that smile never falters, not even once, and he finds himself selfishly wishing that he was the only one that Suga would smile for like that.

Most of all, what Daichi learns is that in his entire life, he’s never met a single person quite like Suga before. He learns that he is drawn to this barista whom he knows nothing about, really, like a moth to a flame, like a magnet to steel—no matter how hard he tries to avoid Suga, he finds himself coming back again the next day with a smile in place and an order for a medium cappuccino to go on the tip of his tongue.

He learns that Suga is everything Daichi thought he would be, and at the same time so much more.

He learns that he wants to learn more, until he can say that he’s fully acquainted with the exact color of his eyes, intimate with the sound of his laughter, memorized the little mannerisms that just make Suga Suga.

Daichi learns that he wants Suga. Suga’s eyes on him, his fingers wrapped against Daichi’s wrist, shoulders brushing as they walk side by side.

And yeah, so maybe he doesn’t actually know anything about Suga at all, but.

(But it sometimes feels like he’s known Suga all his life.)

-

It’s close to a month since Daichi first locked eyes with Suga at the Crow Café that fateful day—one whole month of nursing a hopeless, hopeless crush.

“Why don’t you try asking him out?” Asahi suggests one day over dinner. “From the way you make it sound, I think he’s definitely interested.”

Daichi doesn’t respond straightaway, just continues picking at his rice with his pair of chopsticks.

“I don’t know,” he says, finally. “I don’t want to ruin it.”

“What, so you’d rather go with a hundred percent certainty of nothing happening than with a decent chance of something?”

“No, I’d rather go with a hundred percent certainty of safety rather than a tiny chance that something actually comes out of…” Daichi waves his chopsticks in the air in a vague gesture of emphasis. “…this.”

Asahi doesn’t reply, but Daichi can tell he’s not finished with this particular conversation.

Still, he’s thankful that his roommate knows when to back off. This is something he needs to figure out on his own.

-

Reasons I shouldn’t ask him out:

1.     He’s probably already dating someone
2.     Does he even swing that way?
3.     So, so, so out of my league

Reasons I should ask him out:

1.     He’s amazing gorgeous beautiful perfect FUCK
2.     MY LIFE IS A MESS

-

Daichi turns up on Tuesday morning with his thoughts in a mess. He’d made a list the night before, and then promptly crumpled it into a ball and tossed it into the trashcan on the other side of the room.

He wonders if seeing Suga’s face will be calming, or if it’ll have the exact opposite effect.

Turns out, he doesn’t need to wonder, because he steps into the store expecting to see Suga smiling at him, and instead he sees a mop of bright red hair, and oh, it’s that guy, what’s he doing here?

“Hey,” Daichi says, walking up to the counter. “Where’s Suga?”

The little guy — Suga had introduced him a couple of weeks ago… what was his name again… H… Hinata. Right. — frowns. “Suga-san is sick,” he says, glumly. “You’re Daichi, right? He talks about you a lot.”

“Uh.” Daichi chooses not to think about the implication of that statement. “Yeah, I’m Daichi. Is Suga okay?”

“He said it’s just a cold,” Hinata replies, shrugging, looking doubtful, “but I dunno, it’s just like Suga-san to make it sound less serious than it actually is, you know?”

Daichi swallows.

“Yeah,” he says, slowly. “I know.”

The conversation dies out, then, and after an awkward moment of silence Daichi gives Hinata his order, before Hinata scurries away to prepare the drink.

It takes a tad bit longer than Suga would usually take before Hinata reappears, drink in hand. There’s an odd expression on his face, and he’s chewing on his bottom lip, looking conflicted.

“Okay,” Hinata says at last. “Don’t tell Suga-san I was the one who told you this, but I wrote his number down on the cup.”

It’s then that Daichi realizes that there’s a string of numbers scribbled on the cardboard cup sleeve in black ink, and he freezes.

“I think—I think he’d want you to call, but at the same time he wouldn’t, because if he’s really sick he wouldn’t want anyone to know about it, and… And, just don’t tell him it was me, okay?”

“Okay,” Daichi says weakly, his voice sounding distant even to his own ears. He stares at the numbers, heart pounding in his chest. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he unconsciously forgives Hinata for almost spilling coffee all over his shirt a year ago.

“Thanks,” he says as he picks the cup up. “Really. I owe you one.”

Hinata blinks owlishly, and then he breaks out into a grin so wide is practically stretches across the entire length of his face.

“No prob!” he calls across the café as Daichi turns to leave, and if it earns them some curious stares from the other customers, Daichi pays them no heed. “Now go give Suga-san a call!”

He pauses, already almost halfway out the café, turns toward the counter, and grins.

“I will,” he calls back, before heading out the door.

-

Daichi finds himself leaning against the railing next to his bike, one hand clutching his cup of coffee, the other hand punching in the numbers into his phone.

When he’s done he stares at the screen for a long, long moment, as if trying to commit the numbers to memory.

He thinks about Hinata’s words, and about everything Asahi has been trying to tell him for the past three weeks, and about Suga’s smile.

And he figures—he figures that every single risk he’s taken so far with regards to Suga has paid off, in some way or another. He figues that if he hadn’t taken that first step to ask for his name, he wouldn’t be here now, standing in the middle of a street, clutching his phone in his hand like a nervous teenager waiting for a call.

So. There’s no harm in trying.

He takes a deep breath, and before he can change his mind again, he hits the call button and puts the phone to his ear.

It rings for a long time. His heart feels like it’s beating in double time, strangely in sync to the dial tone that rings in his ear. He counts it down in his head—once, twice, thrice, and after a moment Daichi’s starting to lose faith, starting to wonder if this is a sign that he should just give up, when—

Click.

“Hello?”

Suga’s voice sounds strange over the phone, and immediately Daichi can hear how hoarse he sounds. He hears sniffling, and his fingers tighten around his phone.

“Hey,” he says, heart hammering in his chest. “It’s me. Daichi.”

There’s a pause. Daichi tries to breathe, but it doesn’t quite work.

“How did you get my number?” Suga says, finally, and Daichi almost laughs at the tone of his voice—equal parts confusion and amusement, and it’s so like Suga that he forgets, for a moment, why he was so afraid of calling in the first place.

“A little birdy told me,” he answers, smiling in spite of himself. “I’ve been forbidden to tell you who, though.”

Suga sighs over the phone, and Daichi’s grin grows wider. “It was Hinata, wasn’t it.”

“Well.” Daichi laughs. “I guess my non-response is as good as anything else I could possibly say.”

Suga tuts, and if Daichi could see his face he imagines Suga would be shaking his head right now. “I’ll deal with him tomor—” Suga starts to say, but his words are cut off by a sudden sneeze, and although he has the grace to turn away from his phone when he sneezes Daichi can still hear how violent it is, even over the muffled static of the phone line, and it reminds him of the entire reason why he’s calling in the first place.

“So,” Daichi starts once Suga’s properly back on the line. “I just wanted to call to ask if you’re okay, Hinata said you have a cold—”

“It’s just a normal cold,” Suga says, dismissively. “I’ll be back on my feet in no time.”

“Are you sure?” Daichi asks, furrowing his brows. “It doesn’t sound like just a normal cold to me, and—”

“Daichi,” Suga interrupts. “I’m fine.” There’s a slight pause before Suga adds, for emphasis, “Really.”

Daichi frowns, caught between relief at Suga’s assurance and the thought that Suga might still be trying to downplay his sickness, because it’s Suga, and Daichi really wouldn’t put it past him to do something like that.

“Alright,” he says at last, slowly. “But don’t push yourself or do anything stupid before you get better.”

They lapse into silence then, briefly, but it’s comfortable, and Daichi’s cheeks are starting to get a little warm, but he’s smiling, a little, in spite of the worry that hasn’t quite left him completely yet, and it occurs to him just how much he enjoys spending time in Suga’s company, even if it is just listening to his voice over the phone.

“Thanks for worrying about me,” Suga eventually says, and Daichi can hear the smile in his voice, and it makes his chest ache in an almost bittersweet way. “That’s really sweet of you.”

And even Daichi can’t miss the teasing lilt to his voice then, but it still makes his cheeks flush and face grow hot, and god, he has no idea what to say, what the hell could he possibly say in reply to that—not a ‘thank you’ or a ‘you’re welcome’ or ‘not as sweet as your smile, though’, and all of a sudden the silence that hangs between them isn’t as comfortable as before, it’s tinged with a certain tension now, and Daichi just clamps his mouth helplessly as his fingers curl and uncurl around his phone.

His mind is a blank slate of white noise and static, and that's probably the reason why the next words that come out of his mouth are completely accidental, slipping out between his lips as Daichi blurts out:

“When you’re better will you go out with me?”

There’s a second of silence before Daichi’s brain kicks in, and oh shit, what the hell did I just say is the first thing that registers in his mind—he’s not quite sure how he manages to stop himself from swearing under his breath right there and then, but he definitely feels like swearing, panic rising in his chest as he starts considering what he could say that would mitigate those words, but who is he kidding, there’s no taking those words back now—

“I mean—” He’s sputtering now, the tips of his ears red, and trying resolutely not to think about what kind of face Suga must be making right now. “I… Just for some coffee or something, i-if you want to, that is—”

Daichi’s words trail off, until he’s left with nothing but a crippling silence over the phone.

Then—

“Sawamura Daichi,” Suga says, voice quiet. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

And there it is. The word that Daichi has been thinking for the past month but has never had the courage to say out loud, not even to himself.

He swallows, takes a deep breath, and throws caution to the wind.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice cracking on that one word, and he clears his throat, trying again. “Yeah,” he repeats. “Yeah, I am.”

Silence. Terrifying, heart-numbing silence.

And then:

“Alright,” Suga says, finally, and Daichi immediately lets out the breath that he didn’t even realize he was holding. “Sure. But just not at the Crow.”

Daichi can hear the smile in Suga’s voice again, even more pronounced now, and the relief that floods through him is practically palpable, makes him sag against the fence, his tight grip around his phone loosening immediately.

“You got it,” he says, not even caring about how hoarse he sounds, or how obvious his relief must be from the tone of his voice, or the fact that he’s grinning so widely anyone who passes him by right now will probably think he’s insane. “Anywhere you want. My treat.”

-

Epilogue

Daichi wakes up.

He doesn’t wake up in his apartment. He won’t say that this new place is familiar, (he’s not quite there just yet), but it’s not totally unfamiliar either. He’s been here quite a number of times. Slept over a large portion of those times as well.

Daichi wakes up in Suga’s apartment to still-warm sheets and the smell of coffee.

He gets up slowly, groggily, rubbing the final vestiges of sleep from his eyes. The sheets are rumpled and gross from the previous night, but rather than making him wrinkle his nose and make a mental note to remind Suga to put them in the wash, it just makes him smile, and that’s how he knows he’s way too far gone.

(Although frankly, by this point, he couldn’t quite care less anymore—it’s become a part of his life, this I’m so fucked but I don’t even care feeling no less indispensable than his trusty, dependable bike, or his faithful morning caffeinated pick-me-up, or the taste of Suga’s lips against his own mouth.)

He stretches, yawning, before sliding off the bed, pulling on a pair of discarded boxers from last night that’s lying on the floor before shuffling into the kitchen.

He’s hit by two different things the moment he opens the door:

The first is the almost overwhelming scent of coffee, and just the smell of caffeine is enough to give him the energy to stand up just a little bit straighter, for his eyes to get a little bit brighter.

The second is Suga, standing barefoot in front of his coffee machine, a mug of coffee in one hand, wearing one of Daichi’s oversized sweatshirts and little else.

The moment he hears the door sliding open he turns, holding out the cup of coffee to Daichi, and it is Daichi’s humble opinion that the smile that crosses Suga’s face is far brighter than the early morning sunlight streaming into the room.

“Your order,” Suga says, leaning back against the counter. “One medium cappuccino to stay, coming right up.”

Daichi smiles, crosses the kitchen to move in front of Suga, where he guides Suga’s hand to place the cup of coffee back down on the counter behind him.

Then he leans forward, kissing Suga right on the mouth, and he can feel Suga smiling against his lips.

“Thanks,” he says when he pulls away. “Great as always.”

And maybe Daichi is a creature of habit, and maybe it does annoy him like hell whenever he’s forced to deviate from his usual routines, and maybe it should feel uncomfortable that he’s here in Suga’s kitchen, drinking homebrewed coffee instead of getting his morning cup from the café just off campus. But this isn’t involuntary—it’s a choice.

And frankly, it’s probably the best one he’s ever made.

(Yeah, he thinks. He could really get used to this.)